Kazia is far more dangerous than his youth and size would indicate. Barely taller than five feet, he inherited neither storm nor blood magic from his parents. Nor did Imrik grant him Dire magic through the inheritance spell. The reason isn’t officially known, but Vana’s best guess is Imrik considers Kazia either too physically weak or too mentally unstable to carry Dire magic.
Whatever the reason, it’s probably for the better. The brat causes enough chaos without the ability to shoot lightning from his fingertips. Queen Aliza indulges Kazia’s every whim, and King Imrik isn’t much better. The spoiling hasn’t been good for Kazia’s temperament, and the personnel turnover in his drasgard is astonishing.
Kazia spins around and approaches the game table. His pale purple eyes are bright with amusement. “Sorry, how rude of me. I forgot to greet your dog.” Kazia waves at the figure behind Vana’s shoulder. “Hello, Daromir.”
Vana tenses—and hates himself for letting Kazia get to him. Daromir just replies, deadpan, “Woof.”
Kazia claps his hands. “He’s so well behaved! Without even a muzzle or leash.”
Marek finishes his tankard and taps an aerie piece on the table. “Kazia, let’s catch up later. Vana and I were going to play aerie.”
“Perfect.” Kazia smiles. “There are four of us. Let’s play quads.”
Vana doesn’t understand at first. Then he’s taken aback.Hewas the one to forget Daromir this time. Vana and Daromir always share a side in aerie, when they aren’t playing doubles against each other.
Meanwhile, Marek looks the happiest he’s ever been to take a suggestion from Kazia. “Great idea. Maybe I’ll have a chance at winning if Vana and Daromir split up.”
Aerie pieces are divided into two sides of creatures, with each side divided into the set’s two colors. The colors vary by individual set, and the creatures vary by local tradition. Marek’s set is classic Draskoran wyrms against wraiths, painted blue and black. For doubles, the blue and black wyrms form one side, against the opposing side of blue and black wraiths. For quads, the sides separate by color into four opposing armies.
Marek drops a pawn of each creature and color into a velvet bag. “Who wants to pick first?”
Kazia stares off into the distance, and Daromir doesn’t move, so Vana reaches into the bag and draws the black wyrm. Daromir draws the blue wraith, then Marek the blue wyrm, and Kazia finally deigns to join them at the table to take up the black wraith.
“Thanks for the dragon statues, by the way,” Kazia says as Marek re-draws the pawns to determine order of play. “They’re so lovely.”
Beside Vana, Daromir’s amused disbelief is nearly palpable. The dragon statues were certainly not lovely. Of course, that’s not the point with Kazia’s weird power play. A child’s prank, maybe. Or a message. Kazia can take anything he wants from Vana.
Vana prefers to pick his battles carefully, though. He’s not going to war over the hideous dragon statues. “You’re very welcome. I hope they suit your chambers.”
The game begins with Daromir making the first move. Vana devotes half his attention to the game and half to the dragon corps gossip he prompts from Marek. “How is Loska, by the way?”
“Loska is newly lovestruck,” Marek answers with a grin. “He won’t tell me who he’s pining over this time. Might be another corps dragon, or maybe a wild dragon he saw three weeks ago for an entire five minutes. He falls fast.”
“I wish him all the best,” Vana says. “How about the rest of the corps?”
Marek raises his current tankard in salute. “I’m sure you’ve seen the reports. We’ve never been stronger. Three new dragons bonded the past two months alone.”
Vana doesn’t like the sound of that. The Draskoran dragon corps has never been particularly large—it doesn’t need to be. A few dozen bonded dragons are more than sufficient in peacetime, securing the eastern border and fending off northern raiders. The new bonds bring the number of dragons to nearly fifty, while tensions rise between Draskora and Silaise.
“One of the new dragons was flying east before she sensed a bondmate in the foothills,” Marek adds. He’s even more aware of the implications than Vana.
At least six wild dragons have crossed into Silaise in the past year. At least two of those six have bonded to Silaisans. King Imrik much preferred being the only monarch in Alantha with dragons under his command.
Vana only needs half his attention to win the first game of aerie. Daromir plays well enough, but Vana knows his tactics inside and out. Marek is distracted by doing most of the talking. Kazia is the surprise today, coming in second. His black wraiths take Daromir’s monarch before Vana sweeps in to conquer Kazia’s in turn.
“You played well,” Vana says. “Have you been practicing?”
Kazia leans his chin in his hand, his elbow on the table. His smile is dangerously sweet. “I haven’t practiced much recently. Rakos Tem taught me how to play.”
Everyone freezes at that name.
Marek’s brow furrows beneath his dark blue hair. “Really? Did you even know Rakos? You can’t have been older than twelve when he left.”
Leftis one way of putting it. Escape, exile, or desertion would all be better terms. Three years ago, Rakos Tem was the most famous wing-captain in the Draskoran dragon corps. Under a hailstorm of scandal, he teamed up with a Silaisan prince and fled to Silaise—taking his dragon with him.
And Vana and Daromir would both be executed if anybody learned how deeply they were involved in that incident.
Kazia shouldn’t have known Rakos beyond meeting in passing. Which means this mention is a message Vana doesn’t understand yet.
