Dragon's Blood (The Dragon's Gift Trilogy #2)

“I heard that the elves have arrived,” Catriona said, swishing the contents of her glass. “Is that why you’ve summoned us here?”

“Yes. With Tariana and Lucyan both gone, you are the closest family I have.” His other sisters had already flown back to rejoin the troops—Catriona was still here only because her wounds had taken the longest to heal. He paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “You both have spent time in Elvenhame recently. Do you have any reason to believe the elves are planning to backstab us?”

Taldren shook his head. “Ryolas treated me well enough for a prisoner,” he said. “He was no crueler than he had to be, and he did release me.”

“What of Arolas?” Drystan asked Catriona. “Have you ever had the occasion to meet him?” He’d run across the elven prince once or twice in his younger years, before the war—he was a smarmy bastard, used to getting his way, with a tendency to look down on others.

“Arolas is a manipulative cunt,” Catriona spat, her eyes glowing with anger. “It’s a shame I never got to meet him in open battle. I would have made it my personal mission to run my sword through him.” Her hand clenched so hard around her glass it started to crack, and she quickly put it down before it exploded, to Drystan’s great relief. “He used to yank at my pigtails when I was a child, and once he forced me to sit on his lap for nearly an hour at a party. The pig was nearly a man by then—he had no right putting his hands on me at that age, or any other for that matter. Mother gave him a right scolding when she found him, and she never let him near me again, but…” She trailed off, shuddering a little. “I don’t know what he’s capable of, to be honest.”

Drystan’s stomach roiled at the picture Catriona painted. “And I’ve sent Dareena into the clutches of that monster?” He groaned, putting his face in his hands.

“Dareena has Alistair to protect her,” Taldren reminded him. “She will be fine.”

“Not if Alistair is being incapacitated by that foul spell,” Catriona pointed out. “I don’t really expect Arolas to try anything with her—she is a valuable hostage, after all, and unless he cuts out her tongue he knows she will tell you all about it at the first opportunity. But as far as the treaty…it’s hard to say. King Andur will keep his word, but Arolas is manipulative, and he has the king’s ear now. He will have done his best to ensure that the king fucks us as hard as he can with this deal.”

“Bloody fantastic,” Drystan growled. He had half a mind to seek out the elf delegation and send them back to the elven king as a jar of ashes, but that wouldn’t get Dareena back. He talked with Taldren and Catriona for a little longer, but since Drystan couldn’t tell them the full extent of the situation, they weren’t much help. Tired of going around in circles, Drystan sent them away, then gave in to his urge to hide under the covers and took a long nap, ordering his valet to wake him an hour before his supper meeting.

By the time he went down to meet the elves for supper, he was feeling somewhat better, his raging headache reduced to mere tension in his neck and shoulders. To his great annoyance, Lucyan had still not returned—he knew his brother had said nightfall, but Drystan had hoped he would be back sooner so he wouldn’t have to endure these negotiations alone. Lucyan was far better at this sort of thing.

The elves were already waiting in the dining room when he arrived—two men and two women. They rose as he entered, and he greeted them individually, shaking their hands and noting their cold stares and smug smiles. Perhaps they’d been taking lessons from Arolas, Drystan thought as he seated himself at the head of the table. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn the prince had picked the delegates himself, or at least nudged his father into selecting the ones of his choosing. Rumor had it that the High King had not been himself since he’d jailed Ryolas—it was very likely that, in his grief, it was far easier for Arolas to manipulate him than it had been in the past.

The five of them made small talk as they were served a full seven-course meal, starting with a clear, spicy soup and working their way to the main entrée, a tender roast duck that melted in the mouth, served with new potatoes and a side of cabbage sprouts. The tension in the room was so thick, Drystan could have sliced it with a serving spoon, and it only seemed to grow the closer they got to the end of the meal.

Finally, when the table had been cleared and dessert was brought out, the conversation turned to business. “Thank you for this splendid meal,” Lord Parkas, a raven-haired elf with a long, hooked nose, said. “Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

“It’s the least I can do after you’ve traveled all this way,” Drystan said graciously. “I hope you’ve found your rooms comfortable.”

“We have,” Lady Maliwood, a gray-eyed elf with fire-red hair cropped close to the nape of her neck, said. “It’s a shame we’ll only be enjoying them for a single evening, but we must be on our way in the morning.”

“Of course.” Drystan inclined his head. “I assume you have a list of terms drawn up.”

The delegates nodded. “Pre-signed by the king,” Lord Thranar said, pulling a scroll from his sleeve. He passed it up the table to Drystan. “Sign it now, and you’ll have your brother and your Dragon’s Gift safe and sound in the Keep walls by tomorrow night.”

The thought sent a pang of longing through Drystan, but he hid it behind a mask of indifference as he opened the scroll. Sure enough, King Andur’s seal was affixed to the bottom, and there was a line for Drystan to sign as well. Andur had assumed that he was king after what Drystan had said to Lady Valenhall, so no other signatures were required, though he would have to speak to the council before he signed off on anything.

He wondered how things would work once the four of them were reunited. Would all of them have to sign off on everything? Or would they each be delegated to handle certain types of matters, and only ones of the utmost importance would require a vote between them? They would have to hash all that out when Dareena and Alistair returned.

One thing at a time, Drystan, he told himself, and pushed the thought out of his mind. He carefully read the demands, and his eyes grew wider with every line. The salient points were:

That Dragonfell give its unconditional surrender.

That the Dragon Force be reduced to a quarter of its current number and only used to defend Dragonfell’s borders.

That during this time, Dragonfell will allow itself to be occupied by the Elven Host, who would provide “protection” from outside kingdoms.

That a permanent envoy from Elvenhame be installed in Dragonfell’s court.

That Dragonfell will pay the sum of a hundred thousand gold crowns for the safe return of Alistair and Dareena, plus a ten percent tax for the next five hundred years in war reparations.