“I have learned, through experience, that the gravity of mortal danger fades over time the longer and more frequently one is continuously exposed to it. The mind cannot be in a continuous state of readiness. It cannot exist in a perpetual state of fear. I’m afraid Alurian will learn this lesson soon enough.”

~ Bek Trent, M.A.S.O

Illian led Cevora into the room just as the kuirsrinn of Alti should be led by one of the king’s kivgha. He bowed, stepping aside so she could see the one whom she had come to see.

A beast.

A beast like no other in all the world.

It unfolded slowly, leering down at her with eyes like molten gold, the pearly gleam of its fangs glittering in the faded light of the magic channels. Its scales were obsidian, its massive skull as regal as it was terrifying. Cevora had watched the MASO’s men bring this creature into the castle, but she had not wanted to admit then what she was so certain of now. This dragon was the one who had killed her mother. The malicious glitter in its eyes – in his eyes – was proof enough.

“Princess of men,” the dragon’s voice grated like thunder in the great chamber where they had housed him, “finally we meet.”

“Dragon,” Cevora said, bowing. The dragon did not bow back, although it was customary for his kind to do so. She narrowed her eyes.

“I spared your knight when he claimed you wished for an audience,” the obsidian dragon chuckled, a sound that set her teeth on edge, “your srinn would be most displeased. So, what business do you have with me?”

“Why has the king brought you here?” Cevora asked sharply.

The dragon shifted to lower his head to her level, exhaling heavily. His breath, a hot wind that stung her skin, reeked of sulfur.

“You come to a dragon and ask what thoughts pass through the head of a mad man. You waste my time, human.”

Cevora felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but she was long past losing her composure.

“I have come, dragon, to ask why you have betrayed your own kin, and what the king has asked of you.”

The dragon snorted, sending sparks fluttering through the space between them. She felt Illian tense even from several feet away. The dragon’s golden eyes narrowed. For a moment, she thought he would not answer, as he raised his skull to look beyond her, towards the doorway. One of his great paws shifted, sending a cascade of silver bracelets there tinkling against each other. Cevora glanced at them, realized what they must be, and felt her eyes widen.

“Whom has betrayed whom, human?” the dragon finally rumbled, “The dragon kin have grown complacent. Their time draws to a close. The srinn of men seeks revenge for what he lost, and freedom from the tyranny of the beasts across his borders. He is the perfect instrument for my schemes.”

“And yet I seek peace between men and beasts. What can I offer you, dragon, to leave this castle? I gather that you are vital to my father’s plans,” Cevora said.

“Unfortunately, you are not yet master of this place,” the beast turned his gaze to her again as he huffed mockingly at her, “what I seek are secrets known only to the srinn of Alti.”

“I will be srinn when my father is dethroned.”

“Srinn of men, human, but not srinn of Alti. This land craves its king, and you will never be any such thing.”

Cevora opened her mouth to retort, and the dragon snapped his great jaws imperiously.

“One must suffer, human, to become king of this land. When death stands beside you, then you will rule. No sooner. You have lived too well. I see though, that you fail to understand, so I will explain. I killed your mother.” The great beast ducked low again, a wolfish grin spreading his reptilian lips. “You know this, and yet here you stand, speaking to me as if I were one of your kind. What srinn is this, who meets the king of beasts and stands before him a child, fang-less and naive? What srinn stays her hand before a killer of kin? You are powerless before me, human. Your magic is pure, untainted, powerful for a man, but to a dragon, unremarkable. Your father, at least, is mad enough to be useful.”

“Then we part enemies,” she declared, turning on her heel to leave the room. He was right that she was powerless before him. The rest was lies. The dragon’s voice chased after her, bringing her to an abrupt halt.

“Be my enemy then, if it pleases you. You are not the first. But know I have no qualms with you.”

“Then why did you kill my mother?” Cevora turned sharply, glaring at the great beast. He could kill her in an instant, it was true, but she sensed that he would not. For whatever reason, he regarded her with cool disinterest, not the fury she might have expected. His nose slits expanded as he drew in a deep breath, considering her.

“Cevora kuirsrinn,” Illian warned, clearing wanting her to leave now.

“What better way,” the dragon hissed, “to start a war?”

Cevora swallowed her rage, sensing that the dragon knew it. He provoked her purposefully, time and again. Regardless, she had her answer. Today, she had failed. On the battlefield, she would not.