A Destiny of Dragons (Tales From Verania 2)

He sighed. “Of course that’s what you took from that.”

“What else was there to take? Enlighten me.”

His face did that thing again where he was frustrated. “I just…. Sam, with all of this. This prophecy. This… your grandmother, the star dragon, all the other dragons.” He hesitated. Then, “Myrin. I mean, have you thought all of this through? What the repercussions are? What this could mean for you? For us? For Verania? Or are you running away half-cocked like you always do?”

“Half-cocked? What the hell? And I’m not running. From anything.”

“You ran from Morgan and Randall,” he said, and I couldn’t help but bristle at that. Only because he was right. “And don’t tell me you didn’t. We both know what happened. We both know the only reason we’re here right now is because you’re angry. I don’t blame you for that. I don’t know that I’d be any different. But that’s why—”

“Wrong,” I said coolly. “We’re here right now because apparently something or someone saw fit to make sure I get screwed no matter what I want for myself. That if it’s not one thing, it’s another. I’m here because there is a man coming who could take away everything I love. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen. And if I have to take the word of a fucking crazy old lady that I’ve never met before who claims I have a destiny written in the stars, then I will. Everything I thought I knew, everything about who I’m supposed to be has been a lie. This is the last thing I can do to regain control. And by gods, I’m going to do it.”

“Really,” he said, taking a step back and shaking his head. “Everything has been a lie. That’s how you see it. So I suppose Gary and Tiggy wouldn’t die for you. That your parents don’t worship the ground you walk on. That the King of Verania doesn’t think you’re one of the greatest things he’s ever known. That two of the most powerful wizards in the world don’t bend over backwards to keep you safe.” He laughed, but it was a harsh sound. “That I don’t love you with everything I am. Because why would that be true?”

“Ryan—”

“You should go to Vadoma,” he said, looking over my shoulder. “Alone. Like you wanted. She doesn’t seem like the type who’s okay with waiting. But that’s okay. Since you can handle yourself and all.”

He brushed past me without another word.

And I didn’t even try and stop him.

Chapter 14: The King of Sorrow

“I’VE ASKED Ruv to join us,” Vadoma Tshilaba said. “I feel it prudent to have his input. He is well-versed in the desert dragon.”

I nodded but didn’t speak. We sat in a darkened room, the windows covered in thick curtains, only a sliver of sunlight slipping through. The room felt warm, humid, and it wasn’t helped by the numerous flickering candles she had lit in all corners. We were in the very topmost carriage, having walked up the staircase that wrapped around the outside unti

l we reached a bloodred door. The room itself was smaller than I expected it to be, stuffed to the gills with books and trinkets and skulls of animals I didn’t recognize. I could make out a large ornate desk on the other side near a block of windows, the top littered with sage and rosemary and thyme, all of which added to the heavy stagnant perfume that hung around us. There was a stone fireplace, the charred remains of something inside, blackened and cracked.

Vadoma sat across from me in a high-back purple chair. Strings of beads hung off the sides, her feet barely scraping the floor. Her hair was pulled back in a brightly colored scarf. The dress she wore was made up of reds and greens and blues. She had a white shawl wrapped around her shoulders, the fringes of which lay on her arms and lap.

Ruv stood next to her, wearing the sheerest of fabrics for trousers. He was backlit by that sliver of light, and I swore I could see right through them. Not that I was looking. Because I wasn’t.

“If you insist,” I said.

“Your travels were safe?”

“If you’re asking if I was attacked by Morgan’s brother, then no. If you’re asking me if Randall’s cornerstone appeared out of nowhere, then no.”

“You’re angry,” she said.

I laughed. “Lady, you don’t know me.”

“Perhaps. But I do know my daughter. And I knew her when she was your age or thereabouts. She had the same look on her face. The same fire in her eyes. That is how I know.”

That startled me, but I tried not to let it show. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“I’m not here to be analyzed.”

“And why do you think I’m analyzing you?”

“Gee,” I said wryly. “Where would I have gotten an idea like that.”

She chuckled. It was a soft, husky sound. “I like you,” she admitted. “I didn’t expect that. You have a… reputation.”

“Do I?”