A Time For Dragons

Chapter Nine -- Madara

Madara woke with the dawn and immediately felt that peculiar sense of unease which accompanied waking in a strange place. Gerath's warm arms were so familiar they were almost enough to lull her back to sleep. Even with what he'd done, somehow she felt safe with him. Maybe it was his Dragon Blood that caused all the problems between them. She trailed her fingers over his jaw, and though he didn't awaken he did tilt toward her touch. Taking care not to wake him, she untangled their limbs and stood pulling the robe tighter about her, attempting to shut out the cold. Only smoldering embers remained in the hearth, and her clothes were still slightly damp and cold.

Tossing the wet garments aside she focused on the pile of clothes beside the chaise. Gerath had fetched for her a fine fur lined red cloak, finely embroidered chemise and thick blood red wool kirtle, he always said she looked best in red. Her lips curled upward in a smile as she dressed and put the folded robe on the edge of the desk.

"It suits you, you should keep it." Vhaeryn smiled up at her, lids heavy with sleep. He too had changed in the night and wore a blood red leather jerkin embroidered with black dragons, his pants were black leather and at his waist was a belt with little dragons in black tempered metal. On the belt was a dagger with a dragon's head on the hilt with rubies for eyes. It seemed the sort of thing a Caeraxian King would own, and for all she knew it was. Amongst the nobles, even lesser ones like herself, owning a relic from a fallen house was a great honor.

"What?" She remembered he'd said something but couldn't recall any of it.

"The robe, such finery suits you."

She pet her fingers through the soft fur before looking up at him. "Once maybe."

"No, I think it still does. You just don't want it to."

Nodding a little she took a step back and opened the wardrobe, looking for shoes. Finding a pair of slippers too large for her feet she slipped them on all the same. She'd need a new pair of boots, furlined since the winds had already turned so far south.

"Was there an apothecary or physician at this castle?"

"Yes, I believe there was an apothecary. At least there was a decade ago." He stood and glanced her over. "I'll go with you."

They left the room together, so much seemed frozen in time. A book sat in the sitting room flipped over with its page held as though its reader would come back. Not too far from the rooms was a body in the hall which could be none other than the Magistrix of Lyndaen, judging by her clothes. The body couldn't tell Madara any secrets being rat eaten and several months old. The smell, rank enough to water their eyes, drew no comment from either of them as they stepped passed. Vhaeryn led the way, giving her ample time to admire his form. Bodies, some crushed by fallen stones, others half melted by dragon fire littered the floor amongst the tapestries, paintings and elaborate gilded fixtures. Madara stroked a void in the char on a wall shaped like a young child. Direct dragon fire left nothing behind. She curled her hand against her palm, and glanced over at Vhaeryn who seemed utterly unmoved by the destruction.

"Doesn't it bother you in the slightest?" The words came quietly, without any taint of malice.

"Somewhat, they always said a Magistrix must sit the throne of salt and smoke. Now I know why. A Magistrix put the dragons to sleep and one needs to remain to keep them so. But alas, all the old magic is dead."

"You talk about it like it's a simple equation." They walked deeper into the castle and she picked at her nails, distracting herself with anything but the ruin of the once great castle.