House of Dragons

by Jessica Cluess

  As the priest lifted his hand to signal the start, Lucian stepped between the two girls. Vespir almost dropped her sword.

  “What are you doing?” Camilla asked.

  “I have an offer.” Lucian looked Vespir in the eyes. “Let me fight Hyperia instead.”

  It had been Emilia’s idea, and it was brilliant.

  Hopefully, this would work.

  “The rules say that the priests punish the competitor in last place. Is there anything to stop me from volunteering to trade positions?” Lucian asked. To their silence, he added, “I didn’t even bring weapons to the island, and I actively tried to stop Hyperia from killing the monster. Isn’t that dishonorable?”

  “True,” Hyperia muttered.

  “We do not choose. The Dragon does,” Petros said. Apparently, he was going to stick to the few lines he’d spent his life memorizing.

  “But is there any rule outlined that says such a thing can’t happen?” Lucian looked at Emilia, who nodded in encouragement. “If how we choose to conduct ourselves matters, isn’t this also a choice? Doesn’t it count?”

  I’m hoping it’s without precedent, Emilia had whispered. If this has already been tried, it may not work.

  “You do realize that you’re offering to be counted fifth in this challenge?” Petros said slowly. “You wouldn’t merely take Vespir’s penalty. You would assume her score and her ranking as well.”

  Emilia winced. She’d warned him, but hearing the priest say it felt more final.

  Lucian had been prepared for this. He’d decided to play this game in order to bring peace to the empire, or at the very least keep Hyperia from ruling everything. He couldn’t do that if he deliberately lowered his own score.

  But Vespir…People like her suffered enough under the high lords’ whims. It wouldn’t work to play the game like they wanted—to be cutthroat and devious in order to gain the throne—and only after he’d won become good. Life didn’t work that way.

  Lucian was going to win his way, even if it meant losing tonight.

  “I understand.” He looked up at them. “All right?”

  Camilla and Petros conferred very briefly. She nodded, he shrugged.

  “Take up your sword, Lord Lucian,” Camilla said.

  “So…I’m in third now?” Vespir croaked. She picked up the sword and offered it to Lucian, but he shook his head.

  “I’m not going to fight back.” Never again. He would win his way. All of it, his way.

  Hyperia snorted. “Oh, spare us your nobility.”

  Vespir took her place beside Emilia. The Aurun girl, peeking out from behind that tangle of red hair, gave a small smile of encouragement. That one smile calmed him, focused his senses. Yes.

  He would force these people to witness their own cruelty.

  When I’m emperor, I will show them. I will.

  Lucian faced Hyperia, hands relaxed at his sides. The girl quickly pulled back her golden hair into a rudimentary bun.

  Prepared, she crouched into a fighting stance. For a time she stood there, merely looking at him. Sunset glimmered on her blade.

  Then she came.

  Her form was exquisite; a high, well-practiced cut. Her sword didn’t just swing; it sang. The air hissed with steel.

  Lucian watched the blade descend, closer and closer. At the last possible second—the perfect one—he leaned back. The blade missed him by inches.

  Then he was moving, too. He rolled across the ground, and quick as that, he was behind Hyperia.

  She whipped around, ready to strike again. She shifted her weight, her eyes scanning him for weaknesses.

  “Nicely done,” she said. “I thought you said you wouldn’t fight.”

  “I’m not fighting. I’m just not letting you hit me.”

  To his surprise, she appeared pleased.

  “Ah,” she said, and attacked once more.

  She was phenomenal; he had to admit it. She knew every technique Lucian himself had studied, from the Masarian two-handed lunge to the Karthagon plow stance. A warrior goddess in the flesh.

  And she was relentless. It wasn’t long before Lucian’s muscles burned and sweat slicked his chest. He felt the blood thudding in his veins, and his breath came in short gasps. He leapt through the air, dropped to the ground, and sprang to his feet an instant later. Her blade whipped with such grace and speed it was nearly invisible, but he managed to keep away. She was fast, but he was faster.

  Hyperia had been forged in fire, her skills honed under the most elite trainers Volscia gold could procure. She had been melted down, her essence beaten and shaped until she herself became a perfect, golden weapon.

  But a weapon set on a silken pillow, housed under a glass case.

  Lucian had been forged in the fire of battle and learned his lessons in blood.

  As the fight continued, Hyperia roared. Her face flushed; sweat beaded on her brow. She lunged, only to snarl in anger when Lucian deflected once again.

  “How dare you!” she shouted.

  Good, he thought. Again and again she lunged, her strokes growing messier, erratic. He jumped. He rolled. He ducked. With every defiant move, he drove her on to anger. The girl bared her teeth, a wild light crackling in her gaze.

  Lucian wondered if he’d pushed her too far. Something dark peered out at him from behind those blue eyes.

  Hyperia screamed and ran forward. When Lucian turned to the left, she surprised him: her blade was waiting. She had managed to trick him—trick him with lightning speed.

  Lucian grunted as the sword entered his stomach. His eyes widened in agony.

  “Lucian!” Emilia screamed.

  He felt the earth tremble beneath his feet, a bit like when the basilisk had fallen. Another earthquake? he thought stupidly. But no, the tremors stopped at once, and the sword left his body. Blood warmed and wetted his clothes.

  Too much blood. And far too fast.

  “Oh.” He tasted copper on his lips. “That’s what it’s like.”

  When he fell, he scarcely felt his head strike the ground. He simply gazed up at the twilight sky, the stars beginning to show themselves.

  Numb, he watched Petros crouch over him, felt the priest’s hand on his stomach. Lucian closed his eyes…

  And opened them. Huh. He’d been sure he’d never do that again.

  “You’re all right now,” Petros muttered.

  Lucian sat up, wincing a little. His stomach was sore, and he touched where the blade had gone in. Eyes widening, he poked around at the slit in his clothes, where the cloth was torn and blood was heavy on the fabric. But the skin underneath…

  “There’s no wound,” Lucian muttered. Then he closed his eyes. “Of course. Binding.” The orderly magic of uniting things, including flesh and innards.

  “Hyperia. That was…more forceful than we were expecting,” the priest drawled as he stood, brushing off his knees. He made a pained expression, rubbing at his hand as though it were tender. Camilla came over to inspect it and confer with Petros, looking mildly worried. Perhaps such an intricate mending required a great deal of energy. Meanwhile, Hyperia sheathed her sword and stormed over, gripping Lucian by his shirtfront.

  Lucian allowed the Volscia girl to bring her face near to his. Her teeth were clenched, her eyes tight with rage.

  “How dare you!” she snarled.

  “Excuse me?” he began, but she threw him backward with a cry.

  “How dare you not fight?” She breathed harshly, her nostrils flaring. “You’re incredible. You monster!” She clenched her fists. “How dare you not use such a beautiful talent?”

  Stunned, Lucian lay sprawled on the ground while Hyperia left them all, stalking down the path and into the near darkness.

  “First blood has been drawn,” Camilla said, stopping overhead to regard him. “
Everyone should return to your rooms. We leave tomorrow for the next challenge, and it will be something of a flight.”

  The priests strolled away with that, leaving Lucian on the ground. After they’d gone, Emilia rushed to kneel beside him, inspecting where Hyperia had stabbed. Vespir followed at a slower pace.

  “Petros is an ass.” Emilia frowned.

  “He saved my life.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t mend your clothing.” She tsked. “That slit’s still there.”

  Something about the way she said it made Lucian laugh. He slumped back onto the ground, spread his arms to either side, and laughed so hard that the deep pain of his mended stomach announced itself. Groaning, he placed his hands on the sensitive spot. Vespir crouched.

  “I think,” she said slowly, “that you’re out of your mind.”

  He arched a brow. “No ‘my lord’?” Vespir flinched, but Lucian’s smile calmed her. “Sorry. Kidding.”

  “Yeah.” Vespir grinned, the first honest grin he’d seen from her. “You’re not funny, either.”

  “I never said I was.”

  The girl scratched the back of her head, rumpling her short, black hair. “Thank you.”

  “How’s your stomach?” Emilia had backed away from them. Apparently, she liked her distance.

  “Sore, though that’s better than bleeding.”

  “What you need is a tisane,” she said. To their blank looks, she added, “An herbal infusion. Like tea.”

  “Sounds…appetizing.” He raised his hand. Vespir regarded it warily, like it’d bite. “Help me up?”

  She smiled again.

  “Okay,” she said, and clasped hands with him.

  * * *

  “So you served my aunt and uncle?” Lucian said, when it was just him and Vespir alone in his rotunda. Emilia had gone to find herbs for the tisane. That left the servant girl, now hanging out at the edge of the room and a heartbeat away from running. The warmth of their shared after-battle moment had started to dissipate. She always kept her eyes trained to the ground, though Lucian thought it might be more out of habit than fear at this point.

  “The Pentri are your family, too?” She glanced up in surprise. “I thought the nobles kept separate.”

  “They do.” Each of the five great Houses governed an assortment of lesser noble families in their own territories and generally chose spouses from among them. Preserving the “authenticity” of the bloodlines was key to the lords and ladies of Etrusia. “But Lady Pentri’s sister was my mother.” Lucian knelt on the tiled floor and pulled his shirt up over his head. As he wet a cloth and wiped away the dried blood at his gut, he continued. “My parents met during one of the congregations in Dragonspire. They fell so madly in love that my mother left her inheritance and ran away to Karthago.”

  The great love of my life, that’s what his father had called his mother. Livia of the Pentri became Livia Sabel, and Lucian could not recall a moment in his early childhood when his parents were not together. They’d overseen trade agreements together, ridden together, laughed together over supper. Every look between them had been soft with love.

  Love ruled the Sabel men.

  Apparently, it missed a generation, he thought.

  “So Anton—Lady Antonia’s your cousin.” Vespir sat beside him, seemingly excited with the idea. She studied him now as if searching for the Pentri girl. “Oh, I see it. Your eyes, there’s something about the shape. And your jawline.”

  “You miss her?” he asked softly. Vespir sighed. “It’s fine if you do.”

  “I…Yes.” Vespir pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them. “She’s so damn perfect, anyone would.”

  Perfect. Lucian winced. He’d given up on the idea of perfection.

  “How long have you two been—?”

  “It only really started a few days ago. But I’ve loved her since I was twelve.” Vespir answered instantly and without fear. Then her face reddened.

  “I think that’s good,” he said.

  “Oh.” A small smile. “Great.” She picked at the tassel on a cushion so that she didn’t have to look him in the eye. “She’s not like her parents at all. She doesn’t care about servants having to look down. Antonia wanted to change the Ikrayina territories, make things easier between the nobility and the common people. Give the people more land for themselves. She said she would if she became Lady Pentri. Maybe it’s better that she didn’t get called after all.” The girl looked to the ceiling, the softness of a smile tracing her lips. “Now she can change things.”

  Lucian wished he could worship anything or anybody the way this girl did.

  “That’s good,” he said again. Vespir scratched her cheek, her gaze darting here and there.

  “Can I ask you something?” She finally looked up. “How’d you get all these scars?”

  Lucian started to answer, but a footstep silenced him. Emilia was watching the pair of them, the curtain pushed aside. Her hands were filled with yellow and purple flowers and bits of green. Her lips formed a perfect O of surprise, her eyes fixed squarely on Lucian. Or rather, on his bare upper body.

  “Sorry,” she squeaked.

  Flushing, Lucian grabbed a fresh shirt and yanked it on. “Sorry, I was cleaning up.”

  “No, no. Your torso is very robust and…symmetrical. You should be proud,” she said, and hurried to dump the herbs on his table. She began crushing a few yellow flowers and some curled leaves; were her hands shaking? Done, she dropped the herbs into the pot of hot water they’d requested from an acolyte and readied an empty cup. While she worked, she spoke rapid fire. “The flowers are viterian, which helps with inflammation. The buds themselves are harmless, but the powdered root can have a soporific effect. Though I’m sure you’re too large to knock out easily. Hah. The leaves are simple lemon balm; they grow in abundance, like mint. I’m sure this will taste very nice. You’ll enjoy it.” Quickly, Emilia poured the tisane and offered the steaming cup with her head bent down. She was doing everything in her power not to look at him.

  “Er, thanks.” Lucian took the cup from her. “Why not sit? Vespir and I—”

  Emilia shook her head. Her wild red hair concealed her face. He wished he could brush it aside and see her expression.

  “Sorry, I forgot something back in my room.” With that, she sprinted into the night. Exchanging a bewildered glance with Vespir, Lucian set the cup down and looked after the fleeing girl.

  “Emilia?” he called.

  Emilia hadn’t meant to stand outside the rotunda listening to the pair talk. She’d found her way back in the darkness, the herbs clutched in her hands and the chaos stabilized in her soul. I’m getting better, she’d thought as she came upon Lucian’s pavilion. But the rise and fall of their voices had stopped her. Not even what they were talking about; just the sound.

  The murmur of people her own age chatting was as alien as the language the islanders had spoken today.

  Emilia had been happy just to listen. Then, when she pulled the curtain aside, she’d been faced with Lucian.

  And his defined pectorals.

  The abdominals, too.

  And all of those scars.

  The sight had been like settling into a luxurious bath and having ice water thrown in your face. Emilia had never imagined the damage that battle could inflict on a living human body.

  Lucian sat there with those marks on his body, and Vespir talked about her love for Antonia. Emilia looked at two people who had seen things, done things. Who had loved, and regretted. Emilia had no marks on her body or people she loved outside of her family.

  Her life was a blank, clean void.

  That realization spiked agony through her soul.

  The pain shredded her thoughts as she hurried to make the damn tisane and escape back into the night. Now she trotted down the path,
skirts clutched to avoid stumbling. Soon, she came to the edge of the island where the waves sighed over the rocks below. She sat, dangling her feet. To her surprise and delight, the rocks glimmered light blue, clearly defined against the dark water.

  Bioluminescent algae.

  The thought dulled her awe at once. Every amazing thing in this world had a simple explanation, one that leached away wonder. Emilia could explain everything.

  Her headache tightened, and she closed her eyes.

  This pain had kept her prisoner for five years. It had denied her kisses and battles alike. If only she didn’t have this darkness crawling around inside of her, growing in the fissures of her brain like a fungus. If only she could be normal.

  It was all the Chaos House’s fault.

  Once, this empire had been a loose collection of separate, friendly kingdoms. Once, six Houses had governed those kingdoms: the Aurun, the Sabel, the Pentri, the Tiber, the Volscia…and the Oretani.

  Once, two schools of magic had existed in the world: order and chaos. The orderlies maintained their temple at Delphos with its sleek white marble pillars and cultivated gardens. The chaotics housed themselves in great halls of crystal on the edge of the wild sea, dwelling in Catalenia, the far western territory.

  The territory ruled by Lord Cassius Oretani.

  While orderlies studied how to put shattered glass back together or how to freeze a butterfly on the wing, chaotics delved into the far reaches of destruction. How to bring fire from air. How to melt flesh and blood. How to destroy a mountain with a wink and a thought.

  Lord Oretani had come to believe that chaos was superior to order, and that the world could benefit from its bloody teachings. He and his chaotic magosi had searched the dark heart of chaos and returned from their journey…different. More than human. Beautiful, ageless, brilliant, passionate. Cruel beyond measure.

  The Chaos House, as Oretani called it, soon believed that all should join in chaos’s glory.

  Join, or die.

  And so the war began, the war between chaos and order, evil and good. The war that saw the Great Dragon, the only dragon in history who could speak the tongue of man, join with the five houses to stop Oretani. As one, they beat back chaos, confining Oretani and his followers to Catalenia. There, the orderlies froze chaos forever, trapped the monsters in stasis like insects in amber.