by JD Monroe
“Hello, miss,” he said. “I’ve come to visit with Captain Navan.”
She held up her hand in a wait gesture, then retreated into the room. After a moment of quiet conversation, Navan himself came to the door to greet him. The other man was barely older than him, with dark skin that gleamed under the candlelight and close-cropped dark hair. He was still dressing, with one ceremonial bracer strapped on and his other arm bare. As he walked to the door, a young male servant was chasing him with the other bracer, looking harried as he tried to catch Navan’s hand to put on the armor.
“Tarek Windstriker,” he said, his voice deep and booming. “It has been a while.” The servant boy tried to get the armor over his hand, but Navan waved him off and gestured for Tarek to follow into his room. “Come in.”
The captain’s quarters were considerably larger than the regular guard lodgings, although it looked like a hovel in comparison to Gabrielle’s guest quarters. A large open window overlooked the city, allowing a chilly wind to pass through. A polished wooden desk took up part of the far wall, with a row of neatly arranged leather-bound ledgers and a stack of papers in one corner. There was a sitting area, a low table surrounded in thick cushions and a dense fur rug for warmth. His bed was covered in a rough spun quilt and several thick knitted blankets. At the foot of the bed was a large basket holding various small armor pieces, leather ties, and polishing compounds.
“I had a hard time finding you,” Tarek said. “I didn’t know I had to ask for Captain Navan.”
Navan grinned, his white teeth brilliant. “I’ve moved up in the world. I told you this chamber would eventually be mine, though I didn’t think it would be so soon,” he said. He gestured to Tarek. “And you? How has the human world treated you?”
“As if I was never there,” Tarek said. “Which is as it should be.”
“Sir,” the male servant finally interjected. “Your hand.”
Navan rolled his eyes and held out his bare arm for the servant boy. He waited patiently while the young man slipped the bracer over his hand and began the work of lacing it. With a pointed look at Tarek, he said, “Despite my position, they still think I can’t dress myself.”
“Sir…” the young man protested.
“I’m joking,” Navan interrupted. “You’re a very good armor polisher, lad. Keep up the good work. And as for you, Windstriker, you belong here to teach my recruits how to do more than flap their wings like some idiot bird. When will you return?”
Tarek sighed. “The queen will not have me.”
“Have you asked?”
“I can’t.”
“Bah,” Navan said. He waved dismissively, then looked at his servant sheepishly. The boy scowled and waited for Navan to be still before continuing to buff the shining decorative bracer with a cloth. “What happened to Ivralah was not your fault. It was the cowardice and dishonor of the Silverflight. It could have happened to any of us.”
“I know,” Tarek said automatically. How many times over the years had he heard those words? But the face of the princess, her mutilated body; those were the first things he saw upon waking in the morning and the last things he saw before going to sleep. She had trusted him, as had her mother, and he had let them down. It was so easy for the others to dismiss it, but they didn’t have to carry the shame of failure upon their shoulders as he did. “I am not quite the dragon I was.”
Navan hesitated, not quite meeting his eyes. There was truth and agreement there. “I wish you would return.”
“Maybe someday,” Tarek said.
Navan nodded. He took a breath, then plastered a smile onto his face, obviously eager to change the subject. “What brings you here?”
“I came to ask if I could borrow clothing for the feast,” he said. “I came here somewhat unexpectedly, and I have nothing.”
“You don’t even need to ask,” Navan said. He gestured to the servants. “Alora, see that my friend has whatever he needs. Khizek, the armor is more than shiny enough. Take a break and bring us wine. A great deal of it.”
They passed the next hour laughing over glasses of wine, carefully dodging the uncomfortable topic of the past. Navan told him the stories of his promotion and how he’d been keeping an eye on the shapely scholar Ohldana. Tarek told his old friend of the sights and sounds of the human world, including the neon glitz of Vegas. There was nothing that compared in their world, and he knew his words didn’t do it justice.
“I should like very much to see this Vegas,” Navan said.
“It would be my pleasure to introduce you,” Tarek said, though he knew that it would be nothing short of a miracle for the captain of the Adamant Guard to leave the citadel for such a frivolous journey. As the guard captain, he served with the sword as needed, but primarily acted as an overseer and administrator to all of the guards and soldiers who served the queen.
Alora tapped Navan’s shoulder and waited patiently for him to acknowledge her. “Sir, it’s time.”
“Oh, just another glass,” Navan said.
Alora raised her eyebrow. “Sir,” she said emphatically. “You will be late. Again. And then Raszila will be angry with me for not helping you properly.”
Navan gave a long-suffering sigh, drained the last of his glass, and rose to his full height. He glanced over his shoulder, then crouched so that he was on eye-level with the petite woman. Despite Navan’s position, it was clear who was really in charge. Navan raised his eyebrow. “You should tell Raszila to scold me next time,” he said.
“Sir, I am certain she would be happy to scold you,” Alora said. With a practiced gesture, she swept the heavy cloak around Navan’s massive shoulders and used several long, sharp pins to connect it to his ornate chest armor. After fiddling with the minute pleats and gathers, she finally left Navan alone and brought Tarek a decorative chest plate and a plain, dark cloak. The chest armor was polished silver with the queen’s crest in a raised pattern across the sternum. With the efficiency of a soldier, Alora ordered him to turn and crouch so she could fix the straps. If she thought anything of being so close to him, she didn’t show it. He was no more interesting to her than a bare patch of wall that needed to be decorated. Even when she had to adjust his trousers to lay properly under the plate, she didn’t bat an eyelash. He wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or not. When she was satisfied with her work, she nodded her approval and patted Tarek’s armored chest.
“You may go,” Alora said with the same imperious air of the queen.
Navan smiled indulgently at her. “I guarantee we will be the best dressed of the Stoneflight.”
“Flattery gets you nowhere, sir,” Alora said. But Tarek saw the way her mouth quirked up as she turned away to gather Navan’s discarded clothing.
“Well, my old friend, I should like very much to continue this conversation, but I have to wrangle this bunch of fools into shape before the feast. Please, stop by again before you leave,” Navan said.
“I will,” Tarek said. He felt strange, dressed in the clothes of the Adamant Guard once more. Technically as a Gatekeeper, he was still part of the guard, but it was a distant branch, with little of the responsibility that lay upon those who protected the royal family. Still, there was something familiar and comforting about it. For many years, he had worn the heavy cloak about his shoulders, the hammered breastplate and decorative bracers on his strong arms. They spoke of his sacrifice and loyalty; they were the symbols of his competence, the signs that told enemies not to make the mistake of attacking him.
His stomach lurched as he thought again of Ivralah and Ashariah. It had been so long since he was around his former comrades in any number. Did they think of him as an abject failure, a cautionary tale?
He needed more wine. It would be a long night ahead.
The grand ballroom of the citadel was like nothing he’d seen in the human world. Tarek had reluctantly gone along with some of the other Gatekeepers into Vegas, into the dazzling casinos and nightclubs. They were impressive, to be sure, but h
e had still never seen anything as wondrous as the queen’s ballroom at its finest.
The ballroom jutted out from the core of the citadel, with large windows that overlooked the city of Farath. Stone archways along the perimeter led to small balconies, each furnished with a plush settee and draped with decadent silks in blue and silver. Inside the ballroom, glass everlights cast a diffuse glow in soft blue, purple, and pink, twinkling like stars. The everlights were delicate glass globes filled with tiny motes of everbloom, the glowding seed pods of a flower that grew only within the queen’s gardens. The pods were rare and expensive, used only for special occasions. More silks and sheer drapes hung from the ceiling, many emblazoned with the crest of the Stoneflight. Long tables were arranged in rows that angled gently toward the dais at the far end of the room, where the queen and her entourage would sit.
Huge sprays of blue and purple flowers decorated the tables, which were also draped in dark blue silks. More everlights lit each table. The queen was clearly making a statement to impress and even intimidate her guests with her wealth. Guests in traditional Stoneflight garb milled about the grand ballroom, but the dais was noticeably empty. The queen and her honored guests would arrive last.
There were, however, dozens of the Adamant Guard in official regalia casually walking about the room. In addition to their longswords, they wore their ceremonial uniforms with horned silver shoulder pauldrons and ornate jointed plates down the spine, evoking the impressive silhouette of their dragon forms. And while a civilian wouldn’t have noticed, Tarek also knew there were twice as many guards in plain clothes. He recognized their faces as they filled glasses with deep red wine and saw the constant movement of their eyes even as they chatted casually with the other guests.
Tarek accepted a glass of wine from a passing servant and positioned himself near the entrance. As he watched the familiar scene, he took a drink of his wine. He hadn’t tasted the traditional berry wine, the vris m’hiri, in over a decade. The sweet taste and strong alcoholic brew struck him with a wave of nostalgia so strong that it was hard to get a full breath. He could remember a hundred such feasts, standing on the dais behind the princess and thanking the Skymother that he had been entrusted with such an important duty even at such a young age.
That was a long time ago, a distant memory.
His heart thumped as the musicians played a flourish. A herald in a sharply pressed uniform stood at the edge of the dais to announce guests. First came the queen’s trusted councilors. “Lord Eszen efana Shundilzin, personal advisor to the queen and curator of the great Library.” Eszen had changed into a far fancier robe, though he looked annoyed to be at the feast instead of in his study. Each councilor was announced in turn, and Tarek tuned them out in favor of his wine. When a murmur rippled across the gathered guests, he looked up from his glass and nearly dropped it in surprise.
“The q honors a friend to the Stoneflight, one who has exemplified the honor and cleverness of her kind. Lady Gabrielle efana Maria of…Reno,” the herald said. He looked a little puzzled, then gathered himself.
Tarek hadn’t expected Gabrielle to be present. And he certainly hadn’t expected the sight that awaited when the human woman stepped into the room.
She was dressed in an ornately jeweled and embroidered dress of purple fabric, wrapped carefully so that it hugged her hips and breasts, leaving one shoulder and most of her back bare. The queen’s servants had dusted her coppery skin with a powder that left it glittering like scales. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and darkened with makeup, her lips stained a red that made him think of strawberries and wine. And her hair was arranged around a metal crown of some sort, elongating her features and making her look like a queen in her own right. He hadn’t even seen her yet, but he had the traitorous thought that Queen Halmerah would look like a potato in a paper sack next to Gabrielle.
Tarek forgot how to breathe as a surge of heat rushed down his spine and into his groin. As his cheeks flushed, he gulped down half his wine and relished the sting of alcohol in his throat. He barely heard the next few announcements, walking without thinking toward Gabrielle. A pair of servants had guided her from the entrance toward the elevated dais. He found himself trailing after them. “Gabrielle?”
She paused and turned to see him. Her heavily shadowed eyes widened and she hurried toward him. “Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “I thought I was going to have to sit here by myself.”
She was utterly unaware of the effect she had on him. And judging by the way a handful of the other guests were staring, not just on him. Of course, it was not only her beauty, but the fact that she was human. To their eyes, she was Vak, ungifted by the Skymother and more suited to a life of servitude in the city below, or perhaps in the fields. There would be plenty of gossip that night.
“The queen has requested Lady Gabrielle’s presence at her table,” one of the servants said. “You may join her. Miss?”
“Oh!” Gabrielle said. “Let’s go.”
Tarek took her hand and waited patiently as she gathered up her skirt to climb the stairs to the dais. On the raised platform stood a pair of long, narrow tables that had been arranged at an angle, allowing the queen to sit at its point and look down either table to see her guests. More of the everlights stood on pedestals behind the tables, casting their twinkling glow over the entire dais.
A waiting servant with a decanter of wine stood at the fourth seat down from the queen’s right. He bowed politely to Gabrielle, gave Tarek an inquisitive look, then gestured to the empty seat next to hers.
As Gabrielle settled into her seat, Tarek waited patiently and scanned the room. There were dozens of eyes on them, and all of them looked curious. Some looked downright disdainful, and a few didn’t bother to hide their disgust at the human woman’s presence. He did not enjoy being the subject of attention one bit, but he disliked even more that people were so open in their disapproval. Instead, he ignored them and turned to Gabrielle. “You look lovely.”
She looked nervous, looking down at her clothes and turning over one hand, the borrowed jewelry catching the light. “I feel ridiculous.”
Ridiculous was not the word he would have used. The everlight closest to her seat held pale pink and lavender pods that cast a rosy flush over her skin. The thoughts that swirled through his mind were most inappropriate for a diplomatic feast.
“You look like a queen yourself,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like a blithering idiot. It wasn’t like he’d never been around a beautiful woman. “Not ridiculous at all.”
“Thank you,” she said. She looked him over. “You look very nice, too. You kind of have a Conan thing going on.”
He tilted his head. “A what?”
“Never mind. You look very masculine. Grr.” She fanned herself. “I need a drink.”
Tarek gestured to the closest servant, who hurried over to fill her wine glass. Gabrielle drained it in two swallows, earning her a raised eyebrow from the servant. Without a word, he filled it again.
“I don’t know what your rules are about forks and stuff,” Gabrielle said.
“Just wait for the queen before you do anything,” Tarek said, relieved for something to focus on besides the stunning creature at his side. She froze with the glass at her lips. He laughed. “You’re allowed to drink. But once food is served, you must wait for her to give a greeting and welcome everyone.”
A loud crash of cymbals and a flourish of horns sounded, then faded to silence as all eyes turned toward the ballroom’s arched entrance. “May I present to you the High Queen of the Stoneflight, the anointed keeper of Vakhdahl and esteemed monarch of Adamantine Rise, protector of the great city of Farath, granddaughter of High Empress Rezharani, Halmerah Silverstone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
If someone had told Gabrielle Rojas a week ago that tonight she’d be an honored guest at a diplomatic feast hosted by a dragon queen in another world, she’d have asked them to share whatever they were smoking.
And yet, here sh
e was, standing on nervous jelly-legs, her hands trembling under the weight of borrowed silver jewelry as she watched the queen’s arrival. An enormous doorway framed in stone carved to look like twisted tree branches stood along the back wall, where most of the guests, including Gabby, had entered. High above that doorway was a smaller archway framed in silver and glittering gems, veiled in heavy midnight blue curtains. The platform was guarded by a pair of immaculately dressed guards who flanked either side of a gently sloped stairway that wrapped around the side of the ballroom and ended at the center of the dais where the queen’s guests awaited.
After the herald’s announcement, the guards pulled back the curtains for the queen to enter. Halmerah emerged, walking with deliberate and measured steps around the curved stairway. A murmur rippled over the crowd at the sight of her. The musicians kept a steady, slow beat, and Gabby knew they were waiting for her, and not the other way around. The universe itself seemed to keep time with her steps.
Gabby had thought her own borrowed attire was luxurious and ornate, but she was wearing a burlap sack compared to Halmerah. The dragon queen wore an asymmetrical gown in a thousand shades of gray and silver, as if someone had broken open one of the nearby mountains to reveal a hidden vein of diamonds. The gown left one shoulder bare, but a huge purple stone set in a twisted silver setting was placed on her shoulder like a piece of armor, with thin chains dripping in more stones attaching it to the gown and trickling down her arm like water. The dress reflected the light from the glass lanterns in tiny pinpoints, making her look as if she was glowing.
As she passed, guests bowed their heads politely, though they did not kneel. It took her a while to make her way around the room. When she passed behind the dais, Gabby followed the lead of the crowd and bowed her head. Before her eyes dropped, she caught a faint hint of a smile on Halmerah’s red-stained lips. The woman finally cleared the steps and allowed a servant to take her hand, while another gathered up the train of her gown and pinned it into place like a bustle on her hips. When they had finished, she stepped up to the elevated seat at the center of the dais. Like the rest of the room, her seat was covered in blue and silver silk, just a step shy of being a throne.