Dragon's Treasure, page 10
“Stop it,” I murmur. “I’m not that beautiful.”
“You are the sun,” he insists. “Too beautiful to look directly on, although I admit I find myself staring regardless.”
He’s ridiculous, but his words warm me. My fire means I never spent a cold night like so many in my position do, so I never knew I was cold inside. But there was evidently some part of me desperate for warmth, and his words are the only thing I’ve ever known to provide it.
It’s ridiculous and too much and truly unnecessary, but I’d do anything to keep hearing his words.
“Osir?” I ask.
“Yes, treasure?”
“This is real, right?” I check. “What you’re saying—you mean it?”
“That you’re beautiful? I swear it, Leana, and—”
“No,” I dare to interrupt. “I mean—your promises.”
“A new jewel every day? Of course. I’m a rich dragon, treasure.”
“That you’ll get out of here. That you really will give me jewels with your own two human hands, free from here.”
I’ve let myself start believing him. I’ve let myself start dreaming of it. And I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to confront the likelihood that these dreams aren’t possible.
He’s silent for a long moment, making me squirm. But then he says, “Yes, treasure. I mean it. I swear to you—I’ll make that happen.” And he says it with such utter conviction that I can’t help but believe it.
18. Osir
My treasure sleeps against me once more, even though I was convinced not an hour ago she would flee and leave me behind forever.
I wouldn’t have blamed her. While I know she was kind and even affectionate when she believed the horror stories spread about me, the truth is honestly not much better. I thought hearing it might be the thing that broke us.
It still might be, I remind myself forcibly. She might change her mind if she thinks it over long enough.
And I have to allow her. Even more, I have to enable her to do so. I have to make that easy for her to do.
I would be a poor mate to trap my treasure. But even more so, if I trap another human magic user for my own selfish ends, then I will have learned nothing. All of this would be worth nothing.
I have not spent a century imprisoned to not have learned my damned lesson.
I will offer again to fund her freedom. I will offer every day, if that’s what it takes. Leana will be free to choose me or not, but I will not imprison her here.
And to that same end, I cannot delay any longer. I cannot wait for an escape scenario that is entirely favorable to me. I must be free to give Leana freedom.
Either I will keep my promise and present my mate with new jewels every day—given to her by my own two human hands, as she insisted—or I will keep my promise to fund her escape. Either way, I will not be down here, entrapping her with her kind heart and pity for me.
I shouldn’t sleep. I should consider the best path forward.
But if this is my last night to sleep with my mate, I won’t waste it. I wrap around her the best I can and close my eyes, focusing on her soft breathing, letting her lull me to sleep.
∞∞∞
I wake sometime later but refuse to open my eyes, feeling the barely-there weight of Leana against my scales and basking in it.
If she leaves today, then I will accept it. I will enjoy every moment I have left in this hellhole, knowing it means she is free and living her life. And I will get through the nights by remembering this moment.
I can feel her stirring awake, and the selfish core of my soul wants to freeze time, to keep this moment forever.
But time doesn’t work that way, not even for kings, so I wait for her to wake up entirely.
“Did you sleep?” She asks me, her voice rough, and it makes something warm build inside me, something entirely different from the dragon’s fire.
“I did,” I assure her. “Never better, treasure. Can I get you some food?”
Let me feed her one last time, at least. Another moment for me to carry in my soul if this is the last day we have together.
She pulls away from me, and I watch hungrily as she unfolds her still-naked limbs, food entirely forgotten in the face of her beauty.
I temporarily forget the dream of presenting her jewels every morning. Now I think of her waking up like this, stretching those tantalizing limbs in our bed.
Would she like waking up with my head between her thighs? Would that please my treasure? Because nothing on this earth, no gold or thrones or mystical artifact, would please me more.
She steps away from me, and I can’t help how my eyes are drawn to her ass. I move to follow her hypnotically swaying hips, and the chain around my ankle drags against my skin, reminding me of where I am.
To my immediate disappointment, Leana finds her clothes and re-dresses. I watch as she hides her beautiful skin under that coarse cloth, and mentally push getting her nicer clothes higher on my list of things to worry about.
I tear my eyes away from her long enough to sort out food for the two of us, leaving the wine firmly aside.
As pleasant as reading and drinking together was yesterday, I need us both in full possession of our faculties today.
She comes over and takes her place sitting beside me, and I drop some bread and cheese into her lap. “Thank you,” she says, and I feel the weight of it when she picks up my food and begins to eat.
She looks at me the whole time, too. She knows perfectly well what this means, for her to choose to continue to eat my food, even after last night.
“I have yet another favor to ask you,” I tell her when we’ve both eaten a good portion of our meals.
She swallows the bite she’s currently chewing and gives me her full attention. “Alright. What can I do?”
“I’m sending you back to the castle again.”
She seems to go very still for a moment, but then nods. “Alright. What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to convince my damned nephew to come here. To bargain with me himself. Do you think you could do that?” I ask my question with genuine concern; I’ve not been impressed with her descriptions of my nephew, and would fully understand if she didn’t want to approach him again.
“Yes. I might need to imply that you indicated you’d give him the mirror if he came. But I can get him to come.” She sounds confident as she says it, too, and never breaks eye-contact.
“That’s fine. Tell him whatever you need to.”
“What do you plan to do once he’s here?” She asks me, and something inside me warms with the tone. My queen has found a deep reserve of force inside her, and talks to me like the equal she is.
Which is exactly why this is so necessary. “I plan to tell him I’ll win his damn war, I’ll secure his throne…and in exchange, he frees me and you, and lets us live our lives in peace.”
The pronouncement is met with silence. “You’d…why now?” She asks, half-strangled.
“Because I cannot abide being a dragon in chains anymore. Not when I could be a man at your side.”
A small smile breaks across her face, and if I ever doubted I was making the right choice, the smile alone banishes such doubt.
If I do this for my nephew, I won’t be a king. I will lose the castle and the crown. I won’t be able to make my Leana a queen.
But I’ll make sure she knows she is my queen every day regardless. That will never change.
“I’ll go now,” she says, nodding her head. “With luck I can get him here today.”
I want to leave it there. I want to wish her well, tell her that I long for her return, and have that be the end of the conversation. But there is one more thing I feel duty bound to remind her of.
“Before you go,” I tell her, “I need to know that you know how to find my hoard. Because if you choose not to come back to me—if you choose to wash your hands of this entire situation and leave me behind—I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest. But I won’t have you go in poverty, Leana. Please. My hoard is inaccessable, but there is a cache buried that I could direct you to. It would be plenty for you to build a new life with.”
Leana moves fluidly to her feet, then walks towards me, eyes determinedly locked on mine. I don’t dare move. I don’t even breathe.
She puts her hand on the end of my snout and I think even my heart stops beating, waiting for her judgment.
Then she does the last thing I expect; she leans forward and presses a kiss to my snout.
“Silly dragon,” she murmurs. “I’ll be back, with the prince. We are getting you out of here, Osir. That’s a promise.”
I cannot describe the feeling coursing through me to hear her say it. My heart, as if to make up for its earlier refusal to beat, beats double-time now. But I have to be sure.
“Even so,” I insist. “The wealth is yours and I need you to know. Please.”
She steps back and every inch of me wants to protest, but the smile she gives me is almost worth the price of the distance. “Alright,” she agrees. “But I meant what I said, Osir. I’ll only take treasure from your own two hands.”
If that’s what she wants, then she shall have it. More treasure than even the greediest dragon would ever know what to do with. Enough riches to fill entire rooms.
I just have to get out of here first.
19. Leana
When I emerge from the cave, I’m surprised to realize it’s night.
I woke up an hour or so ago, fully convinced it was morning. I suppose the darkness of being so far under the earth causes us to lose time.
Thankfully, dawn is breaking by the time I make it to the castle. Arriving unexpectedly at a castle preparing for war in the middle of the night seems like a poor choice.
The sun has barely broken the horizon, but the castle is still a buzz of activity. I frown. While servants of course always get an early start on the day, there are simply too many people moving about for this to be normal.
“I’m here to see the prince,” I tell the gate guard. “I’ve been sent on an errand for him and am just returning. He’ll want to see me.”
“He doesn’t have time to see the likes of you,” he grumbles, barely looking at me. He has prominent bags under his eyes, and his attention is constantly diverted by the bustling chaos around us.
“He personally sent me out to obtain materials for the war. I’m returning.” I hope he takes with said materials as implied. If possible, I would like to avoid lying. Whatever they choose to believe about what I say is, of course, an entirely different matter.
“Listen to me. The king doesn’t have time for the likes of you.”
I blink. “I’m here for the prince.”
“Ain’t no prince anymore.”
It feels like all the air is sucked out of the room. “The king…the king is dead?” I manage to ask.
“Two days ago. Where you been that you didn’t hear it?”
Deep underground, but I don’t say it.
I lift my chin and narrow my eyes, trying to project confidence. It feels ridiculous, but then I think about how I feel when Osir speaks to me. If I can pretend to be half the person he seems to think I am, then this will be easy.
“I have a way to win this war,” I tell him. “That’s what I was sent for. The king will want to see me.”
∞∞∞
It takes until nearly midday before I am finally shown into the same room where Noctere first assigned me the task of finding that wretched mirror.
I’m left alone there, and only reasonably confident that Noctere will actually arrive.
Noctere. The king. I’ve never interacted with King Braxil personally, and no one has seen him at all in so long. But even so, the world feels different now.
I knew Noctere as a child. I knew a prince who scorned his lessons and rather wrestle in the mud than practice diplomacy. I knew a boy whose temper tantrums almost killed people and robbed us both of mothers. And as of now, that boy is somehow in charge of a kingdom.
A kingdom shortly to be at war, no less. I hope he’s smart enough to be grateful for what Osir is offering. Surely Noctere is overwhelmed and not ready to confront a war on his own.
Noctere comes storming into the room, throwing the door open and causing me to jump. His heavy boots make noise even through the rugs covering the floor, and I wither under the intensity of his eyes. This man is close to losing his control.
Well, he did just lose his father.
“Your highness,” I say, barely remembering to address him with his title. Even a few days with Osir have altered me so much. “Or I suppose it’s your majesty now.”
He doesn’t sit, just pacing near the head of the table. “So, you heard.”
“I just heard this morning, your majesty. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Yes well…” He sighs, and stops moving. “Two parents in one day. It’s been…” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant to why you’re here.”
It doesn’t feel irrelevant to me, though. “Your mother?” I ask quickly. “You know where she is? Your majesty?” I belatedly remember to tack on.
“Of course I know where my mother was,” he scoffs, and resumes his pacing.
“Was?”
“How else did you think my father died? He wasn’t that old, Leana. And it’s almost impossible to kill a dragon. Much easier to just let their mate die.”
“What?” I ask, trying to understand what he means while I feel like some sort of heavy weight is settling in my stomach.
He stops moving again and turns to face me. “I forget how ignorant you humans can be,” he mutters, and I’d feel offended, but he’s talking.
And why shouldn’t he? I doubt he’s been able to talk about anything but succession and the war in days.
As far away as our childhood is, I might still be the only person he can be foolish and honest with.
“Dragons don’t survive the loss of a mate,” he says, pacing again. “They never have in recorded history, as far as I know.”
My heart catches in my throat. Osir—I never knew I had to be worried for more than just myself, if I got sent off to war.
He didn’t tell me. He didn’t tell me on purpose, I realize with a sharp sinking feeling. He had ample opportunity to say something, but he chose not to.
He doesn’t want me to worry, I know. He doesn’t want me to think of him, trapped in that hell, dying alone.
Well, I can hardly get it out of my mind now.
“But…I thought dragons could live thousands of years,” I protest, trying to return to the conversation at hand.
He waves a hand as if dismissing my claim, not turning fully towards me. “Yes, yes. If the mate accepts the bond, then both parties can tie their lifeforce together forevermore. Neither will die without the other, and they’re far more likely to live a dragon’s lifespan, even if one party had a measly human life when they mated.” I bristle at the dismissal, but I don’t contradict him, biting my tongue.
Osir might want to protect me from worry, but I fully intend to return to him shortly, and live a life together, if he’ll still have me even once he’s free. And I’ll need to know these things.
“It’s an active thing,” he continues to explain after a moment, as if my continued silence is the permission he needs to keep talking. “Dragons mate for life, and it’s irreversible. Hence why my father couldn’t let my mother go even after she had the gall to abandon him. But if one mate is a human…they can walk away. They can break the bond on their end.”
So she had sickened and finally died, I conclude without him needing to say. She had not benefited from King Braxil’s lifespan, and he had suffered hers.
I wonder if his mother had known what he just told me. I wonder if she regretted not having Braxil’s life at the end. Maybe she was pleased to know she was taking the husband she never much liked down with her, at the end.
Then I feel guilty for the thought. Her death was not an elaborate revenge plan. She was merely a woman who was sick, and likely died in terrible pain.
Some small part of me—the kindest part—can hope my mother was able to comfort her, during this long illness.
“You knew where she was?” I ask softly.
He stops and turns fully to me. “Your mother didn’t ask about you,” he says, and I can hear the jeer in the words.
He needs someone to lash out at, I distantly realize, and I am convenient and entirely permissible for him to target, because I can never lash back. Knowing this doesn’t stop the anger bubbling in my gut, a pot almost boiling over. My fire seems to rise, pushing it to boil even faster.
But I doubt his mother was happy to see him, either. His very dragon-ness terrified her enough that she ran off in the night, taking my mother with her and leaving both of us behind.
I don’t ask about his visit to his mother. I can guess how it went. And as bitter and unfair as it is, that calms some of my anger.
The man lost two parents in one day, was thrust upon a throne it is clear as day he feels unprepared for, and has a looming war to prepare for. But I have good news to bring him, if I can make him listen to it.
“I have something for you,” I tell him.
“The mirror. Where is it?”
“He won’t give up the mirror. Not to me, at least,” I say hastily, watching the rage like fire cloud his eyes. “He wants to meet with you.”
“Do I look like I have the time to meet with mad old kings?”
“The man is your uncle,” I try. “He’s told me his offer to help is genuine. As long as he meets you.”
“And I suppose you believed him?”
“You sent me to convince him. This is what I have.”
“It’s not enough!” He bursts, turning to face me fully, walking closer with rapid, heavy steps. I sink back in my chair, but there’s nowhere to go. “I sent you to end this war, Leana. I sent you to take care of this one thing. And you’re merely adding more complications to my plate.”
