H - 131: Ready to Face a New Day (Patreon)

The third time Kaln awoke, he reluctantly decided to actually get up; his internal sense of time told him any more dallying and he would be keeping people waiting.

Carefully pushing back the shimmering, velvety blanket, he leaned over to kiss Emeralaphine’s cheek before rising.

“Hmmmff,” she mumbled, frowning prettily and clumsily batting at him with one sleepy claw. “N’more. Lemme sleep.”

“Sleep in, lovely,” Kaln murmured, caressing her horn once as he drew back. “You’ve earned it.”

She smiled, opening one eye just enough for him to see that her vertical pupil was so dilated it looked round, then appeared to lose consciousness again immediately, her face relaxing and lips falling open. Kaln had been mildly disappointed to discover that she didn’t drool; as far as he could tell, none of the dragons did. Oh, well; she was plenty cute already.

They had already awakened together twice, starting in the very early morning, and immediately tired each other out again. Kaln tried not to think about any of his wives in objectifying terms, but gazing now at her sprawled posture, flushed features and disheveled hair, he couldn’t help feeling pleased with himself on a primal level that he didn’t often indulge.

Or hadn’t, in his previous life. He was learning to let loose, bit by bit. All three of them appreciated it greatly.

He freshened up at the station she had prepared for his overnight stays in her lair—prepared and placed ostentatiously in view of the huge and lavish bed she had also set up, without ever acknowledging either out loud. That was Emeralaphine all over, seemingly unwilling to admit what she wanted but never unable to communicate it. The mirror, sink, brushes, and various bottles of soaps and lotions were perfectly clean without maintenance, magically refilled whatever needed refilling, and operated in complete silence.

Emeralaphine did not appreciate being awakened, unless he made it worth her while.

Mindful of that, he did not speak until he had traversed the full access corridor from her lair, and emerged into the main vault outside.

“Good morning, at ease,” he said to the two Phantom Legionaries standing guard outside Emeralaphine’s lair, who saluted in upon his appearance. “Good morning, Commander Sharamin.”

“Good morning, sir,” the Commander replied, coalescing out of mist on cue. “I trust you slept well?”

“I am rejuvenated and ready to face a new day,” Kaln said lightly. In fact, he had not slept much; he didn’t, three nights out of four, especially when it was Tiavathyris’s turn. He never felt any ill effects, though, undoubtedly for godling reasons. Whether this meant he just didn’t need as much rest, or was recharged by hours spent entangled with a dragon—still the focus of his powers—he had not tested. “Anything to report?”

“The night was peaceful,” Sharamin replied, falling into step beside him as Kaln began his leisurely way toward the stairs, at the top of which breakfast was being served. “Engineer-Captain Miras has completed his surveys and laid plans, and would like you to inspect the designated sites at your earliest convenience before beginning excavations.”

“Perfect, I’ll see to it directly after breakfast.”

“And I have the reports from yesterday’s approaches. Young Mistress Pheneraxa was still operating the Storyteller when you retired.”

“Ah, of course. How is she doing with that?”

“Quite well, her results are inarguable. She appears to enjoy the intellectual exercise.” The ghost glanced sidelong at him. “I have been watching for it, and perceive no sign that she likes exercising power over others. In fact, the Young Mistress appears to exhibit mild distress at repeated emotional outbursts from the subjects, which she covers with expressions of annoyance.”

“Good,” Kaln said gravely, nodding. “Do let me know if she seems to be getting overly stressed by the job, but…as long as she can handle it, I think she can only benefit from practicing her social skills. We can have someone else take over if need be, but Pheneraxa is a magic specialist and her mother built the thing, after all.”

“Precisely my thoughts, sir. So far, all appears to be going well. As for yesterday, we received ten new applicants for political asylum. Three spies, who were turned away; the rest are being processed as normal. Seven couriers arrived with gifts of tribute for you, which were each sent back by the same courier as is procedure. And eleven individuals appeared offering themselves to your harem.”

“Eleven?" Kaln wrinkled his nose. “That’s even more than the bribes! Why do they all think that will work?”

“If I may, sir, the world knows few things about you, one of which is that you have wedded three elder dragons. From the comments of visitors, I have gathered the impression that you’ve gained a reputation in the Evervales as something of a…stallion.”

Kaln rubbed at his eyes with one hand. “I suppose that ought to be flattering, but hearing it, I find myself mostly annoyed.”

“I can only imagine, sir,” Sharamin said sympathetically. “Such are the burdens of a public figure. In any case, six came under their own volition and were summarily turned away as usual. Of the five sent by various Houses, three were found by the Storyteller to have been coerced into the role. Only one accepted the requisite offer of political asylum; the other two seemed to prefer going home to report to their families.”

“Seems odd to me, but I guess it’s not my place to judge.”

“Everyone has their own circumstances,” the Commander agreed, “and filial loyalty is a powerful pull, even when one’s family seems not to deserve it.”

“How’s the one who stayed?”

“Lady Camille was greatly relieved and is already fitting in. She requested assignment to the army; Lady Tiavathyris personally interviewed and approved her.”

“Good, that’s in capable claws, then.”

“It’s the last two who concern me most,” Sharamin continued, frowning. “They represent two of the scenarios her Excellency the Empress predicted, but earlier than I projected. One expected to be rejected as a concubine and offered asylum; his true mission was to be planted as an agent in Dragonvale. The other was lying about her House of origin, apparently with the intent of rousing your annoyance at a rival House by claiming to have been sent by them.”

Kaln had slowed as he spoke, and now came to a stop at the base of the stairs, turning to the Commander directly.

“So the Houses have learned what to expect from me, at least up to a point. That was fast.”

“These Valefolk are a fascinating people,” Sharamin said, nodding. “I can hardly believe they are descendants of the Valeri. Their ancestors considered themselves too proud for subterfuge.”

“Six hundred years of Atraximos will do that to a civilization,” Kaln said gravely. “I will consult with Izayaroa about next steps, since she’s the one who saw this coming. Thank you, Commander. Anything else to report?”

“That’s outstanding business, sir,” the Commander said, saluting. “Enjoy your breakfast! Captain Miras will be ready at your convenience.”

He vanished in a swirl of mist, and Kaln climbed the stairs to the dining setup, where Spooky was currently laying out dishes on the table. It seemed he was the last to arrive, and returned morning greetings from several family members and guests before taking his own seat.

And, of course, paused to kiss Tiavathyris and Izayaroa each on one cheek, adding an affectionate little nuzzle which they appreciated. Kaln had made a point to learn how dragons expressed affection, and never missed an opportunity to ensure his wives knew they were loved. Fortunately Percy seemed to have either gotten used to it, or learned to pretend she didn’t notice. Apparently this kind of thing was a bit shocking to Valefolk sensibilities.

In addition to them, Percy, and Nashma, all three of the drakes were present today. It had taken some time for them to acquire the habit, but most of the family came to most meals now. Kaln knew they enjoyed the socialization—and even if some of them (mostly Vanimax) weren’t ready to admit that, Zhiiji’s cooking provided an excuse, as well as being its own enticement.

“One of these days, Mother will come to breakfast,” Pheneraxa said without much conviction. “She’s really missing out. Zhiiji is a genius.”

“Yeah, well, she had a busy night,” Vadaralshi said, grinning. “Right, Pants?”

“Quite,” he agreed equably, taking a seat. “Are we…expecting anyone else?”

“I believe the number of places set corresponds to the number of people present,” Tiavathyris said mildly, glancing at the two empty plates, and then the two women standing stiffly behind Percy and Nashma’s respective chairs. “Corporal Spooky is always on the ball with place settings.”

Rafaela cleared her throat, standing at attention and staring at the far wall. “It is not appropriate for servants to dine with the family.”

Percy, who had just picked up her fork, set it down and twisted around in her chair, blinking rapidly, to stare at the woman. “What? I’m sorry, by your accent I took you for Lavenni. In what culture is a lady in waiting considered a servant? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Kaln filled his mouth with a bite of peppered potatoes, once again trying to find the balance between his duty as head of household to supervise these people, and the Valefolk expectation that he should stay out of ladies’ business.

Frankly, he did not understand this lady-in-waiting matter at all; Rhivaak had no such custom. From context he had inferred that it was a power thing Vale royals did, designating lesser nobility as servants, but based on Percy’s comments…apparently not? He didn’t even know who had decided this, it had apparently just materialized as an expectation that now that there were two princesses in residence, as well as enough mortals to constitute a staff, Percy and Nashma should have well-bred attendants.

Rafaela froze, opening her mouth, then shutting it and turning an accusing stare on the woman standing next to her.

“What?” Kessifret demanded shrilly. “Don’t scowl at me, I was following your lead! How the hells would I know about Vale customs? It made sense to me—the only thing I understand about anything going on here is that my arse has no business sitting down at a table with the bloody Empress!”

Rafaela looked taken aback; after apparently taking a second to process what she’d just said, Kessi looked likewise, and then mortified.

Kaln again filled his mouth. He’d known Kessifret for a few years, but never heard such an outburst or such language from her. The months she’d spent with a bandit gang had apparently been…formative.

“Access to a ruler,” Izayaroa said while cutting apart a sausage with fork and knife gripped delicately in her claws, “has to be restricted to those with a specific reason for it. There are concerns of security, inappropriate influence, and the like, but ultimately it’s because my subjects are so many, and I have no more hours in the day than anyone else. That does not mean any of my citizens are beneath my notice, or unworthy of my company. Circumstance has brought and kept you here, Kessifret, and you’ve every right to be at this table. Please, sit. I would have you be comfortable.”

Looking afraid to actually respond to that, Kessi made an abortive gesture as if to pull out one of the extra chairs, then froze again, looking over at Rafaela—who was likewise frozen, eyes darting back and forth between Percy, Nashma, and Kaln.

Izayaroa shifted her golden eyes to him, and inclined her head infinitesimally. She was so amazingly good at nonverbal communication; Kaln no longer even questioned how she’d managed to recall him right to one of their recent conversations with such a vague and tiny gesture.

She was a priceless font of advice on the subject of leading people, and enjoyed sharing it with him. That time, she had been telling him that one of the kindest uses of power was to help one’s subordinates to resolve internal conflict. Sometimes people would get caught in imaginary dilemmas preventing them from doing what they needed and actually wanted to, and it could be a mercy to take the choice out of their hands.

“If you two don’t sit down and eat,” Kaln said pleasantly, “I will not hesitate to tell Zhiiji you stood in front of plates of her food and refused to touch them.”

Rafaela and Kessifret exchanged one more glance, this one alarmed, and then both scuttled into chairs. They had both met Zhiiji. Across from them, Percy blinked owlishly, while Nashma struggled to suppress a smile.

Zhiiji really had been the perfect find as the first member of staff he’d recruited; in addition to her own skills, she provided great motivation for the others. She could be the carrot or the stick—the food she served was amazing, and she carried an enchanted sword as long as she was tall.

Kaln was about to turn to Nashma and make conversation when movement caught his eye.

A woman with short hair a darker shade of brown than was common in Valefolk had just crested the top of the stairs. Completely ignoring the table full of dragons, royalty, and one godling, she strode single-mindedly past them and headed right into the arched tunnel into Kaln’s lair.

Those seated on the side of the table from which they could see her turned quizzically toward him. Kaln, seated at the head of the table, just grimaced and shook his head.

“What are your plans this morning, Kaln?” Tiavathyris asked. Her back was to the woman who’d just passed; he doubted she was unaware of anything occurring in her vicinity, but it seemed she was also choosing to ignore it for now.

“I promised to meet with Captain Miras after breakfast,” he said. “His team have finished their survey work and he wants to present his findings and get my go-ahead to begin excavation.”

“Perfect,” Tiavathyris said with a pleased nod. “That will place you in the city while my recruits are completing morning drills. I would like it if you took some time to meet with them afterward.”

Kaln hesitated in the middle of spearing another bite, frowning. “Is…there something wrong?”

“Not at all—not yet. Training is proceeding well. At this early stage, they naturally resent me for the exertions I am putting them through, but I feel positively about this group’s prospects. I am on course to establish a proper rapport with them, and I do not wish to do so and exclude you.”

“I don’t… Why?” he asked. “I honestly have nothing to contribute to the training of soldiers. You, meanwhile, are possibly the best-qualified person alive for the task.”

“It is exactly that which concerns me,” she said gravely. “It is not wise for a ruler to allow his army to be loyal to their general instead of himself.”

Izayaroa nodded once, emphatically.

“And…what is it you want me to say to them?” Kaln inquired.

“Merely to exercise your own greatest skill, and…make friends. I believe they would be glad of a visit and a few kind words from you, husband.”

Kaln drew in and let out a steadying breath, catching himself fidgeting with his fork and forcibly stilling his hands. “Not to argue with your methods, but… I’m not sure that concern applies in our situation? I hardly suspect you of plotting my overthrow, my lady wife.”

“Military coups are not necessarily instigated by generals,” Nashma interjected. As usual, she was diffident and smooth; Kaln had never dealt with someone who constantly projected such courtly bearing, and even after weeks felt he was no closer to getting a handle on her actual personality. “It is indeed dangerous for the army to decide they prefer their general to their sovereign; an insistent army can compel a general to take action she might rather not, unprompted. It has happened to several regimes.”

“And before you say it,” Tiavathyris added swiftly, “no, that is not a material concern in our situation, either. Even so, husband, this is a matter of both principle and general policy which ought to be observed in any organization which has its own attached military. I would ask Izayaroa to back me up, but frankly, I know you have read enough history on your own that she should not need to.”

“Kaln,” Izayaroa herself said in a gentler tone, “what troubles you? It seems unlike you to resist the opportunity to socialize and make friends. I thought it among your favorite pastimes. Is there something about our former bandits which puts you ill at ease?”

Kessifret and Rafaela exchanged another wary look, then both looked away, seemingly annoyed at themselves for having done so.

“It’s…well, yes,” Kaln admitted. “Not because they were bandits, though. Everyone still here I know to have been forced into situations they did not choose, and… And that’s it, actually. What I put them through with the Storyteller was necessary for our security and future plans, but I cannot imagine anyone who had their entire personal story dragged up in front of everyone will be pleased to shake hands with the guy who did it.”

“Ah.” Tiavathyris nodded, giving him a smile. “It is a fair concern, husband. It must still be done, however. I will offer as a counterpoint that, if anything, this makes it more important that you establish some rapport with these people.”

“You should not underestimate the loyalty you have among them, my lord,” Rafaela said suddenly. “It’s not just that you offered us a safe place to stay, and purpose. It’s… All of us still here were driven out of our homes and our lives by injustice, by abuse by those in power over us. The unfairness of it rankled all the more because we faced legitimate struggles to survive. To then have someone in a position of power declare that we were wronged, to not only proclaim our innocence and the guilt of our oppressors, but then to issue a challenge to them—outright calling the bastards liars and telling them they can come fight dragons if they don’t like it—”

She broke off, catching herself; her delivery had become increasingly fervent as she spoke, until she seemed on the verge of slamming her fists on the table. Rafaela paused, inhaling deeply to regather her poise, and continued once her bearing was calm again.

“This was…like a childish fantasy we wouldn’t dare entertain. My lord, I truly don’t think you can understand how much it matters to us, to have someone stand up and do what you did.”

“Ah,” Kaln murmured, “that’s right. I guess I know a lot more of your story than you know of mine.”

Kessifret stared down at the table, setting down her utensils and putting her hands in her lap.

“I think I understand better than you realize,” Kaln continued with a smile. “Well, then. Thank you for the counsel, everyone, and please pardon my momentary intransigence. Tia, I don’t expect my discussion with Captain Miras will take all that long, but I’ll linger in the city and be available when your maneuvers are finished.”

“Thank you, husband,” she said graciously, inclining her head. “That will—”

They were interrupted by Spooky, who came shooting out of the lair’s entry hall at full speed—but still in her humanoid form rather than dissolving into a puff of mist as the ghosts often did when traveling, because she had the woman from earlier tossed over her shoulder like a sack of rice.

Everyone at the table turned and watched the ghost streak across the vault and into a side chamber with her captive.

“What on earth?” Rafaela asked.

“Gisele again?” Izayaroa said fatalistically.

“Spooky’s gotten good at intercepting her,” said Kaln. “That’s for the best. Zhiiji nearly killed her last time.”

“Is that…one of the…ex-bandits?” Nashma demanded. “Trying to sneak into our vault?”

“Don’t worry, she’s not going for your or any of our residences,” Kaln assured her. “It’s the kitchen she’s after. Gisele is…I think…harmless. Mostly. Probably.”

“That reassurance contained an uncomfortable number of qualifiers,” Nashma said warily.

Kaln heaved a sigh. “In the days I spent looking through the personal histories of every single bandit in Dragonvale, I saw a lot of things that are going to haunt me for years to come. But Gisele… Unique out of all of them, even after watching an abridgement of her entire life, I cannot figure out what her deal is. What I do know is that she just wants food.”

“I presume her to be some type of variant,” said Izayaroa. “That single-mindedness and lack of affect is characteristic. I’ve never seen someone act quite that way, however.”

“Nonetheless,” Kaln said more briskly, “the comfort and privacy of my guests is important—and I would also prefer not to have a corpse right outside my front door, which I’m concerned might be the outcome if Spooky is distracted one day and Zhiiji catches Gisele in the pantry again. Pheneraxa, do you think you could help me adjust the wards later today?”

“I have a job,” Pheneraxa said pointedly. “Granted, it’s sort of up in the air from one day to the next how many people turn up, but I prefer to remain on Storyteller duty, thank you. If you want help with the wards, Captain Tirial should be knowledgeable enough.”

“Isn’t her magic knowledge like a thousand years out of date, though?” said Vadaralshi.

“Less than eight hundred,” Pheneraxa sniffed, “and anyway, the Lost Century was in the middle of that, so the Darashi aren’t as far behind as you might think. Also, she’s been studying up in Mother’s library.”

“Pheneraxa is the magic expert among the three of us,” said Vanimax, “but adding a single target to a standing ward network doesn’t require an expert. Ralshi or I can help you with that whenever you have a moment, Kaln.”

“Aw, Max just wants to be involved!” Vadaralshi cooed, batting her eyes at him.

Vanimax hissed at her. Kaln hadn’t actually seen any of the dragons do that in their smaller forms; interestingly, he did it the same way as in the larger one, making the rasping hiss in the back of his throat like a cat rather than blowing air through his teeth the way humanoids usually did when articulating sibilants.

This had the knock-on effect of splattering Vadaralshi with flecks of food.

“Vanimax, don’t do that at the table,” Izayaroa said with weary exasperation.

“Vadaralshi, you can clean yourself with a spell as easily as you breathe,” Tiavathyris added as her daughter swelled up in outrage. “There will be no fighting at the table, either.”

As the noise washed over him, Kaln couldn’t help smiling around his next bite of peppers and potatoes. It was odd, the thought that predominated, since he hadn’t left here in the last few weeks—but it was a thought that had lingered with him a lot, recently, perhaps because he was not yet fully recovered from his year in the wilderness.

It was good to be home.