Drakina considered the man who stood before her and hazarded a guess. “If his way requires the dreamweed, take care, Master Astrologer. My father has no tolerance of it, and any caught with it in their possession in his household are burned alive for the crime.”
He bowed again, a little stiffness in his shoulders. He did use the dreamweed, then. “I thank you for your advice, Highness.”
Before she could ask more, she became aware of the sharp tang of fear. She turned to eye the portal to the tower and discerned the clerk hiding in the shadows inside. He was pale still and she could see his knees trembling.
“Speak!” she commanded, letting her voice roar so that the stones rattled. Drakina could feel the clerk tremble and heard his heart skip a beat.
The astrologer, however, stood his ground and watched avidly.
Fearlessly.
That would keep him alive in the palace.
“My lord prince declines to meet you, my lady,” the clerk said, his voice faint.
“That is of no concern,” Drakina said. “I will go to him.”
The clerk squeaked, bowed, and raced up the stairs inside the tower. Drakina shifted shape, assuming her human form, and surveyed her wedding dress critically. The beads of gold and orange and red still shone brightly and the silk rustled as she moved. She looked at the astrologer.
“Magnificent, Highness.” He bowed. “Your splendor rivals that of the sun.”
She smiled. “You aren’t afraid of me,” she felt compelled to note.
His grin was quick and confident. He indicated the chart. “There is a witness indicated here in the margin, Highness. A man of little consequence, yet one who survives the encounter.”
“You?”
“I hope so, Highness.”
Drakina made for the door, knowing he would follow her. A witness.
She was no astrologer, but she had a feeling that this man would not be considered to be of so little consequence after this day.
She strode into the tower, anger and purpose flooding through her. Canto would not share the happy fate of the astrologer from Medior.
Drakina was looking forward to ensuring that.
* * *
The stairs were steep and narrow, though the princess Drakina ascended them quickly. It was only as he hastened after her that Nero wondered whether they had been built that way in defense against dragons.
In her dragon form, the princess could never have climbed these stairs.
The fact that she could change shape at will meant they were no obstacle.
As a dragon, in fact, she could have torn the roof from the tower instead, and plucked out her reluctant suitor.
Perhaps the builders of Regalia did not think matters through.
The room at the top of the tower was of good size, but still not big enough for Drakina in her dragon form. It was simply furnished. Even from the stairs, Nero could see that there was only a curtained bed, a carved wooden chair, a table and an unlit brazier in the room. The shutters were open so that the room was filled with cold winter light, and the chill of the wind. A man sat on the bed, his face in shadows, his arms folded across his chest. He looked like a petulant child, not a warrior.
Not a king.
There was no barrier at the summit of the stairs, save the clerk.
“My lord prince is not receiving guests, my lady,” he said.
“Canto will receive me,” Drakina replied. “After all, I am no mere guest. I am his betrothed.”
Even though Nero was behind the princess, he could feel the force of her will. He saw its effect upon the clerk, who took a step back.
“I have no wish to harm you,” she said softly. “But no one will stand in my way on this day.” She inhaled deeply, then dropped her voice even lower. “You must know that your terror makes you almost irresistible. It awakens my every urge to hunt.”
The clerk’s terror clearly doubled at that confession.
“Do not suffer her to pass!” cried the man on the bed.
The clerk looked between the two royals, his panic clear. He glanced at Nero, who had no intention of assaulting the princess on Canto’s behalf. The prince remained where he was.
The clerk considered Drakina, his agitation rising. She took another step, and then another. He visibly trembled, then suddenly ducked to one side, covering his head with his hands.
Nero wondered what retaliation he expected that gave him the strength to resist for as long as he had.
The prince threw a crockery vessel at him. “Coward!” he shouted as it shattered against the stone wall.
“Coward?” Drakina swept into the chamber and crossed the floor to the bed. She shimmered a little in her fury, and Nero saw sparks flying from the ends of her hair. The crown prince made a little moan and eased to the back corner of the bed.
As if he would hide.
But that was impossible. Drakina seized the prince and threw him bodily on the floor. Evidently her strength was consistent between forms. Canto crawled backward, his horror clear, and her eyes flashed like lightning.
“Who is the coward, Canto? The servant who refuses to be a fool at his master’s command, or the man who doesn’t have the courage to speak for himself?”
“You know we’d never get along,” Canto said hastily. “You know we couldn’t make each other happy.”
“Stand up and show your merit!” she commanded.
He got up with obvious reluctance, but didn’t stand tall. He lifted his hands. “It won’t work, Drakina…”
“So, you hid yourself away here and sent a minion to tell me of it.” Drakina’s scorn was clear. “You know that no king could endure the humiliation you visited upon my father’s house this day!” She seized his shirt and lifted him to his toes with one hand. His eyes widened. “You could have made one protest in the year of our betrothal. You could have spoken to me. You could have arrived yourself to tell me.”
Canto shook in her grip. “Drakina, I beg of you. Have mercy…”
“But you were a coward.” Drakina’s lip curled. “You sent a clerk.”
“Drakina! Don’t hurt me!”
“You joust,” she reminded the prince with scorn. “You ride in tournaments. You’re lauded for your bravery. How can this be?”
The prince flushed. “It’s all arranged,” he admitted, and Nero felt Drakina’s disgust like a cold wave.
“Arranged? Your victories are bought?”
“Negotiated,” Canto said. “And why not? I’m the crown prince.”
“I cannot abide such timidity of spirit,” Drakina seethed. Canto flailed in her grip but couldn’t escape. “I thought you valiant. I thought you the gem in Regalia’s crown. I thought I had to be wrong about you. Coward!”
“Liar!” he retorted, his face flushed.
Drakina stilled and her silence made Nero fear what she would do. “What is this?” she asked quietly.
“My mother guessed the truth, after the alliance was made,” Canto said, growing more bold as he made his accusations. “She told me yesterday. You mean to destroy us all and make Regalia your own. You mean to populate it with the worms you bear and drive us out…”
“Worms?” Drakina echoed and put him on his feet.
Nero feared that was a bad sign, but Canto was emboldened by it. He straightened his shirt and his eyes flashed. “Yes, worms! The spawn of dragons,” he spat. “Why should I wed a dragon? Why should my sons be dragons? Why should I participate in spreading the abomination of your kind? I can have any woman!”
Drakina smiled and examined her nails. “Our match would be barren, Canto,” she said gently. “You need not fear such a fate, for yourself or your kingdom.”
Canto took a step back. “Barren?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “Barren?”
“You are not the Carrier of the Seed for me,” Drakina explained mildly. “Our match seals a treaty, no more and no less.” Her smile was chilly. “There will be no worms, as you call them. No eggs, either.”
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Canto was clearly shocked. “But my mother said…”
Drakina interrupted him crisply. “Queen Arcana would do well to abandon her grimoires for books of solid research. The biology of our kind is well documented. Any one of you could have learned the truth with very little effort. Must I add lazy to your list of attributes, Canto?”
“You lie!” Canto cried. “You want Regalia for your own! You will overrun us and steal all that is our own. This is no more than a trick, and I will not marry you.”
“That would compromise the alliance between our kinds, the alliance to see our planets saved.”
“You talk of science, but marriage has no effect on dying sons.” Canto backed away from Drakina. “We can just part ways. No harm done.”
“That is possible no longer,” Drakina said sadly.
“We can be reasonable about this…”
“The time for reason is gone.” She dropped her voice lower. “Consider, Canto, that if I take vengeance for my father, then he cannot take vengeance for me. It is the law.”
Canto froze, new panic dawning in his eyes. “Vengeance?” he said, and his voice was a squeak.
Drakina’s smile was cold. “You wanted me to show mercy, Canto.”
His expression was wild. “But…”
“My father loves to hunt. He would welcome the opportunity to hunt you and extract a toll for what you did this day.” She shook her head. “I doubt the payment would be rendered quickly.”
The prince’s face was white at this point and his lip trembled. He had backed into the wall.
Nero was intrigued. Drakina was clearly angry and insulted, but she didn’t act solely out of passion. She was showing mercy.
Canto spared a glance at the window, as if he might flee.
“There is no escape, Canto. He can find you anywhere, just as I have done.” Drakina strolled toward the prince. “Go ahead, Canto,” she invited. “Beg me again to show you mercy.”
He fell to his knees and seized the hem of her dress. He kissed it. “Just let me live, Drakina,” he pleaded and his groveling made Nero wince. Drakina must have sensed his disgust for she turned to look at him. Nero had the strange sense that their thoughts were as one. “I’ll never grant trouble to anyone again, Drakina. Just let me live.”
Drakina arched a brow, inviting Nero’s comment.
Nero cleared his throat. “You will live forever, my lord, in the memory of men, as a warning of the price of insulting the royal house of Incendium.”
Canto gasped.
Drakina smiled. “I do like you, astrologer.” she murmured with satisfaction. Canto dared to look up at her. “But not you,” she said to the prince. “And now, it is time for mercy.”
“Drakina!”
Her eyes shone as she seized Canto. She flung him bodily out the window, then leapt out the window herself. She shifted shape in a blaze of light, right after her foot left the sill. Nero raced to the window to watch.
Canto screamed as he tumbled toward the moat, far far below.
Nero saw Drakina in her dragon form sweep down to snatch the falling prince out of the air. She breathed a plume of fire into the sky and soared high with her captive. Canto begged incoherently, then screamed as her talon pierced his belly. The prince fell abruptly silent and drops of his blood fell like blue rain.
“She kept her word,” the clerk acknowledged. “It was quick.” Then he bowed his head and murmured a prayer.
Nero hastened down the stairs, knowing he had witnessed all he needed to see. He raced across the courtyard, composing his account in his mind. There was blue blood spattered over the Starpod, a blue so deep as to be nearly purple.
It was the unmistakable hue of the blood of the crown family of Regalia.
Nero spared a glance upward in time to see the princess bite into the prince and shake him like a doll. The way she tore at his flesh indicated that there would be nothing left of him.
Nothing but the word of Nero, the princess, and the clerk from Regalia.
Could he be relied upon?
The princess roared in that very moment. Nero looked up to see something gold falling toward him, catching the light as it spun ever downward. He snatched it out of the air, then opened his hand. It was the signet ring of the crown prince, the mark of his station and his inheritance.
Even Nero knew that the princes of Regalia never suffered to have the ring of state removed. It was eased from the royal finger after death, and not a moment before.
The ring, and the blue blood already drying upon it, told eloquently of what Nero had witnessed. He had to make haste back to Incendium.
* * *
When the Starpod settled gently into its parking spot at Incendium’s star station Nero wanted to leap out and kiss the ground. He would be a happy man to never transport again.
He wasn’t even sure he’d ride the sim.
But he recalled the decorum expected of those in the royal service. He left the vehicle with dignity, returning its wishes for a pleasant day, and thanked the attendant at the star station. A team hastily surrounded the vehicle and began to refuel it. He strode back toward the palace, intent upon giving his report to Kraw with all haste.
Nero immediately discovered why the Starpod might be in demand. He found the palace in uproar. Guests were leaving in droves—some, in fact, could have been said to be fleeing Incendium. The courtyard thronged with servants, each trying to summon the vehicle of choice for their lords and masters. The congestion was unholy. He could hear the booming commands of King Ouros, and the shrill notes of Queen Ignita as both strove to calm their guests.
Inside the palace, the chaos was even worse. Servants ran up and down the great stairs, hustling and bustling. He heard complaints and a good bit of gossip. Some of the guests were on their comms, telling others of events on Incendium, and Kraw was nowhere to be seen.
Nero decided that the viceroy must be in the imperial chambers. He took a deep breath and dared to push his way up the stairs. He felt like one of the zarcota fish that traveled upstream to spawn each spring near Mola, for he was the only one trying to climb the stairs. The deluge of guests poured downward, heading to the courtyard and the starport. It was only with real determination—and probably because of some size advantage—that he made any progress at all.
He was surprised that so few of them chose to remain to eat. He could smell the feast that had been prepared, and his own belly growled at its emptiness. Surely the food wouldn’t be wasted?
Nero reached the summit of the stairs and heard Kraw’s voice. He was trying to soothe someone, probably the king or queen. He couldn’t speak without an invitation in their presence. He would make himself visible, though, and hope to attract Kraw’s attention. He gripped the signet ring and stepped into the royal chamber.
It was an astonishing room. Nero had seen it in hologram, of course, for all the great ceremonies of Incendium were held in this room and broadcast on the vid to the citizens of Incendium. In reality, it was far more glorious and much bigger than he’d imagined.
In this moment, it was almost empty, so its marvels were easily appreciated. The chamber was still decorated for the exchange of vows, with flowers and garlands of flowers in every hue. Some of the garlands had been torn free of their moorings, and there were bright petals on the ground. More than one blossom had been crushed underfoot when the guests left.
On the far side of the chamber, near a pair of thrones, Kraw spoke to a couple. Even if Nero hadn’t recognized King Ouros and Queen Ignita from their official images, the splendor of their garments and their crowns would have revealed their identity to him. The viceroy was speaking quickly. The king looked annoyed. The queen appeared to be flustered.
Nero fingered the ring. He stood politely, hoping Kraw’s gaze would pass his way.
In the meantime, he looked. Glory of the stars, the floor was magnificent. It was a map of Incendium, wrought of a hundred colors of stones from the planet’s mines, the surface polishe
d to such a gleam that Nero could almost see his reflection in it.
But the ceiling stole his breath away. He wanted to sit down hard when he tipped back his head to look. It arched so high overhead, leaving plenty of space for the royal family to shift shape, of course. Even though he had read of its design and glimpsed it in the vid, the splendor of the depiction of the stars in the galaxy nearly made his mouth drop open in wonder. They were brighter and more clear than even during the darkest nights in Medior, far from the lights of the city.
It was magnificent even despite the large hole on one side of the ceiling, where the actual sky could be seen.
Nero guessed that the princess had departed that way.
A party of architects arrived and hastened to consult with Kraw. The viceroy turned his attention to them and drew King Ouros into the discussion. It was an artful choice, for the king immediately began planning the reconstruction. His anger dissipated as the architects discussed the challenges with him. Nero had read that the king had a particular interest in engineering and it was clear that he enjoyed the consultation and debate.
In the opposite corner, royal astrologers in their distinctive blue robes—the ones embroidered with stars and hemmed in fiery hues—argued over several horoscopes. The older one who had wanted to see his charts, the one who would have challenged him outright, looked up and glared at Nero.
Nero returned his gaze steadily. He had been right. He felt the older man’s will and his malice and wondered at it.
Had Sapior known this man?
“Are you lost?” a woman asked from so close beside Nero that he jumped.
Nero spun, an explanation rising to his lips, then fell silent when he realized it was one of the crown princesses who addressed him. It was the youngest of the twelve, the princess Pericula, her long wavy copper hair hanging unbound over her shoulders. It fell almost to her knees, gleaming like a river. Her face was heart-shaped, her lips perfectly rosy, and her blue eyes sparkled as if they were filled with starlight.
Nero felt hot and then cold. She was beautiful.
He shouldn’t have been surprised that she was more beautiful than her hologram.
His heart raced.