by Delia Castel
“I see.” Dr. Squamatus stroked the end of his long, braided mustache. Then he raised his staff and bathed Marigold with white light. “As I thought… You are not pregnant.”
Polaris’ shoulders slumped, and a relieved breath escaped his nostrils. While he had wanted a family with Marigold, he couldn’t assure himself of her safety until Uncle Hertz was dead.
Marigold blinked several times, her expression unreadable. Perhaps she also had mixed feelings.
“Did you notice any such changes last night when you returned to your body?” asked the doctor.
Marigold’s lips parted, but no words came out.
Polaris furrowed his brow. “She couldn’t inspect herself, but I checked her for injury last night, when I gained possession of her, and she was unchanged.”
He nodded and bustled to a shelf containing leather tomes. Then he shook his head and strode to his desk. “I was reading this after you left.” He lifted an ancient, leather-bound book. “‘The Mysteries of the Spirite Dragonne’ is the foremost text on your particular species. According to this, she-dragons with powerful mates are capable of transferring their consciousness both within and without the body of a mate.”
“I see…” Polaris stared down at Marigold, who wrung her hands. He had always known there was something special about her. “And the transformation?”
“That’s typical of the species, too.” He smiled at Marigold. “Once your haremage is complete, you will be able to transform. Did you ever have lessons on shifting techniques, my dear?”
She shook her head.
The doctor turned to Polaris. “I may not be a dragon, but I know enough about your physiology to provide rudimentary lessons. Would you allow me to give your mate some instructions?”
A pit of dread opened up in his stomach, making Polaris furrow his brow. King Vulcan would not forgive his lateness, especially in his current state of instability. However, leaving Marigold out of his sight had led to her being attacked and abducted.
Dr. Squamatus cleared his throat. “If it’s her safety that concerns you, I promise to double the warding around my home. None but those genuinely in need of my medical assistance will enter, and the wards will keep Marigold in this location until I take them down.”
Polaris stared hard at the doctor. The aged wizard had taken care of the family for three generations and was unlikely to hand Marigold over to Uncle Hertz or to the Guild of Assassins. As much as he wanted to keep Marigold with him while he visited King Vulcan, he couldn’t. The palace was already compromised, and Marigold would have to wait outside the throne room, leaving her exposed.
He glanced at her eyes, which gleamed with excitement. It seemed that she wanted to learn more about her heritage and wouldn’t appreciate his overprotectiveness.
Huffing out a frustrated breath, he said, “Very well. Her safety is in your hands.”
By the time Polaris reached the Rex Boulevard, the sun was past its zenith and the shadows of the cherry trees lengthened across the road. He passed the palace’s tall, iron gates in his cabriolet, nodding at the saluting guards. King Vulcan would not be amused by his lateness, but Marigold had needed help.
It now occurred to him why the King’s Regiment discouraged its officers from forming mating bonds: King Vulcan was no longer his priority. His heart and loyalty now belonged to Marigold.
Captain Flicker saluted. “The King awaits you in the war gardens.”
Polaris nodded at his colleague and walked around the palace building. The sun reflected off its limestone facade and huge, multi-paned windows, and Polaris squirmed within his wool jacket. He had wanted to bathe with Marigold, but that had been impossible, seeing as both her medical emergency and the King’s summons took precedence.
He rounded the corner to find half a dozen armed guards standing in front of the gates leading to the gardens. “I am expected.”
“Of course, General.” Their captain unlocked the gate and let it swing open.
Polaris stepped through. The garden paths had recently been changed from the jagged, razor-sharp pebbles the King preferred for security, to innocuous wood chip. Polaris wondered if this was to allow shifters with sensitive paws to prowl the grounds in their alternate forms.
Since King Vulcan preferred to entrust his safety to dragons, whose claws were thick enough to withstand sharp objects, he had to assume that the new choice of flooring was another element to the corruption.
“Caw!” a raven swooped down towards him. Polaris flinched out of its trajectory and glared at the retreating bird.
It perched on a statue of a water nymph and glared at him through malicious, violet eyes. Polaris suppressed a shudder at the intelligence behind the raven’s stare.
Clenching his teeth, he kept his gaze straight ahead. On the advice of his elders, he pushed away his suspicions of Queen Grimalda and focussed on his appointment with the King. They had warned him to guard his thoughts around the new Queen, as those who looked upon her with disfavor suffered inexplicable mental attacks.
He strode through the wisteria path, a cobbled walkway lined with woody vines that curved overhead, providing fragrant shade. Foot-long stalks, bearing a multitude of tiny open flowers, hung down from the vines in a vibrant cascade of mauve and lilac and amethyst. It made him wonder if Marigold would enjoy the sight.
Two rowan trees stood at the end of the walkway, trained into an arch. On both sides grew trees planted diagonally, criss-crossing each other to form a fence. Clusters of red berries, the color of his King’s Regiment jacket, grew within their dense foliage. Beyond the archway, King Vulcan walked around the garden with his head bowed and hands clasped behind his back.
“Your Majesty?” asked Polaris.
“Come in, dear boy.” His voice was somber.
Polaris stepped inside and became engulfed by an assault of sights and fragrances. Blackberries, sweet primrose, and St. John’s wort grew within a lawn of four-leaf clovers. These were plants known to deter fairies. He even spotted wolfsbane and garlic flowers, which he knew would repel bears and wolves. His nose twitched, his eyes watered, and he sneezed.
“My apologies,” said the King. “This is the only place I can get any privacy. The flowers help me to think.”
“I see…” Polaris glanced around.
The ground beneath his feet was a carpet of purple blooms. He was no connoisseur of flowers, but it looked like a potent form of wolfsbane to him. Interspersed between the rowan trees grew huge, white florets of bear garlic, and bearsfoot plants. These were six-feet tall stems, bearing rose-colored flowers, growing within clusters of glossy, dark leaves as wide as a man’s hand. Both plants were deadly to bear shifters.
“Double-check the senses of an old dragon,” said the King. “Is anyone within earshot?”
Polaris closed his eyes and expanded his senses, picking up the rapid heartbeats of tiny birds, dormice, and bees. There was no sign of the raven, whose heartbeat would be slower. In the distance echoed the strong heartbeat of dragons, and further back were human servants and a few wolf shifters. He dared not flare his nostrils, as the scent of flowers was already overpowering.
“We are alone, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you.” King Vulcan stretched out an arm. “Walk with me.”
Polaris nodded and strolled by the King’s side. They were silent for a few moments, and Polaris considered the history of this particular garden. The first King Vulcan, his brothers, and wizard allies used this space to plan their strategies against the fairies. The impenetrable barrier of magic and plants deadly to most species afforded them privacy during a time when fairies still roamed Igneous. This was also where the wizards created the flamberges of Vulcan, Auburn, Caeli, Lacus, and Caldor, used to drive the fairies out of the realm.
“Your Majesty, about Princess Snowdrop. I cannot—”
“I am well aware of your failure to carry out the mission I set for you.” The King’s voice was tight. “Do you know why I chose you of all dragon
s?”
Polaris bowed his head. He could imagine that the King wanted Snowdrop to develop the same powers as Marigold. “This is what I wish to tell you about, Sire.”
“No!” snapped the King. “I do not wish to hear that you have your heart set on another. The elders in the Regiment told me you have no lovers and are committed to your station.”
He clenched his teeth. That had been true up until a few days ago and would have been so if Berrin hadn’t left him alone with Marigold to sort out their differences. But now, Marigold was in his heart, his mind, his very soul. He wanted no other, and it wasn’t even physically possible for him to fulfill the King’s request. “Things are different, Your Majesty—”
King Vulcan grabbed him by the arms, his eyes manic. An angry, purple flush colored his face, and thick veins stood out on his temple like the branches of a rowan tree. “I will not hear it.” He shook Polaris. “You will find my daughter, personally. Then you tell her that you are her chosen mate and bring her back here for a blessing. Do you understand me?”
Polaris’ stomach twisted. On some level King Vulcan had to know he was no longer available. Anyone who had danced with Marigold or spoken to her at length would understand that a dragon would never pass up the opportunity to mate with her. “Your Majesty, I will find your daughter.”
“That is not enough!”
With as much discretion as he could muster, Polaris released a frustrated breath. “I will ensure that Princess Snowdrop is mated to a suitable young dragon, powerful enough to protect her. However, I cannot guarantee that will be me.”
King Vulcan narrowed his eyes. Scales formed under the collar of his red jacket, making their slow ascent towards his face. In a voice cold enough to freeze the garden, he asked, “Do you think I would hand over my beloved daughter to anyone?”
“I do not.”
“I chose you because of the historical links between our noble houses. Because of your exemplary record and pedigree. And most importantly, because there is another one as powerful as you languishing in a cell, who can benefit my dear Snowdrop.”
Polaris’ stomach plummeted to the clump of four-leafed clovers at their feet. King Vulcan clearly wasn’t thinking straight if he thought Berrin could bond with anyone. “But—”
“No buts! When Berrin joins the Regiment as your protege, the two of you will form a unit with the Torrens twins and become brothers-in-arms. The perfect haremage for my Snowdrop.”
Polaris turned his gaze away, cold dread filling the empty cavity within his gut. The sooner the elders helped the King with his erratic behavior, the better. He couldn’t even feel any animosity towards him for the unreasonable demands. King Vulcan had been poisoned, surrounded by enemies in his own palace, and was understandably terrified for the plight of Princess Snowdrop. Perhaps he could smell a coup brewing, just as one had occurred in Habilis, and he wanted to ensure the safety of his daughter. But this was no excuse for Polaris to remain silent.
“Sire, Berrin has formed a bond already.”
“I know this! My Snowdrop has the blood of a spirit dragon, and they have the power to override whatever he did with Matheson’s mate.”
Polaris blanched. He had not known this, but he supposed that with King Vulcan having been mated to a spirit dragon, he would have researched their capabilities.
The King reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief dotted with blood. “Use this to track her, and do not hand this to anyone else unless you wish to lose your head!”
He suppressed a groan. “Yes, Sire.”
“You have two days to find and mate her.”
Polaris’ gaze snapped up to the King’s burning eyes. There was no point in trying to reason with a cornered dragon. When the elders cleared out the corruption in the palace, he would explain himself to a saner version of his monarch. Giving King Vulcan a sharp nod, he decided to make the most of the opportunity to learn more about Marigold’s burgeoning powers. “I will set off in pursuit of the Princess after collecting supplies. But first, could you tell me more about the capabilities of a spirit dragon?”
Chapter 8
For the rest of the afternoon, Marigold sat with Dr. Squamatus listening to his theories on how her spirit-dragon powers might manifest. He had guided her through some of the exercises fledglings used to develop their transformation skills and managed to turn her claws back into fingernails. Although the doctor was a wizard, he had explained that he had fixed many mishaps involving fledglings who could not restore a body part.
They sat at the oaken window seat of his study, enjoying a cup of tea from hand-carved, wooden bowls. The room was a warm, sun-lit space, lined with bookshelves crammed full of ancient and modern tomes. Herbal aromas from the brew mingled with the scents of leather and old parchment, adding to the relaxing atmosphere.
Dr. Squamatus pushed his long, braided mustache over his shoulder and slurped at his tea. “I was never fortunate enough to tend to Queen Reina or Princess Snowdrop, and very little literature is available on the physiology and capabilities of spirit dragons of mixed blood.”
“Oh.” She sipped her tea. It was a bitter concoction of herbs that the doctor said would increase her energy stores for transformation and breeding. She had tried to tell him that she hadn’t discussed offspring with her mates, but he had insisted, saying that a she-dragon should always prepare herself for any eventuality.
A knock on the door broke her out of her musings. Polaris entered, clad in black and holding a knapsack. The intensity in his eyes made her insides flip. She sat straighter on the window seat, wondering what news he had from the palace.
“Thank you for taking care of Marigold in my absence,” he said.
“It has been a long time since I’ve enjoyed such charming company, General.” The doctor winked.
Marigold’s cheeks heated. She hadn’t said anything to charm him, really. Half the time, she had been thinking about Berrin and hoping he wasn’t worrying about her sudden disappearance. She gazed up at Polaris and smiled.
“Before we leave, are you able to locate people with blood?” asked Polaris.
The doctor furrowed his brow. “Is the person in question a patient of mine?”
“No.”
“My docratic oaths prevent me from invading an individual’s privacy in such a manner. Had you been concerned for the location of a lost relative, who had given their consent for such spells to be performed on their blood, then I would oblige.”
Marigold chewed her lip. Who did Polaris need to locate, his uncle?
“That’s quite all right.” Polaris inclined his head and turned to Marigold. “Come along.”
She stood and took his arm. “Thanks for the lessons, doctor.”
He gave her a broad grin. “Please return any time you wish.”
As they stepped out of the room, the housekeeper headed toward the front door to guide them out, but Polaris said, “I wish to leave via wing.”
“The roof will give you better privacy than the lawn, then.”
They ascended a creaky, oak staircase. Marigold gazed at the watercolor pictures of dragons adorning the walls, wondering if the doctor had painted them himself. After rounding a landing, they climbed up a narrower set of stairs and passed through a heavy, wooden door.
The sun was well on its way towards the mountains, bathing the surrounding rooftops in a hazy, orange glow. Just like the other roofs she had seen in Sigma, this one was flat and had a wooden coop for swifts.
When the housekeeper closed the roof door behind them, Marigold turned to Polaris. “Why are you going to fly?”
“King Vulcan has insisted that I find his daughter, and he has given me the means to do so. I need to travel north and find a wizard acquaintance to help me with a particular spell.”
“How long will that take?” she asked.
“Hours.”
She stepped back, brows drawn. “But you’re supposed to be dueling your uncle this evening.”
His
face pinched. “I went to the pits to see if I could postpone the duel until tomorrow afternoon. Uncle Hertz didn’t make a formal response to my challenge. If he fails to show himself tomorrow, he will face a coward’s brand.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hopefully, he will lose his office.”
“And the sheriff will release Berrin?”
“That depends on who replaces Uncle.”
Marigold’s lungs constricted. Polaris didn’t seem very sure about a positive outcome for Berrin, and she supposed it was because most officials would be away for Festival Week. And Governor Hertz seemed to have a way of escaping justice. She pictured their uncle prowling around Berrin’s cell in the middle of the night, tormenting him with threats of castration.
“Do you think he’s gone back to Boreas?” she asked.
“It’s unlikely.” Polaris opened his knapsack. “He’s the type to hide somewhere in Austellus, biding his time until he gets the opportunity to capture you. Now that he has forfeited the challenge and failed to nominate a champion, I am free to slaughter him on sight.”
The tightness in Marigold’s chest loosened, and she managed a smile.
Polaris pulled out a brown, leather jacket and a matching pair of breeches. “Put these on over your clothes.”
“What are they for?”
“They’re enchanted for fledgling cadets on maneuvers. No matter how I fly, these leathers will keep you on my back.”
“Oh.” She took the proffered items and put on the jacket first. It was heavy but cool against her skin.
As she pulled on the breeches, Polaris took off his jacket and cravat, baring his prominent pectoral muscles, strong shoulders and tight abdominal muscles. The late afternoon sun made his skin shimmer like bronze. She clenched the leather breeches and paused to gape. No matter how many times she saw either of the brothers naked, she could never get used to their beautiful, sculpted bodies.
“If you keep staring,” he said, amusement lacing his voice, “you’ll have the misfortune of riding an erect dragon.”