Chapter Four

The already somber mood turned grim. "I really wish mating season would end," the eldest of the thieves said. "We'll take the west, Rasnake."

Cecil nodded. "I'll go east, then. I should be fine with just Bite and Raze."

Bite and Raze? Who were they?

"Where is my bow?" Cecil asked, but before one of the thieves could reply, a young boy came running up with it. Tallant was impressed, looking at it. By the size, it had a damned good draw behind it. Curiosity getting the better of him, he asked Cecil, "What's the draw?"

"Two hundred," Cecil replied shortly. He nodded to the others, then abruptly spun around and jogged off through the castle gate. Turning as movement caught his eye, Tallant nodded at Milton as he reached him. "What's going on?" Milton asked. "I heard a horn, but that's new to me."

The young boy who had brought the bow looked at them both like they were halfwits. "How can you not know the horn? Two dragons are coming this way, from the east and the west."

"Shit," Milton said. "Where's Cecil?"

Tallant pointed. "He headed east."

Milton raced off. Tallant sighed, then followed, because really he'd wanted to see how a rasnake fought a dragon anyway. He and Milton had nearly lost their fight, despite being seasoned warriors. He wanted to know how a scholar four years their junior turned into a rasnake that seasoned criminals swore to follow for life.

"Cecil!" Milton called out as they spotted him.

"What?" Cecil snapped, clearly impatient and annoyed.

"Let us come with you," Milton said. "We can—"

"Help?" Cecil cut in. "Don't make me laugh. How many dragons have you killed?"

"One," Tallant said before Milton could put his foot in his mouth. "It almost killed us. We have no idea how to fight dragons, but we obviously need to learn fast. We'll stay out of the way, just let us come along."

Cecil stared at them hard, and despite everything Tallant could not help but admire his beauty. It was hard, cold, and Cecil was obviously trying to bury whatever he had once been, but it was all still there. Tallant wondered how Cecil would look when he smiled, when those eyes were not so overburdened with shadows.

"Fine," Cecil finally bit out. "But if you get in my way, or disobey me, I will let Bite and Raze tear your throats out."

"Who are—"

Before Milton could get the question out, the brush rustled, and Tallant stared wide-eyed as two wolves came bursting through it. They walked up to Cecil, sniffing, snuffling, rubbing, and growling with obvious affection. When they were appeased with the state of their master, they rounded on Tallant and Milton and growled in warning and curiosity.

Cecil spoke to them in thieves cant, and the wolves calmed. One was gray and white, the other a dark, rusty red mixed with gold and brown. Cecil scratched their ears, and indicated first the gray one, then the red one, and said, "Meet Frostbite and Raze. Boys, these are Milton and Tallant. Don't eat them unless I say so. Now, let's go kill a dragon."

Turning, he jogged off into the forest, the wolves taking off ahead of him. Milton started to follow, but stopped when he realized Tallant hadn't moved. "What's wrong?"

"Wolves," Tallant said, unable to believe it, scared and elated and guilty and thrilled beyond belief. It was Milton's brother but the wolves. He could scarcely believe it but fate tokens didn't lie. Your destiny lies with wolves. Cecil was his destiny. That was why Tallant was so captivated. On some level, he'd recognized what he'd spent his whole life trying to find.

"What—" Milton's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Cecil—" He closed his mouth, but was obviously less than pleased.

Tallant's heart sank, but it was stupid to think Milton would be happy for him right then. Cecil was barely acknowledging Milton's existence. The very last thing he wanted was to hear about was how Tallant's fate lie with Cecil.

"Let's go," Tallant said hastily, wishing he'd thought to keep his mouth shut. "I want to learn the proper way to kill a dragon." He dashed off, ignoring it when Milton called his name. It was stupid to be disappointed. Beyond stupid. He did not even know that he was correct. The wolves might be the key to his destiny, but that did not mean Cecil was his fate.

Really, even if Cecil were his fate—that didn't mean he'd finally have marks for his left arm. That his fate was with wolves could mean literally anything. Perhaps his fate was to help restore Milton's home.

Even if Cecil was his destiny, right now it didn't matter. What mattered at the moment was that Milton was crushed and forlorn over his disastrous homecoming. Doing what he could to fix the brothers' relationship was all that concerned Tallant at present. In fact, that made a lot more sense.

Pain that felt a lot like anguish followed in the wake of the realization, bursting the rush of joy he'd felt at seeing those wolves rush to Cecil, at thinking this is the one.

Fate tokens were never wrong; they never lied. Accurately reading them, however, was more than a little difficult, even for the experienced. Tallant reached up to curl his fingers around the smooth, warm, gray-blue stone into which his fate had been carved when he'd turned fifteen. That had been nearly twenty years ago.

Holding it tightly, he prayed silently, but fervently, for the answer to come to him.

They caught up to Cecil a few minutes later. Milton came up beside him. "Tallant—"

"Shut up," Cecil said, and for once Tallant was grateful for the rudeness. He didn't want to hear what Milton would say, because he couldn't see how it would be anything good. "Don't speak, don't move, don't even breathe, until I tell you. One wrong movement could get us all killed."

Milton and Tallant shut up and held still.

Cecil spoke to his wolves, who then ran off. Shooting Milton and Tallant a last warning look, he moved to the far end of the clearing.

The clearing was a disaster—broken trees, gouges in the earth, and stains from what could only be dragon blood. Milton's sword still smelled like the damned stuff. Tallant also realized that some of the trees had been scorched. Before he could actually form the question to which he fervently hoped the answer was no, he heard the tell-tale sounds of crashing, heavy breathing, growling wolves, and a pissed off dragon.

Tallant turned to Cecil, but stopped, remembering they were under orders not to breathe if they could help it. Regarding Cecil, Tallant decided he was nothing short of insane. Seemingly unconcerned about the dragon being led straight toward him by the wolves, Cecil drew an arrow and nocked it.

He whistled, quick and sharp. The wolves moved, lunged straight at the dragon, startling it, causing it to rear its ugly head up—and Cecil fired, sending one, two, three arrows flying toward it. More specifically, toward the heavy, bulbous sack in the curve of its throat, a little below the jaw. Tallant only really knew about dragons from stories, books, but anyone who knew even the slightest bit about dragons knew what that sack meant: fire.

They had been the most feared species of dragon on the continent, even in a time when just saying the word dragon was enough to make a person shudder. All dragons were bad, but the fire-breathers were a thousand times worse.

People had once worked tirelessly to rid the world of fire-breathers, and for a time it had almost seemed to be working. Fewer and fewer of them had appeared, and then the wards had gone up, and that should have been the end of it.

But it would seem the time behind the wards had given dragons plenty of time to regroup, because that was a mature male, and to judge by his scars, he'd survived several matings—including a recent one. At least it was a male; the gods alone would be able to save them if they came across a fire-breathing female during mating season.

Two of the three arrows found their mark. The dragon screamed as his fire-sack burst, the dark, viscous liquid inside spilling down his neck, his chest.

If he tried to breathe fire now, and if it worked at all, he would only wind up hurting himself.

Cecil threw his bow aside and drew his twin blades, then ran toward the dragon. Tallant could only stare, rapt, as Cecil fought. He worked in perfect time with the wolves; while they taunted and harassed the dragon, drawing its attention, Cecil slunk in close to slice open small vulnerable points, dancing away as the dragon rounded on him, waiting until the wolves once more attracted its attention, then going for another spot.

Blood polled everywhere across the forest floor where they fought, so copious in some place that it splashed up whenever Cecil or the wolves ran through it. Slowly, bit by bit, loss of blood and constant movement and fighting wore the dragon down. Seeming almost though it was going to sleep, the dragon stilled and bowed its head—

Cecil sprang, crying out as he drew a long dagger and thrust it through the dragon's bottommost right eye. He jerked back, whistling to the wolves, withdrawing to a safe distance as the dragon thrashed about in its death throes.

When the dragon finally lay still, and remained so, he turned toward Tallant and Milton. "You actually stayed out of my way and held still." He was sweaty, soaked in dragon blood, some of it his, but he looked in much better shape than Tallant and Milton had after their one fight.

"You and those wolves may as well be battle-bonded," Milton said, smiling. "That was incredible, Cecil." He held a hesitant hand out to the wolves, smile brightening when Bite sniffed it, then gave a brief lick.

Cecil scowled.

Tallant smothered a laugh. "Do you get a lot of fire breathers?"

"That's all we get," Cecil replied. "We think that after the wards went up, they had time to rebuild the numbers lost back in the day when people tried to eradicate them. It wouldn't have taken them long; one healthy female can get as many as three mates, and produce up to twenty eggs. Most of those will die, and the new females always eat a few of her brothers, but that still leaves roughly half the nest still alive. We figure five out of a nest of twenty survives to full maturity, and that's five too many."

He thrust his swords into the ground, then pulled out a strip of cloth. Retrieving one of the swords, he wiped it meticulously clean and sheathed it, then repeated the process with the second.

"So you don't know why the wards fell?" Tallant asked.

Cecil shook his head. "No. Only a portion fell, thankfully, but the hole has been slowly widening. We're afraid the whole fucking thing will come down in one go, at some point."

Tallant frowned. "Could I see the place where it collapsed?"

"Later," Cecil said tersely. "It will be dark soon, and no one is allowed outside the castle after dark. Once we raise the drawbridge, that's it until morning. We need to use what daylight remains to be certain the dragons are gone, and to see if we can puzzle out anything about the missing girls."

Milton nodded. "Tell us more about that."

"It will have to wait until dinner," Cecil replied. "If you really must insert yourself, you can hear the whole damned tale then."

Turning sharply around, he drew a long dagger from his boot. It wasn't made of steel, though. It was made of bone. "Dragon bone. How the hell did you get dragon bone?"

"Luck," Cecil said over his shoulder. Moving to the beasts guts, he thrust the dagger through the dragon's hide and cut a long slash down it, then moved down a couple of steps and repeated the process—then cut a long strip to connect the two gashes, and stepped out of the way as blood and innards came pouring out of the flap he'd just created. He whistled, and the wolves came running up to bury their snouts in the mess, feasting with relish.

Leaving them to it, Cecil moved to the dragons throat and slit it open from the corner of the dragon's mouth all the way day, essentially opening up its throat. Digging into the filthy mess, hacking bits away as necessary, he worked until at last he came up with his hand fisted round something. Smirking briefly in triumph, he wrapped the bloody lump in cloth, then stowed it away in a pouch at his waist. He pulled out still another cloth and wiped away blood and gore. He smiled grimly at Tallant and Milton. "Shall we go home?"

Milton looked heartbroken, a little lost, as he stared at Cecil. But all he said was, "Yeah. Let's go home."

Cecil strode off, leaving them to follow. Tallant moved to go after him, but Milton grabbed his forearm, forcing him to halt. Damn it. What with the dragon, he'd completely forgotten the matter of Cecil and fate and Milton not being even remotely pleased. "What?"

"Look—I'm sorry. I should have been happy for you, not resentful that you might get along better with my brother than me." He seemed to wilt. "I never imagined for a second he'd come to hate me. But whatever is between me and my brother has nothing to do with you. If he is your precious fate that you've been waiting so long for, then I'm happy for both of you."

Tallant smiled, every knot in him easing. "Thanks. I don't know what my fate is, really. But wolves appeared when you and I met. It can't be coincidence that your brother has two wolves. I could just be getting carried away, though."

Milton rolled his eyes. "So, what, first you're all 'he's the one' and now you're saying my brother isn't good enough for you?" He punched Tallant lightly. "Make up your mind, elf."

"Shut up," Tallant replied, and strode off. "If he is my fate, then I think I have my work cut out for me."

Milton snorted as he caught up. "Man, if it was anyone but my little brother, I'd say he just needs to get laid."

"I could definitely test that theory—"

"Stop it!" Milton hastily interjected, but with a smile teasing at his lips

They found Cecil waiting impatiently for them at the edge of the forest. "Are you two always this damned slow? There are other things which need doing."

"Rushing about wasting energy doesn't help anything," Tallant said. "I swear, I could have pegged you two as brothers even if I hadn't already known it. You're both so flik it's ridiculous. Only the fact you're pretty and that there are more enjoyable ways to use that energy keeps people from killing you."

To his astonishment, Cecil turned bright red, then turned around and all but ran back to the castle. Milton's brows rose. "What was that about, do you suppose? Is he mad you compared him to me, or embarrassed you called him pretty and fuckable?" He shook his head, "He'd better get used to it. You say that shit to me all the damned time."

"A little of both, I think," Tallant replied, thinking of earlier, when he'd grabbed Cecil and they'd slammed together. How obvious and unschooled Cecil's reactions had been. Maybe being Rasnake kept a man too busy to enjoy certain pleasures.

Given Cecil was married, though, and to a future duchess… "He wasn't wearing a ring," Tallant said suddenly, as the realization struck him. "He's married to Irene, but he doesn't wear a ring or let anyone call him 'Your Grace'. I'm also curious about that apple tree tattooed on his arm."

Milton's face twisted. "I'm curious about a lot of things. I just want to know what happened to him. Damn it, if I hadn't left—"

"You or he would be dead," Tallant said. "You may not believe in fate, but it seems to me that a great many threads are beginning to show the pattern they've been weaving. Or would you prefer never to have left, never to have traveled, never to have met me, sworn brother?"

Milton immediately shook his head. "No, you're right. I don't know about fate, but I'm not sorry for the experiences my life has brought me. I'm definitely happy I met you. He flexed the arm that bore his battle-bond tattoo. "I still can't believe you offered this to me."

Tallant shrugged. "If I'm going into battle, may as well have the best flik in the country bound to me."

Rolling his eyes, Milton punched his arm, then said, "Let's go before he yells at us for being slow again."

"Say we were gossiping about him," Tallant said, smirking. "He'll shut up in a hurry."

Milton laughed, and they trudged back to the castle.