Dark Hope of the Dragons (Elysium's Fall Book 1) Page 7

  Dephithus could feel the pride emanating from Avaline and Mythan as the gathering applauded him. Looking over at Lornin, he caught his blood-father shaking his head, his expression one of grim resignation. He appeared startled when he glanced up and caught Dephithus watching him, but Dephithus just smiled and Lornin broke a hesitant grin. Dephithus stood then and offered his mother his arm to lead the procession into the dining hall.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dining was the part of the evening Dephithus had the least interest in. The food was of the finest quality and he was hungry, but there was much dancing to be done. He conversed politely with the nobles seated closest to him and his family while chewing at bits of perfectly prepared pheasant, savory meat pie, and a wide array of other delicious dishes. Myara’s family was placed near them, but not quite close enough for them to talk without raising their voices more than was appropriate. Which they might have done under different circumstances, but not tonight. Every time he looked in her direction she had a smile ready for him and he began to wonder if she ever looked away.

  The same number of chairs away in the opposite direction from Myara, Amahna was getting on quite pleasantly with Lord Davinar of Harkin and his family. Rakas had emerged from his silence and was engaged in an apparently fascinating discussion with Lord Davinar’s eldest son Kuvin, He had not looked at Dephithus for the better part of an hour and Dephithus could almost make himself believe the other man’s eerie obsession had all been in his head.

  “I do hope you will be in the tournament at Dalynay next month. My daughter Larina is eager to cross lances with you.”

  Turning his attention back to the conversation at hand, Dephithus gave a polite smile to Larina, who blushed brightly and leaned back in her chair so that her mother, Lady Olisa of Dalynay, was solidly between them. “That’s up to the commander of the Legion.”

  Lady Olisa leaned forward to address Mythan, foiling her daughter’s attempts to hide. By the flush in Lady Olisa’s cheeks it was evident that she had already indulged in plenty of wine. “I am certain Lord Mythan will be eager to put his den-son to the test. Surely there is no reason to doubt his ability.”

  Mythan grinned at the challenge. “I assure you, Lady Olisa, he will be up to the trial. Perhaps your daughter has not yet learned to lick her wounds, but she will.”

  Dephithus matched Mythan’s eager grin. He would like to cross lances with Larina on the field. Despite her apparent shyness, she was the pride of Dalynay’s fighting force. She was undefeated among the local lordships. However, at this moment, she was still blushing a furious red that almost matched her hair. She was also pretty, but he and Myara had decided several celebrations ago that her nose was a bit too bold.

  “If it comes to that, Lord Mythan, perhaps Dephithus would be kind enough to lick them for her.”

  This time Dephithus blushed almost as bright as Larina before the laughter of everyone who had heard the exchange, but he joined in with a good-natured chuckle despite his embarrassment. His gaze was drawn to Amahna, who’s vibrant laughter told him she had also overheard, only to find Rakas now gazing at him hungrily. Dephithus gave the man a brief curt nod that he hoped was polite enough while also being discouraging. Rakas smiled and nodded, raising his cup to Dephithus as he erased the desire from his features. Dephithus raised his cup as well, and his shockingly attentive guests up and down the tables raised their cups in response, falling quiet.

  Dephithus was caught off guard this time and Rakas raised one brow archly, a little smirk turning his lips, but Mythan came to the rescue. He rose from his chair and addressed them all in a booming voice.

  “I would like to take this opportunity to make an important announcement. This night, before the eyes of the people of Imperious, I wish to declare my den-son, Dephithus de NuTraven, heir to the throne of Imperious and all the lands and titles that go with that position.” There was a haphazard chiming of glasses before everyone took a drink and raised their voices in a cheer. Mythan silenced them again with a patient gesture. “I turn the guests over to you, my son.”

  Dephithus glanced over at Lornin as he stood to make sure his blood-father had not been angered by Mythan’s declaration. Everyone expected this day to come, but now it was official. He was surprised to find Lornin smiling at him, his eyes brimming over with pride and encouragement. Comforted, Dephithus regarded the throng of eyes that watched him expectantly.

  “Lords and Ladies, I am honored and humbled by your acceptance of me. I will do all within my power to be the best king you could wish for when the time comes to accept that responsibility. Tonight, however, we are here to celebrate, and in the tradition of all great celebrations, it is time to dance.”

  The procession, now animated by drink, cheered Dephithus as he led them to the ballroom with Avaline again on his arm. Once in the ballroom the musician’s struck up a lively tune and Dephithus picked a partner to start the dancing. He invited Dani, daughter of Lord and Lady Intraid, onto the floor. The tiny, wraithlike blond beamed like the summer sun as he led her out and began the dance. In a matter of moments, the dance floor was full.

  Dephithus and Myara long ago agreed never to dance the first dance together for appearances sake. He almost stepped on Dani’s foot when he looked over and saw that Myara had picked Rakas as her first partner. When the two pairs passed close on the dance floor, her wicked smile assured him that she had chosen her partner specifically to irritate him. Dephithus responded with the sweetest smile he could muster and swept Dani gracefully away. Before the dance ended, Dani slipped a fine little braid of her hair into his hand, decorated with assorted colors and shapes of beads. She smiled sweetly, her delicate little eyes glowing up at him in a soft, sultry gaze before she curtsied gracefully and floated from the floor.

  Dephithus watched after her for a moment. This was something he knew to expect, but he simply was not prepared to receive offers so quickly. The braids expressed the giver’s desire to be considered as a possible future partner for the recipient. The colors of the beads told him the giver’s family, their age, if they were married, and if they had children. The shapes of the beads could tell additional information such as the giver’s gender, how many spouses they had if they were wed, and the ages and genders of their children when applicable.

  Dephithus glanced up from this first braid to find his mother watching him. Her smile was so big he worried it might split her face in two. As was expected of him, he tied the braid to his belt.

  By the time he broke from the dancing to seek out the refreshment table Dephithus already had twelve tiny braids at his waist. Myara had given him one. It was expected of her and, judging by the jesting manner with which she had given it to him, that was the only reason she had given it. Dephithus had time to do little more than wet his throat with a large gulp of wine he had mistaken for something else before Avaline led him sputtering back out to the floor.

  “I have a gift for you, my son.”

  He glanced over at the towering stack of gifts that adorned a table and much of the floor in one corner of the refreshment area.

  Avaline shook her head. “No, this gift waits for you in the stables.”

  Excitement brought him a fresh burst of energy. “Fit for a soldier of the Imperious Legion?”

  “And a king. It was not easy to find a war-horse that you would not be too handsome for, but Mythan helped. I think you will like him. He is called Hydra.”

  Dephithus started to pull away and she held on to him.

  “You can wait until the dancing is done.”

  He itched to go meet this new horse, but she was right. He could not disappear yet. He was the guest of honor. “Shall we ride tomorrow then?”

  “I would love to. Now, go add to your collection.” She tugged teasingly at some of the braids as they parted.

  Dephithus swatted playfully at her hand as he turned to scout out his next partner, struggling to keep his mind on the dance and not what waited for him in the stables. He decided to
dance first with Amahna before following his mother’s advice and seeking out some of the young ladies he had yet to dance with.

  Amahna flicked the braids with one finger as they came together on the floor. “Quite the popular one, aren’t you? Do you think it’s the power, the charm, or the good looks?”

  “I think that’s my business to worry about and not yours,” he answered a little more sharply than intended.

  Amahna only smiled, her cheeks pleasantly flushed, her dark eyes piercing into him. “For me, I think it’s the Dragonkin markings and those amazing eyes. I’d give you a braid myself if we weren’t related.”

  He almost laughed at that, but her serious look stopped the sound in his throat. Rather than respond, he took them to a more open spot and took her through numerous spins and complicated dance moves to discourage more conversation until the dance was done.

  Dephithus danced out of that fire into a hotter one. When he turned away from Amahna, trying to ignore the smattering of applause their elaborate dance earned them, he found Larina standing so close he almost fell over backwards to avoid running into her. Gone was her earlier embarrassment. She smiled, somehow both sweet and bold, and offered her hands to dance.

  He regained his composure quickly, executing an elegant bow. Larina appeared alarmed and she dropped into a hasty curtsy in response. It was his turn to look smug then. She danced with passion, almost as if they were already facing each other over lances. Dephithus had to fight to keep the lead and he tried not to let it fluster him more when he spotted Myara laughing at him from along the wall. At the end of the dance he bowed again and Larina was ready with a much more elegant curtsy this time.

  “I do look forward to jousting with you, Lady Larina. It should be most exciting.”

  Her smile was confident and her eyes fierce as she handed him a small braid, slipping her hand around to caress the back of his as she drew away. “As do I, Lord Dephithus.”

  Once she was out of earshot he released a heavy exhale. He felt as if he had been sparring for a couple of hours with no breaks. It made him long for a partner he could relax around. Someone like Myara.

  Almost as if aware she had entered his thoughts, Myara slipped in to steal the next dance and he rejoiced in the fact that he had nothing to prove with her. It was a refreshing dance, one of many they managed to scatter throughout the evening.

  Just when he began to think his feet would never stop hurting, the guests finally began to depart. When the only ones left were those who wished to speak to Mythan or Avaline, he was finally able to retire for the evening.

  He took the time to escort a stumbling and exhausted Myara, who may have imbibed a share of wine herself given her flush, to her room. She wished him goodnight with a kiss on his cheek that made him wish for more. He stood staring at her closed door for several minutes before he went to discard his fine clothes in his own room and trade them for more common attire. He was still too charged by the evening to sleep yet. Once the halls were quiet, he crept out to sneak a peek at his new horse and enjoy the bracing night air.

  Outside of the palace Dephithus grinned at his own cleverness in escaping unnoticed and strutted through the gardens. The night air was crisp enough to be refreshing after spending such a long evening in the overcrowded palace. There was only a sliver of a moon, but every star shone bright and Dephithus picked out familiar constellations that watched from the sky like old friends. It was a welcome change from the hundreds of blindingly bright candelabras and chandeliers within the ballroom.

  He chuckled to himself.

  Thirty-two braids adorned his belt by the time the dancing was done. It was hard not to let that go to his head. Myara never seemed to find him all that dashing, and he had always assumed the young ladies who swooned over him were doing so mostly in jest. However, he was the heir to a powerful throne and that alone had to make him handsome enough for many. Six of the braids had been from young men. As a male heir to the throne he would be expected to marry a woman at some point to produce an heir, but outside of that there were no limitations.

  Fortunately, most of the local lads knew his interests did not go that way. Many went so far as to tease that his interests did not go beyond Myara, though Dephithus had always corrected them, insisting that they were just friends.

  He fondled the only braid he still carried with him. Myara’s braid was nestled snuggly in his pants pocket, silky soft and reassuring somehow.

  Only a few strides ahead of him, what his eyes had initially passed over as simply another shadow among many moved and a man stepped into his path. Seeming at home in the darkness, Rakas smiled at Dephithus with a deliberate suggestiveness. There was nothing truly threatening about the way the other man stood or his expression, but Dephithus swallowed against sudden dryness in his throat and his heart began to pound. There was no logical reason for the fear response that he could see. There was little doubt he could defeat the man in hand to hand combat if there were ever any need. Rakas was frail and a bit sickly looking. Still, the terror spread, making the hair rise on the back of his neck.

  “I appreciate your interest, but I’m afraid I don’t share it,” Dephithus managed to keep his voice calm as he moved to casually step around the man.

  Rakas shifted into his path again.

  Dephithus considered turning back the way he had come rather than causing a scene, then a cold finger traced the back of his neck along the line of his collar. He could not stop a shiver as Amahna stepped close around him.

  “You don’t have a choice,” she whispered, so close to his ear that her warm breath on his neck sent a chill through him. “We have a birthday present for you.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow would be a better time.” He knew by Amahna’s smile when she stepped around in front of him that she had heard the slight tremble in his voice.

  Behind her Rakas placed a hand on a statue of Commander Parthak’s predecessor to brace himself as a shudder wracked his body. In that brief fit Dephithus caught a glimpse of something like misery in the other man’s face. Perhaps there was some way to use that misery to his advantage. Amahna, however, seemed unconcerned, casting Rakas a casual glance that was a touch annoyed if anything at all.

  Turning back to Dephithus, she traced his jaw with one fingernail and laughed when he pulled away. “I really think you should get your present now.”

  Dephithus was glaring at Amahna one moment and the next he found himself stumbling into the dark, musty shed where the resident blacksmith stored his tools. Amahna shoved him forward roughly and, though she was not all that strong she had caught him off guard. He stumbled, landing hard on his knees. He tried to turn and curse at her only to discover that neither thing was within his power to do. Terror exploded inside of him.

  He did not remember walking here. He could not move. He began to shake with fear and the fight to regain control. No sound passed his lips, but in his head, he was screaming.

  Rakas helped Dephithus to his feet then he staggered forward again. Helpless, he ran into an old anvil that stood near the center of the crowded room. Without control of his body he fell forward so that his torso dropped over the anvil and his hands dangled uselessly before him. The stench of dust, metal, and oils was strong enough that it filled his nose, making it hard to breath. His head started to pound.

  “What a wretched little room,” Amahna grumbled. “It stinks in here. Let’s get this over with quickly.”

  “Not like this,” Rakas rasped, his voice strained. “Give me more time with him. Perhaps he would come to this willingly.”

  “No. It has to be like this. It has to be tonight.” Amahna’s voice was strained, as if she wanted to yell at her companion, but was holding back out of the fear of drawing attention.

  Dephithus realized what was happening and panic tightened his throat, a scream running up against whatever strange force held him silent.

  “Then I refuse. I won’t do this to him.”

  Hope sparked in his chest until Amahn
a laughed.

  “That’s adorable. And I just took away your ability to refuse. Do what we came here to do.”

  In his periphery, Dephithus saw Rakas unfastening his pants while Amahna did the same for Dephithus, pulling them down unceremoniously. The screams in his head turned to panicked shrieking, but he could not make a sound to express the tempest within.

  Dephithus could neither fight nor speak. Silent. Helpless. Pain. Rage. Rakas forced himself inside. Bitter images of his family resting warm within the palace flashed through his mind as his body was shoved rhythmically against the cold, hard steel of the old anvil. The image he lingered on the most was that of Amahna’s teasing while they danced not a more than a few hours gone. Humiliation and hatred he could not vent turned to bitter tears. Seconds stretched into eternities.

  *

  Amahna watched the coupling with a pleased little smirk. She had been afraid Rakas, who had started to want Dephithus in a more emotional way, would refuse at the last moment, so she had been prepared. It required her to use a lot more of the daenox within her, but at least Rakas had not expected it, so she had been able to take control of him almost as easily as she had Dephithus. The rest was simple. Rakas wanted the boy badly enough that she barely had to work at getting his body to behave the way she wanted.

  Rakas had long harbored a misguided guilt for turning her to Theruses and had sworn off relationships with women as a result. She chuckled under her breath. Now what would he do?

  She watched the torment twisting her companion’s features, delighting in the tears that ran down his face. He suffered not because he did not physically enjoy what she was making him do, but because he did. Already, he had started to develop a sense of affection for the boy, much as she had, but she was better able to keep such things at a distance.