Page 6 of Foundling

Attalus smiled with all his teeth. “Far be it from me to defy our beloved anax.”

Leaning forward, Chrysanthe sniffed at him delicately before her nose wrinkled in disgust. “You smell like bad wine and worse whore.”

“I didn’t realize you were a connoisseur of either, dear sister.”

Chrysanthe scowled, making the bronze scales around her face bunch. The second daughter of their father’s second queen, Chrysanthe was the strongest of her sisters and the least fun. Bold, brash, and without a sense of humor, Attalus found it difficult to be in her presence and not immediately grow bored.

Attalus had no doubt that Chrysanthe, on her part, fantasized about the day she could personally strangle all her half-brothers—starting with him.

“You’re going to show up like that?” She threw a scornful look up and down his naked body.

Dragons didn’t much care about nudity; of all the races, they were probably the least concerned over modesty, after sirens. Still, there was technically supposed to be some state of decorum within the palace.

Look right and proper to get stabbed in the back.

“I just got here, and there hasn’t been a convenient kilt laying about for me.”

A scoff dripping with disgust preceded him as Chrysanthe turned to continue up the Pinnacle. Attalus followed behind—at a safe distance, of course. Of all his half-sisters, Chrysanthe was the most dangerous. Nearly as strong as Araxos and as vicious as her scheming mother, it was little wonder Chrysanthe Principida had been passed over for a senior position in the army. Araxos would’ve been mad to give her such power, and Chrysanthe was at best naïve to have thought she’d ever be given it.

She’d been insufferably cranky ever since.

If it were up to Attalus, he’d have given their half-sister some other position; one that’d take her far, far away and keep her busy for a few decades. Particularly one that separated her from that snake of a mother of hers, Clymestra. So long as Chrysanthe and her twin sisters stayed in the orbit of their mother, who not only nursed her own grudge but fostered one in her strongest daughter as well, there was little hope for harmony between the mad king’s progeny.

Of course, that was mostly the fault of Diometrios Anax himself. Having two or three diadochos was trouble enough, but ten? As well as five illegitimate brats? Unthinkable. Unheard of. It was as if Diometrios conspired to cause as much chaos and suffering from beyond the grave as he had in life.

Really, such a large royal family was nothing but a curse.

That only two of them had been slain so far was nothing short of miraculous.

Attalus had barely cleared the impossibly tall silver-tooled glass doors into the great hall before a delicate throat clearing caught his ear. Quick hands then fluttered about his waist, tying a simple kilt around him.

He chuckled as Anamache pouted up at him. “You’re incorrigible,” she scolded.

Her twin Eudora elbowed her in the side, winking up at him. “Told you. Pay up.”

Two gold coins exchanged hands, a charming ritual Attalus knew the twins to keep between themselves. He suspected they were the same handful of coins traded back and forth in little bets, taken since the time they were small.

It was a little way of minimizing the horrors of life under their father.

Without a twin of his own, Attalus had to settle for fucking and drinking his way through it.

He had Theron, his elder brother, of course. At least, he assumed Theron was still alive. Attalus hadn’t seen him since he took their halfling sister Briseis and fled north before the mad king’s wrath could catch up with them.

Not that Theron had much patience for Attalus’s jokes, either, but being full-brothers, they had to stick together.

At least, they did.

Forcing a smile, Attalus turned his thoughts away from Theron. Thinking of him would only put Attalus in a bad mood.

“It always brightens my day to see such flowers in bloom as you, sisters.” Chucking both their chins with a knuckle, Attalus asked, “Do we know yet why we’ve been summoned?”

Eudora rolled her eyes. “Of course not. And don’t sweet-talk me, baby brother, I know your tricks.”

Attalus’s smile warmed. Being the youngest of the diadochos came with a few rare perks. Everyone generally liked him—or at least humored him. They were tolerant if not charmed by his lackadaisical existence. The stalla princeps was barely better than a jester, nothing to worry about. The royal family’s pet that could occasionally say something amusing.

“But you, sister, are as sweet as—”

“Why do you indulge him?” grumped Chrysanthe, taking up position at her sister’s side.