“Says the man with several dozen wives.”
“That’s politics,” he responded. “I would be faithful in his position. Of course, we’re graced by your presence due to his lack of self-control, so it’s just as well. His missteps are to our benefit.”
I found myself glad I was already sitting, because I felt faint. “I’ve met him.”
“After Lonezh, I imagine.”
“I thought—” I reached for the tea and drank it, not tasting the butter this time.
“You thought the high general paid attention to you because he wanted to know why Xaltorath picked you as his host, why Xaltorath wouldn’t leave. But no. High General Milligreest picked you out earlier, before the Hellmarch finished. Someone—probably Emperor Sandus—looked at your aura and recognized who you are: a Milligreest. A Khorveshan. And Milligreest never admitted the truth. He left you with the Vishai and returned home, after pretending you were no relation at all. It almost worked.”
“And from this, you assume he’ll care what happens to me?” I said.
“Oh, I don’t have to assume, because he should have unleashed the Quuros army’s full magical might on that Hellmarch, if he didn’t give a damn what happened to the eight-year-old girl guiding it. Yet he didn’t. There’s no good excuse for your survival. When the time comes for him to consider unleashing those forces once more, I want him to hesitate like that again. And he will, because he cares.”
Words cannot describe how numb I felt. This was so much worse than I had thought. Even worse than the sham of being labeled Danorak and hailed a great hero.
I’d lived because some father I’d never met had placed more importance on my survival than the dominion’s. Why? Because I was born of his seed, presumably in bed play that meant very little to him at the time. Jorat could go to Hell as long as his spawn survived.
The arrogance burned in my throat.
They will try to break you, Khored had said. No, wait. That was wrong. That hadn’t been Khored, had it?
Relos Var will try to break you, Xaltorath had said. You must let him succeed.
Why, Xaltorath? Why did you single me out? What did you hope to accomplish? I saw the wheels turning inside wheels, but devoid of context, ignorant of motives, the movements made no sense. I saw the game, but I had no idea what forces shaped the rules.
But in that moment, I knew a great many forces were playing this game, and they all intended to claim me as their piece.
While I sat there and stared out at nothing, Duke Kaen stood up, picked up the tray, and carried it over to a different table. He went to the door and I heard him speaking low words to someone outside.
I turned around and studied the map.
When he returned, I faced him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve upset you.”
“Nothing you say can upset me,” I whispered, although even a five-year-old wouldn’t have been fooled by so feeble a lie.
“It’s not all a threat I’ve invented, I should add. There are dangers to Jorat your people don’t even know about, dangers that would destroy your people if they’re not combated.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and I suppose you’re the only one who can save us? That sounds very convenient for you.”
“Oh, if only. Aeyan’arric—that’s the ice dragon you encountered—is well-behaved and mostly in possession of her faculties. Relos Var gives her tasks, and she carries them out. The other dragons, though.” He shook his head. “Dragons are insane. They aren’t controllable. They aren’t tamable. Relos Var can make Aeyan’arric behave, but I’ll never trust her. And the largest and the most dangerous—Morios—sleeps under Lake Jorat. When he wakes—and it will be when, not if—he’ll destroy half the dominion before he’s subdued. There’s even a prophecy about him. Would you like to hear it?”
“A prophecy.” I stared at him. “I don’t like prophecies.”
“They can be useful.” He pulled a book from his shelves and opened it to a bookmarked page. “Especially this one. In the twentieth year of the hawk and the lion, beneath the silver sword, the sleeping beast’s chains shatter. The dragon of swords devours demon falls as night takes the land.” Kaen offered me the book. “A Devoran quatrain.”
The leather-bound book in question seemed old. Looking at it, I realized half the bookcase held its twins. “How many…” I glanced back at him. “How many Devoran prophecies are there?”
“Many more than this. But I’m an enthusiastic reader.”
“The twentieth year of the hawk and the lion. By what calendar?”
“If Relos Var is right—” Azhen Kaen reached out and flicked a finger off the tip of my nose before I could dodge away. “You are the lion. Which means we only have a few more years to go before Morios wakes. We’re running out of time. And I for one don’t intend to let Morios—the dragon of swords—destroy Atrine before I can conquer it. Atrine, you realize, means—”
“The Silver Blade.” I leaned back in case he felt like any more nose-touching. “I know. Every Joratese child knows what Atrin Kandor’s name means. And so, what are you going to do about it?”
“Not a thing.”
I waited for the further explanation, but none presented itself. “What?”
“I’m not going to do a thing,” Kaen said, “because Var doesn’t think I’m ready. And since he doesn’t think I’m ready, he’s under no obligation to open a gate to a location I don’t know. Despite its name, ‘Lake’ Jorat is an inland sea. Even for a dragon as monstrous as Morios, finding him on my own would be impossible. Never mind how Duke Xun would misinterpret my search as something more sinister. Say, an invasion.”
“Relos Var’s your…” I flailed. “He works for you, doesn’t he?”
“He supports me. I can’t force his apprentice, Senera, to tell me where to find Morios. Relos Var has so far refused to help too; the time isn’t right, whatever that means.” He saluted me with his tea. “I’m starting to think the real problem is that I’d assumed I would be the one to slay a dragon, and Relos Var has someone else in mind.” He gave me a pointed look. “It doesn’t have to be me, after all.”
I felt a weight settle down through my core. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t have to march in and save Jorat. The High Council won’t lightly hand over one dominion’s governing to another dominion’s ruler. They want to keep the dominions separated. Never mind the Joratese distrust of Yor. But if a Joratese saved the day and slew Morios, if—for example—the famous hero Janel Danorak did it … I have a funny feeling the high general wouldn’t contest your claim.”
I cast about for excuses. “But apparently I’m not Joratese.”
He dismissed the excuse. “The Joratese think you’re one of them. You’ll be hailed as a hero.”
“And all I’d have to do is betray my people.” I knew I’d been stripped of my title, likely branded a witch. If I came back and defeated a dragon as dangerous as Duke Kaen said? I was as good as staking my claim to replace Duke Xun.