Dragon's Fire

by Gwynn White

  “Of course, Lukan.” Kestrel’s hands bunched her black satin dressing gown. “T-they wanted to know about T-tao. Who he was. What he was like.” Her voice faltered.

  “And?” he barked at Kestrel. “What else did they want to know?”

  Kestrel bit her lip, then mumbled, “Why should there be anything else?”

  “Because I know there’s more.”

  Kestrel’s eyes darted around the room. “T-there aren’t cameras in here, are there?”

  Of course there weren’t, but he wasn’t going to tell Kestrel that. “What else did they ask about Tao?”

  Kestrel sank down into a chair. “They think Tao is their father.”

  Lukan’s heart sank, although he knew it was inevitable that they would think that, given that someone—Tao, presumably—had stolen the painting of him, Tao, and Axel from his shelf in the bunker. No doubt that picture was now in his heirs’ possession, even though Morass had searched their apartment for it.

  “I—I told them it wasn’t possible. I told them Tao was dead. I promise, Lukan, I did nothing to inspire this.”

  Lukan paced to the fireplace and rested his elbows on the mantle, his eyes fixed on his reflection in the giant gilded mirror hanging above the hearth.

  Kestrel sighed with relief, probably that he wasn’t blaming her for this mess. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make her pay for flashing her wares at another male—another two males, in fact. Whether he wanted her or not, she belonged to him and no one else.

  He joined her at the nest of chairs in the bay window. Before he sat, he pulled a key out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Open the cabinet and pour me a glass of chenna.”

  Kestrel licked her lips. “There’s chenna in the cabinet?”

  “Touch it without my permission at your peril. Now go.”

  She stumbled to her feet and glided in a daze over to the drinks cabinet. With shaking hands, she unlocked the doors and pulled out a full bottle of chenna. Her eyes burned with thirst as she slopped two fingers of the alcohol into a glass. Her nose twitched as she held the bottle for a second over the second glass.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  She jumped at his voice and fumbled the bottle back into the cabinet. Without locking the door, she walked his glass over to him. She sat stiffly while he took a sip. He rolled the booze around in his mouth and then smiled as Kestrel’s eyes fixed on a spot next to him. Lukan swallowed and then waved the glass in her direction. Her chin trembled as she leaned in closer for a whiff. He pulled the glass back before she could indulge herself.

  “Your sons present me with an interesting challenge.”

  “They are not just my sons. They are yours, too.”

  “You keep believing that, Kestrel.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “Anyway, as I was saying, they challenge me.” He took another sip of chenna as he considered how much to share with her.

  Kestrel shifted in her seat. “Your challenge isn’t going to affect the succession, is it? They are your heirs. Acknowledged in front of the whole court.”

  Lukan laughed derisively. “And your ticket to my bed. I guess you’ll do nothing to jeopardize that.”

  Kestrel’s lip trembled.

  Before she could start crying, Lukan handed her his glass. “Top that up.”

  He watched her walk to the decanter. Although the sway of her hips stirred nothing in him, when this tiresome conversation was over, he would tumble her. A simple act of marking his territory, by dispensing crumbs of affection, he kept her loyal to him.

  Kestrel slopped chenna on the highly polished wood. She wiped it away with her hand and then licked her fingers.

  Lukan crossed the room in a flash. He grabbed her hand away from her mouth. “Oh no. You still have work to do before I let you slip back into a chenna-induced stupor.”

  He took his glass from her and drank deeply while she watched him.

  Face infused with red, she turned away and went back to her seat. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Advise me. You were once sixteen.”

  She looked at him doubtfully. Lukan cursed Felix’s stupid idea, but he was here now. If she were to be of any help, she would need some background to the problem.

  “Grigor’s lonely. He’s desperate for company.”

  “He has Meka.”

  Just the mention of Meka’s name fueled his anger, but he masked it.

  “Hmm . . . there’s that interested mother again. They have not spoken to each other for months. Meka is the very last person in the world Grigor wants to spend time with. Until today, of course. Still, don’t hold your breath that their current suspension of hostilities will last.”

  “You know a lot about them.” A pause. “Cameras, I suppose.” When he didn’t deign to reply, she asked, “And Meka?”

  “Meka is less complicated. His whole existence is tied up in fishing. Nothing else matters. But Meka is the true leader among your two sons—and that is a real problem, seeing as Grigor was declared crown prince at birth.”

  Kestrel worried her lip with her teeth and then asked, naïvely, “Meka has no expectations about the throne, does he? He won’t try and overthrow Grigor when he comes to power, will he?”

  Lukan rolled his eyes. “Kestrel, sometimes I wonder what planet you live on. Have you any idea of how your sons fight?”

  “All siblings fight, Lukan. I fought constantly with my brothers and . . . sister when I was that age.”

  “Physical fights in which you tried to kill each other?”

  “Of course not. I was a girl.”

  “Did your brothers fight like that?” Lukan really needed the answer.

  Back at that age, he and Tao had never fought, but only because Lukan had avoided violence. And Tao spent most of his time with Axel. Lukan didn’t think Tao and his cousin had gotten into physical tussles. But he wasn’t sure.

  “Wolf is a lot older than Clay.” Kestrel stared at him. “Why is all this so important?”

  He needed to present the Sixteen with acceptable heirs to shut them up, at least until he could kill Axel and complete the Burning. But Kestrel didn’t need to know that.

  He replied, “I keep telling you, they haven’t spoken to each other in months. For two boys who never see people their own age, that’s incredible. They obviously hate each other’s guts. And I must trust that there won’t be a power struggle over the throne, with Nicholas waiting in the wings? Not even you can be that stupid.”

  Kestrel picked at the lace on her nightgown. “But Nicholas is neutralized. He won’t even get a shot at the throne. Surely that’s a given.”

  “I can’t kill him. He will always be out there . . . hanging over us. So I can’t risk anything that threatens my succession and, for better or for worse, Grigor is my succession.”

  “But if Meka is better suited to the throne, then it makes sense to give it to him.”

  “Have you been listening? I’ve just said I can’t risk a power struggle between your lousy sons. The Sixteen will not stand for it. I need those idiots to help me run this empire, so I cannot antagonize them by having a shaky succession.” He would not empower her by admitting the Sixteen were already restless.

  “Grigor must know Meka is the true leader. Maybe he would be happy to stand down. Not everyone wants to be emperor, Lukan. Tao didn’t.”

  And he was supposed to draw comfort from that? “You are so naïve. The Avanov dynasty has worked for four hundred years because everyone knows the succession passes to the eldest son by birthright.”

  “Your father managed to pass Felix over for Axel.”

  “I had already been born. So had Tao. It’s not the same thing.” He fingered his scar. “The only way to change the order of succession would be to kill Grigor.” An untenable thought because that would leave Meka in the prime spot.

  Kestrel gasped and surged forward to grab his arm. Chenna slopped all over his clothes, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Kill Grigor? Lukan, you can’t.
He’s my son. Your son.”

  Lukan jumped up, spilling even more chenna on his trousers. “A towel, woman,” he yelled at her. “Don’t just sit there.”

  Kestrel scrambled to her feet and ran to the bathroom. She returned seconds later with a hand towel. He grabbed it from her and mopped the chenna off his clothes.

  “I’m sorry,” Kestrel murmured, wringing her hands.

  He tossed the cloth onto the carpet and sat on her chair, leaving the damp one for her. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes when she sat without complaint. Lynx would have knocked his head off his shoulders if he had pulled a stunt like that on her.

  His scar throbbed with irritation.

  Lynx wasn’t here. She had never been here for him. She had chosen Axel over him. All he had was a counterfeit copy of her in the shape of Kestrel.

  Voice businesslike, he said, “I need to entrench Grigor as crown prince. He’s at an age now when he needs to mix with people who are committed to the Dragon . . . to me. But Meka’s the problem. What the hell do I do with him? Apart from the obvious, terminal answer?”

  Kestrel flinched and glared at him. “Let Meka fish, if that’s what he loves.”

  Lukan wondered if he had heard correctly. “Let him fish?”

  “If his whole life is fishing, then stop thwarting him. Let him go into the forest to fish. He will love you for it.”

  “Are you crazy? Has the chenna rotted your brain that much?”

  “There is no need to be unkind, Lukan. I am trying to help.”

  “Help! How does letting Meka go wondering into the forest on his own help?” Lukan could see exactly how that would play out.

  Tao would get to Meka in the first five minutes. He would spill everything he knew about the Dmitri Curse and Nicholas. Meka would come rushing back, all out of breath, to tell Grigor that Nicholas was the real crown prince. Grigor would accuse Meka of lying, of trying to undermine him in order to steal the throne. That much was obvious. Lukan would react the same way were he in their shoes. Any normal person would. And then he would have war between them.

  A power struggle that will go on until I recapture Lynx. Meka and Grigor could split my high-born, weakening us, making us vulnerable to threats from Nicholas.

  To prevent that, he would have to kill one of them. And then, with his luck, the remaining heir would somehow manage to get himself killed. Sickness. Accident. It didn’t matter. The end would be the same—no succession.

  And because Kestrel, his only mistress who had slept exclusively with him, had never borne any more children, it would leave a power vacuum the Sixteen would exploit. He could even see one of his councilmen trying to grab the throne with him still in it. That, too, would lead to war.

  And all he had wanted was to gas the lot of them. Clean. Neat. Economical. It would solve everything.

  “—Meka a part of things.”

  He realized Kestrel was talking. Moreover, he was surprised to see a spark of reason in her eyes. “What did you say?”

  “If you are worried about Meka, let both of them fish in the forest. They can keep an eye on each other. They will definitely keep each other in check if they hate each other as much as you claim. And let them both have access to the other teens. Meka may surprise you if you let him be part of things. He could find a girl he fancies. A boy in love could learn to see value in the Dragon—if he benefits from it.”

  Lukan rolled her idea around. But as much as tried to spin the plan, it didn’t solve the problem of Tao speaking to them about Dmitri. Then again, as Felix had pointed out, if Tao wanted to speak to his heirs, nothing Lukan did was going to stop it. And if Grigor were treated like a real crown prince, maybe he would be less amenable to a curse that robbed him of the greatest throne the world had ever seen.

  It was risky, but then everything was a gamble. If it worked, the Sixteen would finally stop harassing him about competent heirs. And if it didn’t . . . Well, he’d resort to more drastic means. Kestrel had actually presented a reasonable solution, as farfetched as the notion had seemed.

  He stood. “You should thank me for cutting off the chenna supplies.”

  “And why would that be?” Kestrel asked stiffly.

  “Your powers of reason—such as they were—have returned.” Ignoring the hurt in her eyes, Lukan pulled her up to stand against his chest. “And if your plan doesn’t work, I can separate them permanently with a clean conscience.”

  Commanding Morass to kill Meka filled him with a strange sense of satisfaction, one he couldn’t quite understand. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that.

  Kestrel needed her reward. He slid her gown off her shoulders and coaxed away the lace covering her breast with his tongue.

  Chapter 32

  Tao slipped behind Meka and Grigor as they made their way back to their apartment. As angry as he was with his estranged wife, his brother’s soulmate, and her comments about him, he was even more concerned about Meka.

  It was untenable that his son should think him so uncaring that he would choose Nicholas over him and his brother. It was time to tell his sons exactly who—and what—he was.

  As soon as they reached the boys’ bedchamber, Tao bent the light to stop the cameras recording this conversation.

  Face pale with worry, Grigor said to Meka, “That probably wasn’t the brightest thing we’ve ever done. I wonder how many more guardsmen are going to die?”

  In truth, his dark-haired boy didn’t want to talk, or think, about Lukan killing anyone. Not when he still had nightmares from the last two people Lukan had murdered. It had taken every ounce of Grigor’s inner strength to support Meka through that ordeal. He didn’t think he had it in him to live through something like that again. Tao resolved there and then that his son would never have to go through such horror again. Not if he could do anything about it.

  It worried Tao when Meka didn’t reply. The boy merely nodded and made his way to his bed. Meka sat and swore, a colorful collection of words that, under any other circumstance, might have amused Tao. Not given much to swearing, he always enjoyed listening to the beauties Meka came out with.

  But not today.

  Of the two boys, he was most concerned about telling Meka that he was a resurrected dead person. Grigor already suspected that his father was different, but Meka refused to even entertain such a possibility.

  It made Tao cautious.

  So instead of revealing himself to them, he settled on his usual spot on the window sill to listen to them talk. Perhaps Meka would give him some clues on how best to handle this challenge.

  So wrapped in his worries about the meeting with Lukan, Grigor barely noticed his brother’s expletives. He paced across the clothes-strewn floor. “We have to come up with a plan to explain why we were there.”

  No answer from Meka.

  Grigor stopped his pacing. “I’m talking to you. What do think about Kestrel? And what do we do about Lukan?”

  Meka glowered at Grigor, but Tao knew his fury wasn’t aimed at his brother. “The witch lied. About so much. Tao could not have been in Kartania and in the forest fishing with Nicholas. And as for the stuff about him being dead. Well, that’s just stupid.”

  At this confirmation of Meka’s determination to be blind to the truth, Tao’s worry spiked.

  Grigor sat on the bed next to Meka. “I’m not so sure she was lying about him being dead.”

  “Tell me I imagined you said that.”

  Grigor’s body trembled with pent-up emotion. “Think about it, Meks. He comes and goes without anyone seeing him—except us. We can vanish from the lake for hours, and no one knows. And that falcon . . . how could it have not lacerated his arm? He has to be dead.”

  Meka’s jaw dropped, and he made a show of gawking at Grigor.

  Grigor broke eye contact. But even as he fiddled with a piece of lint unraveling from his sleeve, he knew he could not let this go. To Grigor, if he and Meka were to plan any kind of defense against Lukan, they needed as many facts a
s they could gather. If Tao was dead, that was the biggest fact of all. Why would a dead man visit them?

  Surely not just because he was their father, Grigor reasoned.

  His son knew there was something else at play here. A bigger reason that could, perhaps, explain why Lukan had kept him and Meka prisoner for so many years.

  Tao thrilled that Grigor had gotten that far in unveiling this mystery. Now, if only his dark-haired boy could persuade Meka of those truths and possibilities, it would make things so much simpler—and risk free—for Tao. It was not lost on him that Meka could reject him once he learned the truth.

  That would break Tao’s unbeating heart.

  Head canted, Grigor asked, “Then what’s your theory on how he gets around? How he got us around? Past guardsmen? Across drawbridges? All that stuff?”

  Meka gave one of his infuriating shrugs. “I haven’t a clue.” Looking uncomfortable with the topic, he rose and walked to his desk in the sitting area outside the bedchamber. “I have work to do.”

  The boys had an essay on the expansion of the empire under Emperor Thurban III due tomorrow. Grigor had completed his already, but Meka hadn’t made much headway. Tao hoped his son didn’t use that as a reason to deflect this conversation.

  He and Grigor followed Meka. Tao headed straight for the bookshelf and leaned against it. The boys’ guardsmen stood to attention in the room. Tao sighed at their presence and then curved the light and sound waves to stop them seeing and hearing the boys. So skilled had he become at interfering with matter, that none of them noticed.

  Grigor briefly stopped to swing on the doorframe between the two rooms. He landed lightly next to Meka’s desk. “So that’s it? You’re just going to act like nothing happened? Meanwhile Lukan could be plotting to murder someone to punish us.”

  Meka looked pointedly at the guardsmen watching them.

  Grigor waved his hand disparagingly. “I kept my mouth shut for months because of them. I’m not doing it again.”

  “That was why you didn’t talk to me after I . . . got myself sorted out?”

  “Why else? You know I need your company.”