Caius stepped through the massive archway in the center of Wyvern’s Keep, and his chest seized up. He had the barest of moments to appreciate the arch’s soaring architecture – the two iron dragons with upraised heads meeting in the center, bellies burning with crackling braziers – before the guards registered his presence. They stared at him dumbly for a handful of seconds before one of them had the wits enough to press the edge of his sword to Caius’s throat. It was remarkably sloppy. He’d have to remember to see them properly chastised for their sluggish reaction time later. When the dust settled. And if he was still alive.
A smirk stole across Caius’s lips as he remembered explaining his plan to Echo.
“I’m not going to storm the keep,” he’d told her. “Those walls have withstood countless assaults for a thousand years, and they’re not about to fall to a ragged force of Avicen and Drakharin who can only just barely work together without falling at each other’s throats.”
“Then how do you plan to get in?” she asked.
“The front door,” Caius said, as if it weren’t an insane thing to say.
“You’re just going to walk in like you own the place?”
At that, Caius smiled, sharp and wicked. “Indeed. Technically, I do own the place. It is the Dragon Prince’s official residence, after all.”
When in doubt, Echo liked to say, bravado. It was a lesson Caius had absorbed well.
Their numbers were small, but if Caius couldn’t pull off what he was about to attempt on his own, then it wouldn’t matter if he showed up with an army at his back. Dorian’s presence was a given. Echo’s was a bonus – how marvelous it would be to sweep into his old home, the one that had been stolen from him, with the firebird at his back – but Ivy’s insistence on accompanying them was a surprise.
“After your previous experiences with Drakharin hospitality, I didn’t think you’d ever want to set foot within those walls again,” Caius had said, the pouch of shadow dust heavy in his hand.
Ivy had tipped her chin in Echo’s direction. “Where she goes, I go.”
And that was that. The four of them had escaped the keep all those months ago, and now they were waltzing right back into it. There was a beautiful symmetry to it, rounding out the madness of Caius’s plan.
Caius stood, his hands at his sides. The knives Dorian had given him were strapped to his back, but they remained sheathed. The guards were startled enough; it wouldn’t do to start a fight before he’d even set foot through the door. That would vastly complicate his plan to get to the great hall – and the throne it contained – with minimal bloodshed.
“Halt,” said the guard in Drakhar. She wasn’t wearing Firedrake armor, which was a minor blessing. If she had been one of Tanith’s, then Caius likely wouldn’t have lived long enough to see her cast a look over his shoulder, where Dorian and Echo stood, the former with his sword drawn, ready to fight. Anything less would not have befitted the captain of his guard.
“I’ve halted,” Caius said, in Drakhar for the guards’ benefit. “Though I can say this is a warmer welcome than I expected. Much appreciated.”
The second guard circled to Caius’s left side, where Dorian stood. Neither one of them would have been much of a match for Caius or Dorian alone, but they were Drakharin soldiers, and they would do what they had been trained to do. If Caius started slashing, they would stand their ground or die trying. Perhaps they weren’t as hopeless as their initial bewilderment suggested. Fortunately for them, Caius had no intention of decorating the chamber’s tiles with their blood. Not if he could help it.
The sharp steel against his throat was a steady presence, neither pressing down nor retreating. “I … You … What …?” The guard’s sword was steady, but her words were not.
“Let me guess,” Caius said. “Your new Dragon Prince didn’t give you specific orders about what to do if I sauntered through the keep’s front door as if I didn’t have a care in the world?”
The guards shared a look. It was clear the answer was no.
“Caius,” Dorian breathed behind him. “We have to keep moving. Let’s dispatch them and go. The longer we remain here, the more likely it is we’ll be discovered by —”
Caius held up a hand and Dorian fell silent. The sword at his throat quivered. He met the eyes of the guard before him, and her brow furrowed. The blade steadied, but her expression betrayed her. Every ounce of indecision she felt was written across her face as plain as day.
“Tell me, soldier.” Caius pitched his voice low and even. “Do you plan to slit my throat?”
The guard swallowed. She was young and untried and hadn’t been in armor long, judging by the metal’s distinct lack of scuffs or dents. Even the most lovingly maintained armor showed wear as time went on. Hers gleamed brilliantly in the light of the braziers.
“I’ve watched you in the training yard,” Caius continued when she didn’t answer. “You drop your right shoulder when you lunge. It leaves you open.”
“Is that a threat?” asked the second guard. He was a burly fellow, much larger than his partner but just as young and inexperienced.
“Hardly,” Caius replied. “Consider it a bit of helpful advice. If we’re going to fight here and now, I want you at your best.”
The first guard shook her head, perplexed. “Standing orders are to detain you if you’re sighted.” She nodded at Echo. “Same with her.”
Echo’s willingness to remain silent reached its limit. “What did Tanith say about me? Tell me. Was it mean? Is she talking smack?”
“Her orders are to capture you,” Caius explained. “And me.”
“Oh, I’d like to see her try,” Echo said.
“I’m sure you would.” Caius chanced a look at Echo, willing her to put away her claws. “But I don’t think that will be necessary.” He turned back to the guard. “And what of Dorian?” he asked, mostly out of curiosity. “What was to be his fate?”
“Standard kill order. No detainment. No interrogation.”
Naturally. He heard Dorian scoff behind him.
“Then we are at a crossroads, are we not?” Caius held his hands out in front of him, wrists pressed together. “Clap me in irons.” He let a whisper of a smile dance across his lips. “If you can.”
Again, the guard shot a helpless look at her partner. She licked her lips nervously. “We heard about the dragon,” she said.
Just as he had hoped. Dorian had made sure to spread the word to their contacts within the keep. The gossip mill worked overtime in a world as insular as theirs. Even the simplest stories could grow to be myths, given enough time.
“What exactly have you heard?” he asked.
“That you tamed it,” the guard said. “That it listened to you.”
“Ah, that sounds like the stuff of legends, does it not?”
She nodded. Her blade lowered an inch so it was hovering closer to Caius’s collarbone than his jugular vein. A marked improvement.
“It’s said the princes of old called dragons to do their bidding,” said the guard. “That they used to be chosen by the dragons to rule.”
“Divine mandate from a dragon god,” said Caius. “What a thing that would be.”
Another nod. Slowly, the blade lowered until it was pointing at the floor.
“What are you doing?” hissed the second guard. He took his eyes off Dorian to glare at his partner. It was a mistake he would make only once.
Dorian was on the man before he had time to react. A standard-issue longsword clattered to the floor as the man’s knees thudded to the ground, the sound of armor hitting marble cacophonous in the high-ceilinged chamber. Dorian had his own sword to the man’s throat, cutting off the shout of protest before it fully left his mouth.
Caius tsked.
“I’m not going to fight my prince,” the first guard told her partner. “The dragon chose him, Amon. I’m not stupid enough to ignore that.”
“It’s just a story, Kora.”
“I suppose,” Caius interrupted, “you have to ask yourself how much stock you put in the old stories. And how much faith you put in me. Or in Tanith.”
At that, even the second guard quailed.
“You have seen her,” Caius said. “You know what she has done. And what she’s doing right now.”
The first guard – Kora – nodded. There was a haunted look in her eyes, as if she’d seen some of Tanith’s more gruesome acts closer than she ever wanted to. Perhaps she had exiled herself to gateway guard duty, the farthest from the throne one could get while remaining in the keep.
“You have a choice,” Caius said. “Let me pass, or die fighting for a prince you never elected and don’t respect.”
Kora took a tentative step back, but she didn’t put up her sword. It remained in her white-knuckled grip. “She’ll kill me if she finds out.”
Of that, Caius had no doubt. His sister had had little capacity for forgiveness even before she’d bound herself, body and soul, to a beast of shadow and suffering.
“If you fail,” the guard continued, “we die.”
Caius took a few brisk steps toward the chamber’s exit. Neither guard made a move to stop him. He gestured for Dorian and Echo and Ivy to follow. When he reached the door, he turned and met the guard’s gaze. “Then I will not fail.”
The guard inclined her head in a shallow nod of acknowledgment. Almost as an afterthought, she clapped her right fist to her heart. It was an old gesture, rarely used among the Drakharin but known to all of them. It was a salute. A sign of recognition, of respect. Of fealty. Of faith.
Caius accepted it with a nod. As he threw open the heavy wooden doors leading deeper into the keep, he prayed to the gods that he would be worthy of all that gesture meant.