Blood of Dragons

Hest feigned astonishment. ‘Never? Ah, but you should! A sapphire ring to match the scaling on your hand. Or—’ He lifted his hand and playfully tapped the boy’s ear, and then, as Davvie drew back at his touch, Hest used the motion as a way to trace his jaw-line with his forefinger. ‘Dangling earrings. Silver. Or rich gold to draw the eye to your face.’

‘I feel drained,’ Selden said, and managed a feeble smile at his joke.

‘This looks infected,’ Chassim replied tartly, glaring at his swollen wrist. The Duke’s teeth had broken his skin in the most recent session, and the flesh around it was hot and red.

Selden had not felt that bite as a separate pain. He’d lost consciousness early in the act and only recovered his awareness here in the tower room. Each time the Duke bled him, his stamina dropped. He did not look at his arm as she put a hot, wet cloth on it. A strong aroma of garlic rose from the poultice and he turned his head to avoid it.

‘Is it a pretty day out there?’ he asked inanely. Chassim had opened the shutters and a soft wind was blowing through the heavy curtains. Beyond their fluttering he glimpsed the stone balustrade of the balcony. Their new quarters were spacious and airy, with a wide view of the city and the surrounding countryside. Spring was coming, he thought and smiled weakly. Spring was coming and he was going.

‘Nice enough. Do you want your curtains opened? It’s clear but not very warm out there.’

‘Please. What’s the worst that can happen? I catch my death of cold?’

‘The infection will kill you first,’ she said bluntly.

‘I know how bad it is,’ he admitted. ‘It hurts and the healers told your father that next time he must take blood from my other arm, lest the infection spread to him. I’m not looking forward to that.’ His fingers twitched against his bedding as he thought of it. Bad enough to have the Duke break open the cut on his arm every few days. Adding another one was a whole new horror. ‘I’m dying,’ he said, trying the words aloud. ‘His drinking my blood is killing me.’

‘And every time he takes your blood, he seems to get stronger. He is so triumphant about it. It’s disgusting.’ She pushed the heavy curtains aside and tied them back. The sky was blue with puffs of white cloud in the distance. No mountains in this direction. The horizon stretched on to forever. The wind wandered into the room.

‘Maybe when I die, he will start to fail again.’

‘Maybe. I won’t live to find out. If you die, then I die, too.’ She came back to sit on a stool by his bed.

‘I’m sorry.’

She made a strangled noise. ‘Scarcely your fault that my father is killing you. Nor mine. I was born into this disaster. I’m sorry that you fell into it.’ She looked out of the window. ‘I’ve been thinking that if you die, I won’t wait for him to discover it and punish me for it.’ She nodded toward the balcony. ‘I may jump from there.’

‘Sweet Sa!’ Selden exclaimed in horror. He tried to sit up but he was not quite strong enough.

‘Not in despair, my friend. Just to make it harder for him to pretend I died a natural death. If I leap from here, it may be that some will see me fall. There are people who have pledged to avenge me if I die at my father’s hands.’

Selden felt far colder than he had before. ‘And your leaping will launch a wave of vengeance?’

‘No,’ she continued to look at the sky. ‘I hope to avert it. There was a time when I wanted people to know what he had done to me; I dreamed they would all rise up and avenge my death. Now I think about it like ripples ringing out from a dropped stone. Do I want my death to result in misery and death for others? Or would I rather slip away at a time of my choosing?’ She reached over and took his good hand without looking at him. ‘I don’t really want to die at all,’ she confided to him in a whisper. ‘But if I have to, I’m not going to let him be the one to make me die. I’m not going to wait here alone, wondering if he will torture me first.’ She finally made eye contact with him and tried for a faint smile. ‘So, when you go, I’ll go, too.’

He looked at the tray on the low table beside him. The cream soup still steamed slightly. Slices of mushroom interrupted that calm sea. A brown loaf of bread was beside it and a shallow dish of pale-yellow butter. Stewed Chalcedean peppers, purple, yellow and green, surrounded a slab of steamed white fish. All so prettily arranged. They wanted him to eat well. He knew why. Earlier, he had defiantly refused the food. It had seemed pointless to eat, merely an exercise in extending his life as a blood source for the Duke. Now it seemed a way to extend Chassim’s life. ‘While there’s life, there’s hope,’ he said.

‘So they say,’ she conceded.

He reached for the napkin and shook it out.