A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2) (5 page)

He blinked madly. Shari was in
human form again; he hadn't even noticed her shifting back. He
shoved her off.

"Let go!" he said.
"Unhand me. I'm not one of your dogs."

He reached for his sword, then
cursed when—yet again—he realized it was gone.

Shari laughed, released his
collar, and shoved him so powerfully he stumbled several paces back.
He hit a column, managed to remain standing, and glared.

The throne room of Requiem was,
quite handily, the largest chamber Leresy had ever seen. Dragons
could fly here and find it roomy. A hundred columns stood in two
palisades, rising taller than the greatest pines. The vaulted
ceiling sported paintings of dragons flying among clouds. More
dragons, these ones battling phoenixes, coiled across the floor in a
mosaic. That floor stretched between the columns, leading to the
distant throne of the emperor.

Leresy hissed at that throne.
His father sat there, the man Leresy hated most.

"Father!" he cried,
voice echoing in the hall. "You wanted to see me, Father. I am
here! Your son is here."

He lurched down the hall,
swaying from column to column for support. He cackled as he walked,
spraying saliva. Finally—it seemed like he walked for hours—he
stood before Frey Cadigus, Emperor of Requiem.

The old bastard sat in that
ivory throne of his, looking like some stuffed vulture. Leresy
imagined him roosting on eggs and barked a laugh. Grooves framed the
emperor's thin, frowning lips. His dark hair was slicked back. His
shoulders were wider than Leresy's, and his pauldrons made them seem
even wider. But his eyes, Leresy thought… his eyes were the
hardest thing about him. Those eyes were black, narrow, and cruel.
They could see better than eagles, he thought. They could see
through him—through his stained tunic, through his skin, and into
his very soul. Staring into them, Leresy found all his mirth
dissipating. A chill ran through him, and he couldn't help but
shiver.

"Father," he said, and
suddenly his legs shook so badly that he fell to his knees. He knelt
before the emperor, and tears burned in his eyes.

Frey stared down at him, looking
like a man staring at a maggoty corpse. He placed a handkerchief to
his nose.

"You stink of booze, vomit,
and cheap whores," Frey said. "Stand up."

Leresy rose to his feet and
swayed.

"You summoned me, Father,"
he said to the old vulture. Rage crackled inside him. Why was the
old man just sitting there? "Why, Father? Tell me! Speak,
damn it."

Frey rose to his feet and his
face twisted, red with anger. His lips peeled back, revealing sharp
teeth. When he stepped toward Leresy, fists clenched, he seemed more
like a swooping vulture than ever. Leresy let out a yelp, stumbled a
few paces backward, and fell down hard onto his backside.

"Father!" he cried,
holding out his hands. "Father, please, don't strike me."

Shari laughed in the distance.
Sweat drenched Leresy and fear churned his gut. Across his flesh,
the old scars blazed—the scars Frey had given him throughout his
childhood, beating him with belt, whip, and rod.

He's
going to beat me again,
Leresy realized and mewled. He scampered backward on his bottom.

"Please, Father!"

Frey leaned down, grabbed
Leresy's collar, and yanked him to his feet.

"I said stand!" the
emperor thundered. "Are you a prince or a dog to lick my heels?
Stand!"

Leresy stood, trembling. Frey
towered above him, so much taller, so much stronger.

"What do you want?"
Leresy demanded, spraying spit. His voice cracked. "Why do you
do this? Let me drink! Let me whore. Let me forget. Why do you
bring me here? I don't want to be at court. I don't care about this
place. Tell me what you want, and let me go sleep."

Frey's voice dripped disgust.
"Oh, you can go sleep soon, Leresy. You won't be here long.
You might not be here ever again. You are a disgrace of a son. I
gave you a fort in the south, and you reduced it to rubble. I gave
you a smaller fortress in the city, thinking Castra Luna was too big
for you. You turned even this garrison into a hive of drink and
debauchery." He snorted. "You don't care about this
place, it is true. You don't care about anything, Leresy, that you
can't bed or drink. But I wanted you here for this night. I wanted
you to hear this in person. I want you to leave here tonight in
shame, knowing what you've done."

Leresy barked a laugh. Tears
streamed down his cheeks.

"I reduced Castra Luna to
ruin?" he shouted and cackled. "It's your daughter Kaelyn
who did that! She's the one who flew in with the Resistance. She's
the one who slaughtered our men there, who toppled our walls. I
defended that fort! I stood in its grand hall, a sword in my hand,
and—"

"You cowered behind women,
then fled through the window, leaving Shari to die," Frey said,
voice twisted in disgust. "You fought? Did you even draw your
sword that night? Have you ever slain an enemy, Leresy, or only run
from one? You blame Kaelyn?" The emperor snorted again.
"Kaelyn betrayed me, that is true, but she fought well that day.
She did not flee from battle. She is a traitor, yes, but strong.
She has more of my respect than you do, boy."

"Kaelyn is a whore!"
Leresy screamed hoarsely, face burning. "She gave me this scar
on my face! She is a dirty, cowardly dog, and I will kill her—"

"You will do nothing,"
Frey said. He reached out his arm, and Shari came to stand at his
side, a smirk on her face. "My daughter Shari has proven
herself my only worthy child."

Leresy guffawed. "Shari?
She's a freak! She's a monster. Have you seen her wing, Father?
I've seen better sails on slavers!"

"And I've seen slaves with
more honor than you," Frey retorted. "You may blame
Kaelyn, boy, but Castra Luna was your watch. And you let it fall.
Shari, my daughter, will not disappoint me. The Resistance, cowards
that they are, toppled the walls of Castra Luna and fled into the
forests, knowing they could never defend the fort. I am giving Shari
command of those ruins now. She will rebuild Castra Luna in my
honor, and she will rule it well. It will never more fall under her
command."

Leresy stared, his breath dying.

His lips shook.

No.
Stars, no.

He
let out a raw, anguished howl, reaching his hands to the ceiling.

"But Castra Luna is mine!"
He shook his fists and stamped his feet. "You gave it to me,
Father. To me! It was my birthday present!" He panted,
frothing at the mouth, and screamed wordlessly. "You can't give
it to Shari now. She's only… she's a monster! She—"

His voice morphed into nothing
but a wordless, hoarse howl.

Frey watched him, eyes hard and
cold. Shari stood at his side, her hands on her hips.

"Are you quite done
whining, little brother?" she asked. She gave him a crooked
smile and wink. "Don't feel bad. If you're a good little
brother, perhaps I'll let you visit and muck out the outhouses."
She smirked. "They can call you Leresy, Lord of Latrines!"

That was enough for Leresy.
After all this night had brought him, that was enough. That made him
snap.

He yowled. He reached for his
sword a third time, again found it missing, and screamed. Then he
remembered. His dagger! Of course! The dagger in his boot!

Cackling, tears and mucus and
drool mingling on his face, he reached into his boot, drew the blade,
and ran toward his sister. He screamed, dagger flashing in hand.

"Now you die, Shari!"
he cried, laughing and crying. "Die, Blue Bitch! Die!"

He leaped and thrust his dagger.

She sidestepped, and the blade
sliced the air.

He kept flying forward, tumbled,
and crashed facedown onto the floor. His dagger clattered away
across the mosaic.

Hands grabbed his collar. His
tunic pulled back, choking him. The hands yanked him to his feet.

Frey Cadigus, Emperor of
Requiem, began dragging his son toward the doors.

Leresy struggled. He mewled.
He kicked. But he could not free himself. His father dragged him
across the hall, between the columns and statues, over the mosaics,
and under the painted ceiling. When they reached the doors, Frey
tossed his son outside the palace like an innkeeper tossing out a
rowdy barfly.

Leresy slammed against the
stairs that led down into the night. He turned back toward his
father, covered his face with his arms, and whimpered.

"Father!" he said.

Frey spat upon him, standing
tall in the doorway, framed in the light of braziers. Shari stood
behind him, her hands still on her hips, a sneer still on her lips.

"You have shamed me,
Leresy," the emperor said. "You are henceforth banished
from my court. You are henceforth banished from my city. You are no
longer my son." He spat again. "Leave this city. You
have one hour. If I see you again, Leresy, you will receive no such
mercy. If I see you again, I will break you, hang your mangled body
from this palace, and let the empire see your shame. Be gone!"

Leresy hissed and snapped his
teeth.

"You will regret this,
Father!" he screamed. He pointed a shaky finger. "You
will regret this, Shari! I will slay you both. I will butcher you
like the pigs that you are, and I will hang you here by your
entrails."

With that, he stumbled down the
stairs and nearly fell. He shifted into a dragon. He roared. He
flew through the night. He sprayed his fire across the city; it fell
in a rain of sparks.

"I am Leresy Cadigus!"
he shouted as he flew, laughing and beating his wings. His fire
rained and ignited roofs below. "I am Prince of Requiem. The
throne will be mine—mine!"

Roaring, he dived toward his
fortress, the slim tower of Castellum Tal. He slammed into the front
doors in dragon form, shattering them, and rolled into the hall. He
spread his wings wide and howled, and his dragon's roar echoed. All
around, his drunken men fell, fled, or cheered.

"We fly out, men!"
Leresy shouted. He whipped his tail, knocking over a table and
shattering its mugs of ale. "We fly—now! Follow me and you
will have all the ale, women, and gold in Requiem. We fly!"

His thousand men cheered in a
drunken stupor, waving mugs, jugs, and swords.

Leresy spun around in the hall,
his wings and tail knocking over more tables, and lumbered outside
into the night.

"Follow!" he shouted
over his shoulder. "Bring the wine with you, and bring the
women. We fly!"

He soared. Behind him, his
cheering men emerged from the hall, shifted into dragons, and flew
after him. They rose in the night, a thousand drunken dragons
blowing fire. Their flames lit the darkness.

Lord of Latrines? Leresy
snorted a laugh. He would make her into a latrine! When he ruled
the throne, he would chain Shari beneath the sewers and let the city
piss on her. He laughed, imagining it.

Nova Vita sprawled below him.
He flew, howling and laughing. He streamed over the walls, and his
thousand dragons flew behind him, chanting his name.

They
will be my army,
Leresy vowed.
I
will give them ale, women, and drunken songs. And they will give me
a throne.

They flew over the forests,
leaving the capital behind. The night wrapped around them, cold and
black like the memory of Nairi's death.

 
 
ERRY

A lone copper dragon, she flew
over the forests toward her darkest nightmare.

"Oh, griffin puke,"
she cursed, wings flapping. Her heart thrashed against her ribs, and
she blasted nervous fire. "Damn bloody piss soup. Damn the
stars and damn the Abyss and damn Frey Cadigus's hairy arse!"

She snorted smoke from her
nostrils. Her wings ached. Every fiber in her body screamed at her
to turn tail, to fly back north, to flee the damn south and the
memories that pulsed here.

"And damn you, Tilla
Roper," Erry hissed. "Damn your long bones."

She flew on, grumbling and
cursing and panting.

The forest rolled beneath her
for leagues, its oaks, pines, and maples turning red and yellow with
autumn. The colors reminded Erry of blood and fire. Last winter, it
was blood and fire that painted these trees. Today autumn's beauty
only chilled her.

The old pain dug through her.
The wound on her temple had healed, and even the headaches had been
receding, but now it blazed with new agony. A resistor had given her
that blow, slamming his tail into her head. Worse than the physical
pain were the memories.

As she flew, Erry saw the battle
again before her. Cannonballs slammed into dragons, tearing their
magic away, scattering their human forms in a shower of blood and
limbs. Soldiers lay burning upon the trees, some dead, others still
screaming in the inferno. And she saw Mae Baker—her dearest friend,
her silly and terrified Wobble Lips—disappearing into a rain of
fire.

"Wobble Lips!" Erry
had screamed and tried to find her, streaming through smoke and
flame. "Mae! Mae, where are you?"

She never saw the timid baker's
daughter again. Erry had fled north with the emperor, the prince and
princess, and Tilla. She had fled the fire, the blood, the swarm of
the Resistance.

"I left you, Mae,"
Erry whispered as she flew back south, back toward that old
nightmare. Tears stung her eyes. "I left you to die. I'm so
sorry. But I will find you again. I will find you alive, or I will
find your grave, but I will find you."

She flew on, a single copper
dragon in an endless sky of memory.

Finally she saw it ahead, a
stain upon the forest, a pile of stone and ash like a crater.