“I know the details of the vote were secret, but two people voted for him to live.” Ryan tapped at the glass of the old photo with a wistful smile that didn’t meet the hardness in his eyes.
“Aidel Slang and Long Han.” Viraj spoke in a whisper. An old German reprobate that had been on the wrong side of a certain toothbrush-mustached failed painter some odd hundred years back and a relatively young dragon, descended of their royal family without much financials to speak of. Viraj figured his vote was likely purchased as a last-ditch attempt. “But you did not hear it from me.”
“Heard what? Oh, about the frames.” Ryan tapped a neatly manicured finger on the frame. “I’ll be sure to send my artwork directly to your artisan if you’ll send me his contact info.”
Viraj and Ryan nodded in silence. He likely did want the framer, and Viraj would send it. But those two names could cost Viraj his life. But if he saw those two names scratched off the census, Viraj would sleep more soundly.
“Heard from Father?” Ryan glanced over and Viraj tensed.
“Father has forgotten we exist. He knows where to find me if he ever wants to talk.” Viraj picked at his finger absentmindedly. “He ever sets foot in this country and he’ll stand before the council, though. We’ve found another of our siblings this month.”
That caught Ryan’s attention as he glanced over. “Hijada?”
“Dette.”
“Of course.” Ryan scoffed. “The second they stop being useful…”
The words hung in the air lamely.
“We’ll find a hole of nothing but bones and pins one day.” Viraj clenched his fists so hard, they popped.
Ryan hung his head. “They kept so much from us.”
They kept so much from the Dettes. The Drakes knew.
Viraj had seen the pins placed.
He’d seen the final shift.
And he’d done nothing then.
“I put a red alligator skin attaché case with your luggage.” Viraj cleared his throat. “For your guests.”
Untraceable funds that would help the Vritra escapees, as Gaspard worked on a surgery that would enable them to remove the pins safely.
Ryan nodded once. “We have newhelparriving soon.”
Hijada were comfortable serving the Vritra, and they’d do anything, even life-threatening, for a chance at getting those pins removed. Some, though, had worked too deep.
Just like the poison flowing through the minds of Drakes for ages.
Bitter poison.
Even more bitter tears.
Chapter Five
Teige
Oh, the wonders that a pilot’s license and a small passenger airplane could obtain when one had a mind.
Stones were easy enough to obtain—a flight to New York, a clandestine meeting in Texas, and a couriered delivery of prime black marble—marmor Taenarium, a Grecian marble with such distinct patterns in it—permeated with fine flecks of iron oxides and hematite in coquettish and secret slashes of red.
The marble had once belonged to another dragon, his estate still being liquidated—every penny going to make amends for the damage done. And as of the night before, it lined their nest.
And once-solid panels bore intricate carved notches in a latticework pattern, each inset little channel a perfect display in an immense gallery. Each would be capped in fine glass and lit from behind with a soft glow, which would display each curated stone they wanted. No treasure they obtained would be so trivial that it would line their nest like gravel.
It’d been a private bath at one time, lining walls and floor, but Teige checked in as the mason—an old wolf who spoke little English, did his craft with focused ease, cutting down tiles and mortaring them into place. “Dragons very fat. Break easy!”
