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Merletta exchanged a glance with Sage, trying to silence the voice of foreboding inside her. She’d made her choice, and there was no point second guessing it now. For better or worse, she’d started the process of spreading the truth. And like blood disseminating through water, its progress couldn’t be measured, let alone contained.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Come on, Heath.”
Percival’s exasperated voice sounded in Heath’s ear, although his brother barely moved his lips. It was a skill they’d both perfected over the course of many dull formal events. “You can’t ignore me when you’re forced to stand next to me all morning.”
Heath was sorely tempted to mutter watch me, but that wouldn’t really be ignoring Percival.
“We’re in the middle of a ceremony,” he hissed instead.
The sound of his voice, quiet as it was, caused his mother to look around suspiciously at her sons. She saw two attentive faces directed at the king as he gave his speech.
“Exactly,” murmured Percival, in triumph, once the duchess had looked back around. “So you can’t dodge me. You’ve been avoiding me since Reka showed up last week and interrupted our—”
“Secret society?” Heath interjected bitingly.
Percival couldn’t actually make the gesture given their visible position at the front of the castle courtyard, but Heath could hear the eye roll in his voice. “You make it sound so dramatic.”
Heath didn’t reply. He kept his eyes on King Matlock, who was still addressing the assembled crowd. Percival was right that Heath had been avoiding him all week, and he wasn’t happy about being forced to stand alongside him at the Winter Solstice Festival. He could muster no enthusiasm for the event, not even given that Reka was to attend again, to light the Flame of Friendship for the second year in a row.
“We are honored,” King Matlock was saying, “to mark the passing of another year of peace with our allies.”
Heath turned his eyes upward, along with the rest of the onlookers, who clearly also recognized the cue for the dragons to arrive. And sure enough, with a rush of wind that sent swirls of snow dancing around the courtyard, half a dozen dark shapes suddenly dominated the sky, blocking the already dim winter light.
Heath’s eyes latched on to Reka, landing at the back of the group. The young dragon scanned the crowd until he found Heath, and dipped his head in greeting. Heath smiled back at him, his heart lifting slightly. He might be utterly failing in his role as liaison between the crown and the power-wielders, and he might be feeling more distant from his own family than he could ever remember being before, but at least he and Reka were friends again. That was something.
Heath’s eyes passed to the other dragons, all of whom were significantly bigger than Reka due to their age. As the youngest, Rekavidur was also the one with the brightest hide. His yellow scales, edged with purple, looked cheerful against the snow. Reka’s father, Elddreki, was greeting Heath’s grandmother, and Heath felt himself tense slightly. At the previous year’s ceremony, the dragon had given greater deference to the power-wielding princess than to King Matlock, and the court had noticed. It didn’t matter how subtle the gesture had been, not with how sensitive everyone was to the issue, even a year ago. Now, it was much worse. He hoped Elddreki would turn his attention quickly to the king.
He was destined to be disappointed. The medium-sized dragon, his blue, purple, and green scales glinting in the morning sun, shifted to the side without even speaking to King Matlock. The usual awed hush had fallen on the onlookers when the dragons descended, but now a muttering went around the gathered crowd. Another dragon, a large one with burgundy scales, moved forward to take Elddreki’s place.
“Greetings, King of Men,” he said to King Matlock.
Neither his tone nor his expression gave any hint of awareness that Elddreki had just breached etiquette. And yet Heath knew that dragons were acutely conscious of, and—somewhat bizarrely—very attached to formalities, even human ones. An ominous feeling began to sweep over him. He could see the unnatural stillness of his father, standing just in front of him, and he could feel his brother’s nervous energy. Percival was rocking slightly on the balls of his feet.
“Greetings, Mighty Beasts.” The king gave the traditional greeting. His face also showed no sign of the slight he had received. “You are welcome here.”
The burgundy dragon inclined his head slightly. Heath, his eyes riveted to the creature, let out an audible gasp that made Percival start beside him. The gesture had looked respectful, but all at once Heath had been filled with the certainty that the dragon was angry. Very angry. And angry dragons were never a good thing.
“I do not detect dishonesty in your bearing, King of Men,” the dragon said. “So I will thank you for your words. But I am surprised to hear them. We did not expect to find ourselves welcome here.”
The muttering in the crowd increased, so that it sounded like an uneasy wind was sweeping fitfully around the courtyard. King Matlock’s expression didn’t change, but his face was suddenly almost as pale as the snow.
“I am distressed to learn of your expectations,” he said, and his voice was impressively even. “You have always been welcome here, and I cannot imagine what would have caused you to think that had changed.”
The dragon waited politely for the king to finish before he spoke.
“You do not need to imagine,” he said. “I will tell you.” His voice was calm, but still, Heath could sense the anger below the surface. And it wasn’t just the speaker, he realized. An unfamiliar fire was burning inside every dragon present. They were offended, and Heath could tell King Matlock understood just how dangerous that was.
“We are creatures of magic,” the dragon continued, his breath coming out so warm that it melted the snow in front of his taloned feet, despite his head being level with the battlements around the castle. “We have long understood that humans fear magic. We have tolerated your fear in the belief that it stems from reverence for a force you cannot match or understand, and that it will lead to wise caution. But when that fear becomes aggressive, our tolerance wanes.”
There was a moment of nervous silence before King Matlock spoke.
“I am grateful for your explanation,” he said carefully. “But I am afraid that I still do not understand.”
The burgundy dragon gave a huff of impatience, but it was Elddreki who spoke.
“The existence of power-wielding humans in your living generations is a gift that is unprecedented in the history of this land. We know, for our memory is long. You have treated this gift with such suspicion that your power-wielders must meet in secret to exercise their magic, as if it was shameful.”
