He hated to admit she was right. The basilisk continued to scream, its roars deafeningly close, but it wouldn’t last much longer. Its legs had to have been crushed in the fall; otherwise it would have already been trying to clamber up. The people would lose their guardian, one way or another.
“If you’re not going to kill it,” Hyperia said, “then stand aside. It would be nice to end this challenge before nightfall.”
Hyperia turned when the voices began shouting. Lucian’s stomach dropped as dozens of men, women, and children emerged from the trees.
One of them, the little boy with golden hair who’d given Emilia that vial of tears, threw himself into the dirt at Hyperia’s feet. While the basilisk bellowed in pain, the boy spoke quickly in that tongue Lucian couldn’t understand.
But he could read the terror in the boy’s eyes all too well.
Please don’t, the boy’s eyes begged. Don’t kill it.
Once again, Lucian had been sent to crush a group of people who had never hurt him.
How could he reason with Hyperia?
How could he suppress that hard voice that told him to screw reasoning, to wrestle the spear from her and kill the damn thing himself? To win. The old way of thinking, black or white, win or lose. Nothing in between. The crown or the Cut.
Lucian shuddered.
The Volscia girl turned to speak, but her face paled in seeming horror.
“No!” she screamed, and charged past him. Lucian turned to find Emilia, crouched before the basilisk’s remaining good eye with her shield held up. Trapped, the beast had caught sight of itself in the reflective surface and was screaming. It’d been poisoned.
Brilliant. But before Emilia could move to claim her prize, Hyperia was upon her. The Volscia girl leapt, striking her foot against Emilia’s shield and propelling the other girl down. With a spinning twist, Hyperia flung her spear and lodged it perfectly in the center of the basilisk’s remaining eye. Ensconced deep in the monster’s socket, her spear jiggered back and forth like a baton conducting a mad tune. The now-blind monstrosity whipped its head about, screeching in agony.
Lucian’s focus instantly shifted to Emilia, who lay on the ground. He ran for her as Hyperia yanked the spear out, vitreous fluid flying, then turned fast with a slice of her blade. Hissing drops of acid rained to the earth. The basilisk went silent and slipped apart at the neck. The head thumped on the earth, and the body disappeared into the sea below.
Lucian knelt by Emilia’s side. Her face was pale with surprise, but she held up a hand.
“I’m all right. She stunned me, that’s all,” the girl whispered.
Together, they watched Hyperia pull a shimmering bag from her satchel. Using the tip of her spear, she nudged the head inside. Lucian watched, unwilling to move. The damage had been done, and she had the right of conquest.
Hyperia winced, and only then did he notice the bloody, teardrop-shaped boil on her left forearm. The acid had splashed her.
The little boy ran up to Hyperia, fists bunched at his sides while he howled in her face. She shoved the child back.
“As citizens of the empire, I have liberated you from this terror.” She nodded. “You’re welcome.”
Her blue eyes narrowed as she cleaned and sheathed her blade. Hyperia hoisted the bag containing the basilisk’s head to her shoulder, put her fingers to her mouth, and gave a shrill whistle. Within seconds, Aufidius appeared with a flap of his colossal wings and soared down to hover near the cliff’s edge. Hyperia stepped onto his wing and ran to the saddle before rising into the sky. Lucian looked back at the people, a knotted congregation of grief.
I should have protected you, he thought bitterly.
“I almost had it,” Emilia murmured. He placed an arm around her. She flinched but then relaxed into his grasp.
“Let’s go back,” he replied. Helping her to stand, the two walked into the forest to collect their dragons. As they went, they passed through the weeping crowd of islanders. Lucian watched them standing in a row, gazing into the sea to mourn their guardian.
Grim, he turned his eyes away. Useless beast, he thought with disdain. He did not mean the basilisk.
Ajax was pretty sure he’d stopped breathing at some point. Waking in his bed felt like a miracle. Groaning, he sat up. His tongue felt thick, and he had a taste like rotted fish at the back of his throat. He fumbled with the blankets and staggered to the table in the center of his rotunda for a glass of water. Drinking, he squinted as Dog poked his nose through one of the dividing curtains, whining as Ajax shuffled over.
“You get me back here?” he croaked, rubbing the dragon’s nose. Dog panted, letting his forked tongue loll from the side of his mouth. Ajax had spent weeks training him to do that. He’d wanted Dog to be more doglike. “You’re a good boy.”
“It wasn’t just him.” Vespir appeared in his room, shoving back a curtain. Ajax realized he wasn’t wearing any trousers, only loose cotton undergarments. Ah well. He didn’t think he was Vespir’s type, anyway. The servant girl turned her face away while he lurched back into bed. It felt like a squadron of heavy-booted foot soldiers was stomp-dancing around his skull. “I tied you to the saddle.”
“Yeah, I remember,” he grunted, plumping his pillows before lying back. He decided he’d vomit later. Ajax thought she’d leave, but Vespir continued to stare at him. “So…you want a hug?”
“Aren’t you at all curious why you’re still alive?”
“Um. The priests did magic to make me better?”
“Lady Emilia brought an antidote back with her from the island. If she hadn’t, you’d be dead now.”
“Okay. Please tell Lady Emilia she’s no longer my fourth choice for a partner,” he muttered, and rolled over. Pain screamed against the left side of his body. It was the kind of pain that invited more pain over for a party and then upset the neighbors by playing loud music late into the night while drinking all your wine. “Mind telling me who won?” He winced. Talking was too intense right now.
“Lady Hyperia.”
As if the day hadn’t gone shitty enough. Groaning, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. A minute passed.
“You’re still here for some reason.”
“Lady Hyperia…Did you say something to her?” Vespir sounded hesitant. Though it was agony, Ajax propped himself onto his elbows.
“She finally admitted she craves me?” he drawled.
“She suggested we let you die. She said that anyone stupid enough to get poisoned by a basilisk’s gaze is not fit to be emperor.” Vespir frowned. “She also said you lacked honor.”
Ajax bet he knew why this meek little dragon shit-scraper felt free to be this blunt with him. With the others, it was all Lord Lucian and Lady Hyperia, but with him? This common-born girl was legitimate. Even she had the privilege of looking down on him. Ajax let the anger fuel him.
“Palling around with Lady Hyperia? You’re getting the hang of the highborn life pretty fast.” He sneered. “I knew you had some Pentri blood in you. You and your sister must be close.”
Vespir rolled her eyes, and Ajax felt cheap, which only soured him more. “Fine. Don’t listen to me.” She sounded exasperated now. “But Lady Hyperia…” She worried her lip. “Be careful.”
“Oh, she’s just jealous of me. She’s only human.” He sat up further, his skull practically melting as he did so. “Thanks for the assist, but I don’t need a shitty attempt at friendship.”
She looked at him with pity—he’d have preferred disgust. “Don’t push her. I don’t think anyone wants to see her angry.”
With that, Vespir left him alone, and Dog retreated from the curtain, granting Ajax his privacy. He lay back in the bed, working his jaw. Fine. He hadn’t won this challenge, but there were three more to come. The tasks couldn’t all involve hunting mythical beasts he’d never heard of
before. If he remembered correctly, next up was the Game. Well, he liked games. Besides, it wasn’t his fault he knew so little about weird creatures. When they were six or so, all the Tiber bastards got piled into one dank room with one dim tutor and handed a haphazard education. Ajax could read and write—his spelling was terrible—and he knew some basic strokes of history. Beyond that, he’d sharpened his wits outside the castle’s corridors.
He’d made a mistake. He could admit it. He’d gotten cocky. It wouldn’t happen again.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he found a strange woman standing over his bed. Ajax bolted upright, swearing softly.
“Hey. Ah. Who’re you?” he asked. She was a stranger, yet oddly familiar. The woman remained mute, her green eyes watery and bloodshot. A smattering of acne traced the corners of her mouth. Her dirty-blond hair lay lank against her face. Her nails were bitten to the nub, her fingers raw. She had a washerwoman’s hands. And the way she regarded him, with those eyes that seemed so familiar—
Ajax’s whole body went cold. He tried to speak, but she turned and vanished through the curtains. He struggled to accept what he’d just seen. It couldn’t be real. There was no way she could be here. He’d thought the two of them looked similar, him and her, that was all. It was the poison making him delirious—
Someone screamed outside his room. A woman.
He fell out of bed and crawled through the curtains, bile choking him. On the path ahead, the one that led to the sea, there was…it was…
A pile of linens strewn on the ground.
Lord Tiber had surprised her while she was carrying them.
She screamed as he held her down.
No one came to help, despite how heavily trafficked the castle halls were at midday. People expected this.
Ajax had been just six years old when he’d heard another woman’s screams and come running. When he’d shoved at Lord Tiber, the old cancerous toad, and told him to stop hurting the girl. Like it was a game that had gotten too rough.
He’d been dragged off by a servant, chastised with a branch. The girl kept screaming. Nine months later, Ajax had a new brother.
Now he stood, helpless, as a woman with his eyes and hair and crooked nose wailed—
“Stop it!” He pitched forward onto his knees, his temples throbbing. He heaved and spit bile onto the ground.
They were gone when he looked up. Vanished. It hadn’t been real.
It’s not real. It’s the poison, he said to himself. This wasn’t how emperors behaved. Emperors didn’t act like bastards conceived with a horrific scream on a dirty floor.
No. Emperors were above all of that.
So if the others wanted to look down on him, pity him, they’d pay for it.
Stifling a sob, he stumbled back to his bed and yelled at Dog not to bother him.
Vespir stood silent outside the temple, waiting in a line with the others for the priests to appear. The summer air had cooled, and the columns’ shadows stretched long and blue across the courtyard. The four, minus Ajax, were all dressed in outfits they’d found waiting for them upon their return. Vespir had breathed out in relief when she discovered a pair of trousers in forest-green velvet, along with a moss-colored doublet and cloak. At least the acolytes hadn’t tried to fancy her up alongside the other two girls. Vespir had never enjoyed dresses. They got in the way of her work.
The sun settled on the horizon, casting them all in a reddish glow, when the doors boomed open and the priests descended the steps. Everyone straightened. Camilla walked ahead of Petros, carrying something golden in her hands.
“The first challenge is complete.” The priestess’s voice reminded Vespir of an antique bronze gong in the Pentri family’s collection. “The Hunt tests the imperial merits of courage, strength, and physical skill. A true emperor must embody the warlike qualities of a dragon. Hyperia of the Volscia.” The priestess extended her arms, proffering the golden gift. “This sword is yours, to use with pride.”
Hyperia ascended the steps and collected her token. She strapped the gilded sword to her waist. There was no gloating as she surveyed the losers. Hyperia merely bowed to the priests and went right back to stand in line. Vespir watched with some tinge of admiration. Say what you would about Hyperia, but she behaved with dignity.
She was also a murderer, but you couldn’t have everything.
Hyperia stared ahead, lost in her own thoughts. Emilia stood on her toes to whisper something in Lucian’s ear. Vespir looked at her boots, trying not to let resentment get its teeth in her. Those two had clearly formed some kind of alliance. Hyperia needed no one but herself. Despite how stupid it was, Vespir had hoped she and Ajax might be on the path to, well, something. They were the lowborn, after all.
But here she was, trapped with nobles who either didn’t notice her or hated her on principle, with challenges she could never win and Karina’s life in her incompetent hands. Vespir winced. Idiot. Idiot! Why was she still bowing to these people, who took all that politeness as their due? Why did she care about the “right” way to do things anymore?
The world had turned its back on right and on her.
“Now,” Petros said, his voice far less sonorous than Camilla’s. “As for the other four, listed in descending order: Emilia of the Aurun in second place; Lucian of the Sabel in third; Ajax—”
“What?” Lucian and Hyperia both said it at the same time. Vespir’s head whipped up.
“As we told you already,” Petros said, sounding massively irritated, “every action matters in this Trial. How you conduct yourself is important.”
“Were you…watching us?” Emilia’s voice hitched.
“We do not choose. The Dragon does.” So was the Dragon Himself watching them? Even to Vespir, that seemed impossible. Petros gave an exasperated sigh. “We didn’t have to explain in such excruciating detail during the last Trial.”
Last time, all the right people were called, Vespir thought. Her heart pounded as she realized that the priests had named Ajax fourth. If so, that meant she was…
“And Vespir of the Pentri takes fifth place,” Petros concluded, voicing her fears. Vespir swallowed.
“Why is she fifth?” Hyperia sounded confused. “She didn’t get herself poisoned, like that Tiber fool.”
“Because she tried to run,” Camilla replied, her tone icy. “Isn’t that so, Vespir?”
They saw. I don’t know how, but they saw. Vespir shut her eyes, fighting a wave of nausea. She couldn’t do a damn thing right.
With a sniff, the priestess extended her arm, the orange satin of her robe blazing in the sunset. “There is one other thing. The victor takes a trophy, while the loser—in this case, Vespir of the Pentri—must submit to a penalty.” The woman gave a bloodless smile. “Of the high priests’ devising.”
Of course a penalty. Vespir looked up at the priests, and this time she let herself meet their eyes. It was as unnatural as breathing underwater, but she fought the impulse to hide.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m not a Pentri. I served them, but I’m not one of them.”
Camilla did not flinch. “Fine. Then Vespir, servant of the Pentri, prepare yourself for punishment.”
That had always been the way. Vespir played by their rules and was dragged around by the nose because of it. The one time she disobeyed, justice fell hard on her. Meanwhile, people like Hyperia could murder their own sisters and catch a reward.
“I’ve never heard of something like this,” Emilia declared.
“You cannot learn everything from books,” Camilla replied, and walked down the steps. She halted before Vespir—the older woman was a few inches shorter, and Vespir took some small pleasure in making the priestess look up at her. “Now. You tried to run out of cowardice, the most shameless characteristic. To atone, you will face fear headlong.”
“H
ow?” Vespir muttered, trying not to curse at the woman. Even a servant could only be pushed so far.
“Hyperia. Take your new sword and fight Vespir in armed combat. The first blood drawn is the winner.” Camilla stepped aside, just like that.
Vespir considered sprinting away, like a rabbit when it’s caught a fox’s eye. Hyperia had killed her own sister and worn the girl’s blood to dinner. There could be no shred of mercy in such a person.
“What?” Hyperia sounded incredulous. Then, “That’s not sporting.” She turned to Vespir. “Have you ever held a sword?”
It took a minute to find her tongue. “I’ve used slings to keep rats away from our house.”
“It’s dishonorable,” Hyperia said to the priests. She sounded horrified.
“No.” Camilla stood beside Petros on the top step, wearing a wry smile. “Disobedience is dishonorable. Well, Hyperia?”
Of course, there was no arguing with that. Vespir heard muffled arguments from the other two, particularly Lucian, but she simply went through the motions. If she dropped her sword right away, maybe Hyperia would only graze her with the blade. Her legs trembled, her arms were leaden at her side as an acolyte appeared and offered a sword. It was heavier than Vespir had thought, and the grip slipped out of her hand. The blade clattered against the ground. Everyone watched with evident sympathy as Vespir fumbled for it. She stuck her legs at hip width apart and held up her sword. The blade wavered, tipping back and nearly slicing her nose. She trembled, which didn’t help. Hyperia snorted in disgust.
“Pitiful,” she murmured. Her evident sorrow for Vespir—and dismay on her own behalf—nearly sent the servant girl over the edge. Blinking back tears, she looked at the priests. Emilia and Lucian were deep in discussion about something. Probably congratulating themselves on escaping this.
“Ready?” Petros called. Vespir planted herself, and gazed past the edge of her blade at Hyperia. Fine. In a few days, she’d be dead and gone. None of this mattered, anyway.
But Karina…
House of Dragons Page 12