The Blood's Flame (The Dragons of Flareia Book 1)

Chapter 31 - Tommél

           

The Avalonian Isle of Phae

26th Year of the Ocean

4th Moon

Tommél's eyes took in the room for the umpteenth time, but it never became any less drab. He should have expected it, really; after all, the Isle of Phae was the furthest Avalonian island from the capital, and with a population of a mere seventy-three people, it hadn't been built to look extravagant.

Then again, very little of Avalona looked extravagant to him anymore.

The wooden walls of the building – it was a hut, if he was being honest – were aged, the grain filled with sand washed up by the ocean or blown up in the wind. The metal lanterns overhead were rusted, the wicks so low the light continuously flickered manically. As a King – well, almost King – one would have expected him to hold meetings somewhere a lot nicer, but this was a half-way point. The closest thing Avalona had to a border with another country.

The guards by the door – its hinges so rusted it squeaked every time the harsh wind battered it – kept glancing at him in the corner of their eyes. It was a reaction Tommél was slowly growing used to. He knew part of it was his hair – the Avalonians were always staring at it, asking where his shells were, why he cut it. He always shrugged off their questions. He would allow them to braid their history into their hair, but his was just that – history. And now he needed to create his future in a country that was obsessed with the past.

He shuffled impatiently in his chair, crossing his ankles. He tried to pretend the movement didn't pain him, but he hissed between his teeth as the fabric of his trousers grazed the skin of his calves beneath, as muscles he didn't even realise he had pulled at the damaged skin of his torso. He knew the Ignisian Dragonheir had been holding back her flames, knew that if she hadn't, he would have been a pile of ashes at the base of the Coral Throne, but that didn't stop him from cursing her name every time he moved. The healers at the Palace of Sand insisted it was just soft tissue damage, that it might not even scar once it was healed, but that wasn't the point.

She had wanted him to suffer, and had wanted him alive to remember it. He didn't know her, didn't know what had passed between her and Olivier, but he knew that much. And she would pay for it with her life.

He was still debating the ways in which he could make the Ignisian Dragonheir suffer when the door screeched open, the guards bowing deeply. Deeper, he realised with a grimace, than they bowed to him.

With narrowed eyes, he assessed the woman before him. Her skin was hauntingly pale, as if she had been dead for hours. He could see the purple veins running up her arms and her throat – the only skin not covered by the white lace of her dress. Her hair was only a fraction of a shade darker than her skin, a curtain of white that had been twisted and piled atop her head by a flurry of silver and sapphire pins. She wore a simple crown of white gold and sapphires; its swirling patterns a depiction of the wind. Her eyes were a deep, arresting blue, and they were appraising him just as critically as he was appraising her.

She was beautiful, he had to admit, but he also had to acknowledge that there could be such thing as too much beauty. The haunting image of the Bellus Queen was proof of that.

He cleared his throat. "I'm glad you arrived safely, Your Majesty." He muttered.

Her eyes were still narrowed as she assessed him further. "It was quite the journey, yes." She agreed.

"I was quite surprised when you asked to meet with me personally." He said, his hands clasped in his lap.

"Yes, well," she swept a stray lock of hair back into place, "I have a proposal to make."

He raised his eyebrows. "Would this happen to have anything to do with your failed attempt at assassinating the other Venti Queens?"

A sly smile stretched across her lips. "Just like your failed attempt to kill the other Ivenyas?"

"Call it what you will." He sighed. "The old King is dead. I hold the throne. My traitorous sister aside, it was quite the success."

"The Gratus Queen is dead. The child Queen is gone with the wind. I hold the throne and more power than any Venti Queen ever before me. My plan was quite the success as well."

Tommél had to admit, he was impressed. "Are you aware," he asked, "that I was planned to become engaged to the child Queen of Sophos?"

"I had heard the rumours, yes."

"Then how do you propose to repay me," he went on, "for doing away with my bride?"

The sly smile grew. "This, Your Highness, is where my proposal comes into play."

He forced himself not to react to her addressing him incorrectly. He knew her words were chosen with purpose. He may not have been crowned, but he was the King of Avalona. She would do well to remember it. "Then pray tell," he said. "What is your proposal?"

"I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that Northern Flareia is in turmoil, just as I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that the both of us are to blame."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of the fact." He muttered.

"Though it is interesting that both of us ended up in very similar situations at the same time. We were both denied of power, both rose to take it back, and now we've run into trouble which led us together. It's almost poetic, is it not?"

Tommél uncrossed his ankles to cross them the opposite way. "I wouldn't know. I've never been a fan of literature."

"And yet, I hear you discovered the incredible secrets libraries can hold."

He glanced up at her. "News travels fast even without Zero the All-Seeing Owl, apparently."

She shrugged. "A Queen has her sources."

"What is your proposal, Your Majesty?"

"Please," she said, finally wandering over and taking the chair opposite him, "call me Alayah. You will need to, anyway, if you agree to my proposal."

Tommél froze. It was his mother's name. Likely with a different, Venti spelling, but the pronunciation was the same. He had felt nothing as he drew the dagger across his father's throat. Felt nothing as he continuously threatened Olivier's life. But he had collapsed beside his mother's body, her head resting on a cushion as her unseeing eyes stared across the ocean, and his heart had broken for her. It was a necessity, he knew, if he wanted to succeed and rule a new Flareia, but part of him would always wish he could have saved his mother.

He cleared his throat. "What is your proposal, Alayah?" He asked again.

Her eyes sparkled at his use of her name. "What you need now is an ally – someone more than that foolish Umbrassi Emperor." She added, when he opened his mouth to argue. "You were promised a Venti Queen who was taken away, but now I offer you a more beneficial union with a much more powerful queen."

He raised his eyebrows. "I admit, when you said you had a proposal for me, I did not expect a marriage proposal."

She let out a laugh. "But what a powerful marriage it would be, Your Highness." She smiled. "We could unite Northern Flareia, you could have access to all the knowledge and secrets hidden away in the Venti Library – which is much more extensive than the Umbrassi one, if you know where to look, and I can help you get rid of the Umbrassi Emperor so he can't even oppose your plans."

"A tempting offer," he murmured, drumming his fingers on his leg. "But can I trust you, Queen Alayah?"

Her sly smile returned. "Trust is for fools."

Tommél's smile mirrored hers. "Oh, I'm done being the fool."