Interlude: Boulder on the Precipice

The Dragon King raised his hand, and the Red Guard-Council muttered its way into silence. Kendal leaned forward in his seat at the head of the table.

“Before we go on to any business,” Kendal began bluntly, “yes, the young lady that was brought to the capital yesterday is the young woman I intend to name Princess-Heir. Yes, she is my daughter by blood. And yes, she is a half-blood. Are there any other questions?”

One of Kendal’s gifts was the ability to anticipate the Council’s concerns, neutralize them, and do so in such a manner as to leave them speechless. It was generally a nice break from the same old arguments.

“Do you truly expect the Kingdom to bow to a illegitimate half-breed Princess?” the Speaker for the Merchants called out after a long quietude.

The King and several of the less-hidebound Guard-Councilors whipped their heads around to pin the speaker with glares, while others nodded fractionally. One of the young Guards noted who reacted favorably, and who did not. “I expect the people of the Kingdom to bow to their only Princess. I expect them to show the King’s daughter the respect she deserves. Or would you rather the Line die with me? There are no others of the Mark to be had, and Miri’ara is the eldest of those of the Blood.” This was not entirely true, but those sworn to any Guard were out of the succession by law. The young Black Guard knew this well.

The King swept the entire Red Guard-Council with his gaze, and continued. “Do you truly wish to be the cause of the collapse of the Kingdom, the collapse of the law and order that we as a people have sacrificed so much in upholding?”

There was silence. The Dragon King answered his own question.

“Of course not.”

---

His wind-be-damned eye was bleeding again. He hated that. He wiped at the mass of scar tissue with a frustration unleavened by time. He'd never gotten used to the periodic bleeding. Or being blind on one side. It made him nervous. He hated that too.

The door opened, letting in a gleam of light. The windows of this house had been covered, letting in only the dimmest of light in the daytime—the brightness dazzled him momentarily.

“Father?”

He dabbed at the eye again with a soft cloth. “Sa, ijo'zho?”

“I have news for you, father.”

“Something different? Not the same old gossip?” If I hear one more rumor about who the King favors as a kaj'ka or Heir, I'll throw myself off the roof without shifting...

His son interrupted his musing. “Kendal has a daughter.”

No... oh no... unless he has been very secretive, the only place such a daughter could come from is... “With the Mark?”

“Yes, father.”

Har'shaiyazin! I would have never thought... the traitor! “Keep an eye on her.” A bitter tone entered his voice. “Wouldn't want the Heir-prospective to have any... accidents...”

His son nodded obediently. “Is there anything I can bring you, Father?”

“Nothing more than the usual.” He summoned a weak, fake smile for his son.

“Very well.” His son left with the week's dirty clothes and his Guard-retiree stipend, returning soon with basic staple foods, cleaned clothes and other necessities. He nodded his thanks.

“Father, you needn't stay inside all the time, you know.”

There he goes again. Why can't he understand that I will not show my shame to the light of day? I refuse to wear that 'eye-cover' he gave me; it's the same as showing this scarred eye outright. Why face the world when he can face it for me?

“I know. I do not wish to,” he replied shortly, the same reply he had given the week before.

“But why, Father? There are many veterans in Dragonel. Some of them can no longer fly, and some can no longer walk, and yet they are out there. You can still see, fly, walk... Go out into the sunlight, Father!”

“Leave,” he growled.

“Father...”

“Leave me!” He shifted, snapping at his son, who departed hastily. With no one to remind him of the outside world, no one of the sunlight to intrude in his shadowed world, he faded back into the trance of memory. Sudden movement drawing his head up, the arrow arcing elegantly; shock rooting him into the ground, he could only stare at the bright sun gleaming off the arrowhead.

Then nothing.

He fingered the scar tissue around his blinded eye. The battlefield healers told him that he was lucky, that he must have recoiled at the last moment, that he could have died. Better to die than to reveal this... the disgusting mark of my shame.

The arrow had been shot by a Valei. The Valei had made him blind. The Valei had caused all his suffering...

His wind-be-damned eye was bleeding again. He hated that.

---

Kudos if you guess who 'he' is, but don't say it. There will be several 'Interludes' of this kind, narrated from a different perspective than Miri's. Hope you like.