Page 57 of Fated Flames: Volume Two
But not too much.
To his credit, he doesn’t sulk over his discomfort or pretend he isn’t in pain. I know he is; I used my first form’s strength just as I felt him resisting me with his own. He rubs a moment at his strained neck before beginning to speak.
“I did briefly lead the wyverns. That is true. But our customs for ruling are the same as yours, and I was defeated in combat several years ago now.” His hands, resting on his thighs, briefly tighten. “I have played the role the victor assigned me ever since.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “Which is?”
The hands now open. “What you see. A sneering, conniving leader who sows discord with his neighbors.”
“If it is only a role you play,” Serah says, “then you play it well.”
I wonder if she sees the proud smirks of her guards. Even Tallin grins.
“I fear that isn’t a compliment.”
“It isn’t,” she confirms.
The wyvern bends at the waist and bows low. “I beg you to forgive my words when we first met. They were vulgar, and they were not my choice.”
I don’t want to hear Serah forgive him, so I demand, “If you fought this so-called ruler and lost, then tell us who it is.”
“I can’t,” he says. “I couldn’t seehim.”
“And why not?”
“It was a moonless night.”
My chest swells with outrage. My princess indulges him, and this is how he repays her? By spewing lies a child would know better than to try?
“Even I can see on a dark night, Lord Tallin,” Serah says.
He shifts. “Of course. If one of your guards wouldn’t mind bringing a light closer to my eyes…”
Her guard Yarl is standing closest, and when she nods to him, he retrieves a lantern from where it hangs. I’m pleased to see the rest of his flight shift closer to Serah.
“Water is scarce, Tallin,” I warn. “If you make me waste any putting out a fire you caused, I’ll have your head.” One fling of his arm could set the tent alight.
“I understand.”
Yarl bends to bring the lantern to Tallin’s face, and I watch as one of the wyvern’s pupils narrows and the other doesn’t. As the light flickers over the unresponsive eye, a pale line bisecting the pupil glints back at me.
“A fledgling injury,” Tallin says quietly. “One I’ve been able to keep from everyone but my wingmates.”
Dragons and wyverns have been enemies as far back as the oldest of my kind can remember, and still, there’s a respectful silence when Yarl withdraws the lantern. We may be enemies, but we are all warriors. At the very least, Tallin has lost his depth perception and exposed a tremendous vulnerability. I cross my arms and regard him.
“How did you win the right to rule then?”
He shows a trace of annoyance at this. “My ears are still sound, as well as my nose.”
“Then I’ll ask how you couldn’t smell your opponent.”
There’s a reason dragons say you can smell a wyvern flying downwind in a sandstorm—there’s a sharp tang to their scent, like hot metal or lightning. Tallin’s scent is a distinct coppery one. Seltzen’s was like iron. The wyverns likely grow accustomed to their smells, as everyone does, but to ignore them entirely? Impossible.
“I could smell him,” Tallin says, “but I never have again.”
“Do you not meet with him?”
“He communicates by letter and rarely.”
