seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
bree meets up with regie again after so long spent apart and they hug, it's all very nice, regie: i'm so fuckin happy that ur still alive. i don't know what your lifespan is but it's longer than i thought- bree: regie regie: -but i've learned a lot about mortals actually! i have a new friend and he's really mean but he teaches me a lot- bree: my skin is burning off regie
necromancy for the recently deceased, a guide
laete sets up zeiya’s telepathy relay, allowing the shade imp to speak, and learns from bree (and a ghost) that there may be another undead dragon that needs her help
~
“Try now.”
The mangy imperial corpse drew itself up, its neck seemingly too desiccated to hold up its own head. Her mottled, discoloured scales clung to the bone beneath, and the heavy brown mane around the bared plates of her skull seemed stiff, stuck together in spikes. Zeiya couldn’t speak; her head was bare of skin and flesh, and her mandible hung useless.
Seeing her move at all was jarring, a contradiction, and one that struck Laete in some base, instinctual corner of her mind. Dead imperials that moved were not safe to be around, she knew, in the deepest part of her being.
Zeiya made a hollow rattling noise, a wheeze of air issuing from the holes that pierced her leather-like hide. Floating shade eyes blinked into life around her antlers, peering down at Laete with a powerful curiosity.
This is talk, yes? Zeiya said, telepathically.
On the imp’s other side was Fionnán, the enormous golden guardian that Aiteal had brought with her. His charge was Zeiya. Or, more accurately, the shade parasite named Zeiya living inside an unrelated imperial corpse. He pressed closer to her, apparently sharing none of Laete’s instinctual fear, and raised a huge paw to brush her overgrown mane off her face.
“That’s good!” Laete said, nervously twisting her staff between her hands. Even in her dragon form, she was dwarfed by Zeiya and Fionnán. “Say something else.”
I talk, Zeiya said. There was a pause, then she went on in some strange, foreign language.
“What does that mean?” Laete said.
“That’s Midean,” Fionnán rumbled. “The language her first host spoke.” He was so tall that seeing even his eyes was impossible, but there was no kindness or happiness in his voice. “She must remember them.”
Rúth yes? Zeiya said, the clattering of bone on bone sounding as she shook. Her shade eyes blinked all at once, in apparent excitement.
Laete nodded and began packing her equipment. Her job here was over; the dead imp could speak, it was sentient. The Commander would be pleased. She clicked her beak to herself and tried not to feel too bitter about Zeiya and Rezann, but it was difficult. If not for the shade parasite, Laete would be dead. Sacrificed. And, probably, in a better place.
She piled up her scrolls and bone wands, casting Zeiya the occasional fearful glance. With her right eye Laete could see, very clearly, the parasite squatting in the imp’s body. It was a black, smoky creature. Spiral-shaped but long enough to occupy the tunnel of bone where the body’s spinal cord had once been. It controlled the dead body like a puppeteer, wispy strings of smoke connecting it to the skeletal limbs.
“Let me know if there are any problems with the relay,” Laete said, clipping the scroll case to her flight harness. “I’m in the mage squad. Just ask for Laete.”
“Problems? Is that likely?” Fionnán said.
“I should hope not.” Laete pushed off the bare earth, rising with a few swift wingbeats until she was finally at Fionnán’s eye level. He leant away from her, the ruff of fins around his head standing up.
“Bye, Zeiya,” Laete called, tipping a wing to bring her flight path back towards the main body of the army. To avoid panic, she and Fionnán had taken Zeiya out to the distant foothills, far from the marching soldiers and rolling cannons.
Goodbye, Zeiya said. Her telepathic voice didn’t fade with distance. Thank you for the speak, she said. I will learn my best.
“You’re welcome,” Laete muttered. Maybe her fear of Zeiya had been entirely unfounded. In her experience, niceness was a rare trait among the dead, but she didn’t really know anything about shade parasites.
The neat ranks of soldiers passed by below. Pink and purple banners marked the mage squadron, her destination. As she drifted into a downwards spiral, a pale shape flashed past her head. She didn’t react. The ghosts loved to bother her while she was flying; they missed the sensation and tried to tag along with her to recapture it.
Úna, what’s it like? a voice whispered in her head.
She flared her wings and slid out of her dive, rapidly losing altitude until she touched down in the bare strip of ground just outside the main line of carts. The ghost followed her, its whispers increasingly insistent.
Tell me, Úna, it said. I want to know. I want to know.
“Let’s not,” she said in a low tone. Telling the ghosts her full name had been a mistake, because now they could find her whenever they liked.
A couple of nearby mages cast her mocking, amused looks. She lowered her gaze and slunk away to her end of the convoy. No need to endure the other mages’ pointed remarks today. Her work on Zeiya’s telepathy relay had been exhausting enough.
She retreated to the rearward cart, hoping to catch a ride (and a rare moment of peace), but there was someone already waiting for her. The healer, swathed in white, could not have looked more out of place among the dark-robed mages. They called out to Laete, waving eagerly.
“What now, Bree?” she said.
They sat on the end of the cart in their bipedal form, polishing their fist-sized pearl on the sleeve of their silken robe. “Well, hi, Laete. What’s wrong?”
“I was just going to get some sleep,” she said, pointedly. “It’s been a long day.”
“I need your help,” Bree said, dropping the pearl back into the holster at their waist. “Sorry. But I can’t do this on my own, I’ve already done all I can...”
“Fine,” Laete said, with a sigh. “But only because you owe me. What’s the matter?” She fell in behind the cart. Its pace was so slow that simply walking along beside it was a decent rest.
Bree hesitated a moment, one hand still on their pearl. “Are you still working with that shade parasite?”
“Yeah, what about her?”
“You can’t tell anyone this,” Bree said. “Promise?”
“Yes, Bree, I promise,” she said. “Get to the point.”
“Well. I have also been working with a shade parasite,” Bree said. “For several weeks, actually. It’s kind of a classified mission, not like your imp creature. And, um, he’s gone missing, and I don’t know what to do any more...”
“Oh yes?” Laete said. “Have you tried looking for him?”
“Ha ha, Laete,” Bree said. “I was his handler until I got dismissed, which, fine, whatever. But he hasn’t been round to the healer’s tent at all and he needs a healer with him at all times or he’ll fall apart. None of the other healers have seen him. I know he’s probably fine, but I’m worried, and I was wondering, um... if any of your ghosts might be up for helping me?”
“Oh, come on, Bree,” she snapped. “Do you really think it works like that?”
“I know it doesn’t,” they said. “But if one of them has seen him, don’t you think they’d let me know?”
“If there’s a helpful ghost floating around, maybe,” Laete said grudgingly. “But there’s no guarantee.”
“But we can try,” Bree insisted.
“Yes, okay,” Laete sighed. “Fine. And when we fail, you can go back to the infirmary and let me rest.”
Although Laete could speak to the dead now as easily as she could the living, Bree’s request called for special preparations. That night, when the army settled in for the night, Laete unpacked her gear. The shallow dish that became a perfect mirror when filled with water. The speaking staff, a spear tipped with an umbra wolf’s mandible. Black hangings to cut out the firelight outside, to enable Bree to see the ghosts more clearly. Black salt mixed with bone powder; it attracted spirits like nectar.
Bree knelt in the middle of the tent, glancing around with wide, nervous eyes as though they expected to see the place fill up with spirits. There was a single ghost present, badgering Laete about flight again, but she was used to ignoring it.
“This is creepy,” Bree said, poking at the tip of Laete’s staff. She pulled it back out of their reach.
“Ghosts love that whole aesthetic,” she said with a shrug. “Dead things, bones, etcetera. Here, take this.” She passed the waterskin over to Bree. They held it, eyebrows raised, while she scattered the salt and bone mixture at the bottom of her scrying dish. Taking back the waterskin, she filled the dish until the water level rose above the rim, held by surface tension.
Laete blew out the single candle. Darkness filled the tent.
“So this is like a seance, or something,” Bree said. “Can they hurt us?”
“No,” Laete said. She closed her left eye and peered into the scrying dish with her right. “There are rules, though, but the most important one - for you anyway - is that you must not tell them your name. If they know your identity then they’ll be able to follow you around whenever they like.”
“Oh,” Bree said. There was a pause. “Is that what you did?” they said.
“Yes, that’s what I did,” Laete sighed. “And it sucks. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Something flickered over the surface of the dish. Laete waved for Bree to shut up.
“Okay, here goes,” she said. “Hey. Spirit. We’re looking for someone. I’m led to believe that he is a small orange and black guardian.... corpse.... creature, and he should be somewhere in this camp. Help us find him.”
What will you do for me in return? the spirit said. Its voice was empty of emotion - probably a dragon that had been dead a long, long time. The newly-deceased tended to be a lot more emotional, less to-the-point. They remembered what it was like to be alive better than the ancient ghosts.
“Right, what are you going to give it?” Laete said. “They don’t work for free.”
“What?” Bree said, aghast. “I don’t have anything to give!”
“Your blood?” Laete said. “They like that. Put a drop into the bowl.”
Bree bit their lip. Then, slowly, they raised a thumb to their mouth. They slit the skin on their teeth and held their hand over the scrying dish until a deep blue drop of blood scattered ripples over the water.
The spirit’s presence withdrew briefly, then returned, stronger than ever.
This is acceptable, it said.
“Great,” Laete said. “Now can you help us?”
I will attempt.
There was a long pause. Laete sat back and examined her nails, while Bree scribbled a healing spell onto a spare scrap of parchment. After roughly twenty minutes of this, the spirit returned.
Nothing, it said, and that was that. Laete relayed this to Bree.
“Is that it?” they said. “We could try with another ghost.”
“Sure,” Laete said. “And if there was a ghost who wanted to help it would have shown up by now, drawn by the blood. So we’re out of luck.”
“Okay,” Bree said, their shoulders slumping. “Thanks, Laete, you’ve really done me a favour here.”
“Now we’re even,” Laete said, with a sharp smile. She snagged the black hangings and pulled them down, brightening the tent again.
Bree rose to their feet, carefully securing the spell tag around their thumb. Then with a final nod, and a dejected sigh, they left.
Laete cleansed the tent with scattering of white salt, then packed away her gear again and unrolled her sleeping bag.
She had almost fallen asleep when she felt a presence. This wasn’t unusual; most ghosts didn’t really have any concept of when it was appropriate to drop in on someone.
Úna, a voice said. I can help you.
She turned over, drawing the sleeping bag up around her ears.
It’s dangerous, the ghost said, a faint ache entering its voice, quite different to the ancient spirit from earlier. I know where the undead guardian is, but I couldn’t contact you earlier. The more powerful spirits shut me out.
She would rather have done anything else, but she still felt she’d let down Bree earlier. So she sat up and faced the spirit; a misty, amorphous shape crouched on the floor beside her.
“Spit it out,” she said. “Where is he?”
I’ll show you, the ghost said. I was there earlier today, he hasn’t gone anywhere since then.
“And what do you want in return?” she said, narrowing her eyes.
What? No, it’s a favour, the ghost said. It’s - well, I thought I could do this for you, and then you’d help protect me from the other spirits. I’m small, I have no powers - I was never any good at magic when I was alive. The afterlife hasn’t been kind to me.
She reached out and took the handle of her staff. With a jab she could banish the spirit for a few hours. But she owed Bree, and it really wasn’t normal for a ghost to straight-out tell her it was weak. Most of the time they went for the intimidation route, even when it was patently obvious that they were small and powerless. She could see that this one beside her was fairly weak, probably unable to possess so much as a songbird.
Curiosity drove her on. “Oh yes? You clearly don’t know how things usually go around here.”
How do things usually go? the ghost said, a note of confusion in its voice.
“I get extorted and threatened with possession,” she said, “and then I get to banishing. Hey, if more ghosts were like you I might even enjoy my job.”
I’ll take it as a compliment, the ghost said. And, I’ll be honest, I’ve seen you do the banishing before. That’s why I think you can help me, you’re very good at it. The other mediums in this camp struggle where you don’t.
“Well, thanks,” she said, taking the staff. She rose to her feet, stretching. “I’ll follow you, but if you take me outside the camp I’m coming right back here. Got it? We’ll see about making an arrangement once you show me this undead guy.”
It’s near here, the ghost said, don’t worry. I know exactly where he is. I won’t disappoint you.
The prospect of having an obedient spirit servant was, honestly, a rather attractive one. Laete dressed quickly, then left the tent. Through her right eye she saw the ghost drift away, pausing at the edge of the mages’ encampment for her to catch up.
“So what’s your name?” she said, falling into step beside it. A night guard watched her pass, one hand rising to his Arcanist pendant as if praying for protection.
The ghost gave a spectral laugh. Oh, I’m not falling for that one! Not until we have a deal. Then I’ll tell you one of my names, so you know I’m serious.
“Fair enough. I’ll know if you’re lying,” she said. “I can always tell.”
I’m aware. I’ve seen spirits lie to you before, you always call them out - it’s amazing. How do you know?
“I’m not going to tell you the exact method,” she said, “but ghosts are mental creatures. That’s all you are. I can see your thought processes as easily as I can see you.” She stuck out a hand as she passed the spirit, trailing her fingers through its insubstantial body. It flickered then reappeared a few paces ahead.
It’s around here, the ghost said. They put him into the ice box on the back of the cannon tracks. As if he was just some dead animal to them.
Sure enough, at the end of the cannon rails was a low grey metal box, condensation dripping off its sides. It was sealed, and a paper note attached to the door stated that the box was full and anyone wishing to use the cold storage should try with the second ice box, which was about twenty metres down the track. A heavy lock hung on the door of the first box.
“Great,” she said, picking up the lock. It was code-operated, with three wheels of runes that could be spun to form the unlocking phrase. Anti-magic sigils had been welded to the metal.
I saw them unlock it, the ghost said. A skydancer came here earlier today to check on him. Try spinning the first wheel three clicks up, the second two down, the third six down.
She did so, half-expecting the ice box to be some hideous trap. But when the lock disengaged and she hauled the sealed door open, nothing bad happened. Some black smoke drifted out. Her knuckles white on her staff, she peered inside.
Since she worked with spirits and the likes of Zeiya, Laete liked to think she had a handle on death as a concept. But this corpse threw her off a bit, made her take a step back. Zeiya’s skull mask of a face was easier to look at than the torn and freezer-burnt face of Bree’s shade friend. The corpse was encased in ice, a metal spell tag clamped over one eye socket. Its single eye was open behind a thin layer of ice, an unsettling blank white.
“That’s him?” she said.
The ghost drifted into the ice box, its misty form obscuring the dead body for a moment. Yes, this is him.
Laete swung the ice box door shut again, clicking the lock back into place. The ghost followed her back to the camp, as she headed straight for the medical corps headquarters. The good news, she supposed, was that Bree’s friend didn’t need medical help. The bad news was that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop Bree from attempting to break him out on their own.
“One step at a time,” she said, tapping her staff rapidly on the ground. “Right. Your name?”
So you want to work with me? the ghost said excitedly.
“Yeah, why not,” she said. “You’re useful. But the moment you stop being useful to me, you know what’s going to happen.”
Of course. The ghost paused right next to her and stretched out a pale limb. She stuck out her hand. If the thing wanted to seal the deal with a handshake, then fine. It only tipped the balance more in her favour, showing her that this ghost still clung onto its old living ways, how young and inexperienced it was.
“You already know my name,” she said. “I’m Úna Laete.”
You can call me Theo, the ghost said. She watched it carefully, waiting for the flicker of untruth, but there was nothing. She murmured the name under her breath and the ghost reacted as if it had been summoned, moving closer to her again.
“Sorry, just checking,” she said. “Right. You’re with me, I guess. Let’s go and break the news to Bree.”
the ballad of sad regie: end
now thoroughly under rezann’s thumb, reginald chooses between rebellion and acceptance of the role the commander has laid out for him
~
“And if someone calls you ‘Your Highness’, what do you do?”
Reginald fidgeted with the cuff of his jacket. “I have them punished for using the incorrect form of address,” he muttered.
Rex hadn’t even bothered to pick up his notes. During this particular education session, Reginald had answered all questions correctly.
“Speak up,” Rex said. “I can assure you that a true king would not mumble.” But he didn’t sound as irritable as usual. In fact, he was smiling.
“Yes, sir.” Reginald sat up a little straighter and projected his voice, just as he’d been taught. Rex continued to watch him expectantly, so Reginald cleared his throat and continued in what he had come to describe as his ‘king voice’. “Excuse me,” he said, “is that any way to address your king? That’s ‘His Majesty’ to you.”
Rex’s smile widened. “Very good, Your Majesty.”
Reginald drew himself up and gave a minuscule nod. Royalty didn’t need to acknowledge that lesser than itself. He let his face settle into a hard mask, a haughty look he’d done his best to perfect. He’d learned - rather grudgingly - that if he just did whatever was asked of him, he’d be left in peace. Rex wouldn’t yell at him.
“Bree, come here,” Rex said suddenly, beckoning to the healer. “I think I can see new cracks around its eye socket.”
Bree had been allowed back into the lessons, but they no longer sat on the sofa beside Reginald, their arm slung comfortably around his shoulders. They had to stand back, against the wall of the cannon deck, constantly at attention.
“Yes, chancellor,” Bree said, approaching. They strapped a rune-marked paper mask over their mouth and sat beside Reginald. Very gently, they turned him so that his smoking eye socket face them. He sat as still as possible, without breathing.
“I don’t see anything new,” Bree said, leaning closer.
“Oh, well, give it another look over,” Rex said, rising to his feet. “Just in case. I have to report to the commander. I’ll tell him things are progressing well. ”
“Of course,” Bree said, taking the metal examination gauntlets from the table. As Rex let himself out of the deck, Bree reached for Reginald’s empty eye socket. As their fingers passed into his blind spot, he let his shoulders sag and his chest move again.
“I don’t like this,” he said. “No, fuck that, I hate this.”
“I know.” Bree’s metal-clad fingers probed at the edges of the socket. “But we don’t really have a choice. This looks fine, by the way. I’m guessing Rex is just cautious after our last scare.”
“Great. I guess that’s how it’s going to be for the rest of my fuckin’... unlife. Undeath?”
Bree laughed and sat back, unstrapping their gauntlets. “Maybe. But we still have lots of time until we actually make it to Court Dorchadas. Here’s my proposition. You’ve never really seen the main encampment, have you? You used to be on the artillery squad, that’s well on the edge...”
“I’ve been there,” Reginald said curiously. “But I couldn’t stay. I visited the canteen and smelled the food. It was nice.”
“Why don’t you come out with me tonight?” Bree said, their blue eyes wide and earnest. It had gotten so much easier to read emotions on the faces of others, these days. “There’s more than just the one artillery canteen. This place is pretty much a travelling city, there’s all sorts down there.”
“Come out?” Reginald said. “I’d get stared at.”
“So? You’d better get used to it, Regie. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.”
“Oh, fine,” Reginald said. “I’ll go. Why not.”
An hour later, he did not regret his decision. He’d spent so long whiling away on the enclosed cannon deck that he’d forgotten what the open air felt like, he’d forgotten the freedom of being able to walk wherever he liked. The air was cool and sharp, denser near the ground at the base of the cannons. Bree held Reginald’s hand and led him through the maze of tents, of soldiers and workers bedding down for the night.
“So we’ve got the soldiers, sure,” Bree said, pointing them out, “but any place you get a big enough gathering of dragons you’ll find the traders, too, and the escorts - look, there’s a beastclan trailer.”
A small brown wagon fought its way through the crowded lanes between tents and carts, laden with bags of grain. A longneck sat at the front, driving the elk team that pulled the wagon. As the sun dipped below the horizon, firelight and sparks filled the air, and the darkness almost hid the trail of smoke that Reginald left in his wake.
For his part, he could only really stare. There was so much - the traders had begun to hawk their wares, shouting prices and displaying fancy swords and flashes of brightly coloured silk. Soldiers forked over piles of treasure for the goods, grumbling about extortion (whatever that meant) as they did so.
“What’s that for?” Reginald asked, elbowing Bree excitedly.
“That’s a grindstone, it’s for sharpening blades and-”
Reginald didn’t even wait for them to finish, his attention already having moved on. He approached another stall and stared, wide-eyed, at the selection of meat hanging on hooks just inside. The stall owner, a pink wildclaw, cast Reginald a look of utter horror.
“I found the food,” Reginald said. “It looks fucking horrible, oh my gods. And you dragons put that in your mouths?”
The wildclaw scowled dangerously. Bree took Reginald by the shoulder and carefully steered him away.
“Let’s not insult the stall owners to their faces,” Bree said. They let Reginald set the pace, hampered as he was by his clumsy prosthetic leg and the muddy terrain, but a minute later Bree dashed off. They descended on one of the carts - one already crowded with dragons.
Reginald hung back, leery of the crowd. Bree returned moments later, a brown bottle clutched triumphantly in one hand.
“Look at this!” they said, pausing to take a long drink. “It’s real whiskey.” They took a quick swig and offered Reginald the bottle. “Better than the piss water they serve in the canteens.”
Reginald sniffed the neck of the bottle. It didn’t smell that special. “You want me to drink this?” he said, as Bree continued to watch him expectantly.
“If you like. Alcohol won’t damage you - if anything, it’ll help preserve you.” Bree laughed loudly and slung their arm around Reginald’s shoulders. “Just a small bit, though. We don’t need to invite any... uh, consequences. I just want to know if your sense of taste works.”
“Sure, then.” Reginald raised the bottle to his lips and accidentally spilled its entire contents down his front.
Bree seemed to have frozen.
“Oh,” Reginald said. “I guess I don’t really know... how...”
“That cost me nearly all my treasure,” Bree said weakly.
Reginald wrung alcohol out of his scarf. It tingled slightly where it touched his skin, and seemed to leave him feeling oddly colder than usual. He licked his lips and felt... something, like the ghost of a smell. “I can taste it,” he said, helpfully.
“Good to know,” Bree said dryly. “Oh well. I can always buy another one when I become the royal physician at Court Dorchadas...”
“You’re coming with me?” Reginald said. “Rex didn’t tell me that!”
A huge party of dragons swathed in sheer silks walked past, laughing and beckoning at the assembled soldiers. Reginald watched them go, momentarily distracted.
“Yeah, I’m going to be assigned to you for the foreseeable future,” Bree said. “Even when you get to be a king, I’ll be there. Sewing your arm back on for the hundredth time.”
“It’s not my fault it keeps falling off,” Reginald said sharply, but Bree was already gesturing for him to stay calm.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” they said. “Honestly, when you think about it, I’m getting a really good deal here. Both of us are. Sure pretending to be Serraden is going to suck, but you don’t have to be around the Court dragons every hour of every day. The guy didn’t even have a family, you’ll have loads of free time. It’ll be okay, Regie.”
Reginald’s expression softened. He flicked a few more drops of whiskey off the front of his jacket. “Maybe,” he said.
“Yes, and if you ever feel like you’re losing your identity, you can call me over and I’ll name you,” Bree said. They gazed out at the line of traders, then frowned. “Oh, thank the gods I’m out of cash,” they said, indicating a lurid violet tent halfway down the line.
“What’s that?” Reginald said. “Some kind of fuckin’... dragon bullshit, I bet.”
“Yeah. It’s a gambling tent,” Bree said. “I can never resist those things, oh my gods - let’s just leave that one behind. We don’t want to -”
They broke off and took a sharp step back. The burnt patches of their skin went pale.
Rex had just emerged from the gambling tent. He stood there for a moment, neatening out his feathers. Then he spotted Bree and Reginald.
Reginald took a fumbling step back and almost fell when his metal leg skidded on the wet earth. Rex stormed over, already scowling.
“What exactly is going on here?” he said.
“Chancellor,” Bree said, quickly dipping their head. “I was just taking Regie to the infirmary, for a more in-depth check up.” But there was a strange slur in their voice, and Rex saw through it instantly.
“Are you drunk? And you, creature?” He wrinkled his nose. “Is this healer trying to corrupt you?”
“Um...” Reginald shrugged helplessly. “What does that mean?”
“You stink of it,” Rex said. “Healer, you are dismissed. I’ll find someone else to look after the creature - clearly, you’d rather mess around and damage a valuable asset than do as you are told.”
Bree cast a wide-eyed glance across at Reginald. Then with a shaky salute, they left.
“Now, as for you,” Rex said, beckoning to Reginald. “Don’t think you’re off the hook. I highly doubt the healer carried you out here.”
“Sorry, sir,” Reginald said, “it won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t. I’ve already brought the matter up with the commander, and he agrees with me - now that your education is complete, it’s best to leave you in stasis until we need you.”
Reginald almost slipped again trying to catch up with Rex. “Stasis?”
“’Stasis, sir’,” Rex growled. “Yes, we’re going to keep you in the cold storage until the time comes. That should prevent the need for a constant on-call healer, anyway, you’ll be frozen.”
Dumbstruck, Reginald could only repeat Rex’s words. “Cold storage?”
Rex cast him a nasty smile. “For at least a fortnight. Most likely more. I hope you enjoy your own company, you won’t be seeing any one else until we see fit to defrost you.”
The cold storage was a metal box attached to the back of the sixth cannon like a train compartment. Rex prised the sealed door open and indicated for Reginald to climb inside. Clouds of pale fog drifted into the night. Inside, Reginald saw a dark space packed with ice, runes scratched on the inner walls to keep everything cold. The ice was already full, stacked high with the corpses of livestock and what looked like several magic experiments, vials and cases all frozen along with the rest.
When the door swung shut again behind Reginald, the light cut out for good.
the ballad of sad regie: the disarming
aiteal challenges rezann over his treatment of reginald, whom she considers her property.
unusually incoherent
~
Reginald’s re-education continued as it had begun - with long lectures about Court Dorchadas and Rex’s obvious and very open contempt. Reginald had already learned to discount Rex’s opinion, so he dismissed Rex’s complaints of a “rotting stench” as pure fabrication.
These days, though, Bree hadn’t been allowed near the first cannon. Reginald saw them once a day for a brief check-up, and the rest of his interactions for the day were with Rex, and Rex alone.
This went on until Reginald’s right arm spontaneously fell off in the middle of a lecture.
Rex lowered his notes, his eyebrows slowly rising. Reginald watched the arm, for a moment not quite capable of comprehending what he was seeing. The fingers twitched when he tried to move them, the rotting and severed stump still connected to his body by threads of black smoke.
“Gods almighty,” Rex said, throwing aside his folder. He rose to his feet and stalked away, to the communications tower at the back of the cannon deck. He took the mouthpiece from the console and spoke briefly into it, summoning Bree to the deck.
Reginald bent double and picked up the arm. It had fallen right out of his sleeve. He held it on his lap for safekeeping, glancing around at the mention of Bree’s name.
“Yes, that creature’s falling apart again,” Rex said dismissively. “Well, I don’t know why! You wouldn’t believe the smell, either. Yes, yes, take it up with the Commander if you think so...”
“Is Bree coming?” Reginald said. His voice sounded strange to his ears, wheezy and hollow.
Rex ignored him and replaced the mouthpiece on the receiver.
Reginald turned to keep Rex in his line of sight, and something crunched loudly in his neck. Reginald froze. And although his body remained still, the world began to tip. A strange disconnection groped through his body, snapping the weak threads of smoke, dragging him away until he was no longer in the body, but barely anchored to it, floating above, watching the orange and black guardian crumple like a broken toy.
And then he had no way to see anything at all, since he had lost his form. But he felt, vaguely, the change in location. His anchor point shifting. The renewed pull of the hivemind, drawing him back.
The connection strengthened again after an indeterminate stretch of time. Bree’s voice floated through the air.
“At least let me reattach the arm!”
“Silence.” Aiteal’s voice was always more tangible than other dragons’ voices. Her words resonated. ”You’ll do nothing to it without my permission,” she said.
“Now, listen here,” Rex said, his voice faint and flat after Aiteal’s. “You don’t get to decide what to do with the creature. It belongs to Commander Rezann.”
“No,” Aiteal said. “How is Rezann going to use the parasite if it doesn’t have a body? The creature is mine and I won’t give it up unless the Commander grants me an audience and hears my demands.”
“If that is what you want,” Rex said, sounding vaguely confused. “I’ve already summoned him.”
“Fine.”
Aiteal’s incorporeal talons closed around Reginald, momentarily jolting him back into the hivemind, flooding him with feedback from a hundred other bodies. And then he was back, settling into his own body, his eye blinking open.
Bree leant over him. “Hello?” they said, shining a tiny light into Reginald’s eye.
Reginald tried to draw a breath, but his lungs would not respond. Unable to speak, he simply blinked at Bree and tried to smile. His torn lip pulled strangely in a way he wasn’t used to. Parts of his mouth were bare to the air in a way that they definitely had not been before.
He raised his remaining hand to feel the damage.
“Don’t, Regie,” Bree said, quickly pushing Reginald’s hand back down by his side. “You’ll make things worse.”
“Is it awake?” Rex said, from somewhere in the distance. Reginald’s neck was completely immobile, he couldn’t turn to see.
“Yeah,” Bree said. “That really did a number on his body. Looks like Aiteal stopped covering him with her powers, and she was the one sustaining him...”
“This is unacceptable,” Rex said. “She’s jeopardised our entire operation with this... this petty tantrum of hers...”
“Yes, sir,” Bree said. They moved away for a moment, then returned with a small hand mirror. Mouthing an I’m sorry, they held it out for Reginald’s examination.
Over the past few weeks, his regular regeneratino sessions with Bree had resulted in him looking almost normal, like a slightly scarred and discoloured living person. All that progress had been undone, and then some. The colour had leached out of his skin again, leaving it mottled greenish brown. His eye was plain white, and the shade hole on the left side of his head had cracked and splintered at the edges, further tearing his lip. He didn’t look good. And in a way that was incredible to him, since he’d never really had an opinion on his appearance before.
“I’m not allowed to intervene,” Bree said. “Wait until the Commander gets here, he’s away sorting things out in the Light Division.”
It was a long wait, days long. Reginald had, for most of his life, been imprisoned within the body of a living dragon. Leo had been nice and all, but Reginald’s periods of control had been fleeting. But since then he’d gotten so used to constant control that this sudden immobility was scary. He fidgeted with the edge of the examination table and tried to spot patterns on the cloth roof of the medical corps centre.
His mind drifted, sometimes. He pictured the blue guardian Rezann had shown him, that time on the cannon deck. Sometimes he remembered things that he couldn’t have witnessed back in Clan Fuil Darach. A spade flying out of the darkness at his head; an expanse of bare speckly skin.
Bree came and went on their own duties, but they always had a nice word or two for Reginald when they passed by.
Finally, Rezann returned. Loud yells sounded from outside the tent. Unable to help himself, Reginald attempted to sit up. His head almost parted company with his body; he quickly settled down again.
Bree raced into the ward, smiling fiercely. “He’s back! He says he’ll take Aiteal’s formal complaint immediately.”
Reginald shrugged, with a little difficulty. On a nearby tabletop, his disembodied arm twitched weakly.
“Have you never seen the Commander take a complaint before?” Bree said, their eyes shining. “Oh, it’s a sight to behold. He’s going to beat some obedience into her. It’ll teach her not to question our Commander, that’s certain."
Rex leant into the tent. “Prepare the creature for transport. It’s counts as a piece of evidence for this particular trial.”
Evidence? What did that mean? Reginald had to lie there, gushing smoke anxiously as Bree wheeled him out of the tent. Reginald could only stare at the sky, but he heard the voices of the army, crowds gathering to watch this ‘trial’, whatever that was.
The bed rattled to a halt. Bree clipped a firm plaster brace around Reginald’s neck, allowing him to sit up for the first time in days. Smoke hung gloomily around the mattress, too dense to rise.
He’d been brought to a large empty circular space in the centre of the army, the grass trampled by thousands of footsteps. Crowds ringed the area. Most of the dragons seemed to be staring at Reginald
The sky thundered. Aiteal landed in the circle and folded her wings. Fionnán touched down outside the circle, gesturing for the crowds to part to allow him space. The jeering from the army rose to deafening levels, making Reginald wish he could duck his head, or even turn away. So many were staring at him, and not only could he not speak, but his one remaining hand had no middle finger. He settled for snarling at the crowds instead, baring cracked and broken fangs.
“Easy,” Bree said softly. “They’ll forget all about you when the Commander gets here.”
A roar swelled from the assembled ranks of soldiers. Aiteal wrapped her tail around her forelegs, her back to Reginald, her gaze set dead ahead. She refused to acknowledge him, but he felt the parasite residing in her reach out to him, as if searching for help.
Commander Rezann arrived without fanfare. He just walked into the circle and faced Aiteal, and the crowd fell silent. Sure enough, attention shifted towards him, away from Reginald.
“I’ll take your complaint now,” Rezann said, as if the crowd didn’t exist. He was bare to the waist, and he looked impossibly small in front of Aiteal’s ridgeback form.
Aiteal pointed aggressively around at Reginald with one razor-sharp thumb scythe. “That creature belongs to me. I won’t have you imposing your designs on it without my consent. Until you treat me as your equal, I’ll cut it off from my support.”
“You’re one of my generals,” Rezann said, his emotionless eyes flickering across to Reginald briefly. “To suggest that I need your permission is laughable. If you feel you can be Commander, you can challenge me for it. Otherwise, you achieve nothing by this.”
Aiteal snarled, planting her forepaws in the churned earth. “Your general? I’m your equal. That was our agreement.”
“It’s not my problem that you’ve invented this role for yourself,” Rezann said flatly. “If you think you’re my equal, then challenge me.”
Aiteal hesitated, her tail lashing. “I command an army, too, Rezann. Don’t forget that.”
“This is the best bit,” Bree whispered. “They think they can beat him. It’s awesome.”
“I can take it from you,” Rezann said. He still didn’t sound remotely interested in Aiteal, or anything she was saying. It was as if he was disciplining another minor member of the cannon squad, or a janitor.
“I dare you to try!” Aiteal spread her wings threateningly. Her spines quivered upright on her back with a sinister rattling sound. Reginald felt the tug as she summoned her disembodied shade spirits.
“Here it comes,” Bree said, their voice incandescent with glee.
Aiteal drew herself up. Reginald flinched, his name fading, his connection to his body wavering again.
Rezann held out a hand. With a supremely bored expression, he closed his fist on thin air, then pulled back. Aiteal crashed to the ground as if she’d been knocked by a hurricane. She struggled, gouging up tracks of earth, and Rezann approached. He drew back his other fist.
She rose, wings spreading, but she was too slow. He punched her full in the snout. A crack echoed around the arena. Aiteal collapsed.
The tug faded away. Rezann gathered energy and, without so much as changing his expression, ripped the control of the undead army out of Aiteal’s grasp.
Air flooded into Reginald’s lungs. Fionnán gave a low snarl, his voice carrying over the exultant crowd, but he didn’t strike at Rezann. Perhaps he knew better.
Aiteal rose and cringed away from the Commander, her eyes wide.
“You can leave now,” Rezann said. “I don’t need your assistance any more.”
And with that, he turned to go.
the ballad of sad regie: the sadness begins
regi finally finds out what rezann wants with him
~
The deck of cannon one had started to seem almost like home. And Reginald wasn’t supposed to feel like that at all, since according to Bree his home was somewhere in the edge of space with the rest of the Shade’s greater body.
“I’ve never been there,” he said. “It’s not my home.”
“You can’t have originated anywhere else,” Bree said in an even tone. They’d just finished a thorough examination of Reginald’s smoke-bleeding eye socket and were still unstrapping the protective gauntlets from their hands. As Reginald poked curiously at the smoother, less-cracked edges of his eye socket, Bree dumped the heavy platinum gauntlets on the table.
“No, I came from Leo,” Reginald said. He waved wisps of smoke out his eye, staring balefully at Bree.
“You’re an ageless Shade fragment, Regi.” Bree unhooked their surgical mask and flicked it into a nearby bin. “You could be older than this entire planet. And I’m sure Leo is not older than Sornieth.”
Reginald continued to frown, but he had to accept the truth in Bree’s words. The angry gush of smoke became a thin trickle.
“Moving on,” Bree said, “your... Shade hole seems to be doing fine, I haven’t seen any signs of deterioration.”
“Is that really what we’re calling it?” Reginald said. “Fucking. Shade hole.”
Bree laughed lightly, stretching their arms over their head. They too seemed to be getting used to the relative luxury of the cannon deck, judging by the way they sprawled comfortably on the sofa like they owned it. Reginald didn’t really understand comfort, but he could admit that the soft cushions were more secure than the bare ground.
“So once we’ve determined that we can close up the... eye socket without causing you harm, we’ll get that done,” Bree said. They yawned. “I reckon you’d be very handsome without that whole thing on your face.”
“What?” Reginald lowered his hands from his eye again. He couldn’t help but prod at the raw edges, the smooth skin that had been cracked before the healing session.
“Yeah, seriously,” Bree said. “This Serraden guy must have been a looker.”
“No,” Reginald said, “what do you mean? He had eyes - two of them, allegedly - so of course he could look at stuff.”
Bree grinned. “Figure of speech, Regi. As for what I meant... uh, you remember when you told me about Leo’s crush on that tundra guy?”
“Oh. That.” Reginald curled his torn lip. “Don’t involve me in your dragon bullshit.”
“Noted,” Bree said. Their grin finally faltered as their gaze slid aside, to the window in the deck door. Reginald watched it, scowling when Rex appeared in the glass. A moment later, Rex was inside, clutching his infernal logbook to his chest.
“Oh, great,” Reginald said, “it’s this pri-”
“I can hear you, you realise,” Rex said, tapping the book admonishingly off Reginald’s head as he strode past.
“Er,” Bree said, lowering their eyes, “with respect, sir, try not to damage him. There isn’t much I can do to fix it if you break his horns.”
Rex laughed, settling into the second sofa opposite Reginald and Bree. “There’s nothing there to break. And I’d hardly call those things horns - let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Reginald reached up to touch the twisted tip of one of his horns. He didn’t understand what Rex meant. Frowning slightly, he hunched his shoulders and sat back again. What was wrong with his horns?
“The Commander won’t be joining us today,” Rex said, “so you have me. I’m going to examine you on everything I’ve taught you these past few days.”
“Why?” Reginald said, folding his arms. “I don’t care about Court Dorchadas! Why do I have to know everything about it?”
“I would have thought that was obvious,” Rex said. He didn’t properly answer, though, letting his book fall open on his lap. “Can you tell me what position the dragon called ‘Aster’ held at the Court?”
“Head mage.” Reginald refused to look straight at Rex.
“Stop that,” Rex said.
“Stop what?” Reginald demanded. “Answering your questions? Gladly!”
“You are producing too much of that smoke,” Rex said, “and you’re pouting. You have to be composed. Like a king.”
“I’m obviously not a king.”
“You will be,” Rex said, his voice growing harsh. “And it’s my privilege to prepare you for the task. Healer, don’t think I’m letting you off the hook here. The more you address him with that made-up nickname, the less useful he becomes to us.”
Bree nodded, bowing slightly to minimise their large frame.
“Made-up... nickname?” Reginald stared at Bree, then at Rex. “What nickname?”
Rex sighed. “’Reginald’, or whatever it is that you call yourself. You know, we might as well get you used to answering to ‘Serraden’ now, before that other name sticks.”
“Yes, sir,” Bree said. “But I must point out that the Commander himself calls Reg - er, calls him by that nickname.”
“And how else would he get the creature to trust him?” Rex said.
The two dragons were talking like Reginald wasn’t in the room. He shook, smoke pooling around his head and shoulders. As Rex reduced him to a creature, Reginald felt again the distant pull of the hivemind.
The door crashed open, shocking Reginald out of his mounting panic. Rezann marched inside, speaking into one of the smaller, handheld mirrors.
“Repeat yourself, General,” he said, taking no heed of the room’s other occupants. He fixed the mirror on the front windows of the deck, allowing those on the sofa to see what he was looking at. A dark female skydancer was reflected in the mirror, saluting with her claws spread over her forehead.
“Commander, I assure you we will not be delayed for longer than a couple of days,” she said. “But we won’t make it to Court Dorchadas by our projected timeline.”
Rezann dragged a hand through his hair. “What exactly happened?”
“We are on the edge of the Ashfall Waste,” the general said. “Our usual route north is through a narrow gorge, we own the clan that guards it. Or so I thought. They refused to let us through today. Said they wouldn’t be pushed around any more. Say the word, Commander, and I’ll bring the full might of the Light Division down on-”
“Wait, Fain,” Rezann said, raising a hand. “Did they give any other reason?”
“No,” Fain said. “It makes no sense, Commander. This clan has been letting us through for years without argument. Why would they rebel now?”
“I have a suspicion,” Rezann said. He paused a moment, the tiny hints of emotion fading from his harsh face. “Kill them all. Raze their stronghold to the ground. No one can know of this... incident.”
“Yes, sir!” Fain saluted again, then the scrying mirror shimmered and began reflecting Rezann once more.
Silence hung in the room for another few seconds. Reginald shifted to the side, out of the cloud of smoke that had begun to obscure his vision.
“Rex, when you’re finished here I want those reports from the Icefields again,” Rezann said. He faced the group sitting on the sofas, his face blank of expression.
“Yes, sir,” Rex said, with a tiny salute. “It seems we can’t install Serraden on the throne fast enough.”
“That’s not my n-” Reginald began, his voice cracking, but Rezann spoke over him.
“Indeed. The longer that false queen remains alive, the worse these incidents will become,” Rezann said. “It might be worth sending Serraden on ahead - but then he’d be devoid of military support... no, we’re stuck. Keep training him, Rex. We’ll stick to our current plans.”
“That’s not my name!” Reginald said desperately. “That’s not me, that’s not who I am - Bree, tell them - tell them, Bree-” He caught Bree’s arm and clung on for support.
Bree didn’t speak, though they did cast him a deeply apologetic look.
“Silence!” Rex rose sharply to his feet. “Good gods, what disgraceful whinging. Have you any idea how many dragons would kill for a chance at the throne? Of course you don’t; you’re no more a dragon than this book is, and that’s why you need to listen to us. We don’t put up with your company for our own pleasure, I hope you realise.”
Reginald turned, seeking support from Rezann, but the commander had drifted away again, clearly uninterested.
“Listen to me, Your Majesty,” Rex said. “If you don’t comply with us we can just as easily replace you with some other Shade fragment. You are expendable, but your body is not. Understand?”
Fear jolted through Reginald, making him shake again. More smoke coiled around his head, almost hiding Rex from sight. Slowly, stiffly, he nodded.
“Very well. From now on we won’t be using that silly nickname,” Rex said. “Now please stop that awful smoke. You’re a king. Act like it.”
*sends bree a smooch*
stop you’re really making them blush
oh btw this is Bree
the pearlcatcher once known as ‘Dreamer’. Bree doesn’t actually have crackle; their body was badly burned during a routine artillery exercise that went wrong (when they were a part of Rezann’s cannon squad). during Bree’s recovery, they discovered their ability to heal and take away their own pain, and eventually they got drafted into the medical corps
Bree is lovely of course, the first dragon to treat Reginald as an individual worthy of respect. because of Reginald’s obvious attachment to them, Bree got the job as Regi’s official handler/medical assistant. Bree is fascinated by the shade and - importantly - not afraid of it like most healers are (though out of necessity they must wear those metal gauntlets when dealing with Regi’s smoking eye-hole)
no gijinka design as of yet but they are quite tall and strong (since they used to be a soldier) but also they like to dress in silks and lace, they are a treasure.
seven out of ten shade parasites consistently fail the mirror test
regi’s formal re-education begins
“Okay, I think we’re done here! Try it.”
Bree leant away, ushering Reginald down from the operating table. Reginald sat up, for a moment only able to marvel at how free the movement was. His neck was still stiff, but nothing like as bad as it had been before.
He ran a hand over the ridged neck brace, amazed at how sensitive his fingers had become. The skin was softer, too, and the bad smell was mostly gone. When he slid down off the bed, he half expected his body to start breathing all on its own.
Bree slid an arm under Reginald’s shoulders, propping him up as he committed his weight to the prosthetic leg. The metal joints clinked gently, depressing smoothly as he took his first step.
“Good?” Bree carefully disengaged and let Reginald stand on his own.
“Yeah, it’s good!” he said, a shocked grin appearing on his face. “Wow - dear gods, I’d had no idea my foot had gotten so fuckin’...” He broke off as his balance slipped. Catching the end of the table for support, he righted himself. A sudden flash of guilt struck him - he hadn’t known that getting used to a new limb would be so difficult. What exactly had he condemned Leo to?
“I tried cleaning up the hole in your skull,” Bree said, “but I didn’t want to get too close to the Shade. Hope you understand.” They pulled back the hangings that served as the medical tent’s entrance, beckoning.
“It’s fine, I get it,” Reginald said. He limped out of the tent in Bree’s wake, one arm out for balance. Smoke trailed the air in his wake.
“I suppose I’d better get used to it, though,” Bree said with an apologetic laugh. “I’m to be your handler, for the forseeable future. Commander’s orders. He thinks - and I agree - that you probably need a healer on stand-by at all times.”
That was probably wise, considering what had happened to Reginald’s right foot. If he’d noticed sooner, before it had fallen off, he could probably have had Bree fix it.
Together they moved through the camp. Reginald had an appointment at the first cannon’s aiming platform, which was where the Commander spent his days. At the head of the line, the first cannon was hung with more of Rezann’s banners, its base and wheels swarming with its team. Fionnán had been harnessed to the front, pulling with the strength of four guardians. It made a formiddable sight.
“How am I supposed to get up there?” Reginald said suddenly, forced to lean back to keep the distant aiming platform in his sights. At least he didn’t have to worry about his head falling off any more. “I can’t climb any ladders with this fucking thing strapped to my leg.”
Bree frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe someone can fly you - oh!”
A narrow, rectangular platform was descending the side of the cannon, moving along a vertical cable. Rex stood on it, his arms folded and his magenta eyes fixed on Reginald.
“Wow, okay,” Reginald said, “so why doesn’t the sixth cannon get one of those things? Those ladders were bullshit. Not all of us can fly!”
“Does it matter?” Rex said, as the platform came to a smooth halt about a foot off the ground. He opened a gate in the safety railings. “You’re assigned to the first cannon now. Get in the lift, you’re already late.”
With an indignant frown, Reginald joined Rex on the platform. The frown melted away soon enough as the platform began to rise, however - Reginald leant against the railings and stared as the ground dropped away, the soldiers and cannon crew shrinking to nothing. Was this what flying was like? He’d always climbed the sixth cannon with his back to the rest of the world, so he hadn’t seen anything like this before.
In line with the rest of the first cannon, the aiming platform was grand. Covered rather than open to the air, it had been decorated like a palace - or, at least, what Reginald assumed a palace to look like. Lots of nice furniture and pretty colours. Windows lined the circular walls, affording infinite views over the plains of western Dragonhome.
Commander Rezann stood by a circular table. A map lay open on it, marked with tiny runestones.
Bree saluted. Reginald glanced from side to side, not totally sure what to do. Aiteal was by the front of the room, gazing straight out at Fionnán’s distant back. She gave no hint that she’d even noticed Reginald.
Rex elbowed Reginald in the side. “Salute, creature. You are in the presence of our commander.”
Reginald hastily copied Bree. Commander Rezann didn’t even look up.
“Bring the mirror,” the commander said, sweeping the runestones to the edge of the map.
Rex hurried away, returning moments later from the back store-room with a covered full-length mirror.
Rezann faced Reginald. The commander’s hard face as as expressionless as ever. Reginald tried not to look into that awful third eye.
“Over here, Reginald,” Rezann said, beckoning.
Bree pushed encouragingly at Reginald. He stumbled forwards, willing his new leg not to fail him.
“Look at this,” Rezann said, taking the mirror from Rex. The white cover fell to the ground, revealing... well, just a normal mirror. Reginald peered at it. Two people were reflected in the glass - a tall pearlcatcher marked all over as if they had been burned. That was Bree. The other individual was shorter and slighter, sickly orange, spattered black. Reginald hadn’t seen that one before.
He frowned at the orange dragon, then turned around, trying to spot him. But there was no one beside Bree but Reginald himself.
“Who’s that?” he said. “Is he - is he behind me?”
Rex looked as if he wanted to strangle something. “That’s you, you stupid creature.”
“That’s me?” Reginald leant closer, entranced. “Oh - yes, he has the same leg as me. I get it now.” He waved at the dragon in the mirror. The reflection moved in sync with him. “Wow! We didn’t have these in Clan Fuil Darach.”
Rex glanced helplessly at Aiteal. “Surely the parasites can be more intelligent than this?”
“Fuck you, Rex,” Reginald murmured, still watching the reflection. He was close enough now to finally see the details of the alleged hole in his left eye socket. Wisps of smoke rose around his head.
Rezann stood aside, holding the mirror out so that he too appeared in the reflective surface. “This is is your body,” he said. “Look very carefully. Does this man mean anything to you? Do you recognise him?”
“No,” Reginald said. “I’ve never seen him before. That’s probably a good thing, right? Since he’s dead.” Although he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was supposed to have yellow eyes, instead of white.
“His name was Serraden,” Rezann said. “From Clan Valero in the Sunbeam Ruins, allegedly, though even I can’t be sure of his exact origins. He was, until recently, a king.” He turned the mirror away and indicated the map. “This is a map of Dragonhome. Which part of the map feels most important to you?”
Reginald approached the table. He hesitated a moment, then pointed. “Here.”
“Why?” Rezann said. He spoke more quietly than Aiteal or Rex ever had, but Reginald didn’t even consider messing around or disobeying the commander.
“That’s where my old clan lives,” Reginald said.
“Clan Fuil Darach, correct?” Rezann said, pausing to glance at one of the pages of notes on the edge of the table.
“Yes, Leo lives there. My old host.”
“Is that all?”
Why would Rezann even ask that? There wasn’t anything else in the world that Reginald cared about. He hadn’t even met most of Clan Fuil Darach, anyway, since Leo had been confined for the duration of his possession. But there was something else. Something important.
“There’s a guardian,” Reginald said slowly.
Rezann almost frowned. His bearing grew sharper, more intense.
“I don’t like them,” Reginald said, his gaze sliding out of focus.
“Describe them,” Rezann said.
“Blue,” Reginald said. Smoke had begun to obscure the map from his eye. He stepped back, feeling strange and wrong, mismatched and ill-fitting. Was Aiteal doing this to him?
“All right,” Rezann said. “Sit down, Reginald. Recover. I have business elsewhere, so I will next see you tomorrow. Rex will tend to you now.” He set the mirror against the table and strode away without another word.
Reginald sat on one of the sofas, momentarily perturbed at the sensation of sinking into the soft padding.
Rex sat opposite him, a stack of notes in his lap. “You’d better listen up, creature. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Bree settled down beside Reginald, concern on their face. Reginald nodded, taking solace in Bree’s calm presence.
“Now,” Rex said. “I’m going to teach you about the founding and history of Court Dorchadas. Pay attention.”
