Vana doesn’t hate the suggestion like he did last time. Daromir isn’t just an extension of himself. They can disagree without destroying each other.
Marek sets up his aerie board on the balcony table. The magic heating lamps chase away the predawn chill, and to the east, the stars begin fading into silver. Vana draws the blue wraith and goes first.
He barely caught two hours of sleep overnight, but that isn’t why he plays so badly today. No, that’s entirely due to Daromir. From three feet away, whenever it’s Vana’s turn to play, Daromir beginsstroking his own inner thigh.
After Vana’s third mistake surrenders his enchanter to Kazia’s rider, Vana revises his strategy. Forget victory. He devotes his every resource to taking down Daromir’s army.
“Are you two fighting?” Marek asks a few rounds later.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vana says loftily, then remembers something. “Oh, Kazia. Daro told me you sent the scorpion moth.”
Kazia shrugs, toying with a captured pawn.
Marek blinks out of his half-asleep stupor. “So, Radovan was right? What the fuck, Kazia?”
Kazia shrugs again. “Radovan should keep better track of his toys. I just exposed a security flaw in his laboratory. He should thank me.”
Vana can’t tell how much of Kazia’s nonchalance is feigned. It doesn’t really matter. Strangely, Vana isn’t even annoyed about the moth, except that Daromir could have been hurt. The part that concerns him the most is that Kazia claimed to have done it on whim. That impulsive carelessness is dangerous for everyone, including Kazia himself.
“Radovan is the queen’s current favorite,” Vana says. “Aliza indulges you, but you should still be careful about alienating people. You never know who you may need to rely on someday.”
“Thanks for the lecture, dear brother.” Kazia moves one of his black wyrm pieces. By the state of the board, Marek’s sleep deprivation has taken a toll, and he’ll lose his monarch soon.
It’s Vana’s last morning in Ostomar. Hopefully forever, so Vana doesn’t have to worry about pissing Kazia off. He can indulge in dispensing some rare brotherly advice. “I’m serious, Kazia. If you ever need help and it’s in my power, you can call on me.”
The aerie piece stills in Kazia’s slim fingers. His eyes lower. For a striking moment, he looks as shaken and vulnerable as Arla did when Vana apologized for not writing. But Kazia recovers quickly. “Sure. Could you rescue me from this freak bothering me? He’s got stupid white hair and a giant dog, and his name is Vana Dire.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Vana says, grinning.
That annoys Kazia even more, and he channels his annoyance into a ruthless game of aerie. As the sky warms and the sun rises, Kazia loses half his pieces along the way, but still manages to wipe the floor with all of them.
“Best of three?” Kazia asks, his mood restored by the victory.
Daromir nudges Vana’s foot under the table. “Keep your victory,” Vana says, and pulls a scroll from his coat. “And here, before I forget.”
Kazia’s eyes narrow. “This isn’t revenge for the scorpion moth, is it?”
“Just consider it a late birthday gift,” Vana says. He isn’t sure whether Imrik will honor the letter handing over the deed to Sabora. But if Kazia really wants it, he can fight for it. Vana won’t need that false haven anymore.
“Do I get anything?” Marek asks. He’s more awake now, which is good, because Vana isn’t letting him rest any time soon.
“Actually, the opposite,” Vana says. “I need to ask you a favor.”
Marek sighs. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
***
Loska is one of the largest bonded dragons, the size of three southern elephants. His immense blue and black form takes up nearly the entire tower-top, save for the walkway Vana and Daromir wait at. Loska’s wedge-shaped head hangs over the tower edge, peering out at the castle below.
Stanza attempts to perch on one of Loska’s horns. He jerks his head, and she diverts to a nearby gargoyle to preen her feathers like she meant to land there originally.
Vana has ridden on dragonback a few times. That isn’t why he’s nervous. As much as he wants it, the change ahead is still overwhelming. Draskora isn’t his home, but Vana’s lived here half his life. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be welcome on the island.
Hopefully the letter he entrusted to Indra gets through.
Daromir wraps an arm around Vana’s waist and kisses the side of his head when Marek isn’t looking. Vana relaxes into his grip.
“Can you confirm again that Father is on board with this?” Marek calls out, yanking the straps to make sure the adjusted harness is secure. He hangs easily from Loska’s dark blue side, one boot in a foot-strap and the other braced on the dragon’s bent arm.
