Throne of Dragons

Vars led her through into the great hall, and a fanfare pierced the air the moment they stepped inside.

This was not the packed, immensely decorated hall that it had been before, though. It was not filled with peasants free to come and go as they chose. It was not filled with joyous feasting, or even with many people.

There were a few nobles, and a few knights, and that was it. They stood there in their carefully arranged blocks, none cheering or calling out in joy, but watching in their finery, much as they might have done for an audience with the king. A priest stood up before the thrones, fat and bald and robed so that it looked a little like a tent standing there.

Finnal stood beside him, and even a few days ago, the sight of him there would have made Lenore’s heart race with joy. Now, if it raced at all, there was fear there, and the need not to be there, and the part of her that thought it could look through that façade to what lay beneath.

Lenore glanced around, looking for a way out, but there was none.

Instead, she saw her sister Erin standing next to the man who looked like a monk. That was one thing that helped to calm her. She and Erin might not always have agreed on everything, but at least Lenore knew that Erin was always there for her. Just her presence helped Lenore feel safe. Even the monk’s did, though Lenore knew now that he was not a monk, and had heard some of what he’d once been. He’d fought to save her, and that was enough.

Lenore came to stand before Finnal now, and Vars pulled back her veil, as if presenting her for his inspection. He went to stand beside the priest then, as if making it clear that it was by his will as much as any god’s that this was happening. Lenore found herself staring at Finnal, trying to find the man that she’d fallen in love with, trying to persuade herself that things were as they had been.

“We are gathered here in somber celebration,” the priest said. “These are days when we have all lost so much, but now there is a moment of joy, and joining. A moment of pure happiness.”

Lenore wished she could feel any of those things.

The priest started to read through the vows, the promises to love one another, to be faithful, to be honorable and caring. Finnal agreed to all of it so readily that for a moment Lenore almost wanted to believe him. Even so, there was something about it now that sounded more like him agreeing to the terms of a contract than to love.

The priest turned to Lenore then, asking her all of the same things. The truth was that she was too numb to listen to any of it, too numb to do more than stare out at all the faces there, hoping that one of them would interrupt this, find a way to bring it to a—

“Princess?” the priest said. “Do you wish Finnal to be your husband?”

“I… I do,” Lenore said. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Bells rang in that moment, sounding out above the city. Now, briefly, people did cheer.

There was no dancing though, and no feasting. Instead, it seemed that those there were to take it in turns approaching, speaking to Vars and Finnal, only turning to her long enough to briefly compliment how beautiful she looked.

To her surprise, Lenore saw Devin walking forward then, a sheathed sword in his hands. Her heart leapt, thinking for a second that that he had come to save her from this. Instead, he knelt, holding up the sword toward Lenore.

“Your highness,” he said. Something in his voice sounded stiff, almost stilted. “Your father and your brother had me forge this blade as a gift upon your wedding, for you to do with as you wish. I… I hope you will accept it in their honor.”

Finnal stepped past Lenore, taking the sword from Devin’s hands. He drew it, the darkness of the blade seeming almost to drink the light.

“A fine blade,” he said. He slashed it through the air once again. “I will be delighted to accept it.”

Lenore had to watch Devin backing away then, leaving the hall, the nobles, all of it.

Lenore wished for nothing more than to join him.

***

Lenore sat in the rooms that had been given to Finnal. He had assumed that they would go there, rather than to her rooms, so they had. She found herself sitting there, still in her wedding dress, while Finnal sat at a table with a ledger, hardly looking up at her as he made notes. This was hardly how she had expected her wedding night to go.

“Lord Harman’s gift of two horses will go to the country estate,” Finnal said. “They are not of the best stock, but they might be useful as an admixture in the bloodlines. We will need to send out riders to ensure that those on our new lands pay their taxes to us, rather than their old lords. Then there’s the matter of—”

“Do you even care if I’m here?” Lenore asked. She stood. “I will be returning to my rooms.”

“And have people think that we are spending our first night apart?” Finnal said, without looking up from the ledger. “I think not.”

“Look at me, damn you!” Lenore snapped.

Finnal looked up, shutting the book carefully. “You are being petulant. I have told you how our marriage will be. You will accept that.”

“I will not,” Lenore said. Before, she’d only just come back from being in the hands of King Ravin’s people. Before, she’d been too weak to say anything, but she could be strong. “I am going to my rooms. I am changing out of this stupid dress, and in the morning, I will be informing Vars that I wish this marriage annulled.”

The sword that Devin had made sang from the scabbard at Finnal’s side. He brought it to rest in the hollow of Lenore’s throat, and she froze in place.

“You are my property now, Princess,” he said menacingly, in a voice she barely recognized. “Take one step, and I shall cut your throat.”

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Greave hurried through Astare, Aurelle running to keep up in his wake. Around him, the city was a blur of leafy avenues and dark stone houses, but now each building there meant more. He could see now the way the buildings of the inner city fit together, parts of a whole, all a puzzle constructed on a massive scale.

“You don’t have to run so fast!” Aurelle called behind him, but Greave didn’t slow. He knew where the library was now, and he wasn’t going to wait even one moment more to enter it.

“How do you even know we’re going the right way?” she called over, catching up to him now.

“I memorized the map of the city,” Greave said. “They haven’t changed one stone of it since that map was built. Can you imagine the control of the city that must have taken?”

Aurelle didn’t answer, obviously too busy running. They didn’t have to run for too much longer, though, as they both reached the garden filled square that the map’s clue had shown them. Greave scanned it, taking in the towering oaks there, the open ground, and the great stone gate that stood at the far end, next to a set of wrought iron railings that were more like a cage, designed to stop anyone from entering the space beyond. It looked like a monument or a grave, but Greave knew better now.

A bald, burly man sat on a bench nearby, ostensibly reading a book, yet Greave noted the way his eyes tracked them as he and Aurelle grew closer to the iron caged space beyond the gate. There, hidden by the shadows of the trees, underneath the iron bars, Greave thought he could see a slab that might be pushed aside.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” the man on the bench called over, in a conversational tone. “Of course, once you realize that it’s just the steps to the city’s sewers…”

That would probably be enough to turn away most people. Greave turned his gaze on the man instead. His clothes looked ordinary, but Greave could see the flash of silver on his shoes, too expensive for the man he was pretending to be.

“We seek entry to the Great Library of Astare,” Greave said. “I know that the entrance is here.”

“Ah,” the man said. “That’s different. You’ve passed one test, then. There’s just the questioning to follow.”

“The questioning?” Aurelle asked, beside Greave.

The bald man nodded. “The House of Scholars doesn’t allow just anyone into its library. They must have enough learning to be worthy.” The man stretched, setting his book aside. “I am Aldrin, tester of the House of Scholars. Who seeks entrance to our library?”

“I am Prince Greave,” Greave answered. “My companion is Aurelle Hardacre.”

“And what do you seek here, Prince Greave?”

“Knowledge,” Greave said. “Of the scale sickness.”

“Ah,” Aldrin said. “Still, the questioning is traditional. Traditionally it’s three, or until I’m satisfied. And don’t try to bribe me. Folk who value money more than knowledge have no place here.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Greave said.

“And according to Vessimus, what are the three things that a man must seek?”