Fealty

“Will you just quit that pacing, you horrible beast?  It’s going to drive me mad!”

Ilaron stopped, but only long enough to glower at the girl through the doorway leading into her alcove.  Despite the sumptuous nature of the room, she’d been nothing but bitter and ungrateful; for the frost wyrm, he wouldn’t be rid of her soon enough. 

She glared back and stamped a foot impetuously; he countered with a slow raking of diamond-hard talons across the scored crystal of the floor.  The ceiling quivered and the walls shook ever-so-slightly, but it was enough to temporarily silence her.  For all she was to know, he was nothing more than a monster; he’d not even tried to speak to her, though he supposed he might have if she’d been more friendly – or even just slightly less antagonistic.

Perhaps if he encouraged the Ember King to marry her off to some lesser nobility-

His thoughts followed those lines for some time, picking through the lists of available nobles that might be willing to suffer the harpy.  The further away, the better, he thought and immediately had to stifle a snort of laughter.

“You monster.  When will you let me go from this place?  If you don’t want to play the stupid game-”

This time, he stopped square in front of the door and hunkered down, his lean bulk coiled, catlike, in a way that blocked out all of the cavern from her vantage.  His face crowded the doorway – his nose was entirely too large to actually fit in the hole, so he had to guard either side of his narrow mien with his foreclaws.  If she escaped, she’d die; not because he’d do it, but because she’d foolishly shed all of her extra clothes and would freeze within minutes.  All of his anxiety and pacing lowered the temperature in the cave to a level that would freeze a human in minutes.

She stared at his bright visage and balled her hands up into fists.  Without warning, she launched herself at him and pummeled his scale-clad snout with her fists.  This lasted all of three seconds before she was forced to retreat to the hearth in a futile effort to warm her numb hands.

“My brothers will be here to save me,” she grumbled.  “Then you’ll be nothing more than a trophy – if you’re lucky.”

Ilaron chuffed loudly and rolled his eyes.  Then his eyes slid shut and he settled in, utterly still.  He imagined her brothers would come, if they had any idea where to go; but, even then, they wouldn’t be able to crack the defenses of the Imperial palace.  They’d be as effective as a gnat against a knight – and he would surely lament not being able to watch them dash themselves to bits in order to rescue the shrill wench.

All but one.  His eyeridges drew together, shaping themselves into a troubled line.  Would Sevrus be one of them?  He would surely ride with his brothers, but would he be foolish enough to brave the palace itself?

No.  No, he was too cunning.  He would probably think to seek out an Echo.

Would he?

He rumbled absently and tightened his wings to his back.  Once he was comfortable, he allowed himself to lapse into a half-dream, shapeless and pleasant and restful.  He was still there when he heard the secret entrance to his chambers open.

Sluggishly, he lifted his head and craned it around; he didn’t need to look, knowing fully that his brother was the only one that knew of the entrance, but something smelled different.  Something smelled strange and familiar, but-

His thoughts were broken by the shrieking hellcat that was Vesra.  She tried to sprint out of the chamber, only to be blocked by a last-minute shifting of Ilaron’s forepaws.

“Lady Vesra,” Ilon called, “I would not suggest attempting to flee just yet.”

“You!  You put me here, you bastard!  Get me out of here, right now, or my brothers will-”

“This will only take one of them.”

Ilaron’s scales rose and fell in a silvery waterfall of distress, matched only by the shiver-rattle of his wings against one another.  He shot his brother a sharp look, but Ilon deflected it with a cool smile and tilt of his head.  The wyrm-born brother was forced to step aside, leaving a clear path to the comfortable alcove.

“I will not waste your time with explanations, Lady Vesra.”  Ilon’s voice was practically a purr.  “Just know that your brother will vanquish the beast – and you will be thoroughly compensated for your discomfort.”

What words sprang to her tongue were simply spat to the ground.  She turned away sharply, arms crossed, and refused to budge.  Ilon’s lips twisted into an inscrutable smile and he gestured, motioning for the remaining shape in the distant doorway to approach.

In that instant, Ilaron knew; the man’s smell was hidden with the oils and soaps used on himself, but there he was.  It was enough to draw a thin keening noise from his throat, a sound that was quickly clamped down with a firm bite to his tongue.

“Sister.  Go with him.”

“Sevrus!  How did you- ?”

“Go.  I will tell you later – if he does not.”

Ilon took Vesra by the elbow and guided her out, escorting her back to the secret entrance without a word.  She went silently, her expression guarded and hard.  A final look was cast to both man and beast and her lips pulled into a thin line.  Then they were gone and the chambers were left to be filled only with the low rattle of Ilaron’s scales and the scrape of booted feet on cracked crystal.

The door shut.