Hoard

It was really consistent with how this day was going that he didn’t get two steps before the next interruption.

“I hope you are not considering acceding to that…insane request, husband.”

Tiavathyris’s tone was notably flatter than usual. Kaln stopped in his tracks and turned to find her staring directly at him, the tip of her tail lashing in restrained agitation.

“Of course I’m considering it,” he replied. “This is no time to act thoughtlessly. There is clearly more going on with her than we know, and just what we know is bad enough. Obviously, I want to hear what she has to say before making a decision.”

“More information is always better than less, but it is not wrong to lay out in advance lines which are not to be crossed,” Tiavathyris stated. “Kaln, you are one thing, and these ghosts are another entirely—I am still less than sanguine about the latter. But the occupancy of our home is filling with alarming speed. I am not willing to play host to various random mortals.”

Kaln glanced back; Pheneraxa had proceeded ahead without pausing and was just now vanishing into his chambers. Izayaroa had stopped and turned to follow the conversation herself. He took a deep breath to quell his own rising temper. Really, of all moments for Tiavathyris to finally start asserting her real opinions…

“Thanks to Vanimax, we have just lost any hope of remaining in solitude and privacy. Even if the human nations don’t dare assault us directly, the abduction of royalty will have consequences. Keeping her here is an option that will solve some of those problems at the expense of creating others. So yes, Tiavathyris. I am going to learn what I can and then make a decision.”

“Perhaps I am not making myself clear!” she exclaimed, accompanied by a loud scrape as her claws curled against the impervious Timestone floor. “I object to this. This, in particular!”

Vadaralshi’s head was swiveling rapidly as she glanced between her mother and Kaln; she kept uncharacteristically silent and far back enough not to be in the elder dragon’s view.

“Why?” Kaln asked simply.

“Do not my opinions and desires count for anything inherently?” she snapped, open bitterness in her tone for the first time he’d ever heard.

Kaln really needed to just stop wishing for things. Here she was finally opening up to him, and it took the form of raving about some inscrutable personal issue of hers, right when he did not have time for it.

“Your perspective matters a great deal,” Kaln replied, making his own voice as even and reasonable as he was able. “But it cannot be the only thing that does. If you have some specific reason the princess of Boisverd can’t be here, obviously I wish to hear about that in detail, or I can hardly make an informed decision. So if—”

“You are here to be protected and guided by us!” Tiavathyris exclaimed, slapping her tail against the ground with an echoing boom. “This is not some manner of public house, nor the capital of some prospective empire! I will not have this place filled with miscellaneous mortals!”

And it was at that point that Ar-Kaln Zelekhir had truly had enough.

He lashed out with the full force of his will, in an intensity he had not leveraged since annihilating Atraximos the Dread. His power slammed down onto Tiavathyris like the weight of the world itself, binding and bearing her to the floor.

Her reaction was instant, and insignificant. She started to thrash; Kaln compressed her to the ground, limbs folded under her, wings pinned to her sides, tail and neck flattened to the floor. Obviously, she next called upon a litany of magics beyond anything he had seen, vastly above his ability to comprehend, and he seized and willed them out of existence with no more effort than it took to breathe. Tiavathyris raged inwardly, testing him with the full force of her will—a force mightier than all but the greatest powers of this world.

None of it mattered. She was a dragon, and she was his.

Kaln turned and, with a measured, almost languid pace, strolled across the empty chamber toward her. Water flowed in the channels, ancient machinery ticked away in the near distance, and not one other sound was heard, not even the breath of the dragons present. Even Vanimax lowered himself to the floor in obvious fear of drawing Kaln’s attention. Ghosts stood at their assigned stations, still and silent as the grave, and seeming even to fade slightly from view as though willing themselves to unobtrusiveness.

Kaln walked directly up to Tiavathyris’s head, which even resting on the floor was taller than he. Her eye was wide open, its circumference alone greater than a wagon wheel. He strode close enough that he could reach out and poke it, and then finally stopped.

“I treasure your counsel, Tiavathyris,” he said, calmly, quietly. “To have access to your wisdom is an honor and an asset whose value is beyond description. And even more than that, I desire you to be comfortable and happy—to be a source of satisfaction to you. My aspiration is to improve your life, not impose upon it. And I can avail myself of none of these goals when you lash out like an undisciplined child.”

Her pupil contracted to an impossibly narrow slit, eyelid itself almost closing as she squinted at him.

“We will discuss this in all necessary detail later,” Kaln promised her. “I need to know the full extent of your thoughts and reasons, and especially to understand why this matters so much to you. There’s no way I can make the right decision for this family as a whole without knowing all that. First, to give you time to calm yourself, I am going to hear what the princess has to say. And when I have heard everything, and had time to consider all perspectives, I will make my decision. Hopefully it will be a decision that pleases you. Whether or not that is so, your options at that point will be to close your mouth, or have me close it for you.”

He stared at her in silence. She stared back.

After a second, Kaln reached out with his mind, opening himself to the torrent of her being. Having already known he had nothing like useful telepathy but only a general sense of dragons’ status and emotions, he had instinctively closed that avenue of perception while she was obviously agitated. Now, though, he delved into her feelings, and found…

Really. Really? Here, now? Well, at least this shed some light on…some of her other inscrutable ways. In most circumstances Kaln would have been powerfully intrigued, and probably reciprocated some of the warmth and desire coursing through her. Right now, though, he was just too annoyed and out of patience.

Later, when everyone had had time to cool off, he’d try manhandling her again—a bit less severely, perhaps—and see where that led.

For now, Kaln abruptly released his grip on her. Tiavathyris twitched, raising her head up to its full, towering height, and stared down at him with a deliberately composed expression which betrayed nothing.

He held her gaze for a long, pointed moment, then silently turned his back on her and walked away.

Izayaroa waited for him, then fell into step alongside him as they strode toward his chamber. Kaln appreciated that she had at least that much discretion—which was probably because it had been Tiavathyris upon whom he’d just had to publicly land. Had he dressed down Emeralaphine in her hearing, he doubted Izayaroa could have resisted making some comment which would force him to descend on her next.

Children, every one of them. Ancient, wise, and powerful, except in the several specific ways in which they consistently acted out like spoiled brats. Why were they all like this?

Of course, that was a question with an obvious answer: that was what immense power did to a person. Dragons, in the end, probably weren’t all that different from anybody else, mentally. Kaln suspected most people would end up acting similarly unreasonable if they’d lived for thousands of years as apex predators. Needless to say, he was not about to share this insight with any of the family.

“How’s our patient?” he asked as they entered the hoard chamber, approaching the huge bed where their guest had been carefully laid out. Considering the uses to which that bed had been put, Kaln was really glad for Atraximos’s self-cleaning wards, otherwise… Well, that would have been no fit place for a princess.

“Out cold,” Pheneraxa said, tilting her head quizzically to gaze down at Perseverance as if her Highness were some kind of exotic specimen. Which, knowing Pheneraxa, was likely more or less her line of thought. “Not unfair; the kid’s had something of a day. I know we have matters to settle but I find myself oddly inclined to let her sleep.”

“That is a kind impulse, Pheneraxa,” Izayaroa said, smiling, “and one I think we should indulge even given our other needs. Husband, this place is…rather unsuited for hosting guests. Could you perhaps make some quick alterations before our visitor wakes?”

“Now that is an excellent idea,” he agreed. Really, he’d been putting off doing something about this place too long. Most of the central chamber was exactly as Kaln had found it: laid out like a museum showcasing what had apparently been Atraximos’s personal favorite artifacts at the time of his demise. Kaln had really only made alterations to the empty central area which the dragon had set aside as his sleeping spot, adding only the huge bed and the smaller but equally ornate enchanted devices which made up his improvised little kitchen.

He reached out mentally, connecting to the vast and intricate ward network, accessing the immense hoard in storage and swiftly sorting it through by a few criteria. In seconds, he had materialized an enormous wingback chair upholstered in red velvet, resembling a throne in both its size and the intricacy of its gilt and thread-of-gold decorations. Next to it he added another one of clashing design but similar ostentation. Then a plush loveseat, and a couple of end tables. The result was a mismatched melange of mahogany, ebony, marble, gold, silver, and silks in which nothing went with anything else.

“Interesting choices,” Pheneraxa commented.

“Hey, keep in mind whose collection this was,” Kaln replied. “I can probably fulfill any conceivable need except basic good taste.”

It was opulent, yes, but in a…well, a tacky, ugly way. Considering the stress their guest must be under…how to make this more comfortable?

He added some pillows and a throw rug of the least ornate styles he could find, which meant rustic fur and deep green crochet. Then immediately regretted it, because that only made everything clash even more, but he decided not to bother with backtracking.

Among the large enchanted furnishings Atraximos had collected, Kaln found a free-standing marble fireplace containing a permanent pile of ever-burning wood and an enchantment to banish smoke, and placed it at one end of the furniture arrangement he’d just created to create a ludicrously ostentatious approximation of a cozy little sitting room.

“Pheneraxa, could you light that?”

He’d expected her to use a spell, but she just leaned over and spat a tiny fireball into the wood. Kaln, meanwhile, added a fur rug to the central area between the furnishings, which would do for a finishing touch.

“Hm,” he mused, studying the striped pelt. “What kind of animal was that? A tiger?”

Izayaroa delicately cleared her throat. “They live in the rainforests of southern Kadanarr. A warlike people, but quite famed for their poetry and music.”

“Oh, ew.” He hastily banished the person-skin rug back to the collection, and replaced it with an elaborately embroidered carpet which had far too many golden tassels.

“This is absolutely hideous,” Pheneraxa stated pleasantly. “I kind of love it. Mind if I come read here from time to time?”

“This is temporary,” Kaln informed her.

“The young lady is quite disheveled, due to no fault of her own,” Izayaroa said, gently brushing a lock of brown hair out of Perseverance’s closed eyes. “I don’t suppose there are any toiletries in there?”

“Why would he have anything like that?” Pheneraxa retorted with a wry smirk.

“It was Atraximos,” Kaln sighed. “If it was enchanted or sufficiently sparkly, he’d pick it up, the big magpie. Ah, here we go.”

He produced and handed over a hairbrush and a hand mirror. Izayaroa swiftly snatched the latter from him and moved it so its reflective surface faced the floor.

“Husband, I understand that you are being asked to work quickly with unfamiliar materials, but please do read the labels with care. This is an incredibly potent cursed mirror which shows the viewer their heart’s deepest desire. If they gaze at it long enough for the curse to take effect, more than a few minutes, that desire will take physical form and kill them.”

“Yikes. Sorry!” He swiftly consigned the cursed mirror back to storage, pausing to double-check what he’d already produced. The furniture was mundane save for the fireplace and one of the end tables, which had a hidden compartment that was bigger on the inside. The hairbrush was enchanted, but only to smooth out tangles without pulling on the scalp. All of it seemed safe.

He found another mirror, this one just as gaudily bejeweled as everything else around here, but non-magical. And just in time.

A loud gasp seized all their attention as Perseverance abruptly sat bolt upright in the bed. She took one swift look around and then grabbed her head again in both hands.

“What—where—oh, no. Did I faint? I fainted. How embarrassing.”

“No one here is about to criticize you for that, or for any reaction you might have, Percy,” Izayaroa assured her. “Nor would any person with an iota of basic sense. You have borne a string of severe indignities with admirable grace.”

The princess stared at her, wide-eyed with greater shock than that statement seemed to warrant. “Grace? Admirable? Me?”

“Very much so,” Izayaroa said, extending a claw and helping her gently to the edge of the bed. “It is the most reasonable thing in the world for you to feel somewhat out of sorts. Come, let’s see if we can help straighten you up a bit; that always makes me feel better after an upset. Husband, could you perhaps arrange some refreshments for our guest?”

“Of course,” he said swiftly, retreating discreetly to the kitchen. He hadn’t really explored it during their brief visit to Boisverd, but he’d always heard that northerners had more heavily gendered social roles than Rhiva; a Vale princess might not appreciate having a man around while she worked on her appearance.

Keeping that in mind, he deliberately dawdled a bit in the kitchen even though there was very little to do, keeping half an ear on the soft conversation behind him to await a suitable opening. There was, helpfully, already a pot of tea brewed, thanks to that Legionary’s initiative. She had also returned the poured cup of tea, which was still warm but no longer steaming. Kaln opted to leave that where it was, finding a full set of teacups amid the hoard; they didn’t go with the still-steaming pot, but nothing in here went with anything else so it seemed a bit late to worry about it.

He found a serving tray among the massive collection, notably more plain in design than most of what Atraximos had owned, but powerfully magical: it not only hovered at convenient serving height, but would evade obstacles and collisions and resist anything on it being tipped over accidentally.

All of his food from the Silver Hound was, well, ingredients, save for some fruits and vegetables that could be safely eaten raw, and which he decided was probably not suitable to serve to royalty. Fortunately he also had all his impulse purchases from the Roundabout. Kaln found some plates—also mismatched—and carefully arranged a selection of pastries, candied nuts, and a bowl of honey lozenges.

And then he dithered another couple of minutes, until the timbre of the discussion behind him changed. Bringing over his tray, he found Percy and Pheneraxa in the big chairs, the former looking rather shocked and dwarfed by the upholstered edifice, while Izayaroa had placed herself on one end of the loveseat. Percy’s hair had been significantly straightened out, her tiara now resting atop her wavy brown locks rather than pinned into them.

“So, um, I’m asking this mostly to verify whether I’ve unexpectedly gone crazy,” the princess said a bit timidly. “But…did I see a ghost? I have a very vivid memory of…” She broke off, shuddering.

“You did,” Kaln assured her. “And if you stay with us, you’ll see more of them. Hopefully with some warning, not popping right out of your peripheral vision like that. I do apologize for the shock; she meant well.”

“She,” Perseverance repeated blankly.

“The ghosts are serving as guards and…general staff,” he explained. “Including cleaning and, apparently, food service.”

“Apparently?” She blinked twice.

“I did not actually tell them to do that,” Kaln admitted. “It was a helpful thought, but I wish I’d known they were going to so I could warn them not to jump out at people. That would have terrified a hardened adventurer. I’m really sorry about that. Please, help yourself. If you’d like anything in particular to eat… Well, ah, it’s likely we won’t be equipped to accommodate you, sorry. But I’ll certainly do my best!”

“I really don’t want to be a bother,” she said warily, accepting a cup of tea.

“You are the farthest thing from a bother, Percy,” Izayaroa assured her in a gentle tone. “It is you who have been put upon here. We would be grateful for the opportunity to make it up to you in any way we are able. Regrettably, as my husband has said, the feeding and housing of mortal guests is the one task for which we are least equipped. But that only means preparations have not been made in advance. I have no doubt that between our collected talents, we can manage some accommodation.”

“This is…nice,” the princess commented, again blinking like an inquisitive owl. “You’re all so friendly. I wouldn’t have expected that. I wouldn’t have expected any of this.”

“You might be surprised how much of it has been a surprise to us too,” Pheneraxa said dryly. Izayaroa shot her a narrow look, which she met with a bland smile.

“Um. I get the impression,” Perseverance said very hesitantly, holding up the teacup to obscure her face and staring down at the rug instead of at them, “that…the dragon who…took me was…not encouraged to by the rest of the group?”

“He was not.” The ice in Izayaroa’s tone made the princess flinch hard enough to slosh her tea, and she immediately softened it. “For that, again, no apology will suffice. I am mortified that he would do such a thing. None of the rest of us encouraged or would tolerate such behavior. You have my solemn word that Vanimax will not be permitted to be near you, much less carry out whatever he intended to do. If he so much as speaks to you uninvited I may very well kill him.”

Her tone and expression were far too even. Kaln glanced warily at her. He had a suspicion that was not a figure of speech.

“What was he trying to…” The princess gulped, still not meeting anyone’s eyes. “If he just wanted to eat me or something, he could have done that at the festival. We had no defenses against a dragon; nobody expected one to show up there. If…if what dragons are known to, um. To take women for… Well, the Dread never did that, nor any of the others. The…others around here, I mean. You guys, I guess.”

“I’m afraid nobody knows exactly what Vanimax was thinking,” said Kaln, “possibly including himself. What I can tell you is that you are safe with us, your Highness. I, and Izayaroa at the very least, will do everything necessary to ensure it. That’s the very least we owe you. No one is going to lay a finger on you from now on.”

“He…attacked a festival?” Izayaroa asked quietly. “I hesitate to ask you to relive such a terrifying ordeal, but…what other damage did that fool cause?”

“I don’t think…much of any?” Percy said, her forehead wrinkling in thought. “It happened so fast. I’d barely heard the alarms and then…there he was. Boom, dragon. And then I was flying and… I think he just swooped in, grabbed me and took off.”

“Well, that’s a mercy anyway,” said Kaln. “A small one. Not that kidnapping the Princess isn’t a provocation, but apparently it could have been at least a little bit worse.”

“Yes, I fear we shall have to be grateful for whatever small mercies are given us,” Izayaroa sighed.

“Uh,” Kaln added in concern, “Pheneraxa? Are you okay?”

The young dragon was holding half a honey-glazed blackberry tart, with her cheeks both puffed out and flushed and an absolutely stupefied expression on her face. Kaln thought he saw tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. She ignored him, staring at the pastry, then abruptly stuffed the entire rest of it in her mouth, letting out a moan that sounded uncomfortably carnal.

“Have…have you never eaten human food before?” Kaln asked, fighting back an amused grin.

Izayaroa sighed again. “I apologize for my niece’s etiquette. In draconic culture, table manners are…well, not even a concept.”

Percy turned to stare at Pheneraxa, who had now leaned her head back in rapture and was clutching her own tail in both hands. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone enjoy anything that much.”

“Try the spice bread next,” Kaln said, holding out a piece to the young dragon. She snatched it out of his hand as if afraid he was going to take it away.

“Well, while Pheneraxa marvels at the new horizons that have just opened before her,” Izayaroa said wryly, “perhaps we should discuss more pertinent matters. You mentioned fearing for your life, Princess?”

“Oh. Right.” Perseverance slumped slightly in her chair. “Yes…about that.”