AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I pull myself up to attention and try not to make eye contact. He said a lot of things yesterday; I try to seize on the one he’s expecting.
“That I might join His Majesty’s Royal Army?” I ask.
Ensyvir makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. It’s cold, like running a sharpening stone across a dagger. He walks slowly out from behind his new desk. The floor is clean, I notice. All the papers I’d so carefully arranged have vanished. My eyes tick up to the doors on the far side. All still closed.
I catch Ensyvir’s movement out of the corner of my eye. My body reacts before thought, and something hard smacks into the arm I raise to protect my head. Pain explodes across my forearm as a training staff clatters to the floor. I glance at it, then back to Ensyvir. He’s smiling in a way that makes me feel like something oily is running down the back of my neck.
“Pick it up,” he says.
It’s some sort of trap. It has to be, but what choice do I have? Keeping my eyes on Ensyvir, I bend for the staff.
Blessed kings, he’s fast! In the time it takes me to reach my arm out toward his staff, he’s by my side. With a sword in his hand. Pointed at my neck.
I swallow hard, then close my fingers around the training staff. Its solid, polished hilt is a comforting weight in my palm. I meet Ensyvir’s eyes. I’m bending down with my arm extended and my throat exposed. If he wanted to kill me, this is his chance. No one would even miss me.
No one but the flurry of dark wings spread across the sky, I think as my chest pulls tight. No one but the dragon I told to go home. Tears bite at the edges of my vision, and I turn my gaze down to the stone floor.
“Stand up,” Ensyvir snaps.
I obey, my throat tight, my chest aching. Ensyvir lunges toward me, as I’d expected. It’s not a killing blow; if he’d wanted, that sword of his could snap this staff like a man bringing his boot heel down on the skull of a baby bird. No, this is another sort of test.
I parry his attack, then the next, and then the next. I take a step back, rebalance, pivot on my left foot, and then hold the staff across my body. The early morning light dances through dust motes and glimmers along the length of Ensyvir’s sword. His dark eyes sparkle with amusement, and his lips peel back to reveal teeth that are unnervingly white.
“You,” Ensyvir says in a voice like greased velvet, “are a weapon. Understand?”
No, I tell myself. I am a dragon. And I’m only here to keep you from following Doshir’s trail.
Ensyvir lunges forward again, his sword slicing the sunlight. He hits my training staff with a dull thud. Ensyvir pulls back, panting slightly. Lacking stamina. He has the superior weapon, but he’s winded already. His Majesty’s Royal Advisor must not train very hard.
“What is it that weapons do, child?” Ensyvir asks.
I stare at him, waiting for him to answer his own asinine question. And, soon enough, he does.
“Weapons go where they are pointed, dear Rayne,” Ensyvir says.
Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. He takes a step back, then tosses the sword across his new desk. The blade clangs hard against the polished wood, and I wince. He’s careless with his tools, this Royal Advisor. This man running my from the shadows. Ensyvir wipes his hands on his black cloak as if touching the sword’s hilt has dirtied them, then turns back to me with a smile that suggests he’s trying to explain something to a toddler.
“Weapons,” he says, “do not make their own decisions. Understand?”
I feel my lips curling into a snarl, and I force them into a tight smile instead. I nod.
“Weapons do what they are told,” Ensyvir continues. “You, for instance. You were sent to kill the dragon of Cairncliff.”
I clear my throat. “I did kill the dragon of Cairncliff. Sir.”
“No!” Ensyvir screams, whirling around in a flurry of black cloth. “You fucked the dragon of Cairncliff!”
He’s so close that his spittle lands on my face. I flinch; it’s been years since a superior has found reason to scream in my face. I squeeze my jaw together and hold my breath. What response is he expecting?
“Sir,” I begin. “The dragon of Cairncliff is dead.”
Ensyvir’s hand flashes in my peripheral vision. I know better than to flinch. The slap lands solidly against my right cheek. White stars explode across my vision, and pain rings through my skull.
“You stars-damned idiot,” Ensyvir snaps. “Doshir is the dragon of Cairncliff.”
My breath catches in my throat. The tears that swell in my vision are not entirely an act. Ensyvir looms over me, his thin lips pulled into a tight little arc that could be either a smile or a sneer.
“You were sent to Cairncliff to kill Doshir,” Ensyvir hisses. “But he used you instead. You’re so pathetically desperate for affection that he used you like a man rides a mule. You gave him access to Valgros, and that slimy son of a bitch used that access to steal something of mine.”
