Kastali Dun

Talon stood at the docks, Saffra and Verath beside him, eying the ships that would carry their precious supplies north. Glass bottles, carefully packed in crates, were loaded up. Bottles that were small enough to fit in padded backpacks for the trek through the wilderness to Plymlet Lake, but large enough to carry the potent brew Saffra had labored over.

"You have done well, Lady Saffra," Talon found himself saying. He was pleasantly impressed with her work, not because of her ability to succeed, she was a woman of power after all, but because of her age, the number of years she had seen compared to the rest of them.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Saffra appeared to grow taller beside him. She hadn't merely overseen the brewing of their most precious weapon. She'd worked with Mistress Rosanne and crafted cloaks for all the wearers who would travel on foot to deposit the poison. Magical disguises that would help them mask their scents and blend with the terrain. Theirs would be the most dangerous job, reaching the lake unseen and undetected by the wild dragons. Dragons would scent humans, but they would especially recognize the scents of their own cousins, the Drengr. Those carrying the poison were chosen carefully and understood the risk they were taking.

They would travel in small groups, and approach Plymlet Lake from different directions. Getting them into place would be a true task, which was why the sooner they departed for the north, the sooner they could begin setting up, begin putting their plan into action. Once the ships were loaded, they would depart north.

A number of wings from Fort Squall and Fort Kastali had already strategically departed, flying north-west, up along the coast. They would island hop once they reached the Scattered Islands. From there, they would travel through most of Celenore's northern Dragondom on foot, just to be safe. Once they reached the coast, they would rendezvous with the capital's ships to safely oversee the unloading of their cargo.

"If everything is timed correctly," said Verath, "the Dwargs should arrive around shortly after as these ships, after we've had a few days to set up camp."

"Let us hope." His hand tightened around the parchment in his fist. Another update from Lord Dubrael. Over the past month, Dubrael had been hard at work, moving Dwargish warriors and supplies west along the Northern Barrier Range, to ships they had contracted. Excitement skittered down his spine. He couldn't help his eager anticipation. Dragon armor of Ice Metal. They hoped to avoid confrontation with Kane's dragons, but should their plan go awry, being protected would afford them the upper hand. He'd seen works of art depicting the great battles between dragons and Drengr, long ago during the days of Rage. He'd seen the armor worn. Pieces of it resurfaced around the kingdom from time to time, even now. But most of the pieces had been scattered or lost. There were several full sets in tact, erected in each of the forts as sculptures to remind the Drengr of their history. But the sets were precious relics, fifty thousand years old, too valuable to dismantle. Now, they would have many of their own to wear.

The clanging of port bells announced the new arrival of another ship. Talon blinked against the pale sunlight. With each day, the chill of winter had receded. Spring Solstice had passed in a blink, and his efforts had turned entirely to plans of reclaiming Squall's End.

It hadn't been the Solstice he'd hoped for. Selfishly, he'd hoped Claire would have returned, even though she'd only been gone a few months, even though he wanted her to remain in the forest, safely tucked away until they finished this task of reclaiming what belonged to the kingdom. Still, he felt the loneliness of her absence as everyone celebrated.

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. What had she thought of his gift, he wondered? At the least, it would have reminded her of their time together that night, sharing the same bed, tangled together in each other's arms—

A throat cleared beside him. "I believe everything is in order," Saffra announced. He glanced at her. "If you have no further need of me—?"

"Yes, yes. That is all. Thank you, Lady Saffra. Verath can—"

"No, no. I am perfectly capable of escorting myself back to the keep, Your Majesty. Besides, I would prefer to be alone. I enjoy walking and could use the time to clear my head. All those days in the dark..."

He eyed her a moment longer. There was something more behind her desire, something he had an inkling hunch about, but wouldn't dare voice. He'd seen the way Bedelth hovered in her shadow as of late. Seen the way she either pretended not to notice, or feigned obliviousness at the increase in Bedelth's attentions.

"Very well." He gave her a nod and turned back to the ships. It was a sort of therapy, watching the industry unfold before them. It wasn't merely their own ships being loaded. This was the busiest port in the kingdom.

Verath reminded beside him, arms clasped behind his back. "Desaree is still insisting," he said. At that, Talon snorted. Verath continued, saying, "I've told her time and again. War is no place for a handmaiden. That she must remain here where she will be safe."

"Saffra has also insisted several times," he mused. "I simply cannot risk their safety. If anything happened to them Claire would—"

"Have a fit," Verath finished, interrupting. "I know. I told Desaree the same thing."

"And? What did she say?"

Verath chuckled. "That I vastly underestimated her ability to keep herself safe. That I was being unfair. That she had just as much right—if not more—to assemble on the sidelines. That without her and Jocelyn and Saffra, we wouldn't be flying into battle."

Talon nodded. "She's right on all counts."

"I will not risk her, Your Majesty. Not for all the world."

"I never said you should. But I do not think it is your choice to make. And...perhaps it will not be so dangerous as long as she remains within the safety of the camp."

"Would you allow Claire to go?"

"No," he said after a long silence. "I wouldn't want to risk her. And yet..." He hesitated. It wasn't his decision to make. Claire didn't belong to him, just as Desaree didn't belong to Verath. Knowing that didn't suppress the nature of his beast. He sighed. "As a dominant predator, my drive to protect the ones I love is strong. But it will get me into trouble. It will get you into trouble, too, Verath."

"What are you implying?"

He shrugged. "I'm merely saying that we cannot control them."

Verath huffed and shook his head. "Fine, Your Majesty. Why not just post a sign-up sheet then? We can nail it to every tavern door here in the city. Come one, come all. Join us for a bit of pre-battle-fun. Bring your own tent, thought, since nights will get cold." Verath rarely let loose his sense of humor. Talon's mouth twitched, but he smoothed his features. "Your word is law, Talon. You say who goes and who stays. They are not needed—there is no need to risk them."

He knew that saying any more on the matter would only frustrate Verath. "What of Dallin? I assume he is still intent on joining us?"

Verath hesitated. "He is young, but..."

"But you like him."

"I do. He has impressed me, despite his age. He's got so much potential. Room to grow. I hate to say it but, perhaps I was wrong about him, wrong to want so badly to dissuade him from becoming a Shield."

"How long should I wait before telling him the good news?"

Verath snorted. "If I had to say, at least until Claire returns. She will feel left out if you swear him to oath before that."

"Then we will treat this battle as his final test, see how he does?"

Verath nodded. "I'd say that's fair."

Their gazes returned to the activity on the docks. They stood side by side in comfortable silence for a time. With each passing minute, he felt himself relax a bit more.

The majority of their preparations were complete. A number of wings would remain behind to protect the city. He didn't anticipate trouble. His absence would not be widely broadcast. Court would continue under the watchful eye of the steward and Council. No major decisions would be made. And hopefully, in a matter of weeks, this entire mess would be sorted.

"I can remain to oversee the rest of this," Verath said, nudging his shoulder. "I know you have other matters to attend to today."

He hesitated. "That's probably for the best. I'll see you back at the keep."

Taking several steps backwards, he turned and retreated through the market and up the city streets. Behind him, what remained of his castle guards trailed. He didn't need them, but brought them anyway. Mostly because Lady Saffra had accompanied them on their walk down. Half had returned with her.

Where he walked, people stopped to gape at him. Some with enough propriety to bow, others too shocked to realize what was proper before he strode past. He didn't care—was too deep in thought to care.

Taking a detour, he slipped down a wide street in the middle of the city. The sounds changed here. There was still the normal hum of voices, creaking of wagon carts, and distant sound of bells, but there was also the loud clang of industry. A number of blacksmith and carpentry shops lined this part of the city.

Perhaps it was too soon for this. He was taking a gamble. And yet, he couldn't help his eagerness.

"Wait for me out here," he said to his guards. They nodded, turning their watchful gazes to the street and its surrounding buildings.

He stepped off the muddy thoroughfare, through a gated soggy storage yard, and into a large workshop. There he found the bowyer, a man of middling age, bent over a workbench with a small paintbrush in hand. The smell of wood was overwhelming here; it was everywhere, different types, pieces cut to ideal widths and lengths that would soon be carved and honed into weapons.

"Your Majesty!" The man jumped from his stool, shooing away the apprentice lad who'd been hauling an armful of supplies into the room. The bowyer wiped his hands on his leather apron, smoothed back his hair, and offered a nervous smile and bow. "It is an honor."

"No need for formalities, Langdon. I'm here to talk buisness."

"Right. Of course. Is it a bow you're wanting?" Langdon's eyes darted around the shop, never once landing on the king in his midst.

Talon cleared his throat. "I'd like to commission one, yes. Your work is the finest in the city. This won't be ordinary—I need exceptional craftsmanship. A bonding ceremony bow...for a friend." He slipped his hands in his pockets. He knew of no Drengr in the world who would trust a friend to commission a bow like this, but, well, he couldn't exactly say it was for his mate.

Too soon! his mind screamed. He hadn't received Claire's final answer yet. He wanted her to choose him—hoped beyond hope that she would. The letters they'd exchanged since her arrival in the forest had further bolstered his confidence. She missed him as he missed her. She planned to return to him when she accomplished what she set out to do. And yet, to act as though he already had an answer could only work negatively against him, tempting the fates to deal him a different hand, just for being so sure.

"Right, right," said Langdon, oblivious to the internal struggle he faced. "It should be a magnificent piece, then. What thoughts have you? Let us sketch up some ideas." Langdon pulled out a chair, several sheets of parchment, and a stick of graphite.

He had plenty of ideas, had allowed his mind ample time to run away with itself over the past weeks, months. It was the only thing that kept him sane in her absence, pretending their future was certain, allowing himself to assume it was.

Stifling his doubt, pushing it down deep where it wouldn't taunt him, he grabbed the chair and flipped around backwards. Langdon waited a beat for him to sit, and then took up his stool and the stick of graphite. Together, they began plotting.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Happy Friday, Bookdragons!

This was technically going to be a BONUS chapter. And technically, it is! Because I'm going to post ANOTHER "full length" chapter today. If you thought this one was short compared to my current trends, you're right. It came in at 2000 words. Funny, since I wrote mostly 2000-3000 word chapters for Talon the Black. Hah!

Anyway, I'll be reading through and then posting the next chapter soon, as soon as I can give it a quick skim to make sure nothing glaringly obvious stands out to me. Even if I do miss some typos, which ALWAYS happens. But you guys are always fantastic at spotting them for me. Yay!

Next chapter is from Desaree's POV! It's a REALLY fun one that I didn't plan on until I got near the end of the book and realized that it HAD TO HAPPEN. So I hope you guys love it as much as this one!

-Mel