This gift and the disappearance of his seventh daughter, Anguissa, captain of the Archangel, were the source of the king’s concern. Ouros turned the clear cylinder in his hands, wondering yet again if he should release the creature trapped inside.
He had learned about ShadowCasters when he had been a young dragon, and they had been presumed extinct even then. It was a marvel to hold one, and he wondered whether the dark shape in the cylinder really was a ShadowCaster, or whether this was a hoax.
There was one way to find out.
ShadowCasters were an ancient life form and one said to be attuned to the vibrations of the future. Ouros forgot the speculation as to how they glimpsed into time ahead of the present: he’d always preferred facts over guesses, even educated guesses. He recalled a story that an emperor had ordered their destruction, after his enemies repeatedly anticipated his surprise attacks.
He held the cylinder to the light. The creature inside looked like a dead insect. It was black and motionless, unless he turned the cylinder and gravity dislodged it. Even then, it fell, as if inert. It didn’t appear to be breathing or to have a pulse. Ouros shook the receptacle and it didn’t respond.
Another king might have doubted its powers.
Ouros was a dragon king, and he wanted facts. He held up the cylinder and stared through it at his chambers, enjoying how the glass distorted the view. Was this how a ShadowCaster saw the future? Was it a question of perspective?
Would it tell him what had happened—or what was going to happen—to Anguissa? He had demanded the story of her disappearance twice from Thalina and hadn’t liked it any better the second time. How like Anguissa to sacrifice herself for the sake of her sister and that sister’s Carrier. Had she guessed that Acion was Thalina’s HeartKeeper? Ouros was sure she had. Like the ShadowCaster, Anguissa had an ability to anticipate future events with uncanny accuracy. She said it was only logical to see the results of one’s actions. Ouros knew otherwise. That daughter, the bold one who challenged every expectation, had the confidence of knowing she would survive every feat.
Would she survive this one?
Would she have made the same choice, even if she’d known otherwise?
Ouros winced, knowing that his Anguissa wouldn’t have changed a thing. His mother had always said that the prickly and outspoken people were the ones who cared the most. That was certainly true of Anguissa.
It could also be said to be true of his wife, although she was inclined to hide her sting.
Ouros felt Ignita’s presence before he saw or smelled her.
“Are you going to release it?” she asked, and he glanced down to find her peering at the cylinder.
“Do you think I should?” He asked her a question, rather than answering, wanting to know her view.
“Whyever not?” She took the cylinder from his hand, peering at the creature within. “It was a gift. It must have come to you for a reason.”
Ouros looked at her, intrigued. “You think it chooses its own course?”
Ignita smiled. “That’s what I was taught. That a ShadowCaster had a way of ensuring it passed into the right hand at the right time. It saw its own future and made it come true.”
What a notion. “To what end? To warn someone?”
“To make the future what it should be.”
“According to whom?”
She handed him the vessel. “You’ll have to ask the ShadowCaster that.”
“Any word from Anguissa?”
A shadow touched his queen’s brow. “No, but I wouldn’t have expected any. We’ll hear from her when she marches into the palace again.”
“I hope it is soon.”
Ignita placed her hand on Ouros’ shoulder then gave it a little squeeze. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to release a little dead millipede?” she teased, though he knew she understood his hesitation.
“You think it has something to tell us.”
“I don’t think it would be here otherwise.”
Ouros nodded. “And maybe its counsel will tell us what to do to bring Anguissa home.”
“Maybe. There’s something that we have to do to shape the future as it should be, or the ShadowCaster wouldn’t be here.” Ignita’s eyes lit with fire. “And if the future doesn’t include every one of my daughters being safe and happy, the ShadowCaster will regret its choice.”
Ouros smiled at her ferocity, though it was a good reminder. “We will release it in our dragon form,” he said, and Ignita nodded agreement.
“In the royal audience chambers?”
“Yes, there’s more room there, and after all, we are giving it an audience.”
“Should we summon Kraw, so there is a witness?”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
“Don’t you think he looks tired these days?” Ignita asked. “Should we insist that he take a vacation?”
“You know Kraw. He never takes a vacation, for he says I never do.”
“Perhaps both of you should take a vacation.”
“Let’s see what the ShadowCaster says,” Ouros demurred. “I’ll send word to Kraw now and we can begin on the hour. Also, I’ll have Kraw seal the chamber, so that the ShadowCaster cannot escape.”
Soon he would have his fact.
Kraw, unlike the king and queen, felt a dislike for the ShadowCaster that he believed to be healthy. He didn’t trust anything or anyone who poked into future events or claimed to know things they had no rational means of knowing. Dreams and portents were like the tricks played at the carnivals on unsuspecting fools, who deserved to be separated from their funds.
It smacked of that unwholesome practice, magic.
Kraw didn’t even share the royal enthusiasm for astrologers, even though their craft was more science than art. In Kraw’s view, the future could take care of itself. He ensured the present was all it could be, partly by keeping the past where it belonged. Still, a summons was a summons, so he had the audience chamber sealed and joined his king and queen there as promptly as possible.
His recurring dream had left him tired, irritable, and impatient with nonsense. That it was a similar kind of nonsense in his view only made him more cranky.
Of course, he hid his thoughts and feelings from his king and queen, who clearly had expectations of the ShadowCaster.
Kraw expected little of the black smudge in the bottom of the clear cylinder, but it was always a treat to see both the king and the queen shift shape. They were magnificent in their dragon forms, and the awe he felt when he witnessed the change always reminded him of his own splendid good fortune to serve them as he did.
The king was the first to shift, waiting only until the doors were locked behind Kraw before doing so. He had already given the vial containing the ShadowCaster to Queen Ignita, so threw out his arms and cast back his head. He was surrounded with a swirl of sparks even as his figure itself seemed to glow. In the blink of an eye, he reared above them in his dragon form and breathed a playful stream of fire at the ceiling. His scales were deep blue and gleamed when he moved, his power and agility undiminished even at his age. His belly scales could have been made of gold, given the way they shone. His nails were black, the feathers streaming from his wings were indigo, and his wings themselves were so dark a blue as to be close to black. There were swirls of gold on the tops of Ouros’ wings, as if they had been painted there by a skillful artist. His eyes glittered like cut gems and he turned a look upon his wife that was both amorous and regal.
It had always seemed to Kraw that the character of the members of the royal family was more clear when they took their dragon forms. He felt more aware of their motivations when they were dragons. Ouros, for example, was motivated by love for his wife, his daughters, and his kingdom. When the king was in his dragon form, Kraw couldn’t forget that truth. He knew they could be inscrutable, to him and to others, so maybe it was a case of them revealing themselves to him because they trusted him.
Ignita handed the vial to her husband, then sp
un in place. Sparks flew from her, seeming to light on the hem of her skirts as she turned, and her figure disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The cloud grew taller and wider, seeming to simmer from its very core, then her dragon form was revealed. Ignita looked softer than Ouros, if such a thing could be said of a dragon. Her scales were myriad shades of soft blue and purple and their edges were less clearly defined. She had more feathers, and they were opalescent and flowing, disguising her strength like veils on a dancer. There was fire in her eyes, though, a fire that a smart person wouldn’t forget, and Kraw saw her devotion to her husband and daughters in her fierce expression.
He was a bachelor and contentedly so, but when Kraw saw the king and queen in their dragon forms, he wondered what it would be like to be adored by a dragon shifter. Did the object of affection feel like the prize gem of the dragon’s hoard? Kraw wasn’t a fanciful man, but he imagined so.
The pair faced each other, Ouros’ tail swirling around Kraw protectively, then the king loosened the lid. “Are we prepared?” he asked, his voice more resonant and deep than when he was in human form.
Ignita nodded.
“Certainly, your majesty,” Kraw said and bowed his head. He fingered his mustache, ensuring it was perfect, for he felt a sense of ceremony.
When he straightened, Ouros opened the vial to release the ShadowCaster.
Nothing happened.
Ouros made a little growl of frustration, then tipped the cylinder. The ShadowCaster slid out and dropped toward the floor, apparently lifeless.
“It’ll be hurt!” Ignita cried and snatched for it.
The ShadowCaster slipped through her talons, though, for it exploded into a million tiny dark specks and fell like black rain toward the inlaid floor. All three observers caught their breath and took a step back. Kraw was aware the queen put a claw in one of the king’s and that he drew her slightly behind himself.
But the black drops had his full attention. They turned course just above the floor, and swirled upward like a flock of birds. To Kraw’s surprise, they formed an image of a sun, several planets and their moons, all rotating in place as if watched from several light years’ distance.
“Fiero Four,” Ouros breathed, naming the system in which Incendium was located.
“There’s Incendium and Regalia,” Ignita said with excitement. “And Sylvawyld!”
The dots swirled again, and Kraw had the impression that their vision zoomed in on Incendium. Next he saw the capital city and his heart sank at the realization that it was the same era as his recurring dream.
When the ShadowCaster showed Flammos on the throne, Kraw knew that his family secret was about to be revealed.
Perhaps he would have no reason to choose an apprentice, not once the treason of the viceroy’s family was known by the king.
He sat down heavily, feeling every moment of his many years, and wondered if he would leave the audience chamber alive.
The dragon kings of Incendium had never taken treason lightly, no matter how justified the culprit might believe his actions to be.
Two
Arkan knew that his beloved Jalana would have appreciated the irony of his current situation. She had always insisted that her love had tamed the bad boy of Incendium city, and Arkan had never argued that truth with her. She had claimed his heart, and he had changed his ways to capture hers in turn.
They had been so wonderfully happy that he had never regretted a thing.
But now she was gone, and he was left with Narjal and Tarun, who each echoed their mother in different ways, neither less potent than the other. Yet both also had his own rebellious nature, as if to ensure their father understood how much trouble he had been. Narjal, his daughter, was older and bolder. In fact, she was fearless and was forever leading her younger brother into trouble. Tarun had a mischievous streak of his own and the only thing that ensured Arkan’s sanity was that they were too young to find real danger.
Yet.
He couldn’t imagine how he would survive their teenage years. They were both attractive children—thanks to Jalana, in Arkan’s view—and had a charm that helped them talk themselves out of the consequences of any act. Arkan knew that trait came from himself.
At the same time, he had become so responsible that he barely recognized himself. Arkan had devoted himself to his family’s business to ensure the financial security of his children. There hadn’t been much of a place for him, since his older brothers had taken the better jobs. Ranaj was the public presence of their trading empire, so he attended all the best parties and knew all the best people and lived in a style to rival the King of Incendium himself. Saraw was the quieter one, who negotiated the deals—many of which Arkan had learned were not entirely legal. His brother was one for shortcuts, if he could turn a better profit with them or return to his own amusements more quickly, and Arkan seemed to be the only one troubled by these choices.
Knowing he was reliant upon their goodwill, he was compelled to remain silent.
He had done odd jobs for his father, but shortly after Jalana’s death, his mother had taken pity upon him and decided to retire. Or maybe she had chosen to test him. Arkan had never been sure. Either way, the task of bookkeeping had become available to him then, and though the adding of columns in the back room was as far from his dreams as any job could be, he’d taken it.
For his kids.
He’d been prepared to hate his job, but he actually enjoyed it. There was something refreshing about that addition of columns and tallying of items. The numbers never lied, and they often gave insight into other issues. He liked how rational it all was, how finite, and how lacking in mystery or suspense it was. Everything happened for a reason and there were no arbitrary choices. Ventures lost money because of overspending, bad budgeting, or poor management, not random incidents that changed everything.
Like a healthy woman’s sudden death in childbirth.
It was good to live in the family home, too, for he had fond memories of his own childhood there. The estate was large, and the house was rambling, courtesy of centuries of additions and modifications. It seemed that every corner promised a forgotten cranny or a hidden passageway, plus there were books and games, cousins and pets. Arkan liked that there were many servants and many eyes on his mischievous children. They were safe. They were healthy. They had opportunities to learn and there would be more as they grew older. That was Arkan’s true compensation.
He hoped Jalana was proud of him and the life he’d made for them.
His mother laughed at him when Narjal and Tarun found trouble, insisting that the past revisited the future. She thought he deserved the challenges they gave him, and maybe he did. If nothing else, his life gave Arkan a new perspective.
Arkan’s family had filled the post of viceroy at the palace since the days of King Scintillon, the responsibility passing through the male line of the family. When there wasn’t a son, a brother or nephew would take the post, each new viceroy carefully trained by the last. It was considered a responsibility of the others to marry and have children, in order to ensure that the post was never in risk of being left vacant.
Uncle Kraw had taken the post while comparatively young, since his father had married late. Arkan’s father, Jarak, was the younger son from that late match, and he had married then fathered three sons. Kraw had been viceroy for longer than Arkan had been alive, and Arkan had been raised with the assumption that one of his older brothers would be groomed by Kraw to take his place.
The family had built its own trade over the centuries, and Arkan didn’t doubt that some early success had been due to the favor of the crown. Now, though, they managed a financial empire, trading in currencies, financing expeditions and equipment, and investing in future endeavors. Arkan spent most of his days in the counting room in the family home, which was a far more cheerful place than might have been anticipated. It was a sunny room, the windowsills lush with plants from Incendium and other locations.
It was also oppressive
ly quiet when his kids were elsewhere. Arkan preferred when they played in the counting room while he worked, but they had recently begun to have lessons. Narjal was ten years old and Tarun was six. Arkan had taught them himself to this point, but it was time, his mother had announced, for them to be tamed—as much as might be possible.
The children hadn’t embraced the change any better than their father had. Arkan suspected that the tutor had already come to the conclusion that they could not be tamed. Narjal orchestrated daily escapes from their lessons, ensuring the pair disappeared while the tutor’s back was turned, and substituting daring adventures of her own for their lessons. She had taken Tarun to the zoo unaccompanied, been caught investigating the sewers with her younger brother, and had even—probably at Tarun’s insistence—gotten them both to the star station and aboard a shuttle to the starport before being retrieved.
In a way, Arkan admired how enterprising she was.
In another, her inventiveness made him dread the future even more.
So, he wasn’t truly surprised when the tutor rapped at the door of the counting room one morning, flushed and flustered. “I won’t do it anymore,” she announced before Arkan could greet her. “I won’t be responsible for those heathens.”
Arkan stood. “You mean my children?” He decided against noting that their religious beliefs were of no relevance.
“Of course, I mean your children!” she sputtered. “They are outrageously disobedient...”
“But that is why they have lessons.”
The tutor pointed a finger at him, her outrage clear. “I have endured sufficient insolence from those little monsters to last me the rest of my days. I don’t believe they can be taught, especially as they continue to disappear...”
“Disappear?” Arkan stepped forward, anticipating the worst. “Where have they been gone?”
“How should I know? They are sneaky and cunning beyond their years, especially that girl. Oh, she looks pretty enough, but she is devious and wicked...”