Page 9 of Courting the Dragon Prince
“Onyx?” she rasped. “Shouldn’t you be training at the temple?”
Onyx inhaled. He had stopped training at the Mystic Mountain Temple years ago when he turned sixteen and was old enough to fight in the war against the dragons.
“No, Mother. Not anymore.” Onyx took a seat opposite her, taking her limp hand in his. “It is a lovely day outside, and the White Monastery has several beautiful gardens. Should we go for a walk?”
His mother turned her head to the window. “White Monastery? Why are we at the White Monastery? Why aren’t we at Limestone Castle? Where are the mountains?”
Onyx swallowed, lowering his gaze.
His mother had used to be so alert and sharp of mind. She’d been a competent grand warden of the Grey Mountains, strong, tough, yet kind.
But that had been before his sister’s death.
“We left our home to come to the White Monastery with our allies to create a peace treaty with Draconia,” Onyx told his mother, not for the first time.
In fact, his mother had been part of the initial discussions regarding a treaty with the other rulers they had allied with.
The grand warden stared at him with unfocused eyes. “Oh yes. I remember now.” She paused. “The war.” A muscle in her cheek twitched. “They killed her.” Her voice shook. “The dragons killed my Tourmaline.” Tears glistened in his mother’s eyes. They slid down her cheeks. She did not wipe them away as they dripped onto her neck and disappeared beneath the collar of her dress.
Onyx’s own eyes stung, but he shoved the ache down.
He’d lost his sister to the war.
He’d lost his mother to her grief.
He would not lose himself as well. He’d focus on his duty, on obtaining peace for his kingdom. He would cling to that. He would do what was needed for the Grey Mountains.
And that included marrying an arsehole who didn’t give a damn about the treaty or the war his family had caused.
“Yes,” Onyx said, voice rough. “And we are making peace with the dragons so the war can stop. So no more people will die.”
“Oh.” His mother’s lip trembled. “My poor girl,” she whispered. “My poor, beautiful girl. They killed her.” A sob escaped her. “They killed my girl.” She turned her head. “More tea.” She lifted a glass cup clasped in her hand.
A single servant stepped forward and poured a pale-purple liquid from a pot into her glass.
“Mother, perhaps drink the tea after we go for a walk,” Onyx rushed out. “It would be good for you to have some activity and fresh air. They have a rock garden with several pillars carved from different rocks. It was created specifically for earth elemental visitors like us. It really is lovely.”
But it was no use; she lifted the glass to her lips and drank the lysithea tea in three gulps. She lowered the empty glass, sighed, and closed her eyes.
Onyx bowed his head, defeat washing over him.
Since his sister’s death, everything had crumbled into rubble.
Onyx had been away fighting when his mother received word of Tourmaline’s death. But he’d been informed what happened. She’d started to drink lysithea tea to help her sleep. Then to help her get through the day. She’d kept drinking more and more until it numbed the pain. And her mind.
Soon, she’d stopped caring about the war; her interest in it had become less important than the loss of her daughter. The Grey Mountains had lost more and more battles and more and more of their armies.
Thankfully, Warden Flint, his mother’s brother, had stepped in to assist. Although, by then, their armies had been weakened extensively because of his mother’s neglect. And so many of the sacred mountain’s temples had been destroyed, weakening the very power they wielded.
An earth elemental’s power was connected to the mountain temples where they trained and studied. When the temples were destroyed, their powers diminished.
Onyx felt it: his connection with the earth, mountains, and stone was so much weaker now. Thankfully, he was so powerful that his powers remained strong. But he knew others whose powers had been reduced to the point where they struggled to make a handful of pebbles vibrate on the ground.
When the nature mages of Botanial and the lightning and wind sorcerers from Voltaria and Zephyrias had suggested they try to negotiate peace with Draconia, his mother had gone along in a daze. The necromancers of Necros had been reluctant to try for peace. But they’d eventually come around.
When word had reached Onyx about the possibility of peace, he had written to his mother, begging her to do all she could for peace. He had no idea if his words had influenced her. She’d never written back.
Thankfully, here they now were, at the White Monastery, at an assembly to develop a treaty.
