Heartless

“Eh? Oh, that.” He shrugged. “You’ll not notice them before long. Most of us don’t. Unless we want to. Some of us enjoy them.” He smiled, and his slit-eyes glinted. “Come. I must show you one more place.”


She did not want to take his hand again, but he grabbed her and all but dragged her from the Hoard’s cave back into the cavern. Weaving his way through the shadowy figures, her guide led her to the very center of the cavern. There sat a giant stone throne.

It was covered in blood.

“This is his throne,” the yellow-eyed boy said. “This is where we worship him, our lord, our master. Here he sits and judges us. And if he deems us worthy, we live. But if we have failed him in any command, he devours us.”

The dragon girl felt a shiver run through the boy’s arm. “Devours you?” she whispered.

“Us, sister. Yes, such is his right, for he is our Father. Sooner or later, we all fail and give our blood to him.”

She stared at the yellow-eyed boy in horror. “Why do you not flee this place?”

He turned slowly to look at her, his slitted eyes boring into her face.

“There is no other way for us,” he said. “We are his children.”

“But you said there were no chains here!”

“Only those I have chosen for myself,” he replied, setting his jaw. “I choose to give him my blood when he demands it. It may be a hundred years from now. Perhaps it will be tomorrow. Meanwhile, I live free.”

She stared at the throne, and the smell of dried blood filled her nostrils until she gagged.

The yellow-eyed boy watched her, a smile on his face. “Now you know your end, little sister. You stand at your beginning. We shall see how long until the two meet. In the meantime, let your fire burn and you’ll not long be forgotten in the outside world.”

She pulled her hand free and ran through the darkness, through the shadow people, away from that awful throne. She ran until she hit a wall and fell back on the floor, stunned. There she wrapped her dragon arms over her head and curled into a tight ball.

Realm of dragons.

My home.





29

At midafternoon, Prince Lionheart stood beside his father’s throne to hear the news of his kingdom. Court was held in a small assembly hall, as the great throne room of the Eldest’s House had been burned to the ground by the Dragon. King Hawkeye, aged and shriveled by too much exposure to dragon smoke, still ruled Southlands, but more and more he deferred to his son’s opinion on matters.

It was known among the court of the Eldest that the Council of Barons watched Prince Lionheart with a wary eye, uncertain whether or not they could trust his leadership after his five-year absence. But Hawkeye, by his deference to his son, made as clear as he could his desire that Southlands trust Lionheart. Soon, it was rumored, Hawkeye would step down from the throne altogether and pass the crown to his son.

This cold afternoon in midwinter, Prince Lionheart listened to reports from various landowners. Much of the land surrounding the Eldest’s City was still wasted after the Dragon’s invasion. Few fields had been left unspoiled. This made all the more important in the coming year a good crop yield in other portions of the kingdom.

He stood in deep contemplation of the report one of his barons had just finished making when the herald announced, “Prince Aethelbald of Farthestshore.”

Lionheart looked up and saw a man he recognized approaching from the doorway. Aethelbald – he had met him at Oriana Palace. He winced as he always did when reminded of that place.

“Greetings, Prince,” King Hawkeye said as Aethelbald neared the throne. “You have journeyed far, have you not? Farthestshore! I cannot remember the last time I beheld a man from Farthestshore.”

Aethelbald bowed low before the king. “Long life to Your Majesty,” he said. “Yes, I have journeyed far.” He straightened, and his gaze locked with Lionheart’s. “Greetings, Prince Lionheart,” he said.

Lionheart nodded. “Strange that we had no word of your coming, Prince Aethelbald.”

“Not so strange,” Aethelbald said. “Few would know the paths I take.”

“Do you travel with a large company?”

“I travel alone.”

At that, the courtiers of Southlands turned and whispered to each other. A prince, traveling alone? And where did he say he was from?

Farthestshore, of all places! Surely this was some sort of hoax.

Lionheart spoke loudly to drown out the murmur. “Do you seek lodging? Allow us to treat you to the hospitality of Southlands.”

“No,” Aethelbald responded. “I seek a word with you, Prince Lionheart. In private, if I may.”

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