“That was the end of your first life, so I suppose it makes sense you wouldn’t remember much, if anything,” Adrissu sighed, inwardly chastising himself for getting his hopes up. Even if his mate did not recall being Ruan or Volkmar, he was still both of them at his core. “You died trying to defend Polimnos against the Federation.”
Pollux’s eyebrow quirked. “Against the Federation? Why?”
Adrissu had to laugh at that. “Well, at the time, they were an invading army. In hindsight, the unity and shared resources of being part of the Federation has been a boon, of course. But back then they were just another city-state’s army coming to us and saying we were to become part of this new alliance, whether or not we were willing. And most of us were not.”
“I see,” Pollux murmured, his frown easing away. “I’m sorry to hear I died in vain, then.”
Adrissu let out a bitter laugh, but his chest squeezed with regret at that. He had had the same thought more than once over his many years—that Ruan didn’t need to die then—but it was only facing his near-certain death that Ruan was willing to undergo the soul-binding ritual in the first place. If the Federation had never come, and Ruan had never resolved to fight against it, would they even be here now?
But that had been well over two centuries ago. There was no purpose in entertainingwhat ifs. Adrissu squeezed Pollux’s shoulder, and the elf leaned into him, wrapping his arms around his waist.
“It wasn’t in vain,” Adrissu murmured. “It was important to you, to us.”
“Who do you think will become Lord Representative next?” Pollux asked, his voice muffled against Adrissu’s shoulder, evidently ready to move on from the conversation.
“I don’t know,” Adrissu admitted. “I haven’t been keeping up with local politics as much as I used to. It bores me now, to be honest. It was interesting when Polimnos was younger and smaller, and it would perhaps affect me in one way or another, but now... It’s really all the same. Alana was the most practical Lord Representative we’d had in well over a century, I think. They’ll be hard-pressed to find a suitable replacement.”
As it turned out, the replacement was not entirely suitable, and only deepened Adrissu’s suspicion that Alana had been purposely put in harm’s way. The next Lord Representative of Polimnos was a half-elven woman, Willow Elafaer, a bastard daughter of the Elafaer family. They were one of the very few elf families that were a fixture of Polimnos, and thus a family Adrissu tried to avoid as much as he could. Adrissu was surprised both at her nomination and subsequent success, but despite her illegitimacy, it seemed her elven father and his connections were working for her own gain. This would be an annoyance, as he estimated Willow was only about forty years old, and even a half-elf would live long enough to wonder whyhedidn’t age—a fact that might become all the more apparent if he and Pollux were seen together over many long years, as the latter began to show the subtle signs of elven aging. Hopefully it would not come to that, but it was a possibility. He would have to avoid her. It was a shame, as he liked having connections to the Lord Representative for whenever he needed a favor; but she wouldn’t live more than another century or so, and part of him suspected she would not make it to the end of her natural lifespan, considering how Alana’s life had ended.
Through all this, between the school and Pollux, he kept quite busy. He still went and visited Ned and the second Academy once or twice a year, but more for business than pleasure now, as Eris was getting old for a human. Her health was poor and seemed worse every time he saw her, which only served to remind him why he shouldn’t let himself befriend humans in the first place.
It couldn’t be entirely avoided, as he had to see Ned at least once a year, sometimes more—especially since he wanted the second Academy to implement the healing track that had been quite successful so far at the main Academy. Still, she was noticeably less energetic each time he saw her; and the last few times before she died, he hardly saw her at all, Ned making some excuse or another that she wasn’t feeling well. The last time, Ned seemed to know it wouldn’t be long, and asked Adrissu if he wouldn’t mind coming to say hello to Eris at the house. Adrissu did not want to, not really, but from the way Ned looked at him, he knew the half-elf hoped that he would take the opportunity to say goodbye, so he acquiesced.
“It’s so good to see you, Adrissu,” Eris said warmly to him when they arrived. “Goodness, every time I see you, I think you look more like your father.”
Adrissu’s smile tightened as he sat down next to her. She was sitting in a plush rocking chair, draped in a blanket, looking exactly as elderly and frail as he had imagined. “It’s good to see you as well, Eris.”
She waved her hand. “Someone should have warned me how awkward it would be to be the only one who gets old. I should have known better than to surround myself with elves.” She laughed, then coughed. “Well, I’m sure Ned twisted your arm to come see me, so I won’t keep you long.”
“On the contrary,” Adrissu said, shaking his head. “He only had to ask, hmm, maybe twice.” She laughed again, and his smile eased as he continued, “I have appreciated your friendship all these years. So I apologize if it seems like I have avoided seeing you as of late. I’ve been busy, but that’s no excuse, of course.”
She shook her head, placing a thin hand on his own. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I understand.”
He nodded silently, unsure of how to proceed. They sat in silence for a little while, until Ned came back into the room and sat with them, an uneasy smile on his face. They chatted about pointless things, the weather and how the one thing Ned missed from Polimnos was the sea—occasionally, Eris interjected, but seemed mostly content to listen and observe.
When sunset approached, Adrissu hugged her goodbye, and that was the last time he saw her. It was only three months later that Ned wrote him to say that she had passed away in her sleep. He hated the tiny pang of sadness that thrummed in his chest when he read it. Having human friends was always a mistake.
In the meantime, Pollux had developed a few promising weapon prototypes that made Adrissu confident that they would set their plan in motion sooner rather than later. He had put together essentially a whip made of a heavy, braided chain and infused with magic to increase its strength and durability, so that when bound around a dragon’s wings, it would make flight impossible. Second, he had crafted a shield, lightweight and easy to carry, but enchanted with cooling properties so that it would defend its wearer from a dragon’s fiery breath.
Both things would be exceedingly useful if and when they had to face off with Tyrsun, but Adrissu’s chest ached with nostalgia when he looked at the shield, gleaming and bright compared to Ruan’s time-worn shield still displayed on the tower wall. A different unease ached in him when he thought of how Kian died—not from the dragon’s fierce breath, but the sheer power and weight of a lashing tail—and there was nothing he or Pollux could do that would negate that, at least not that he could think of. Trapping it and keeping it bound would be their best bet, but it would have to be more effective than what Kian had done. It had to be perfect this time. But Pollux was still working on his inventions, and there was no rush. They could come up with something that would be perfect.
The last piece of the puzzle would be reaching Tyrsun to trap him in the first place. Though he knew of Tyrsun’s territory, of course, Adrissu did not know exactly where the red dragon’s lair was, and where within the lair they might find Tyrsun. Luring Tyrsun out of his lair would likely be the best option, but this risked interference from others. Either way, Tyrsun would have knowledge of their surroundings that he and Pollux lacked. Fighting a dragon in its own lair was a death wish, though, so Adrissu was adamantly against that as well. He turned the problem over and over in his mind over several months, coming back to it often when he lay awake at night with Pollux restless beside him, or in quiet moments in his office when he was supposed to be reviewing lesson plans or developing his own.
Some part of him was certain that Pollux would have some idea that he was missing—some key piece of information that he had not thought of—but he was loath to bring it up to the elf, not yet. Everything still felt so fragile and breakable, like if he mentioned it now, Pollux might change his mind about everything after all. He was not sure where the feeling came from, but it reminded him of Ruan and their struggle over the initial soul bonding ritual.
He had been thinking of Ruan often, of late, because Pollux reminded him more of Ruan than any other incarnation before him. Though they were exceedingly different in temperament and appearance, something about Pollux’s warrior nature was a stronger echo of Ruan’s heart than ever before. Yet Pollux also seemed more like Adrissu, strangely, than any of his previous iterations—cold and calculating, emotionally unavailable, but desperately attached to him. Not to mention his magical ability, which was far beyond even what Kian had been capable of.
His mate was undeniably becoming more like him the longer time went on. This too unsettled Adrissu, so he hoped more than ever that this would be his mate’s final incarnation. He was not sure what another would do to either of them.
Time passed, as it always did, and before long, it had been two years since Pollux had come to live with him. A new school term was well underway, and Pollux was nearly finished with the first of his inventions. Once it was perfected, he would move on to the shield; and when both were completed, Adrissu hoped, they would finally move on Tyrsun—then they could close this chapter of their lives together to proceed to the next. Even if it took two more years, that would be fine, Adrissu thought. Two years had gone by in a flash; another two were sure to be just as quick.
“A letter for you, headmaster.”
Adrissu glanced up to see his secretary stepping through his office door with a folded piece of parchment held out to him—this one was a human man, tall and wiry and not particularly friendly, but he was punctual and his handwriting was very neat, so Adrissu liked him well enough for the job. He reached across his desk to take it, only to frown at the unfamiliar script addressing the note to him.
“From...?” he asked, but his secretary only shrugged, already stepping back toward the door.
“A courier dropped it off, sir,” he said, pausing in the doorway. “My apologies.”
