Page 8 of King of Fire and Scales

“What do you mean, exactly?” she asked politely, blowing the steam off her spoonful.

Drake placed his spoon into the bowl, the rosemary-infused meal dancing up to his nostrils. He leaned forward, and she seemed to move with him, lowering her own head.

He spoke reverently, the sight of her rising and falling bosom teasing his usually focused attention.

“I can see that you are the Creation Sorceress that I seek, but you may not be aware of it. Your power can manifest in many ways like the merging of elemental forces, the forging of powerful artifacts…”

Drake paused, regarding her father. He had finished the bowl, and in his stupefied gaze, finally clued in on the conversation.

He was shaking his head and lifted a napkin to his mouth.

“Nothing like that around here,” Evanth said. “Unless you think making a mean stew counts.” He laughed wearily, then it tapered off into a dry coughing fit. Thalia rubbed his back as if she were sleepwalking.

The coughing diminished into a hiss, and Thalia reached for a jug of water set on the table. She poured a glass for him, and he drank it greedily. She then offered him more stew, and he shook his head.

“I may lay down for a moment. I apologize, My king.”

Drake paid no mind. Thalia then helped her father to his feet, holding him like a feeble bag of sand by the shoulders. She disappeared for a moment, then returned, wiping her hands off on her frock distractedly.

“He is not well,” she muttered before returning to the table. “But I was thinking about what you said, about the forging of artifacts and merging elements…”

Her lips thinned when she flickered her gaze at him. Drake didn't sense fear in her, but a watered-down dubiousness.

“Tell me,” the king said, studying her.

Thalia stared down into the stew, then stood up once more from the table. She pointed with her thumb casually behind her, not wanting to meet the king’s eye. Her tone was wistful, pride tangled in her tongue.

“I have quite a plentiful garden out back. That is the only place where I practice my spells. You see, the grounds here aren’t very fertile. I have aided a few households without them being informed. My father knows, but only a little. He is ill, as you can see.”

The king rose from the table, his clashing knees nearly upending it and sloshing the delicious stew to the floor. He went to the window and she followed behind him, bashful in her disposition.

What Drake saw there was anything but a simple, well-tended garden. He had his own on the palace property, and even that, while being watched over with meticulous and measured wardship, paled in comparison to what he was looking at outside the village woman’s window.

The soil was teeming with vividly colored and robust vegetables, fruits, and exotic plants. The abundant harvest was cut off by a raised garden bed that ran along the horizontal lines of the house’s property, with radiant green vines climbing the walls like gentle protectors.

The king spotted a range of lush crops, all draped in a dewy sprinkle of water. Bright lettuce heads, bold carrots, stout beets, and thick, long zucchini greeted him.

“What do you think?” she asked cautiously.

Beams of light crept in from the backyard and kissed along the bend of Thalia’s jawline. It haloed her in a way that felt auspicious.

He smiled, and that made her visibly soften.

“Thalia, there is no way that an average human could produce such a spectacular sight. Not even the gardeners who live inside my palace. It is proof to me that you are, indeed, the Creation Sorceress I have been seeking.”

There was a quiver of a smile tickling at her lips. The king then brazenly clapped his hands together, bringing her out of her brief reverie.

“That is settled then. Pack your bags, dear one. You will be joining me now at the palace.”

Thalia took a step away from him, balking.

“I will do no such thing, good King. Who do you think you are?”

His expression darkened. Drake towered over her, taking a step closer. She kept moving until her heel brushed against the wall.

His tone rumbled as he spoke in a somber tone.

“Are you refusing the orders of a king?”

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