Page 36 of King of Fire and Scales

Drake darkened. He snatched the scroll from his guard and stepped into the faint beam of swirling dust by the nearest window. The day had begun so brightly but was withering into what would likely become a storm for the ages.

He knew it in his bones the way an old hag in the woods prophesied death.

He read the note quickly. It was short and succinct.

I demand you release my cousin from your custody! it read. War and famine will fall upon your people!

The king chuckled with a sinister satisfaction. The men surrounding him were dumbfounded.

“I will return his message promptly. Come now.”

They scrambled back to his study like ducklings trailing after their mother. Their energy felt frantic and perturbed, but Drake sensed the winds were finally blowing in his favor.

He dabbed his quill into the ink and rolled out a small patch of the Mountain Kingdom royal scroll. Embedded at the crest of the sheet was the coat of arms of his ancestors, a minuscule mountain diffused by the presence of three tall evergreens, held together by the strapping carvings of two ancient dragon shifters.

The king’s quill stroke was agile and concise.

You and your treasonous cousin will not be released if you, dear Lucien, do not bend the knee. I await your prompt submission.

He tore the note away savagely and handed it to his guard.

“Send this, posthaste,” Drake said.

The guards took a tense bow and then fled the study.

The king couldn’t have been more pleased with the development. He rose from his desk and ventured on to find Thalia.

Beyond the castle, a storm brewed.

Drake strolled the corridors, relishing in superiority. He arrived at Evanth’s room, and drummed on the door, humming a jubilant tune.

“Thalia, it is your king,” he said as if their argument that morning had been a figment of their shared imagination. “I would like to have a dialogue with you.”

But Thalia didn’t answer the door. Nerin did. Upon greeting him, the nebbish assistant twisted the portrait of his features into a repugnant gape. His opinions were written on him as subtly as ancient stone effigies.

“Yes, My King,” he said, taking a reluctant bow. “Thalia isn’t here right now. She was earlier this morning, briefly.”

Drake noticed that the bed where Evanth had been spending the majority of his time was empty. He moved Nerin aside gently with his hand and came upon a sight that was as miraculous as it was puzzling.

The man who required accompaniment to the toilet merely a few nightfalls before was standing by the tall cathedral window, watching the sky with the admiration of a child. Drake went to him and was struck by the youthful young man who stood before him.

“Evanth?” he said cautiously.

Evanth was taken by something he saw in the sky. Drake followed his stare and saw it. A large bird with wings spread in a swooping, mighty soar.

“Is that a heron?” Evanth asked, pressing his finger against the glass.

“Indeed,” Drake said, marveling. “A great blue heron. They usually signal a storm.”

“Pity,” Evanth replied, eyes bright. "I told Thalia I wanted to go for a stroll. The grounds are rather stunning, Drake. I am very curious to explore.”

The king could not take his eyes off Evanth. The grays of his hair were nearly vanquished, a light spray of steel left like stardust sprinkling his sideburns. The mournful droop of his eyes was gone, replaced by a natural, adolescent blush.

Despite standing still, Drake could also see that he was spry. Nothing weighed him down anymore. What Sorcha had taught Thalia had reverted her father back into the spring of his life.

“We will be sure to explore once this blows over,” Drake said, giving Evanth a friendly pat on the shoulder.

In the past, the gesture would have had Evanth crumbling like a scarecrow. Standing against the ebbing and filmy daylight, the king felt his triumphs as a man. It made his throat dry up with pity.

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