"Dragon: Ch 3 - 4" by Sarah Colley

Chapter Three

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Emperor Koneff sits in the high backed chair and does his best not to slouch. He gazes down the table at his council of advisors, his attention less on them and more on the colorful map sprawled across the table. His eyes scan across the borders, counting out the eleven great houses of the empire.  He does not consider The Order or The School in his count, although, perhaps he should considering the vast influence both possess.

“Majesty, as we suspected, tragedy has befallen House Serress.  Lord Xaron has officially entered into mourning for Lena, his only daughter and heir.”

Koneff looks up from the map, his attention returning to the room. He frowns, searching his memory for information about the girl.  Unable to draw anything to mind, he asks, “How old was she?”

“Sixteen cycles,” Monuel responds.

“So young?” Feeling the loss of his father deeply at that moment, his heart goes out to the Lord.  He imaged that losing a daughter was just as painful as losing a parent, maybe even more so. “What happened?”

Ellaia runs a hand through her brown locks, pushing the long strands out of her face. “Xaron is holding the details close to his chest, but it appears she was kidnapped and subsequently murdered by an enemy of House Serress.”

The Emperor looks at the Captain of the Guard in shock. “Murdered?”

“Unfortunately, it would seem so.”

“But she was a noble,” Koneff points out, disbelieving. He could not imagine dealing with his father’s loss to murder. At least an accident was an act of the gods, but to be murdered? How ever would Xaron cope with that? He imagined the father would blame himself for not protecting her enough.  

Prince Monuel nods his head. “It is not unheard of for nobles to meet untimely ends. In fact, one might argue it is the most dangerous occupations of all.  If another house sees an opening you can be assured they will take it.”  Or someone within your own house, he adds silently.

Koneff glances over at his uncle before returning his attention to the brunette captain. “She was his only child?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Then his house will fall?”

A hawk nosed advisor shifts his weight, smirking. “Unless the old man can find himself a wife and manager to father another child before another house comes in for the kill.”

Ellaia nods in agreement. “He speaks true, Majesty.  House Serress is in great peril without an heir to pass the titles on to.  Their destruction would cause serious turmoil, besides the loss of their production in the market place; there would surely be a scramble for their lands and influences.”

Koneff considers the situation, shifting in the large chair that dwarfs his small frame, he runs a hand through his blond hair. There should be a way for a house to survive without a child, he decides. Surely there were those Serress would gladly pass its future to, an ally or a worthy person not of the family.  The law would have to be changed. Glancing around the table he suppresses a sigh.  Such a thing will not be easy. Tradition was, after all, tradition, no matter how silly he found it.

 “The fate of House Serress, however regrettable, is not our concern.  We have our own house to consider,” Monuel points out curtly.  

Returning his attention to his uncle he cocks his head to the side. “What danger do we face?”

Monuel smiles indulgently at the boy.  “There are those who may believe us vulnerable.  We must prevent anyone from making a grab for power because they feel we are in chaos over the death of your most beloved father.  To do this, we must increase your profile to remind everyone that you are emperor and will protect your house.”

“But I am Emperor.  Why should the death of my father change anything?” he replies.   

Prince Monuel shakes his head, explaining with forced patience, “It is not the same. Your father ruled for many years and saw battle. You have not.”

Ellaia looks at the young ruler and adds reassuringly, “In time, Majesty, you will become as great, but until you gain more cycles, we must keep the houses in line. If they smell weakness they will not hesitate to strike.”

“I have one of the largest armies of any house, and the Silver Dragons are sworn to protect me.”

“True, Majesty, but the Dragons can only come to your aid if a house attacks without provocation.  You know if another house can show reason the Order is powerless to protect you.”

Frowning he says, “But I haven’t done anything…”

Monuel rises to his feet and clears his throat. “I believe we are done for the rising.” Glancing down the table, he scans the faces of the men and woman seated there; advisors to the most powerful house in the empire. “Our Emperor is needed elsewhere.”

Koneff nods his head to each as they file past. Audibly taking in a deep breath and releasing it with a note of relief, he gets to his feet, shaking them to return the feeling. “Thank you,” he says with a grateful smile for his uncle.

“These meetings are long and dull for me, and I am not a boy of fourteen cycles, whom I am would imagine, would rather be in the practice field?” he asks suggestively.

The young man puts a hand to his growling stomach. “Actually, I think I shall raid the kitchen.”

Monuel looks up at the ceiling, motioning with his hand to punctuate his exasperation. “You cannot ‘raid’ the kitchen, Koneff. You are emperor. You send for your meal.”

“But,” he protests, “Kolros lets me lick the spoon.”

The prince reaches out and fluffs his nephew’s blond hair. “I am sure if you asked, they would bring you a whole bowl of whatever it is you are sneaking.”

“That’s not the same,” he protests, frowning at the thought.  His uncle truly had no clue. The fun was going to the kitchen to retrieve the spoon. It wouldn’t be the same if someone gave him the bowl to eat from.   

* * *

Monuel chuckles to himself, closing the heavy wooden door to his chambers.  The boy is a simpleton, he thinks.  He could not ask for a more accommodating target.  The son is assuredly not the father, but then, that had not been very hard to accomplish either.

“Something amusing?” The empress asks, emerging from the bedroom, into the main sitting area of the spacious suite. Her red gown, low cut and off the shoulders, clings down over the flare of her hips to fall to the floor in waves.  

“A little early to be visiting, don’t you think?”

Moving over to him, hips swaying from side to side with each step, she places a pale hand on his arm and looks up at him, her blue eyes inviting.

Picking up her hand, Monuel removes it from his arm. “Do not put on the show with me, woman. I know it’s an act.”

Leeottra shrugs her shoulders lightly, undaunted by his reaction. “Does it matter?  We both know what we want.”

Reaching out abruptly, he takes her face in his hands and pulls her close enough for her to feel what he wanted. His firm lips quickly claiming hers in a rough kiss before he releases her, replying with a smirk, “Yes.  Power.”

The empress licks her lips, stepping closer to him.  “As long as we are clear,” she purrs mockingly.  “Now, tell me what was so amusing.”

A smirk crosses his face. “My dear nephew. The boy actually thinks no one will attack because he hasn’t done anything,” he replies with a laugh.

“Ah, the innocence of youth.”

Monuel shakes his head and lowers himself into a plush black velvet chair.  Pulling off his black boots, he tosses them aside and reclines back.  “We may have to move our plans up.”

Walking over, Leeottra sits down at his feet, leaning on one leg, her red gown spreading out around her on the floor.  “It’s too dangerous.”

“This whole thing will be for nothing if someone manages to dethrone Koneff before we can kill him.” He lifts one of her stray curly black locks between his fingers, twirling it absently.

“I am confident you can control him.” She glances up at him, admiring the dark opposite he provides to her former husband; black hair and deep brown eyes. Only his pale complexion ruins the brooding lines of his face. Then, on second thought, perhaps it adds to it.

“For the moment he lets the advisors and I dictate, but all we need is for him to countermand an order and the whole house could be put in jeopardy.  I will not see this house fall, not when I am so damn close to finally having it all.”

Leeottra traces a whimsical pattern across his thigh. “Do not fear. Soon Koneff will be dead and my daughter will be Empress.”

He shifts his hand, tracing a possessive finger down her slender throat. “A child much too young to rule,” Monuel says with a grin.

“Leanon must be smiling on Cilona, giving her a mother and father who will rule in her place.”

The prince laughs. “Yes, and by the time she is old enough to rule on her own, she will do only as we want.” 

The empress takes his hand, kissing it. She looks up at the prince, not truly seeing him, but the power he will bring to her house. She was tired of having her destiny linked to another. Never mind that Cilona would rule as a child of House Jorin, she was truly of House Ajeni and Leeottra would make sure she grew up knowing it.

 Monuel turns his hand over, cupping her face lightly. “We both get what we want; I to rule and you to put a child of your house on the throne.”

“Only if you are patient; we have planned too long and risk too much to become hasty now. You can keep Koneff in line until after our marriage. Then he can have his accident,” she says.

With a look of fake mourning he nods his head somberly.  “It will be tragic; father and son both going to Alctexia so close together.”

Leeottra feigns distress. “We shall have to find the strength to get through somehow.”

Monuel reaches down and draws her up, kissing her deeply. “It will be difficult, but we will have our new found,” he smirks, “love to see us through, and let us not forget how brave we shall have to be for the new empress.”

* * *

The nurse looks down at the crying child before her. The princess is dressed in a light gold silk dress, laced together with an array of black ribbons. Her blonde hair is piled up in small ringlets. Other than the tantrum, she is the picture of royalty.  “Princess, you must stop crying. It’s not appropriate for a princess to cry, and you want to be a good princess, don’t you?”

Cilona shakes her head emphatically, tears streaming down her round cheeks. “No, I want mommy!”

She sighs. “You cannot go with her. Now stop this crying.”

Slowing his steps, Koneff cocks his head to the side, listening to the voices from the courtyard. Frowning as he identifies his little sister, he enters through the stone archway. Looking between the two he asks, “Is there a problem?”

The auburn haired nurse, suddenly feeling self conscious in her simple blue gown, bows low at the appearance of the emperor. “No, Majesty.”

Koneff bends down, opening his arms to his little sister. Gathering her up, he wipes the tears from her cheeks. Looking up he says, “Then why is my sister crying?”

“The princess wished to accompany Empress Leeottra and Prince Monuel on their trip into the city.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiles down at Cilona. “Don’t cry now, Cilona. We will have much more fun here than on some boring shopping trip,” he assures her, bopping the end of her nose lightly with a finger. Returning his attention to the nurse, he nods his head to her. “I shall look after her. I will return her to the nursery later.”

The nurse bites her lip for a moment then bows. “Majesty,” she says before hurrying away.

Cilona looks up at the emperor with large blue eyes. “Play?”

 “Yes.”  Koneff gathers his red cloak around himself, wrapping it around his arms, he flaps them to create fake dragon wings.

The princess claps her hands, squealing in delight.

“Princess Cilona, dragon rider!” he declares, lowering one shoulder to allow her to climb onto his back. “Now, hold tight to my neck so you don’t fall off.” His laughter joins the princess’s squeals of delight as they ‘fly’ around the courtyard, the emperor flapping his wings and the princess directing.

After some time, Koneff flops down on the ground exhausted and draws Cilona to him. Hefting the small girl into the air he grins up at her, twirling her around. He is happy to play with his sister, not only to cheer her up, but to escape his every growing pile of duties.  

“I’m hungry,” the princess informs him with a loud grumble of her stomach.

“Well, I think your valiant steed could use some dragon food,” the emperor responds with a playful grin.  Rising to his feet he takes his sister’s hand in his, leading her through the halls. Playing, the pair duck behind pillars and into hallways, engaging in hide-and-seek with an unsuspecting staff.

Emerging into the kitchen, Koneff smiles at the large man standing before the massive cooking range.  He sniffs the air, the enticing aromas wafting past his nose.

Kolros sets down his spoon and grins over at the royal pair. “Hello, my emperor,” he bows his head, “princess.” Hoisting the little girl up, he plops her down on a tall wooden stool. “Have you come to lick the bowl?” he asks cheerfully.

“Cilona is hungry, so I thought we would come and fetch her some lunch.”

The princess nods her head in agreement. “My dragon needs fed.”

“Dragon?”

Laughing, the emperor flaps his arms, causing his red cape to billow. “One hungry dragon, at your service,” he says with a flourishing bow.

Amused, but unsurprised by the behavior, the cook shakes his head. “Of course.” Eyeing the emperor he turns his attention to the princess and scratches his head, playing along good naturedly. “Tell me, what exactly does a dragon eat?”

“Straw?”

Looking horrified, Koneff pleads silently with Kolros.

“Hmm…that seems a bit grainy, princess.”

Cilona scrunches her face up, considering the situation. “Meat?”

“I think we could do that,” the cook says with a nod. Motioning for the emperor to have a seat, he turns back to the counter. His hands working quicker than should be possible, he prepares two plates of food. Careful to cut the princess’s meat into small bites he sets a plate before each. “So, tell me, am I going to get in trouble for you two sneaking into the kitchen again?”

Konoff takes a bite, savoring the rich flavor of the meat; Kolros truly is a master in the kitchen. Lifting his fork mid-bite he shakes his head. “Actually, I was thinking about that,” he says thoughtfully.  “I am emperor now, so why exactly can’t I come to the kitchen to eat if I want?”

Kolros laughs. “No reason I can see, majesty.”

“Exactly.”

Cilona chimes in, “And dragons can go anywhere they want to.”

Reaching out, Koneff ruffles her blonde hair affectionately. “So they can.”  Glancing around the kitchen, he smiles at the staff, who are pointedly giving the pair their space, before returning his attention to the cook. “Do you have any sweets?”

“I just might.” Turning, he moves away, returning in a moment with two steaming rolls, both dripping with glaze. “What do you think, princess, can a dragon eat sweets?”

“Kolros!” the emperor complains.

Giggling the princess claps her hands at the sight of the sticky sweets. “I think so…”

“Well, alright then.” Handing over the sweets, he grins at the pair. They both took after their father in looks, fair skinned with his blonde hair. To look at them, he was hard pressed to tell they had separate mothers.  

Ellaia enters the room, unsurprised to see the emperor enjoying the company of the jovial cook. “Majesty.”

Koneff turns his head and smiles at the captain. “Hello, Ellaia.”

She bows her head to the pair.

“Hi, Ella” Cilona says with a bright smile.

Taking another bite of his dessert he arches his brows at the captain. “How is it that you always manage to find me?” Looking around suspiciously he glances down at himself. Tapping the sole of his black boots he looks back up at her. “You planted a Home Stone on me, didn’t you?”

Laughing she holds her hands up, professing her innocence. “No, no. It’s just my job to know where you are.” Grinning at him, she adds, “I have my ways.”

He snorts.

“Would you like something to eat, Captain?”

“No thank you, Kolros.”  She returns her attention to the emperor. “I was hoping we might have a word?”

Cilona yawns and giggles as the cook takes a warm cloth to her sticky hands.

“You can come with me while I take Cilona back to her room.” Rising to his feet he hefts the princess into his arms, holding her on one hip. “Time for all good dragon riders to take a nap.”

“But I am not tired,” she protests over another yawn, snuggling against his chest.

“Well, I need one. Being a dragon is hard work, so will you lie down too?”

“Mmm…okay…”

Koneff grins, not surprised that his sister is asleep before he reaches her rooms. Carefully he hands the princess over to her nurse, making sure she is settled before leaving her chamber.

“You are very good with her.”

“She is too young to understand. She misses father and doesn’t realize why she cannot go everywhere with her mother.”

Ellaia nods, her brown hair spilling down over one shoulder. “Yes, it would be difficult to explain the change in the empress’s duties.”

“I suppose it’s good she is finding ways to keep herself busy, but I wish she would make more time for Cilona.”

“She has a big brother and cook who adore her,” the captain replies with a laugh. “I am sure she will not want for attention.”

“Not from me, no.  I don’t care if I am emperor now, I will not let her be forgotten. Father always made time for us and so will I,” he vows.

“And that is why you are already on your way to being a good emperor; you care about those around you.”

He arches his brows. “There are emperors who don’t?”

“Just because a person is emperor does not mean they should be, Majesty. Your father was an excellent ruler, as was your grandmother, but there are tyrants in our past as well.”

“I don’t understand how they stayed in power.”

“Because there are always people with the same ambition who want to keep them there,” Ellaia responds.

“You wanted to speak of something?”

“Yes. Would you like to send a detachment of guards to House Serress?”

The emperor stops walking and turns to the captain. “Would it do any good?”

She shakes her head. “Honestly? Not if a house attacks, but the gesture would probably mean something to Lord Xaron and it might send a message to the other houses that you are unofficially extending your protection to them.” 

“I don’t suppose I can officially do so?”

Ellaia considers the situation before responding. “The only way you could hope to do so would be to enter into an alliance with them. It would be shaky at best, however, as no marriage could cement it. You could send an envoy to Lord Xaron, but if a house attacked that has a marriage bond to your house you would have to support that claim first.”

He sighs. “My father always spoke so highly of Xaron. I just hate that his house is going to fall and there is nothing I can do about it. What good is being emperor?” he demands.

“Send the guards and I will see what else can be done. Someone was behind the killing and if we can find out whom, you may be able to manipulate events to favor Serress.”  Ellai looks him over. “It’s a shame you don’t have an older sister who could marry Lord Xaron.”

Considering the remark he asks, “What about Leeottra?  I know technically that would ally them with Ajeni, not with me, as I have no blood tie to Leeottra, but as her step son I might be able to argue I am defending her house to honor her position as my sister’s mother.”

“It would be a stretch,” she says.

He sighs. “I hate that I cannot just defend them because I want to.”

Ellaia smiles at him “You are Emperor now, but I would not rush to restructure the whole political structure of Arafia just yet, if I were you.  The houses would never stand for it and even the Order could not defend you.”

“I know, I know,” he says, waving a hand dismissingly.  “I wouldn’t want to change things, just…add to them.”

“Speak with Janan, if there is a loop hole in the traditions that would allow you to aid Serress without giving the houses ground to attack, he would know it.”

Koneff starts walking again.  “That is an excellent idea,” he pauses, looking at the captain. “Do you trust him?”

“Yes, Majesty, I do.  He will keep your request quiet. I know his loyalty is to this house and he would not act to harm it.”

The emperor nods. “Then I will speak with him. Send the detachment to Lord Xaron with my condolences and any gifts that would be appropriate and hopefully Janan will find a way for me to do more.”

* * *

Janan hunches over the table, the flowing green sleeves of his robe pushed up to his elbows, draping off the edge of the table in an attempt to keep them out of his way.  Dipping the quill in ink he writes on the parchment spread out before him.

Koneff watches the man, studying him quietly from the doorway. Janan is old, his hair already white. His face is aged and wrinkled, but his posture is perfect and his blue eyes shine with intelligence not dulled by his years.  The emperor reminds himself Ellaia has vouched for the elderly aid and steps into the room, clearing his throat softly.

Looking towards the sound, Jana quickly rises to his feet, chiding himself for not noticing the entrance of his lord sooner. “Majesty,” he says with a low bow.

“Hello, Janan.” He smiles kindly. “I was hoping you could help me with a problem I am having.”

“I will gladly assist you in any way I can.”

 Koneff pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the table, indicating for the aid to take a seat again. “You are aware of the misfortune that has befallen House Serress?”

Janan inclines his head. “I am, Majesty.”

“I want to help them. It’s foolish to let such a noble house fall just because there is not an alliance in place with them that would allow me to offer aid.”

“You can enter into an alliance,” Janan suggests.

“I know, but odds are I could not honor it, as I would have to defer to an alliance by blood.”

“This is true.”

Leaning forward, Koneff lowers his voice. “I want you to find me a way to aid them that will not lead to war or force me to choose between my alliances.  There must be a way I can help Lord Xaron. Not only because I want to, but because the empire cannot handle a major war. It would likely pull the entire east into battle.”

Jana frowns, the lines around his mouth deepening as he thinks. “I cannot think of an alliance that would stand against your blood bonds, Majesty.”

“There must be a way,” he urges.

“You can help fund their defense by purchasing their products from the market. You could be very generous with the price you pay,” he offers with a grin.

“They do have excellent crops,” Koneff agrees.

“You can also make a large purchase of Aracien silk.”

The emperor considers the statement, taking a moment to see the connection. “Of course, because Aracien will surely go to their aid.  Lord Tachir’s cousin was married to Xaron, wasn’t she?”

“She was, Majesty.”

“Then they have blood claim to defend them. Excellent.”

“But,” Janan warns, “if Aracien goes to the aid of Serress and they go to battle against one or more houses, you will be all but assured that the entire area will destabilize. If another house were able to take over one or both of them, or simply take advantage of the situation to rise in the east, their new power could threaten your house, Majesty.”

Koneff sighs and nods his head. “Hopefully the prospect of facing both their armies, plus the detachment I sent to him, will stop any other house from hoping to take advantage of the death of Xaron’s heir.”

“I know you wish to act openly, Majesty, but I think you are correct.  It would take a very daring house to attack them. Yes, if they could get to Xaron they would wipe the house out, but that is a very large gamble. His forces are well trained and Aracien would surely defend him from a direct attack. They would have a very small window of opportunity to wipe the house out before they faced decimation themselves.” Janan smiles and pats Koneff’s hand reassuringly. “I think the house will survive.”

“Then I will trust your experience, but I will still infuse their chests with my gold.”

“It certainly cannot hurt.”

Koneff rises to his feet. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Majesty.”

Chapter Four

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Savia pulls the red and black ribbon off the scroll, depositing it on the wood tabletop. Unfurling the parchment, she reads the decree before handing it across to Ryil, explaining, “Prince Monuel is going to marry Empress Leeottra.”

Taking the scroll, he nods, scanning the formal announcement. “House Ajeni must be thrilled. The marriage will assure they stay under the protection of Jorin.”

“I am sure, although it is not the union that troubles me, but the event.” She reaches a hand up and scratches Lurk’s ears, smiling as the small animal nuzzles her hand affectionately.

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

Savia laughs softly. “I suppose so, but what I mean is; I fear for the large gathering. All of House Jorin will be present, including the Emperor. It would be the perfect time for our mysterious group to plan something.”

He nods. “Yes, and they will assuredly try to blame House Jorin again.”

“Not a hard feat with every noble in attendance under their personal protection.”

“I see what you mean,” he replies thoughtfully. “Although I don’t know how we are going to stop them, considering we do not even know who they are, what house they belong to or who their actual target is.”

“Oh, is that all?” she asks with a grin. “And here I thought it might prove challenging.”

Ryil snorts. “Survive a brush with death and suddenly think you’re invincible.”

“Seriously, this is not going to be easy.”

“We will not fail the Emperor, Heartling.”

“I know we will do our best, but I do not know if that will be enough.” Careful not to disturb Lurk, who has fallen asleep on her shoulder, Savia rises to her feet. She gently removes him, setting him down on the mound of blankets inside of his box. “I am going to see Mearcon.”

Nodding he rises to his feet as well. “I am off to see Issydel.”

She grins. “Don’t stay too long. I don’t want them to have to drag you home.”

“I’ll do my best,” he assures her with a laugh.

* * *

Councilor Mearcon looks up from the pile of paperwork, arranged neatly by Bran in persistent attempt to keep him organized, and nods to his favorite pupil. “Savia, just the person I wanted to see.”

Savia settles down into the plush chair, relaxing into its comfortable depths, the fire crackling in the hearth warming the room to a comfortable temperature.  Crossing her legs, she smoothes out the folds of her green gown and looks across the large wooden desk. “About the marriage?” she asks.

“Yes. The Council has received invitations. We will be taking our Captains in attendance. But you,” he says, waggling a finger at her, “pose an interesting dilemma.”

She furrows her brows in confusion. “Sir?”

“You can go on your merit as a daughter of House Aracien, as well as your position as a Captain of Leanon’s Dragons.”

“Ah.”  Savia nods in understanding, adding, “My father will not object if I attend with the Order and not my house.”

Mearcon smiles kindly.  “I know, but I think I would rather you attend with your house.”

Arching an inquisitive brow, she says, “Not that I would mind seeing my family, but why?”

“As I am sure you and that warmonger husband of yours,” he replies with a playful grin, “have already figured out; this is going to be an opportunity that those working against House Jorin will certainly not pass up. We need the biggest presence we can have in all areas we can. There are places you can go as a noble daughter that even the Order cannot, or at least, not without causing a stir.” 

“I see. I will, of course, attend with my father, but they have to know we know they are going to try again. They may think Lena is dead, but they know I survived the attack.”

“I know.”  He exhales deeply, feeling too old for the games of politics that used to give him such pleasure in his youth. “If Leanon smiles upon us they will not try anything for fear we are watching, but I doubt such will be the case.”

Savia taps her fingers on the chair arm, considering the upcoming nuptials. “Chiron and Lunar will assuredly be smiling on the union. I would certainly not wish to anger the Goddess of Marriage, nor the God of Love.  Perhaps good sense will win out and they will stay silent. They have been hiding in the shadows so far.”

“One can only hope, but in my experience, people in single-minded pursuit of a goal rarely let such things stand in their way.”

“Have we learned nothing more?”

He shakes his head, tapping one of the many reports sitting on his desk. “No. If anyone at the Broken Barrel knew who they were, they were gone by the time we started investigating. I am sure they were well paid for their silence.”

“More likely,” she replies, “they are with Alctexia now.”

“Yes, the dead do tend to keep their secrets well. Unless, of course,” he adds in amusement, “you are a Priestess of Alctexia.”

“Even they need a name to call a spirit from the Hall of Souls,” she points out.

“So let’s work on finding them one.  We must discover who is behind this and what their actual goal is.”

“You don’t think it’s the fall of House Jorin?”

“It may be. It may be an attack on your own house, or House Serress, or some result that we are not even considering. There are just too many questions. For now we must assume the emperor is the target and protect him, but do not become so single-minded of him that we miss signs that the plot might be something else.”

 Savia nods, her thoughts returning to the coming trip.  “Ryil will be attending with Councilor Issydel?”

“Yes, and I think it would be best to allow him to do so.”

“I intended to. He would not be comfortable dressed up like a peacock, as he calls it,” her lips twitch with mirth, picturing her husband in house finery, “as he would certainly have to be if he attended with my family.”

“On second thought...” he jests.

“Be nice,” she says, rising to her feet in one fluid motion.

“Leanon protect you, Savia.”

“And you.”

* * *

Savia pats Sorin’s neck affectionately.  Shifting in the saddle, she takes in the rolling green fields, the smell of rich crops wafting past her nose.  Workers in the fields stop their toil, shifting uneasily at the group of knights until spotting their Lord’s daughter among the armed riders.  Calling out a greeting to those she remembers, she leads the way through the lush lands of House Aracien.    

Lifting her hand, she calls a halt before the massive stone bridge that crosses the flowing Seyne River, allowing access to the heart of the estate.

A guard steps forward at their approach. The purple of his tunic and kilt stand out vividly against the green hue of the leather straps hanging around his waist and the sparkling silver of his breastplate.  A sword is slung around his hips, sheathed. “Greetings, Captain Savia,” the captain says, placing a closed hand to his chest in respect with a bow of his helmed head, the vivid green and purple feathers sway in response.

“Greetings, Leson,” she replies formally before relaxing into a grin.  “You made Captain, I see.”

He nods and taps the breastplate, responding with pride, “just this cycle.”

“Well earned, I am sure.”  Looking around with feigned nervousness, she leans forward and inquires, “Are they expecting me?”

Glancing at the group of knights with her and wondering if he should be so informal in front of them, Leson replies, “A runner passed by not long ago to announce your arrival and we received orders to escort you to the estate.”

“Hmm, in that case, we should hurry, before my mother has time to arrange something.”   Turning to her escort she inclines her head. “I thank you for the escort. Leanon’s blessing on you.”

The young captain watches the Dragons ride away before returning his attention to Savia. “It is nice to see you home,” he offers.

“It’s good to be home.” She waits patiently for Leson to mount his horse and the rest of the company to fall in around them before leading the way to the estate house.

Do you have to hurry? Lurk demands.

Yes, or I will end up have to sit through an entire welcoming ceremony.

But then there will be shiny stuff…and spoons.

Savia laughs, drawing her familiar from the soft leather pouch at her side. Holding him up, she looks at him. “Now you listen to me, Lurk. You are not, I repeat not, to steal from my mother’s collection while we are home.”

I wouldn’t, he protests, squeaking at her.

“Yes, you would and she will skin you and post your hide to a wall if she catches you.”  She scratches his ears. “As much as that might please my husband, I happen to like having you around.”

I will keep my paws to myself just to deny him that satisfaction.

She laughs and shakes her head. “You two are incorrigible,” she says. Slipping him back into her pouch, she laughs and grins over at Leson, shrugging her shoulders.

Entering the courtyard of the manor house, she is pleased to see no obvious signs of her mothers planning waiting for her. Swinging down, she hands the reigns to the stable boy with a smile. “Give him an extra apple.”

“Of course, Lady,” he says with a bow before leading the black warhorse away, Sorin’s hooves clomping loudly.

Turning towards the house she fights back the frown that tugs at her lips with the appearance of her eldest sister in the doorway. 

“You should have sent word ahead.”

“Mother only would have prepared something, and I hate that.”

“It was the proper protocol and you know it,” she snaps. “Must you do everything against tradition?”

“Yes, just to annoy you, Shalira,” Savia quips.

“Savia!”

Looking past her sister, a genuine smile lights her face. “Hello, Mother.”

“You should have sent a rider ahead,” she scolds, adding, “I didn’t have time to prepare anything.”

“That was the idea,” Savia replies lightly.

The lady shakes her head, causing red curls to spill down over her shoulders. “You have earned the honor of a welcome, Savia. You are a Captain of the Order. That is something to be proud of.”

“I am proud, mother,” she assures her.  “I just hate sitting through endless ceremonies. There will be enough of that when we reach Luxon.”

Lord Tachir walks up, his boots thumping on the stone.  Draping an arm around his wife’s slender waist he says, “Leave the girl be, Valira, she gets enough of pomp and circumstance in her rising. If she wants to escape it here, let her.”

Shalira glowers at her sister, but says nothing, not daring to speak against her father.

Valira puts her hand on her daughters arm, squeezing gently. “Come, you must be hungry.”

“I am, but I should like to clean the dust of the road from me and change into something more appropriate.” She tosses a pointed grin at her sister, before looking back to her mother.  “I said I wanted to avoid ceremony, not that I wanted to forgo manners.”  

“With you, one never can tell.”  Valira smiles, a twinkle in her eye at the return of her daughter, even if briefly.  Releasing her hold she shoos her off with her hands.  “Go, change and then join us for dinner.”  Adding as an afterthought she says, “And tell that Familiar of yours that if he so much as looks at my silver I am feeding him to the dog.”

Laughing, Savia leans over and kisses her mother’s cheek. “Yes, Mother.”

* * *

Comfortably dressed in a light silk gown and with Lurk safely in her rooms, Savia enters the dinning hall, relieved to see her mother has not organized anything beyond a family meal. Shalira sits next to her husband. She looks at the man, wondering how he is handling keeping the fate of Lena to himself. But then, he was a member of their house now, having given his own up upon marriage to her sister. “Lecela is attending with House Tulor?” she asks, noting her middle sister’s absence.

“Yes,” Kotir, heir of House Aracien, says with a fond smile for his youngest sister. “We will meet up with them when we enter the Tulor lands on our way to Luxon.”

Savia settles down on a green silk pillow, situating herself at the table with a nod. Looking down the line at her family she arches a brow. “Where is Lanew?”

“He should be along.”

Almost on cue, the youngest member of the family enters the room, gently escorting Lena by the arm. He helps her get seated before taking a seat next to her.

 “It’s nice to see you up and about, Lena. I hope you are enjoying your time here,” she says, at a loss for what to say to her cousin.  What pain must she be enduring, even now, to be dead to her father and the world, she thinks.

The young girl smiles shyly and nods her head.

Lanew leans forward eagerly declaring, “You must come back after the wedding so you can tell me all about your adventures.”

“You are not going?”

Lord Tachir accepts a wine glass from the servant before answering. “Lanew will be staying with Lena.”

Nodding in understanding, Savia assures him, “That is very honorable of you, Lanew.”

“I am happy to do it,” he replies with a faint blush at the attention being leveled on him.

“Why are you attending with us?” Shalira demands, trying to mask her annoyance. Couldn’t she just stay gone? Lanew was the youngest, but still she was fawned over. She married some commoner, but they didn’t care. Here she sat with a noble husband, doing her duty to the house and no one even thanked her for being a good daughter or sister. It was just not fair, she thought.   

“Councilor Mearcon felt I could best serve the Order by attending with my house,” she replies, unfazed by her sister’s hostility, long ago having become used to it.

“We’re glad you are home, even if only for a short while. You really must visit more often,” Valira scolds.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I stay very busy with my work.”

“Ryil is attending with the Altec Order?” Lord Tachir inquires.

“Yes, Father.”

“When you come back for a visit,” Lanew says, waving a fork at her, “I can get to practice with a real knight!”

“I am sure our dear sister could best you without breaking a sweat,” Kotir replies in amusement.

“Assuredly,” Savia agrees with a grin.

Unfazed, the youngest son says, “Would you?”

“I am sure father and Kotir are teaching you well, but yes, I promise we will spar next time I am home.”

Lanew’s beams, “Good.”

“Finish your meal,” Tachir orders.  “We will be leaving with the rising of Gal.”

* * *

Kotir leans against the railing, watching the shape of the Tulor craft take shape on the horizon. The massive blue sails stand out, the reed bird, common to their land, emblazoned in blue on the lead sail, identifies the barge.

“I wonder if she has brought the children,” Savia asked, leaning next to her brother.

“I would imagine so. Mother and Father do so love to see them.”

“I would like to as well. I really should make a point to come home more often.”

Kotir glances over his shoulder at Shalira. “I know why you don’t.”

“I wish she didn’t hate me so.”

“I think she envies what you have.”

Looking over at her sister, and the son she bounces on her knee she shakes her head. “She need not be. I would give it all up to have what she has.”

Kotir rests a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I know, but she fails to understand that. Shalira always wants what she does not have and is never satisfied with what she does.”

“Ryil and I have come to terms with the fact Chiron will never bless us.”

“Liar,” he says, not unkindly.  “That is the other reason you stay away. It tears at your soul to see the thing you can never have.”

She glances away, ashamed at her weakness. “I know. I try to be a good sister and aunt, but it hurts me.”

“Leanon has a plan for you, sister.”

“I trust in that, Kotir, but sometimes I wish that plan did not require me to never know the joy of motherhood.”

“Maybe you are being spared a great pain: outliving your child,” he suggests gently.

Savia smiles and changes the subject. “Does father intend to retire any time soon?”

Kotir snorts. “Not bloody likely.”

“Heir with no house,” she teases.

“He can keep it. Do you know how much work it is to see to our lands? That is not a headache I am looking forward to.”

“You will make an excellent Lord of House Aracien,” she replies in all seriousness.

“I know,” he grins, “but I have to tell myself something.”

* * *

Savia hefts her nephew into her arms, steadying him on the crate and using her body to keep him firmly in place, unsurprised to see he has her brother’s eyes. “Can you see okay now, Cryess?”

“Yes, thank you, Aunt Savia.”

She smiles over the black head of hair, looking out over the grand barges of the great houses, the first to arrive already having docked at the sprawling port of Luxon. Pointing to the ship with the green sail and the yellow rays of Gal across it, she smiles. “Look, it’s Lord Xaron of House Serress.” Next she points out House Eyon’s barge with the blue sail, the white Savoor flower on it.  She identifies the vivid green of House Kajir, the Grownas tree, their life blood, swaying on the sail. Moving her hand she motions to the yellow sail with the red rams head, explaining, “House Ajeni is here. Empress Leeottra belongs to their house.”

“I know, and Luxon is the seat of power of House Jorin,” he replies.

She ruffles his hair. “Go get ready for docking.” Watching the boy run off, she sighs. Reaching her hand into the satchel at her side she rubs Lurk’s head.

You are who you are meant to be.

Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wish my fate was something else from time to time.

Savia turns away from the railing and disembarks with the rest of her family. She looks around the area, pleased to see many Silver Knights providing security for the event. All of the power of the empire in one place is always an appealing target, even to those who would normally have more common sense.

Moving into the rooms provided for the family, she wishes Ryil was with her. Attending separately was wise, she knows that, but she misses him fiercely, as she always does when they are apart.

“I am going to go check in with Councilor Mearcon and find Ryil,” she announces to the room.

“Make sure you are back in time for the start of the festivities,” Valira warns.

“Yes, Mother. I will be,” Savia assures her before making her escape. There is definitely a thing as too much family togetherness. 

* * *

Savia walks through the sprawling passageways, she makes her way towards the wing the Order will be staying in, having permanent suites within the imperial palace.  Looking up at the sound of small footsteps, she reaches out and balances the child plowing down the hall at full speed, before the girl can run headlong into her.

“Sorry,” Cilona mumbles, looking up at the woman.

Bending down before the blonde girl, she smiles reassuringly. “Quite alright.” Glancing around she asks, “Should you be by yourself?”

“I’m playing,” the child explains, as if it was obvious.

At the sound of footfalls, she looks up, watching the emperor rush around the corner. Upon sight of him, she puts her hand to her chest and bows her head. “Majesty.”

Koneff stops, looking the woman over. “House Aracien?” he asks politely, the green and purple of her gown already having identified her.

“Yes, Majesty.” Bowing, she offers formally, “I am Savia, youngest daughter of House Aracien and a First Captain of the Order of Leanon.”

“You’re a Dragon,” he says, trying to keep his awe in check.

Cilona tugs at the hem of Savia’s dress and interjects, “I’m a knight too,”

Torn between staying formally bowed until told to rise and not ignoring the young princess, she finally lifts her head to look at her. “Really?”

“Yah. I even has a dragon,” she informs her proudly.

Koneff groans to himself. This was going to be so embarrassing, and in front of a real Dragon.

“A dragon? You must be a great knight.”

“Mhhmm.”

Reaching up she carefully removes the delicate silver necklace around her neck. She holds it out, the silver dragon with emeralds for eyes twisting and sparkling.  “I think the Order needs such an impressive knight. What do you say, your Majesty, is the princess worthy of being an honorary member?”

The emperor nods his head solemnly; grateful the woman is going along with his sister’s game. “Indeed, Captain.”

Savia places the necklace around the giggling child’s neck, clasping it. “By the power of the Order of Leanon, I name you an honorary member of the Silver Dragon Order,” she declares in her most official sounding voice.

Not the necklace! Lurk pokes his nose out of the silk pouch, chattering protest at his shiny object being given away.

Cilona’s eyes go wide. “‘Nanimal!”

Best manners. This is Princess Cilona. Savia draws Lurk from his satchel, carefully holding the tulock out to the princess.

I know that. I am not a simpleton, he huffs to her. Lurk reaches his paws out, wrapping them around one of her fingers and rolling over for his stomach to be rubbed.

“You’re Shani,” Koneff says, not bothering to hide the awe this time.

“Yes, Majesty,” she confirms, the thought of lying to him never crossing her mind.

“I have to admit, I am in awe of your ability. I possess some skill, but nothing so great.”

“I would think the gods would not want to burden you with the awesome reasonability of being Emperor and having the power of a Shani. I should think one would be enough for a lifetime,” she replies thoughtfully.

Koneff considers her answer before smiling. “I never thought of it that way, but I suppose you are correct. That is your familiar?”

 “Yes. This little one is Lurk.”

 “Do you always take him everywhere with you?” he asks.

She laughs. “Mostly, yes. I am afraid he has a weakness for shiny objects that are not his.”

The emperor laughs. “Can he understand me?”

“Yes, although he can only speak to me.”

“Well, then Lurk. If you promise not to, a…acquire anything that is not yours, I will let you pick any object you want from the treasury when the wedding is over,” he offers.

Lurk turns and lifts his head, his nose twitching as he looks at the emperor. They are shiny?

“He wants to know if they are shiny, Majesty.”

“Oh, very,” he assures him.

Lurk chips his assent and crawls back into his bag, making a show of best behavior.

Cilona frowns as the animal leaves, but quickly moves on.  Turning to Koneff, she holds up the dragon. “I’m a knight!” 

With a crafty grin he says, “Yes, but only big girls can be knights.”

Savia nods solemnly, playing along easily. “Yes, and you know one of the most important things about being a knight?”

“What?” the girl asks, wide eyed.

She leans closer, as if imparting a secret, “Following the orders of your emperor.”

Koneff could kiss the woman as he draws himself up in his best imperial stance. “And your Emperor says it’s time to go.”

“But,” she protests, “I want to stay. I need to train as a knight,” Cilona explains in the perfect logic of a child.

“There will be plenty of time for that. You will get to train to be a princess, with your magic, and I bet your big brother will sneak you in weapons training.”

“I don’t got magic,” Cilona pouts.

Savia frowns. Magic always runs in a family line. Jorin and Ajeni were both users. “Perhaps it’s taking a while to surface,” she offers.

“But,” the child tries again, “I want to stay.”

“Perhaps the Captain would visit after the wedding,” Ellaia says, stepping from the hallway where she had been leaning.

Koneff turns to look at his Captain of the Guard. “Have you been there long?”

“It is my job.”

He snorts. “Maybe I need more training to.”

“You were in no danger, Majesty,” Savia replies softly. “I knew she was there.”

“I almost did not recognize you without your armor, Captain Savia.”

“I am attending with my house,” she explains.

Koneff holds his hand out. “Come on, Cilona. We have taken enough of the Captain’s time.”

“It was my pleasure,” Savia assures him, bowing low to the royal pair.

“Come see us before you return to your Order, Captain.”

She bows low again, hand to her chest once more. “As you wish, Majesty.”

Ellaia nods her head in respect to the knight before falling in line behind the emperor and his sister, who is already chattering about being a knight rather than a princess.