Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) (9 page)

“How fare you this morning my King?” She
asked smoothly.

He harrumphed,
her
King
he
brooded.
I’m sure that’s what she thinks I am,
he thought
darkly to himself. The truth was that months ago he had begun to
block her subtle magic from his mind, though for the most part
acted as though she still held him in her sway. It irritated him
that he needed her magic to fight Prince Tristan.

“I didn’t sleep well,” was all he said in
reply.

“I could make you a tonic, to help you sleep
soundly.” She offered a little too eagerly.

Oh I’m sure you could.
He shot in his
mind at her. He mastered control of his eyes, keeping himself from
narrowing his gaze accusingly at her. He focused his mind and
forced himself to calm down.

“No need.” He said simply. “I’ll sleep better
tonight.”

“Oh?” She asked.

Now I know she’s been spying on me.
He
thought with irritation. “I’m riding east to check on the forward
positions today.” Boris replied. He chaffed under her scrutiny.
Shortly after their defeat in Sutten, Boris and his legions
returned to Terum to find the country in turmoil. He began
restoring order, naming himself Royal Regent and taking over
administration of Terum.

The sorceress arrived a few months later and
offered to help him weed out his opposition. It was through her
help that he rounded up all the terrorists and troublemakers, had
them executed and mounted for show. His rule was absolute and the
people feared and respected him. Boris made deals with Oceana to
his south and the tribes of the Expanse to the north for food and
weapons. He bargained with Vallius land that he had yet to claim,
and yet the tribes embraced the chance to bloody King Dion and his
sons.

He had suffered losses, the most recent of
which had been his army turned to rout by three dragons who’d slain
five giants slain. Already the giant’s emissaries arrived wanting
revenge on Prince Tristan and he welcomed a dozen more behemoths
into his ranks. They looked strangely human, with the exception of
their low foreheads and thick frames. Their powerful arms could
throw boulders that only his trebuchets could match for distance,
and their strength was unmatched.

Boris knew now that the pavilion had been a
vain construction, which had been heavily influenced by Cyrisa. He
made a mental note not to allow her to interfere with his battle
plans any further. Falling the ten feet from the pavilion hadn’t
injured him too grievously, but the cost to him in morale and power
over his troops had been disastrous. As it was he was going to have
to execute one for every thousand to instill fear into the fracas
groups that even now threatened to leave his army by stealth.

Spring was only weeks away and he planned to
return to the front lines and drive both Princes back deep into
Vallius territory. Using Kenting as his new forward command post he
would continue his conquest until he watched Metao burn down around
King Dion.

~

Be cautious my sister.
Her
brother-in-arms warned by way of the communication fire between
them.
The dragons have their powers back; you must not reveal
our involvement.

I am aware of that my brother.
She
replied a little too sharply. Cyrisa regained her composure before
continuing.
Apologies my brother, I am irritated at the dragon
spawns progress.
She sent.

I understand.
Came his stoic reply.
Control, my sister; you must master yourself.
He
instructed.

I had the pavilion created as a
diversion.
She admitted.
I needed the vantage point from
which to see what the boy had planned.

She felt him laugh with general amusement.
Got a little more than you anticipated?
He asked
rhetorically.

Quite.
She replied with thinly veiled
sarcasm.
But now we know what the dragons look like in their
human forms.
Cyrisa offered.

True.
He admitted.
This is the only
reason you’re not a smoking pile of ash.
He warned.

I will be more cautious.
She
offered.

Then you’ll do.
He replied with a
smirk.
Someone approaches. Good fortune to you sister.

And you.
She sent as the flames died
down.

Cyrisa looked over her shoulder in irritation
as King Boris entered the room. Instantly she smoothed her face
into a welcoming smile. She stood and motioned for him to assume
his seat at the head of the table.

“How fare you this morning my King?” She
asked smoothly.

She felt his contempt, though he tried to
mask his thoughts from her. She allowed him to think he was
succeeding. In his arrogance he was quickly becoming her puppet,
though he thought otherwise.
How cute.
She thought
venomously.
He thinks I can’t hear him anymore.

“I didn’t sleep well.” He replied a little
too stiffly.

She smiled warmly, hiding her growing
impatience with the irritating peacock and replied; “I could make
you a tonic, to help you sleep soundly.” She offered. Immediately
she felt his suspicions and changed tactics, hoping that it wasn’t
too late to appear flippant.

“No need, I’ll sleep better tonight.” He said
stiffly.

Cyrisa cursed in her mind. He was definitely
on to her machinations; she was going to have to accelerate her
plan. She began reviewing his commanders, wondering which one would
be easiest to influence to depose the King and become her willing
puppet. Cyrisa hoped she wouldn’t have to use her body to influence
the fool; lovemaking was such a waste of valuable energy.

“Oh?” She asked as though she was
interested.

The sorceress felt his growing frustration,
knowing full well that she would need to either kill him or
outright posses the King. Either task could prove to be fatal if
she was caught.

“I’m riding east to check on the forward
positions today.” He replied in a guarded tone.

The King was slowly fighting his way free of
her control and there were moments when he could shield his
intentions from her thoughts. She reached out and touched the mind
of her brother she had just been speaking to in the fire. Cyrisa
concentrated as hard as she could, drawing her power in around her
as she sent three words;
Come to me.
She hid her smile
behind the loaf of rye bread as she felt his acceptance.

~

“No chance in hell.” Tristan said with
conviction. “It’s one thing to fly on your backs from one location
to the other. It’s quite another to fly into battle on your back.”
He shot in alarm.

Eurydice was beside herself with excitement,
but Tristan’s growing trepidation was beginning to visibly upset
her. Otis had sprung the news on him with sadistic glee that only
the old man in white could have done. Ruth and Lesa were equally
amused, it seemed only Drake shared his concerns.

The old man had grabbed Tristan by the arm
and frog marched him over to Bethia who was laying down contently
snoring. Small columns of sparks issued from her snout as she
sputtered in her sleep slightly, causing the Prince to leap back;
much to Otis’ amusement. The old man laughed as he reached out with
his hand, closing his eyes briefly.

A large intricately constructed saddle flew
towards them as Otis used his arts to wake Bethia gently. The large
red dragon opened her eyes and regarded the Prince openly. The
familiarity of the dragons he knew created a false sense of
security, upon closer inspection, dragons were large, dangerous
looking and those talons were enough to give the bravest person
pause. While Tristan was not unaccustomed to flying by dragon, he
had never met a younger dragon before either. All in all, he wasn’t
sure what to expect.

Hello…friend.
He felt inside his
mind.

He smiled widely as he focused his mind,
finding it slightly more difficult than talking to the elder
dragons.
Hello Bethia.
He replied as calmly as he could.

We fly?
She asked.

The Prince looked over at Otis who was
placing the black and red saddle over her back and cinching it
behind her forelegs. He ran the strap along and buckled them
together on her chest. He watched as she took a few deep breaths to
make sure it wasn’t too tight. Otis then pulled two straps down on
either side of her neck and strapped them to a four-point harness
where the other two straps connected.

Bethia rose experimentally, stretching her
wings out to their full length and flapping them slowly up and
down. A gust of wind caused Tristan’s hair, ruffling it as he held
his ground, fighting down the urge to turn and flee. She shook her
body, making sure that the saddle wouldn’t move. Otis secured the
stirrups and adjusted their height for Tristan.

“Well?” Drake asked bemused.

“Well what? I can secure my legs to those
stirrups, but how am I supposed to fight?” He asked in shock.

Bethia surprised him by clamping her jaw down
on his nightshirt and lifting him up, dropping him in the saddle.
Tristan landed with a grunt and quickly thrust his feet into the
stirrups for fear of her taking off abruptly. He used the fold of
leather from the front over each leg and the buckles to secure
himself to the saddle. He twisted experimentally, moving his arms
and torso around to become accustomed to the movement.

“I like it.” He admitted, grinning widely. He
felt like a child on the back of a father: safe, yet
exhilarated.

Otis locked eyes with Bethia and she took off
with surprising speed. Tristan was thrown back in the saddle; the
small rise on the back stopped his short slide as he struggled
forward to grasp the horn. The large red dragon shot upwards and
Tristan’s ears popped from the rapid climb. They shot out of a
tunnel cut into the top of the cave. They cleared the top of a
mountain, finally leveling out just above the peaks. Tristan could
see the snow falling on the tops of the mountain range, but felt no
cold. Reaching in front of the horn he felt Bethia’s scales to find
them hot to the touch. Their heat warmed him and kept the chill of
the high altitude away from the Prince.

Tristan reached out with his mind and
contacted Bethia, opening the connection between them.
This is
amazing!
He urged her.

Want roll?
She asked.

Her words were still coming to her with a
degree of difficulty, but with Tristan strapped to her back he felt
oddly safe.
Yes!
He called.

Almost at once he wished he hadn’t. Her roll
was a sharp incline that threw him back in the saddle again. As she
pulled over Tristan felt light as his rear left the saddle and he
dangled by his legs briefly. The weight came crashing back down as
she completely her loop and Tristan cheered in his mind between
them. He tried to communicate the word to her of what she had just
accomplished, and she satisfied him with the right phrase.

That was loop?
She asked
uncertainly.

The Prince laughed out loud as he answered
yes in her mind. She snorted sparks in happiness as she asked;
you like loop?
Tristan cheered and she pulled another loop,
this one tighter than the last and he was forced to flex his leg
muscles to keep from sliding out of the saddle.

For close to an hour she offered to fly
dangerous and highly enjoyable stunts with Tristan strapped to her
back. He began to appreciate how this could help in battle,
especially if she could fly inverted as she had for him to scoop a
handful of snow from the peak of a mountain. He held his hands,
palm up on her bareback to melt the snow and drink the water out of
his cupped hands.

He sensed that she was getting tired; his
added weight was something she was going to have to get used to.
Her communications were becoming clearer as she searched his mind
freely; looking for words to associate with the images she
presented him with.
We can return now if you like Bethia.
He
offered her.

Thank you.
She answered, much less
disjointed than it had been a short time ago.

You learn very quickly my large
friend.
Tristan chuckled.

You fly better than father does.
She
returned a compliment.

She and Tristan laughed as she presented the
unnerved image of Socolis in his human form of Otis on her back. He
appeared terrified, yet smiling despite his fear. Slowly she
circled the hole in the mountain they had burst through, and
descended inside at a steep glide. The pair of them touched down
with her mighty wings batting the air, causing the others who had
returned to their cushions to block the dust she sent swirling from
stinging their eyes.

The Prince leaped athletically from her back
and patted her jaw as she swung her head around towards him. She
crooned, leaning her head closer to his hand and he chuckled as he
scratched her where her skull met her first neck plate. Bethia
sighed in comfort as she sent a few errant sparks out of her
nose.

“Well?” Otis asked with his eyebrows raised
theatrically.

Tristan sent them all Bethia’s last thought;
you fly better than father does.
Followed by the image she’d
shared with him. Everyone burst out laughing, including Bethia and
Otis.

~

Shortly after sunrise Tristan, Euri, Lesa and
Drake materialized inside Tristan’s apartment in the Guisian
capital. Maggie gasped as she came out of the bathroom, a towel
around her hair and another around her body. She bolted back into
the small room and closed the door with a huff. The Prince chuckled
as his sister and Lesa left the room. Drake put his hand on
Tristan’s shoulder and turned the young man to face him.