“It’s more than a rumor, dearie.” Fractured eyes fixed on the boy’s face. The mists of time had consumed those few trembling reminders of his own lost humanity, but Dezód had seen enough time come and go to recognize the tremors that ran through the human spirit. A giddy laugh shrieked up from the sorcerer’s windpipe and he clapped his hands wildly.
“Defensive,” he commented, wrinkling his nose. “I like that. It shows a little fight.” He tilted his head, rusty curls dipping against his shoulders. Yet, no matter how he shifted, his weird eyes, fixed on Rob, did not move. The trick was figuring out just how much fight the boy really had: he’d be needing a great deal, Dezód calculated, if he meant to take a stand against Cassius Montagu and Rhaegar, not to mention all the costs that came with stealing a creature like a dragon.
Fractured eyes narrowed as he peered at the boy before him. Rob stood an inch taller than himself, their eyes almost at equal height as a result. House Barret tended to produce taller men than Rob, however - tall in all senses - and that was just what made Rob so invaluable a specimen to him.
His voice was proud, thick with his own impressiveness and it struck Dezòd with gleeful amusement. He would be easy enough to ensnare. This was not a person who was going to walk away - the only question was whether or not he’d have the guts to actually move forward when the moment of truth arrived.
“You are not a dragon rider born,” observed Dezòd. His angular face puckered into a kind of bemusement all his own as he carefully observed the boy’s face. Waving a hand theatrically, he turned away, waiting. He knew well enough what he was going to ask, what he needed, but he believed in the importance of suspense. “It will not be without…consequences,” he added, tilting his head to one side. “And it shall not,” he said, raising a hand majestically. “Be easy. For you.”
He turned back to the boy with an impish grin and gestured towards him. “As it happens, you’re in luck, dearie. The bond between dragon and rider is fierce and it will take savagery to break it. You’ve the key at your fingertips.” Raising both hands, Dezòd giggled, fractured eyes glittering. “You’ll need the blood of the dragon, you’ll need to hold it’s throbbing, bleeding heart in your hand.” He sniggered and turned away from Rob, continuing to speak.
“Your dragon already shares a spiritual link with its intended rider. Ya need to hijack that link and take it. D’ya know what the blood of the dragon is?” His smile was private, eyes shifting off into the distance. He could taste its metal on his tongue, that shock of blue-turned-crimson. “There is one in your midst you must cut the heart out of and bear it here to me, along with a…gift. Blood pays for blood and I will need a great deal of it…
“You are bold, indeed,” he added. “They say dragons are godly creatures: a bit sacrilegious, isn’t it?” Another jolt of laughter. “You’ll need that. You are not dragonborn, it is true, but what you ask is not impossible, though the cost is absolute.” He whirled, suddenly, to face Rob, raising a hand above his head in a dramatic gesture. “You must bring me the heart of the dragon’s daughter upon the night of her wedding. Rip it from her chest, for she is both the child and the bride of living flame. Bring, too, your own blood. Your nephew,” he added, eyes slithering away from Rob’s once more.
“What you ask,” he added, quickly. “It is not without cost, you should know. Your dragon will not be so strong as it might have been, with its true rider, but I can make it grow fast and grow large. All ya need do is say the word.”
When he heard Dezód say that it would not be easy, he felt himself all the more determined to go through with it. All of his life, he had felt as though no one around him saw him for what he was. He was told that he couldn’t and shouldn’t do certain things. And if he was said to have made any accomplishments at all, they were all overshadowed by those of his older brothers. If Dezód thought that this would be easy for him, Rob would prove him wrong, too.
“I can handle any challenge you put before me. Whatever the price, I’ll pay -- so long as you hold up your end of the bargain.”
He was asking for a dragon, but he knew that with it, would come so much more. He would have power and influence. He would have respect. And all of Aragoth would look to him as the hero they had prayed for. He would go down as the First Dragon Rider of a new age.
But when Dezód began to describe what he needed to do: Rob did not understand. His brow furrowed in confusion and frustration. “Speak plainly! I do not have time for your riddles! Who is the dragon’s daughter?” All he could think of was Rhaegar himself: the only literal dragon he knew of. And he was certain that he had had no children: he was, after all, the last of them.
“Ric?” He asked, “Why do you want him? Because he’s supposed to be special?” He almost laughed when Dezód had said it. “Well, he isn’t. He just thinks he is. If you want the little brat, you can have him.” He’d never liked him. Ric looked at Rob like he could see through him, as though he knew (or thought he knew) exactly what Rob was thinking. Everyone loved Ric and everyone thought that his abilities would somehow aid them in defeating the Queen. They were all stupid if they thought that. Ric had never done anything.
“Is that all?” He asked, “Tell me who the dragon’s daughter is, and we have a deal.”
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