We exist in a prickly silence for several minutes. For whatever reason, she seems content to just loom over the space. Maybe she's drunker than she seems, and that column is the only thing holding her upright.
I'm too tired and distracted to argue, so I attempt to make polite conversation instead. “Arlo seems to be feeling better today.”
She doesn't reply. When I finally tilt my gaze toward her again, her eyes are glazed over, and she's gripping the stem of her glass so tightly I'm surprised it doesn't shatter.
So polite conversation is out as well, it seems.
“Reave hates that fucking dog,” she mutters a moment later, after a particularly loud bark booms across the yard. “All it does is drool all over everything and chew up any stray shoes it can find. It's particularly fond of his boots.”
“…I've never seen one so big.”
“He's unnatural.” She swirls her drink, studying its contents. “From the Scalveth Valley, where most of the creatures grow to ridiculous sizes on account of the dragon magic that flows through the water supply there.”
“That place is only a legend, I thought?”
“And yet there stands proof of its existence.” She gestures toward Ruffus, as if she thinks I might have somehow missed the ginormous beast. Her head tips toward me, dark blue eyes shining with their usual cutting appraisal. “Commander Gareth told me you were rather stupid. His assessment was certainly apt, wasn't it?”
I don't take the bait, knowing that silence will irritate her more, anyway.
“Kind of strange to thinkyoumight be the first true dragon-bound we've encountered in such a long time,” she presses, “given how ignorant you are about the dragons and their magic.”
“We actually agree on something for once.”
I feel her continue to stare at me, but I still don't truly engage. Then she does something unexpected—shelaughs. It's not a particularly nice laugh, but I suppose it's better than her usual threats and name-calling. “You're strangely entertaining, do you know that?”
I shrug, returning my full attention to the king.
He doesn't look like he hates the dog to me. Then again, I guess he’s pretending for Arlo’s sake; it’s easier to endure things for the ones you love than for yourself, I’ve found.
“He can't say no to our little brother,” Kestrel says, as if reading my thoughts. “That's why when some of our soldiers brought that dog back from a surveying mission near Scalveth, it was allowed to stay. Because Arlo fell in love with itinstantly.” Her glare levels on her older brother. “Such a weakling,” she mumbles. It's an attempt at her usual scornful tone, but there's an obvious hint of affection in the words, too.
Arlo has turned his attention to the dog in question, and he's busy trying to get it to catch a ball he's throwing. Ruffus is…not particularly good at the game, his massive jaws snapping air far more often than the ball.
Reave leans against one of the courtyard pillars, watching them. I notice a heaviness in the king's expression, a weariness that sinks his shoulders, just slightly—but it disappears any time his little brother looks back at him.
It's impressive, how quickly he hides his exhaustion.
However tired he might be, he doesn't look like he's going to leave his little brother's side until someone pries them apart. And since I can't bring myself to do that, I decide our confrontation will have to wait until after my next torture session with Commander Gareth.
I bid Kestrel a curt goodbye, and I begrudgingly make my way toward the coliseum behind the palace.
When I step into the arena, I find a small army of servants tending to Blight, as usual.
Over the past week, her living area has been expanded, giving her more freedom of movement as her wounds have healed. They've been spoiling her, too, supplying no shortage of luxurious bedding options, as well as a wide variety of food—most of it better than anything we ever ate back home. Some have even brought her gifts; little polished trinkets of silver and gold, chunks of quartz, and various silk ribbons that she's hoarded into small piles.
A woman is currently tending to her dark claws, smoothing a soft cloth over them and making them shine.Blight watches her with a sleepy, contented expression, a sound almost like a purr rumbling in her chest.
As I approach, most of the servants quickly finish their tasks and scatter. The admiration they have for Blight doesn’t extend to me; the king has ordered them to treat me like a guest, but that order is being followed with obvious reluctance. While they aren’t outwardly hostile like so many of the higher-ranked members of the palace court, they clearly don't trust me and whatever bond I might be forging—or failing to forge—with the dragon.
I eye the pile of gifts that have been left for her. She's got her tail wrapped around one of the larger hunks of crystal, curling it to her body like a child cuddling a favorite toy.
“You're going to end up vain if you let them keep pampering you this way,” I tell her.
She sits up straighter, fluffing up her wings and giving her head a little toss. It reminds me of the way Briar flips her hair when she's feeling particularly smug about something.
I roll my eyes. But, much like earlier when I was watching the king, I can't help studying the beast before me.
Her scales are coming in brighter than ever in some places. They're a particularly stunning shade of teal along her neck, while splashes of pale pink shimmer across her wings and face. Some of her older, darker scales are scattered across the ground, along with a few stray feathers from her wings. Those wings are a motley blend of black, teal, and rose, with various levels of growth among the feathers that are coming in. Not particularly attractive at the moment, but there's obviously something beautiful starting to take shape.
