Chapter 15
Elara's Brother
Kai slipped out of 'The Tipsy Griffin' inn, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The hefty sack of silver crowns fifty thousand undeserved pieces of metallic glory was securely hidden beneath a loose floorboard in his rented room. Fifty thousand, he mused, for a lizard that couldn't fly straight and sneezed cinders. The sheer, glorious absurdity of it still made him want to laugh.
He'd transformed. Gone were the travel-stained leathers. Now, he wore a doublet of deep emerald velvet slashed with gold satin, pristine white linen billowing at his throat and wrists, hose of fine black wool, and polished calfskin boots that clicked assertively on the cobbles.
A cloak of midnight blue, lined with silver fox fur, draped casually from one shoulder. He looked every inch the returning young lord, perhaps a trifle rakish, but undeniably noble. The guards at the citadel's massive outer gate, recognizing the sharp features and dark hair that mirrored their queen's, bowed deeply as he passed without challenge. Perks of blood, Kai thought wryly.
Inside, the citadel buzzed with a different energy than the fearful city – the sharp clang of hammers on armor from the forge yards, the barked orders of sergeants drilling men in the inner bailey, the hushed, urgent whispers of clerks clutching scrolls.
Luxury was still present – tapestries depicting pastoral scenes, polished marble floors, the scent of beeswax and hothouse flowers – but it felt strained, like gilding on a blade being sharpened for war. Kai navigated the familiar corridors with a thief's silence, nodding curtly to startled servants. His destination: the throne room.
He found the vast chamber empty save for one figure. Elara sat upon the high dais, the Veridian Throne – a masterwork of pale gold-veined marble and carved white oak – dwarfing her. She wasn't wearing battle silks or the circlet, but a gown of deep, unadorned indigo velvet, stark against the throne's pale grandeur. Her head was bowed, one hand resting on the armrest, the other pressed to her temple. The weight of the kingdom, the rumors, Theron's veiled threat – it hung on her like invisible chains. She radiated isolation, a statue of contemplation carved from worry and weariness. She didn't hear the soft click of his boots on marble.
A mischievous glint sparked in Kai's eyes. Old habits. He ghosted up the dais steps, not towards the front, but around behind the towering throne. He leaned forward, his lips brushing close to her ear, his voice a conspiratorial whisper that shattered the heavy silence:
"Hey, Sis. Penny for thy weighty thoughts?"
"Gods' Blood!"
Elara exploded upwards from the throne as if scalded, spinning around, her indigo skirts swirling. Shock, pure and unguarded, widened her eyes for a split second before being consumed by incandescent fury. Her gaze, sharp as a honed stiletto, locked onto Kai standing there, grinning like a cat who'd cornered the royal canary.
"KAI!" Her voice cracked through the throne room, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "By the bleeding stars! Where in the Nine Hells hast thou been?" She descended the dais steps in a swirl of velvet, closing the distance between them. Her hand shot out, gripping his velvet-clad upper arm with surprising strength. "Months! Not a word! Not a messenger dove! Naught but silence! What misbegotten chaos befell thee? Speak!" Her eyes, dark and furious, scanned his face, searching for signs of harm, of ordeal.
Kai winced slightly at her grip but kept the grin, though it faltered under her intensity. "Whoa, easy, Elara! Still in one piece, see? Mostly." He tried for levity, gesturing vaguely at himself with his free hand. "Adventures! Slight detours! Heard the most outlandish rumors buzzing in the city about thee, though! Truly, 'tis a festival of fiction out there! They say thou didst—"
"Silence!" Elara's command was a whip-crack. Her fury hadn't abated; it had sharpened into something colder, more probing. Her gaze wasn't just looking at him; it felt like it was peeling him open. Then, her eyes changed.
The familiar dark brown irises dissolved, replaced by molten, radiant gold. The Truthsight blazed forth, not the controlled weapon of the sanctum, but a focused, searching beam. Kai felt an odd pressure, not physical, but profound, as if his very essence was being laid bare. He saw the golden light reflected in her pupils, an unnerving, ancient fire.
"Sister! What? Cease this!" Kai flustered, trying to pull his arm back, instinctively raising his other hand as if to shield his chest. His cheeks flushed crimson. "'Tis most unseemly! Peering thus… 'Tis like being stripped bare in the marketplace!"
Elara didn't relent. Her golden gaze swept over him through the velvet, through flesh, seeing the map of muscle and sinew, the riverways of veins and arteries, the pulsing core of his vitality. She saw the faint, lingering echo of draconic energy clinging to his spirit – not the celestial terror he'd boasted of, but the chaotic signature of a young, furious beast. She saw flashes: a clumsy fireball scorching rock, a desperate roll through burning shrubs, the glint of a dagger striking a soft scale, the frantic scramble in a dusty mine, the sack of silver clinking onto an inn's counter, the sly grin as he spun tales to wide-eyed clerks. She saw the truth beneath the velvet and lies.
A slow, knowing smile touched Elara's lips, banishing the fury, replacing it with exasperated amusement. The golden light in her eyes winked out, returning them to their familiar, fathomless dark. She released his arm.
"Unseemly? Brother mine, 'tis far too late for maidenly modesty," she declared, her voice regaining its melodic lilt, thick with irony. "I have already beheld the… spectacle. Thy 'towering dragon' resembled an overgrown, ill-tempered lizard more apt for roasting on a spit than laying waste to cities. And fifty thousand crowns? For that?" She chuckled, a rich, warm sound that seemed alien in the tense citadel. "Thou hast the audacity of a cutpurse and the luck of a drunken saint."
Kai's flush deepened, a mixture of embarrassment and indignation. "It was tall! Taller than me! And fierce! Possessed a… a terrifying presence! And the clerks were deeply impressed!"
"Oh, I've no doubt thou didst impress the clerks," Elara said dryly, reaching up and ruffling his carefully arranged dark hair with deliberate, sisterly roughness. "Thou couldst charm the scales off that very dragon, I warrant. But thy tales?" She shook her head, her smile softening into genuine relief. "The only damage I see is to thy pride, and perhaps thy tailor's bill for this… flamboyant disguise."
She flicked the silver-fox trim on his cloak. "Go. Bathe. Scrub the stink of the road and thy tall tales off. Meet me in the Sun Parlor for supper. One hour. And Kai?" Her gaze held his, warm but firm. "Try not to scandalize the scullery maids on the way."
The Sun Parlor was a smaller, more intimate chamber than the throne room, warmed by a crackling fire and lit by beeswax candles in ornate sconces. A round table of polished cherrywood was set with gleaming silver and fine porcelain. Elara, changed into a gown of deep burgundy silk that complemented her battle suit's hue, sat waiting. The rigid posture of the throne was gone; she leaned back slightly, a cup of spiced wine in hand, watching the door.
Kai entered, scrubbed pink, his dark hair damp and tousled, wearing simpler but still fine attire – a deep blue doublet and black hose. He looked younger, less the rogue, more the wayward brother. Two stoic guards flanked the door, their expressions carefully neutral, though their eyes held a flicker of astonishment as they glimpsed the queen's relaxed posture.
"Ah, the conquering hero returns," Elara announced, gesturing him to the seat opposite. "Minus the dragon stench. A marked improvement."
Kai grinned, sliding into the chair. "Merely a strategic retreat from the olfactory battlefield, Sister." He reached for a warm roll from a basket. "Now, about this dragon…"
And so, over roasted pheasant glazed with honey and rosemary, braised winter roots, and rich gravy, Kai spun his yarn. He embellished shamelessly. The dragon became a leviathan of obsidian scales, its wings blotting out the sun, its roar shaking mountains. He described epic aerial duels (conveniently omitting the creature's inability to fly properly), dodging rivers of molten fire (downplaying the sneezed cinders), and a final, climactic battle atop a volcanic peak where he'd plunged his dagger into the beast's heart as the world trembled (neglecting the messy, earthbound scuffle in a mine shaft).
"...and the horn, Elara!" he declared, gesturing dramatically with a pheasant leg. "Black as the void between stars! Thrumming with captured infernos! When I laid it upon the magistrate's counter, the clerk near swooned! Took five strong men to haul the bounty to my chambers! Fifty thousand crowns! Hardly adequate recompense for such peril, but one mustn't be greedy when saving the realm from draconic annihilation!"
Elara listened, sipping her wine. Her expression was one of rapt attention, a faint, indulgent smile playing on her lips. She nodded at the appropriate moments, murmured "Indeed?" and "Perilous!" But behind her dark eyes, Kai saw the flicker of golden light, deep and knowing.
The Truthsight wasn't actively blazing, but its residue, its memory, was there. She saw the real scenes superimposed on his bombast: the frantic scramble, the singed eyebrows, the young dragon's clumsy charge, the dusty horn shard, the clerk's spectacles flying off. She saw the gleeful scam, the hidden silver, the sheer gall of it.
Kai's Thoughts: Spin the tale, Kai. Make it grand. Make her proud. Or at least, make her laugh. She looks… tired. Worn thin by stones and whispers. Let her have a dragon-slaying brother, even a fake one. She deserves a moment's lightness, away from the weight of that circlet. Even if she sees through it… especially because she sees through it. She's always seen me. The lies are part of the game, the dance we've danced since we were children hiding from Father's tutors. Besides, the real story is far too embarrassing.
Elara's Thoughts: Oh, brother mine. Thy tongue is swifter than thy blade and twice as reckless. A 'leviathan'? Truly? I beheld the creature's spirit-echo – a petulant hatchling throwing a fiery tantrum. Fifty thousand crowns for putting down a scaly nuisance. Only thou. Yet… thou art here. Whole. Hale. The draconic taint is faint, harmless. The silver is hidden, not squandered in a dice game. And thou art trying, in thy own absurd way, to lift the shadows from this room. To make me smile. And it works. Against Theron's threats, the council's fear, the city's whispers… thy ridiculous, transparent lies are a balm. A reminder of a time before thrones and Truthsight, when the gravest peril was stealing tarts from Cook. Let thee have thy dragon. Let me have this moment of thy foolish, beloved presence.
"...and the villagers," Kai was saying, warming to his theme, "they wept with joy! Carried me upon their shoulders! Declared a feast in my honour! Roasted the beast itself, though 'twas a bit stringy, truth be told…"
Elara couldn't suppress it any longer. A genuine laugh escaped her, bright and clear, echoing in the Sun Parlor. It was a sound the guards hadn't heard in months. They exchanged stunned glances. Kai paused, mid-anecdote, surprised by the sound, then beamed, his own laughter joining hers.
"Stringy?" Elara managed, wiping a hint of moisture from the corner of her eye. "After battling a mountain-shaking leviathan? Kai, thy standards for culinary rewards are as lofty as thy tales!"
They laughed together, the tension of the citadel momentarily banished. For a precious hour, over shared food and fabricated heroics, the Queen of Veridia and her rogue prince were just Elara and Kai, bound by blood, secrets, and the unspoken understanding that sometimes, the most needed magic was the simple, defiant act of laughter in the face of the gathering dark. Beyond the Sun Parlor's warm glow, the kingdom trembled on the brink, but within its walls, guarded by seen secrets and sibling love, there was light.