by Lola Ford
It took her an hour to reach them, even as they continued onward. Graith tried insisting that they continue on the horses, but she had made up her mind. She was stern enough that when Graith didn’t tell the others, she did it herself.
When she finally landed near them, Graith’s heart skipped a beat as he looked at her. She’d been snatching cows from farms since she’d learned of the other dragons in Situra. She’d filled out in the chest and her ribs were no longer quite visible. Her scales had nearly returned to their original healthy navy, but there were still splotches of both black and white.
The black is just soot I haven’t been able to clean from myself, Zel said, noticing Graith was watching her.
And the white? He asked.
She craned her neck around to look at her back.
Stress I’m sure.
Graith understood that, he had several streaks of white appearing in his hair that hadn’t been there before he’d met her.
Will you be able to carry us all? he asked, as he stripped the saddle off his horse.
No matter how healthy she looked, it had been a long and hard winter on her, and he didn’t want to strain her any more than necessary.
I will do anything I need to, to get to my eggs Graith.
The look in her blue eyes was heartbreaking. It had been months since she’d seen them last.
What about the prince? Graith asked, even as Kali started compiling the absolute basics for the flight. She seemed worried about Zel as well.
There are dragons here. If they were not keening over my eggs, then they will help me protect them.
Graith worried that Zel was putting too much faith into these other dragons, but he didn’t say so. Instead he climbed onto her back, with the others behind him and held on as tightly as he could as Zel strained to get them into the air. Even at her largest three adults and a child were heavy for her, as unaccustomed to having riders as she was.
Once they were in the air, she climbed as high as she could, and then turning herself to align with the road far below, headed for Roria.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Nerie
Nerie dismounted Kiriga the moment she landed and ran to Soren’s broken body. She didn’t even get within five feet of him before she could clearly make out the fact there would be no possible recovery. The sight of blood turned her stomach, and between sobs she violently lost the little breakfast she had eaten less than an hour before.
A swarm of people, roused from the palace by the dragons’ flight and Ilex’s keen, arrived minutes after the dragons. Everyone had felt the shock wave that had resonated from Ilex and had a limited idea of what had happened. However, the shock of seeing the king like that caused many to fall to their knees moaning.
When they tried to move Soren’s body, Ilex growled and crouched low above it. They hat to have Nerie ask him to let them take Soren home. When she tried to reach out to him, his mind was nothing but a storm of grief and torment.
It was Soros who finally got through to him enough to let the men through.
They worked with reverence for the king, as respectful as they could be. A pallet was brought shortly after the situation had been assessed. The captain of Soren’s guard directed each person. Soren was moved onto the pallet and prepared to be transported back to the palace.
Other than a cursory check on Nerie, everyone’s attention was focused on Soren. She stood off to the side, insides shaking and mind blank. The question how? stuck on repeat as she watched. However, when Nerie walked towards Kiriga to fly back to the palace, the captain of the king’s guard stopped her.
“My Lady. With what has just happened to his highness, you cannot be permitted to endanger yourself at this time. Please, ride back to the palace with me.”
The pain in his eyes at his failure to protect Soren was clear as he spoke. He gestured to two waiting horses. Nerie only stared at them numbly.
Go. I will meet you in the courtyard, Kiriga said, her voice muted as she too tried to deal with the king’s death.
She climbed on to the horse offered to her and waited. Another guard took the lead attached to the horse’s halter.
And then the procession back to the palace started.
Somehow, a ride that should have taken only minutes turned into an hour of slow progress. It felt closer to a death parade than returning to the palace. They entered the city through the Northern gate and wound their way slowly through the city.
As they passed, citizens - people who were at one point her friends and neighbors - lined the streets.
Nerie could felt the eyes of every person they passed upon her.
They knew. They all knew what had happened to Soren.
They might not be able to see his body, lying covered on the pallet, but they had felt Ilex’s piercing keen. She was sure that they’d seen the dragons race through the air.
Nerie couldn’t bring herself to look away from their eyes, each burning with the same unasked question. The same one still racing through her own.
How?
She was in shock. Her mind was numb and there was no thought of, well, anything. Anything other than asking herself how?
When they finally entered the courtyard however, that changed. Alaena was there, as was Astra, and when they saw Soren’s broken body Astra let out a low moan, and Alaena started sobbing, holding onto her daughter, and sinking to the ground.
Neither even looked at Nerie.
She was left there, sitting on the horse, while everyone moving around her. Tears slowly rolled down her face, as she failed to get her mind to work enough for her to even dismount.
It was only when Vizen offered her a hand on that she was pulled back to the here and now.
The man’s eyes were red rimmed, and he was barely containing the tears that threatened to fall. She took his hand shakily, and he helped her to the ground. Then she just stood there, looking at Soren’s right-hand man.
He seemed to realize that she was waiting on him to speak, and he quickly dashed at his eyes and cleared his throat.
“Your highness. We must plan for what comes next. Who do you need me to assemble? What do you need right now? I am yours to command.”
He bowed formally to her then rose, waiting for her response.
Her command? She didn’t even fully comprehend what was going on, and he wanted her to give commands? Her mind struggled to pull itself to attention, but Soren was falling in her vision and she started to shake.
“Ma’am?” Vizen asked, his tone worried.
Nerie’s green eyes focused on his brown.
“My… My uncle. Sylas. He needs to come, but… I’ll send Wyla to get him. And my mother. She needs to return to the palace.”
Nerie felt like she was grasping at straws as she tried to force her thoughts into a semblance of order.
“Of course, your highness,” Vizen said, then hesitated a moment, his breath hitched, “and funeral arrangements?”
He will have a dragon’s funeral.
Eras’ voice was soft, but from the surprised expression on Vizen’s face, he had heard the great dragon too.
Turning from where he stood, Vizen found Eras roosting on the roof to his left. With a deep bow, he addressed the dragon.
“Of course, my lord dragon.”
It’s all my fault, Riya moaned, laying in a pale pile on the ground of the courtyard. Please. Please have them remove the remaining straps from me.
Nerie relayed Riya’s request to Vizen, and with a curt nod, he went to oversee this task, signaling two of the knights from the king’s guard to follow him.
Wyla. I need you to fly and get Uncle Sylas, Nerie said.
She turned to the white dragoness, who in the morning sun looked gray.
I heard. I shall fly as fast as the wind can carry me.
She stretched then leaned down from the roof to touched noses with her brooding sister and grieving brother before launching herself into the sky and winging out of sight.
What is a dragon’s funeral entail? Nerie asked Eras as her mind replayed the last few moments.
We burn our dead, at sundown of the day they died, he told her, voice soft.
Do I need to tell Vizen? she asked, looking for the man who had disappeared after unharnessing Riya.
No, he was here for the last king, your grandfather Daviron. He will know.
Nerie nodded numbly, looking around the courtyard. Kiriga was laying off to one side, her golden scales tinged green. Alaena and Astra had left at some point, and there were few people still about.
Only her personal guards were with her, and a few servants hurried across the way, not looking at her.
She walked inside slowly, dazed. Servants and nobles lined the hallways as she walked, glancing at her and whispering.
What were they thinking?
They all knew. They had to know.
Ilex’s keen had been too overpowering for them not to know.
***
Karina found her, standing before the doors to Soren’s suite.
She’d been walking the path that she took every day and had arrived there before she was conscious of the fact. Hot tears coursed down her face, even as the older woman wrapped her arms around her shoulders and led her to her own rooms.
She helped Nerie undress from the riding leathers and muttered about getting a mourning wardrobe ready by that evening. She dressed Nerie in the meantime in a pair of pajamas, telling the guards to let only Vizen enter the room.
Nerie just sat there, staring that the fire, breathing shallowly and not moving.
When Karina brought Nerie her midday meal, Nerie just stared at the platter listlessly. She didn’t think she’d ever be hungry again.
When Vizen knocked on the door and was allowed entry with the captain of the king’s guard, Nerie was forced out of her silent reverie.
“Your Majesty.”
They both acknowledged her with a bow. The change in title however made her jump.
“I’m not Queen,” she said. Her voice was hoarse after hours of disuse and the screaming that had left it raw.
“Your coronation will be tomorrow at sunrise,” Vizen said without a moment of hesitation. “At this moment, you are only princess in title, not action.”
The captain looked uneasy, and Nerie noticed he was holding a bundle of leather straps.
“Your Majesty, I realize this is not the time that you want to talk about this, but it must be addressed immediately.”
He held out the bundle and Nerie recognized it as the riding straps that Riya had worn. “Please, look here.”
He pointed to several spots in the lightly tanned leather.
“The leather has been intentionally cut, not enough to fall apart, but with sufficient force…” and he pulled on the two ends of the piece and it gave with a snap. “The whole harness is like that. Six or eight spots. It was one of those spots that caused the king’s death.”
Nerie just stared, running her fingers over the leather.
Then with a soft voice she asked, “Did Riya’s scales do this?”
Vizen laid a hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes, “No your Majesty. This was human interference.”
“But who -” Nerie asked choking back a sob.
She looked back down at the straps.
Her heart sank.
“Does each dragon have their own set of riding straps?”
“For everyday riding? No, your majesty.”
Vizen’s eyes were dark as he understood her question.
“Check Kiriga, she is still wearing her riding straps. We’ll deal with this after the funeral and the coronation. Until then,” she looked at the captain with a cold determination, “I need more guards. Soren was right. I need to be protected. It is my duty to Situra to rule in his stead.”
“Of course, your Majesty.”
They bowed to her, each going their separate ways to deal with the tasks she had given them.
Riya, she said softly, reaching out to the dragoness.
Riya, it’s not your fault.
It’s not? Riya asked, as if afraid to believe what Nerie was telling her.
No, Nerie confirmed, reassuring her.
She told the dragons what she’d learned, and she could hear them roaring in outrage through the palace walls. Ilex was fiercest in his grief and rage.
***
The next time Vizen returned, he confirmed that the riding straps that Kiriga wore had also been tampered with, and it was only luck that none of them had broken in the short flight. He had also brought a seamstress with him at Karina’s request. The little old woman curtsied to Nerie, her arms full of red fabrics.
Karina took charge of the small woman, and the two of them worked on a gown for Nerie. They took a few rough measurements, but for the most part, Nerie was left to just sit on the couch again, waiting.
When the dress was ready to be hemmed and fitted, Nerie felt sick at the sight of the red fabric. It’s shades and patterns in the dim candlelight reminded Nerie of the blood that had slowly leaked from the king’s body.
When she put up her objections, she was reminded that the kingdom would look to her, and that reds were the traditional mourning colors.
Unhappy, but with no response to that truth, she unhappily stood and let them pin the gown in place.
She asked Karina if her mother had been returned yet but was told that Sir Ahlwin’s estate was several hours away, and that it was too soon for riders to have returned.
The gown was removed and Nerie sent off to bathe while the corrections were set with stitches. When she returned, her hair was braided into an ornate twist, and the gown had been pressed and hung waiting for her to be dressed.
As she waited to be told where the funeral was to be held, she caught a glance of herself in the mirror that hung on her wall. In a mind that had been empty for sake of perseverance all day, her only thoughts were that she was so pale that her freckles looked nearly black on her skin - and that her auburn hair clashed horribly with the red of the dress.
It was such a vain thought, and she wasn’t even sure why it occurred to her.
Here she was, preparing for her father’s funeral.
She was to be coronated as queen the following morning.
And yet she was worried that her hair didn’t match her dress.
Karina led her from the room, and down the corridor. Their feet tapping loudly on floor, echoing in the now empty halls. The funeral pyre was set in the grand courtyard. When they reached the doors, Karina stepped in front of her and gave the dress a few unnecessary tugs to straighten the hem, then pushed a stray hair behind Nerie’s ear.
***
As the doors were thrown open, and Nerie was announced, she felt a moment of blind panic. She didn’t want to be there. She wanted to turn around and run the other way. The courtyard was full of nobles, merchants, servants, and as many commoners as who could fit through the gate. Nerie could see Brantom, Marza, Niro, and their guard on the far side of the courtyard, directly across from where she now stood.
Alaena and Astra were standing next to the pyre. Ilex was on the wall directly behind them. He was looming overhead, his nubbed wings tented, and his eyes were whirling a burning red.
The other dragons were alighted on the rooftops and walls that surrounded the courtyard. They were sitting nearly wingtip to wingtip as they watched the crowd below. More than one noble muttered uneasily, pointing upward at the dragons.
Nerie took a slow deep breath and squared her shoulders, then she slowly walked the way that Alaena had taught her to command the attention of the people. Within moments, all eyes were on her as she headed to the pyre to give her last goodbyes to Soren. The kind man who she’d learned was her father, too late in both of their lives.
Soren’s body had been wrapped in a fine silk sheet, dyed to the exact green hue of Ilex’s scales. His likeness had been painted over where his face was. Nerie’s breath caught in her throat at the thought of the broke
n and bloody face that she knew lay beneath.
She’d been given a prayer to say and a speech to give, but her voice froze as she turned to face those people gathered. She found herself staring into Astra’s eyes and the cold fury she saw there was disturbing.
Alaena wouldn’t even look at her, and Nerie found herself thinking just how wrong it was that Aldis wasn’t even here to attend his father’s funeral.
She tried again to intone the traditional pray over Soren’s body, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she stepped back and let the dragons know that it was time. People murmured slightly, waiting for her to speak. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say the final goodbye to Soren.
Ilex opened his great maw and issued forth a flame that instantly set the pyre ablaze. It was so hot and sustained that many people took steps back and away. Nerie felt her skin redden from the heat but did not move.
Only when her dress started to smoke, she did she finally retreat.
As the fire crackled, Nerie stared into the flames, her tears running freely down her cheeks as she thought of how kind Soren had been. How she would miss the way the crow’s feet crinkled at his eyes. How he’d encouraged her from the moment that Kiriga had hatched. She choked back sobs as she thought of when he’d showed her how to care for the dragonling, and the many times he’d talked about the dragons with her for hours on end.
She found herself watching the flames until they died out and only embers remaining. Night was fully set, and few people were left in the courtyard. It was just her, Vizen, Karina and her bodyguards. Astra was there, though Alaena had left not long after the flames had taken. Brantom and the delegation from Lutesia had been some of the first to leave, and the nobles had left once they realized she had nothing to say to them.
Go rest, Kiriga told her softly. Morning comes all too soon.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Nerie
Only a few hours after her head hit her pillow before Karina gently shook Nerie awake. There were dark rings under the woman’s eyes, and Nerie knew Karina and the seamstress had stayed up late into the night to finish a gown for her coronation. Karina may not have slept at all Nerie suspected when Karina informed her that it was two hours to sunrise.