In the House of Five Dragons
42. In the House of Five Dragons
“Our dragons consume us from within, until all that remains is a burning husk that shines with a warning fire. Do not come to me, it says. I will burn you away until you are ashes, just like me.”
— Utora Maesus
Laurael Mazrem stared at the door long after her son had gone. After Gaius left her alone.
After all she had done for the boy! A lifetime of maneuvering to give him anything and everything he ever wanted, to put him on the throne of the Carcaen Empire! Gaius was spoiled, that was all. Spoiled and impressionable. It was Rikard’s fault, really. If he hadn’t returned, her son would have continued listening to Laurael. Gaius never would have questioned her wisdom. Rikard was just a bad influence.
It’s his father’s fault. Gaius loves me. He’ll come back, full of apologies.
She sat next to the window, waiting, until the rising sun turned the billowing, smoky clouds a molten red-gold. Still Gaius did not return.
Laurael went to the bed to examine the package her son had left. Perhaps some symbol of his forgiveness… She peeled back the clean white paper to reveal a simple iron knife. She dropped the blade with a gasp. It clanged loudly on the intricately tiled floor. Laurael stared at the knife. It was short, heavy and pitted with age, but the edge shone brightly, as though it had just been sharpened.
A fist pounding on the door startled Laurael. She heard Bastil’s voice outside.
“Lady Mazrem? My lady, knights have come from the imperial palace! The consuls ask to see you at once!”
Knights from the imperial palace… here to arrest her. Laurael imagined Rikard sitting with Emperor Tychon, all of their animosity forgotten as they plotted her fate. She would be disgraced just for trying to give her son the best life that she could.
Laurael picked up the dagger. It was cold and heavy in her hand. There was nothing left for her but shame. They would drag her in chains before the emperor and the Lyceum. Gaius would speak against her. Her own son.
“Lady Mazrem?” Bastil called out. “My lady? Can you hear me?”
She seated herself in front of the window again, cradling the knife in steady fingers. It was Gaius’ one gift to her, the only escape from the dishonor that awaited her. Laurael pulled back the sleeves of her tabba. It would not do to dirty them now. When they found Lady Mazrem, she would be regal. Like a queen, mother to an emperor.
It was surprisingly easy. Laurael drew the sharp iron knife along the length of each wrist in a single swift cut. The keen edge sliced easily, almost painlessly, through her skin. Red blood welled up and ran down her arms. Laurael sat back and let her arms rest at her sides. Slow cold crept up from her fingertips. Laurael’s blood spread in a vibrant pool. Every drop of bright, colorful warmth leaked away and left her a statue of ice. No, something more enduring than ice… Stone, like one of the great monuments to the heroes of Carce.
Bastil pounded on the closed door. “Lady Mazrem? My lady, please answer! They’re saying that the emperor is dead! Please, my lady. The Lyceum begs for your counsel!”
Dead? Castum Tychon was dead? Laurael was too cold to be surprised. There was only a dim, remote sort of regret. So someone had gotten to Tychon first, removed him just as Laurael herself had so carefully planned to do to her husband. The emperor knew nothing damning, or else had taken those secrets to his pyre. No one was here to arrest her, after all.
So it was all for nothing. I’ve died for nothing.
She could almost appreciate the irony. She had lived for nothing, for political gains dwarfed in an instant by those of her foolish young husband, to buy the throne that Gaius no longer wanted. All for nothing.
Laurael Mazrem closed her eyes and quietly died.
Thainna started toward her brother, but Thain hooked his finger and a ring of men stepped into the lamplight. She stopped and shook her head, trying to banish the sight of Thain before the Jade Throne. He wore a long robe of exquisitely shimmering silk, tied at the waist with a sash of deep red. Thain looked slender and pale, but handsome in his expensive clothes.
He stepped casually over Jaesun’s body, closer to his bewildered twin, but still well outside the protective circle of his men. Wiping off the blood on a Talon’s offered sleeve, Thain thrust his gilded dagger back into a gold sheath tucked in his belt.
“What… what happened to Jaesun?” Thainna asked.
“You’re looking well, sister,” Thain said. “It seems Rikard took even better care of you than I thought. And you brought a sword, too. Nianese?”
Thain toed Jaesun’s limp body.
“He was useful in his own way, but I couldn’t risk him regretting his decision,” he told them. “The men of VEIL can have such… unpredictable loyalties, don’t you think? Well, now the emperor’s dead and I can replace him with one of my choosing.”
“You… you killed a Flame?” Thainna gasped. “You can’t! The Crest will…”
Thain grinned and raised an eyebrow at his sister.
“Hae?” he said.
“You… you’re the Crest? But how? You should be in the fostral. You’re sick!”
It sounded ridiculous as soon as Thainna said it, but the whole world had gone mad. Nothing made sense anymore. Was she still asleep? Thainna watched her twin through the cage of imprisoning Talons.
“You weren’t the first to think I would become a great leader,” Thain said, spreading his pale, delicate hands. “Pata did, too. With a little help. What stories I told him! You should know, dear sister. I told them to you, too. How I would change the House, how I would protect the poor Talons of the Rows, the great things I would do with my power. So Pata bought me the throne. The youngest Crest ever to lead the House of Five Dragons!”
He’s lying! Rikard warned Thainna silently. At least in part. Your father changed the books to make it look like an impressive bid. I see it in his thoughts. Thain killed Aelos… He fears nothing!
Rikard grabbed for Thainna’s arm to pull her back, but the stubborn little Fiori just wriggled away. She wasn’t listening to him at all.
“And I did. I changed the House,” Thain said. “I turned a rat’s nest of cheats and petty thieves into a true power. I infiltrated the Lyceum and VEIL. Even the imperial palace. I killed the emperor in his own bed, surrounded by his own guards! The House of Five Dragons controls all Dormaen, and soon the rest of the empire. I raised this House up from the mud!”
He sat once more on the vast Jade Throne, the monument to his power. Rikard stepped close to Thainna again, and gently put his hands on her shoulders. He frowned at Thain.
“Boasting is the sport of boys,” said Rikard. “You’ve proved only that you are no more than a child, weak and sick, who wished to be strong. You have suffered, Thain, and so you made others suffer more. You toy with those who cannot fight because you cannot face the dragons inside yourself. Your victories are hollow.”
Thain shot him an irritated look and Rikard felt a sharper blade of real anger. The Crest shared his twin’s fierce spirit. “Hae, the great hero speaks against me. I’m still considering putting you on the throne of Carce, hero. You should speak better to me.”
“But what about Pata?” Thainna asked softly, little more than a wounded whisper that made Rikard’s heart ache. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“I told him not to,” Thain answered simply.
“And you killed him? You killed our father?”
Thainna looked up at Thain through her long red hair. Tears blurred her vision. She and her father had never been close, but… We never spoke much and now we never will.
“You let him live in filth while you had all… all this? You beat me,” Thainna said. “You lied to me at every turn. Why? Why didn’t you tell me that you were the Crest? I would have been your ally, your most loyal Talon. I… You were going to fix the House, Thain! You were supposed to save us from the Crest… but it was you! You turned us into murderers and assassins and worse. You tortured and killed us when we resisted. Even when we didn’t! I would have done anything for you, Thain!”
Now he did look angry. Thain narrowed his bright green eyes to glowering slits, thin cracks in the ceiling of hell. “For me? Thainna, you did this to me!”
She choked and the tears burned in her eyes. “Me? I would never hurt you!”
“Mother was too weak after giving birth to you. You killed her, Thainna. You! I was born from a dead woman! Born sick,” Thain said. He held up a slender, bone-white hand and then pointed at Rikard. “Now look at him! A hero by chance, by a single desperate choice. I have fought every day for this! And you whimper and moan about the secrets I have kept, Thainna? Sitting at my bedside and telling me what you will give me. You thought yourself so strong, so brave. A hero, just like the great Rikard Mazrem!”
“At the fostral… That was an act.”
“You were never quick, Thainna, but you get there in the end. Sweet, self-righteous little Thainna taking care of her sick brother.” Thain lounged back in the deep cushions of the huge Jade Throne. “As you can see, I don’t need your charity.”
“It wasn’t charity!” Thainna cried. Rikard tightened his hand on her shoulders. If she flung herself at the circle of House warriors, they would kill her. “I love you! I believed in you… I was going to buy you the throne!”
“At least you served one useful purpose,” he said and smiled coldly at Rikard. “I would have trusted no other with him, my loving and devoted sister.”
“You let Thainna starve in the Rows,” Rikard snarled. “You hurt her and you made her an orphan!”
“And what do you care, great hero? Thainna betrayed you. She called you a friend and used you on my behalf. She stole from you, did you know? To buy my throne back for me.”
“I know,” Rikard said. “She told me. I don’t care. I love her.”
Thain laughed. It was a sharp, ugly sound.
“Love her?” the Crest said. “Why Thainna, you little minx! I never truly counted you for a seductress, but you continue to surprise me. Then perhaps you should thank me, Rikard, for sending her to you.”
“You used her, used her love for you!” Rikard said. “I will never be grateful for what you’ve done.”
“Never?” Thain cupped his sharp chin in one hand. “Well then you’ve just made your own fate. Thainna was right about you, it seems. If you can’t be controlled, then you’re of no use to me. Gaius will be considerably easier to influence. Congratulations, your son will be emperor of Carce.”
“You’ll never get near Gaius!” Rikard snarled.
“I already have, hero. Well, we had best get on with it, hae? I have worlds to conquer,” Thain said. He gestured to the black-clad Talons. “Kill them.”
“Thain, no!” Thainna cried, but her twin brother only smiled a predator’s humorless grin and sat back to watch.
Castor charged at Marus, gladius held high. The younger knight jumped back and grabbed for his own sword. He unsheathed the blade barely in time to turn aside Castor’s thrust.
“You know nothing of honor,” the general growled. “You would follow Rikard Mazrem wherever he leads. You have never chosen your own way!”
Castor swung his sword with more anger than precision, but his furious strength drove Marus back into the wall. Marus lurched to one side, scrambling for distance, but not enough. Castor’s blade slid along his leg and opened a long, bloody gash on Marus’ thigh.
“Where would you have led us, general?” he said with a pained grunt. “How many have died for your pride?”
Castor aimed a short slash at his head, but Marus slipped beneath it. The blade shattered a flower vase instead, spraying both men with water and shards of pottery. Marus recovered his balance and drove forward again. VEIL had certainly gone soft since Njorn Pass. He guessed that it had been a long time since Castor has used his sword, even in practice. It may as well have been a ceremonial object.
But fueled by his self-righteous rage, Castor would have been dangerous wielding no more than a stick.
Marus circled, trying to force Castor back into a corner. He parried aside another swift slice and returned with an angled cut to the general’s legs. Castor spun away and slashed his sword in a high arc. Marus flung himself back down just in time to watch the polished steel flicker overhead. The gladius bit into the wooden bedpost and stuck there. Marus slammed one boot hard into the other man’s chest and Castor fell, losing his grip on the hilt of his sword.
“General Castor, you are under arrest,” Marus panted, standing over the Sun Court general. “Come peacefully and with whatever dignity you have left.”
Castor paid no attention, but seemed instead to be busy with something underneath him. Was he going for a dagger to open his wrists? He wouldn’t be the first nobleman to choose suicide over the disgrace of a public trial. But if Castor took his own life, then the blame for yesterday’s fires would remain squarely on VEIL and Rikard Mazrem. Marus wedged his toe under Castor’s shoulder and shoved him onto his back.
Where the general had lain was no dagger, but a sloppy circle of blood, divided by lines and curved glyphs. Marus recognized a call for fire, but there was something wrong with it, in the broken lines at the pact-circle’s heart. Castor was calling on the Shatter.
He reached over with his open cannula and added the last dripping line. A sudden flash of heat sizzled against Marus’ skin as the bed went up in flames. Twisting arms of fire unfolded from the blaze, lashing out at Marus and encircling him. Castor grabbed his sword from the charring bedpost and turned his back, striding from the burning bedroom.
Marus searched hurriedly, but there was no escape from the constricting circle of fire. Flames surrounded him on every side. He knelt and tried to ignore the roaring flames.
Castor wasn’t the only one with allies on the other side of the veil. Sweat ran down the back of Marus’ neck.
Focus! He traced his own circle of blood and crossed it in an arrow marked with the symbols for speed. Escape, I need to escape. And to catch up to Castor. A triangle with a spiral glyph at the apex.
Marus hesitated. What could he offer Stumble? With the flames cracking like demon whips all around, it was hard to think at all. The air sizzled and his hair singed, raising a thick stench. A blind panic rose inside him, choking out all reason. Suddenly he understood very well how, suddenly in command of a losing army, his men dying around him, howling Fiori charging at them, Rikard could have begged for Alterran help with no thought for the cost.
A drop of hot sweat rolled down Marus’ nose and spattered in the blood steaming on the floor. You’re welcome to this heat, Stumble. Squinting against the smoke he added the wave-mark of sensation. Perhaps the young curiosity could do more with the burning pain all across Marus’ skin and in his lungs…
Suddenly the heat of the blaze was gone, as quickly as the sun disappearing behind a cloud. Was it the heat that was gone or was the fire? Marus opened his eyes, curious in spite of himself to see flames without heat, but they were gone. The whole burning room was gone.
Thank the gods for you, Stumble!
Marus found himself in a hallway, still close to the bedroom. He still smelled the strong, acrid reek of smoke. At the end of the hall, where it opened into the gallery, Castor shouted for his servants. He held his blackened sword loosely in one hand.
“General!” Marus shouted. “You’re under arrest!”
Castor turned toward the cry, eyes widening, and then dashed into the gallery. Marus swore and leapt after him. He slashed at the general as he closed, but Castor yanked his sword up between them and the fire-heated blades rang against one another, spitting white-hot sparks.
Marus forced Castor back, step by step. The general’s back met the curving wall of the gallery and his elbow bumped the carved bust resting in the niche there, setting it rocking. Seizing upon the opportunity, Castor flung the alabaster sculpture at his attacker. Marus had to fall back to duck the flying stone, and then again as the general sprinted along the wall, hurling vases and statues.
When he had won himself some room, Castor turned toward the wall and opened his cannula, calling once again for the Shatter. He drew a faltering circle, but Marus closed on him again and the Sun general could not write and hold his sword in the same hand.
He passed his sword to his left hand just as Marus brought his gladius down once more. The impact shivered the sword in Castor’s hand, but the general held fast and the blow fell short. Marus grabbed at his right wrist, spraying droplets of blood into the air from his open cannula.
Marus swung his sword around, battering away an awkward, off-handed defense and cutting deeply into Castor’s left arm. The general snarled in fury and juggled his sword back into his uninjured right hand. Marus passed his blade to his left hand in mirror image and thumbed open his own bloodcap. He made a quick examination of Castor’s aborted pact, then added his own marks.
Seize Castor. I call upon you, Stumble, my friend!
The Sun Court general lunged. Marus met Castor’s blade with his own, stepping inside the arc of steel. The general turned and tried to bring his blade down on Marus’ right hand. The younger knight jumped back with a shout of surprise. Blood sprayed from his cannula and streaked the floor in red.
“Without your Alterra, you’re just a common soldier,” Castor said, panting.
“But we have the Alterra.” Marus’ head hurt and the air was full of thick smoke from the burning bedroom. “They are our brothers, as much as any other knight! You can’t just abandon them!”
“Is that what Rikard Mazrem said? And you truly believe it?” Castor asked.
“I do! And I believe that any man willing to ruin another for his own honor never had any in the first place!”
With an inarticulate roar of fury, Castor struck again, strong and sure. Marus brought up his gladius, but the enraged knight was beyond pain, beyond anything but silencing this challenge to his honor. Castor’s sword slammed down on Marus’ and drove him to his knees on the polished stone floor. The general leveled his sword at the kneeling knight’s throat. Marus tried to back away, but Castor had him pinned against the wall.
“You’re scattered and unfocused,” Castor said. “You wasted your time learning the old forms, the old blood pacts. And what has it bought you?”
Marus felt sticky blood on the back of his neck, dripping down from the pact Castor himself had begun. Marus heaved himself to his feet and battered aside Castor’s blade with his left hand.
“Justice,” he answered.
With his right, Marus reached out and slashed the final line of blood across the circle, signing away his favorite song to Stumble for the next half year. Marus could no longer remember how it went anymore, but hoped that Stumble was enjoying the haunting melody. Singing it through the embattled Uprising, maybe…
Thick, clumsily-made iron chains rattled up from the floor and encircled Castor. The heavy links snaked around his arms and chest, cinching tight. Castor took a few steps away, overbalanced and fell, chains ringing against the gallery floor. Marus stood over him, sword and cannula held ready.
“For the last time, General Castor,” Marus said, “you are under arrest.”
Six Talons surrounded Rikard and Thainna, but it would not take six to kill them. The two closest men raised crossbows, drawn taut and loaded with black-fletched bolts.
Get down!
Rikard’s command was urgent and Thainna threw herself to the uneven floor. Here at the top of the tower, the slope was more pronounced. The sword slid from her sash and spun away down across the room, vanishing uselessly into the darkness.
Rikard half leapt, half fell toward the leaning bottom of the room, seizing the nearest Talon as he sailed past. The man beside him turned to swing a short sword and suddenly reeled as Rikard unleashed his fury in a single sharp jab of pain. The Talon howled in agony and slapped at his face, trying and failing to reach the buzzing, blinding thing clawing at his mind. Rikard smashed the first man to the ground, yanked the crossbow from his hands and pulled the trigger. The other Talon slumped down to the ground, clutching at the black bolt suddenly quivering in the center of his chest. Neither of them moved again.
The crossbow was useless to Rikard now. He flung it as hard as he could at another huge, dark-clothed Talon charging toward him. Thain’s guard slipped aside and the crossbow clattered off across the slanted floor. Rikard grabbed for his fallen sword and kept his back to the wall as the remaining Talons closed in on him.
Thainna pulled herself to her knees and grabbed the weapon in trembling hands. Now what? The crossbow’s mechanism seemed simple enough, but she needed to load it.
Rikard fought uphill now, against four opponents who better knew the terrain. He changed his sword to a left-handed grip and thumbed open his cannula, holding the shining gold bloodcap up high. Flickerdim could not answer any pact — the Uprising was locked in terrible combat with the Shatter, fighting a similarly uphill battle — but these men didn’t know that. The Talons pulled back as if the knight’s blood were deadly venom. Rikard jumped forward, smashing his fist into one man’s face and ramming his gladius into the belly of another as they recoiled.
Thainna felt around the bodies on the floor, searching, and darted another quick glance over her shoulder. She would know if Rikard were wounded as soon as he did, but she couldn’t stop herself from staring in horror. Her heart pounded and blood rushed in her ears. She tried to calm herself, knowing that Rikard would feel her panic like a knife wound.
Her questing fingers brushed against the stiff bristles of fletching. Thainna grabbed the bolt and yanked back on the crossbow’s oiled string, but to no effect. It was too stiff, the wood too hard to move. Thainna found a stirrup at the front of the weapon and slid her foot into it. She clenched the bolt in her teeth, biting marks into the dark wood as she pulled back on the string with both hands. At last, she heard a click. When Thainna let go, the bow remained flexed, straining to release its deadly tension.
Rikard now held the painstakingly won high ground against the three remaining Talons. He charged before they could spread out, before the one in the center made room to use his crossbow. When the first Talon brought up his arms to keep Rikard away, he seized the man’s wrist with his free hand and held it helplessly in place. Rikard’s sword sliced into flesh and he levered the knife away before letting the limp body tumble down the inclined floor. He held the knife and his gladius ready, parrying with one and striking with the other.
The fight surged closer to the Jade Throne in a violent, bloody tide. Thain was no longer sitting regally, presiding over an execution. The Crest shrank back into the velvet cushions. His sharp green eyes darted this way and that, searching for something that could reverse this sudden loss of control and finding nothing.
When the last of his Talons clung to the foot of the Jade Throne, cradling the stump of one arm in white-faced shock, Thain leapt from his throne and ran for the door. Thainna dropped the arrow carefully into the slot on top of the crossbow, felt for the trigger and found it. She swung the crossbow to point at her twin’s fleeing back.
“Stop!” Thainna shouted.
Thain stopped one white hand against the frame of the door. He straightened and looked back. “You’re my sister. You said you would do anything for me, Thainna. You won’t shoot me.”
He took a half step forward, through the door.
“Thain! Don’t move!” Thainna shouted. Her hands shook and the crossbow rattled in her grip. “You… you killed Pata, Thain! And you would have killed me. You’ve had your own people tortured and murdered.”
“I’m still your brother,” Thain said.
He turned so she could see his face more clearly, so much like her own, like looking into a mirror. His tone softened, becoming the small, worried little-boy voice she remembered so well.
“Please don’t hurt me, Thainna. Let’s go. We’ll leave Dormaen. Just… run away.”
“Run away?” Thainna asked. Her throat went achingly tight, as if to stop her from uttering the uselessly hopeful words.
“Just you and me, Thainna. I hid money. We’ll leave and forget all of this. I… I need you, Thainna… I never meant to hurt you…”
Rikard stopped behind Thainna, standing tall over the twins. He’s lying.
“I can’t…” Her voice cracked as it fought to be heard, but then came out stronger. “Even if you meant it, Thain, I can’t run. You betrayed the House, all of Dormaen. You would have let half of the city starve just to secure more power, just to sink your fangs a little deeper. There’s a lot of damage to be fixed, a lot of people who are lost and hurt.”
“Oh, Thainna,” Thain said. The sweet, pleading tone bled away, leaving his voice cold. “Did you forget that you’re not really a foster? You can’t heal them. You can’t help them. You’re a thief and a liar. I only feed the dragons. In them. In you.”
Thainna nodded. “I know.”
But she didn’t lower the loaded crossbow as Rikard grabbed her brother’s thin arm.
“Everyone has their dragons,” Thainna said. “That’s true. But some of us fight them. Every day.”
Thain’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t have strength enough to struggle as Rikard grabbed him. Without his Talons, Thain was little more than a weak, sickly boy. Rikard marched him down the steps of the crooked tower.
Outside, the temple plaza was already full of people as they led the sullen Crest from the bottom of the tower. Word had reached the Lyceum and they sent VEIL reinforcements to cordon off the crooked tower. Rumors were already flying about the assassination of the emperor, about a clash between VEIL and the equally fearsome House of Five Dragons.
Thainna was relieved. Soon Thain would be locked safely away. She would ask Rikard to make sure that he was kept secure in the fostral maybe, as he should have been from the beginning. A place Thain could rest and be well and perhaps even heal… Thainna heard her name and looked up. Someone was waving at her from outside the ring of knights, trying to catch her attention.
“I know him,” Thainna said. “That’s Caelin. Thain has his wife somewhere. Let him through.”
Rikard waved wearily to the guards. They parted to let the gaunt House Talon through. He trotted their direction, his face pale and drawn. Thainna took a step toward Caelin, ready to embrace the old man, to reassure him that everything would be alright, but he brushed past her. Thainna frowned, confused.
“Caelin?” she called, but he ignored her.
Rikard was looking in the opposite direction, toward Karl as the Lyncean shouted something about Marus Gallard and General Castor. Rikard heard Thainna’s shout and turned toward Caelin, but too late.
Caelin grabbed Thain and the young Crest’s proud, angry face went suddenly slack. Rikard tore the boy away, shouting for help. A pair of Moon Court knights tackled Caelin and the bloodied knife fell from his hand, clattering into the road.
Thainna ran to her brother’s side as Rikard lowered him to the ground. Thain’s hands were folded over his belly and his fingers were already red with blood.
“I’m sorry,” Rikard was saying. “I’m sorry… I didn’t reach him in time, I…”
Thainna pulled Thain to her chest and brushed his matching red hair back from his face. His fading green eyes fixed on hers and he opened his mouth. He tried to speak, but blood just poured from between his pale lips, choking away his last breath and then his eyes went blank. Empty.
Thainna held Thain and cried for him to come back to her.
