Dramin looked at me for a moment, his eyes making my insides squirm. His gaze made me feel like he was looking into my future, which given his magic he possibly could be. I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone looking into my future, so I shied away from him, squishing my back further into the chair.
“Are you going to drink that?” he asked, gesturing toward the still full mug of steaming dark brown fluid he had given me. I swirled the mug around a bit, the thick fluid not moving around much.
“Probably not. The smell is making me a bit sick.” I tried to move it away from me, but Dramin only smiled.
“It tastes better then it smells, and it is the best thing for awakening magic. If you drink that I will tell you everything.”
I pulled the cup toward me before looking at him, one eyebrow raised in accusation, “I thought our deal was you get to carry me here, and in return, you tell me everything.”
“This is a new deal.” He smiled and I scowled back at him. I didn’t like being tricked.
I locked eyes with him for a moment, hoping to stare him down. He grinned at me and leaned forward, giving me the same look he had before. My insides squirmed again and I shrunk away. I didn’t like the way he looked at me, the way he seemed to see through me. I pulled the mug to my lips, cringing at the smell of the fluid before the sweet honey flavor hit my tongue. The second I swallowed I could feel everything inside of me speed up. My magic warmed and moved faster. I hadn’t felt the current inside of me feel so alive since the morning after Ilyan had first centered me.
“Talk,” I said, not willing to admit that the drink actually did taste good.
Dramin smiled widely before sitting back in his chair, his legs crossing to face the fire. The light flickered around the space, ricocheting off of the pieces of metal and glass that hung from the ceiling and giving the whole space a glittery feeling.
“In the beginning the four types of magic were born from the mud, the magical well of Imdalind that sits far below Prague: Rinax, the Vil?; Chyline the Trpaslíks; Helain the Sk?ítek; and Sain the Drak. From the beginning they knew of their abilities, knew of the magic that flowed through their veins. They used it in the ways that their souls dictated of them – for good, for love, for assistance to others. Magic was good in the world. Three went into the world, were married and bonded, and carried on their seed. So the magic grew, each mate, each child, bringing their own magic into the world. But one, Sain, was alone. He walked the earth desperate to find someone that his soul would call to and bond with but none came.”
He paused, and I took another drink, worried he would stop if I didn’t. Even though some of this I already knew, I had the distinct impression that this was how Dramin operated, from the beginning. He smiled at me, a look I didn’t return.
“In his loneliness, Sain went to the mud and begged for companionship. He cried into the well and from a slice in his finger, added two drops of blood. The well blessed the world with another Drak, but still Sain’s soul did not sing. He took me from the mud, named me, and raised me as he would a son.”
“You?” I asked, confused. I guess it made sense that he looked familiar.
“Yes, so you see. I am your uncle.” He smiled brightly, and I almost choked on the dark liquid.
“Wouldn’t that make you my brother?” Dramin laughed at my question.
“I am a bit old to be your brother, child,” he said with a smirk.
“And Sain is a little too old to be my Father,” I said, a little angry. Dramin chuckled and rested against the back of his chair, his feet lifting onto a large ottoman.
“Touché.”
I ignored him and took another drink of whatever he had given me. It was delightfully warming, and oddly enough the smell was growing on me.
“So if he was all alone, how did he end up with Ovailia?” I cringed at my words. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. This was possibly the largest piece of my past, of my Father’s past, that I still couldn’t quite make myself believe.
“Sain wasn’t alone. He wasn’t complete, but he wasn’t alone. He thrived as the head of the Drak, the race surviving through my progeny. It wasn’t until the day Ovailia was born, when he went to visit the newborn daughter of the King that his soul finally sang. He held that child in his arms, and before the day had ended, was telling everyone that he had found his mate, that he would bond himself to her when the time was right. Ovailia resisted him at first, but after sixty years she finally consented to a bonding. Everyone was so happy for Sain, for both of them, but after the bonding something changed. No one was sure what, until the day that Ovailia betrayed him.”
“Betrayed him?” I said, “But, I thought...” My voice faded off as Dramin shook his head, his eyes looking sadly away from me.