“Indeed,” Sahalie said as she picked up a sugar cookie. “We believe they want time to plan the inevitable trap. Your brother is quite predictable.”
“Is everyone okay with this?” I asked, itching to go find Aurelius and discuss the new situation.
“Honestly,” Sahalie said. “This works better for us. It gives us time to gather our forces and get to the meeting place. As far as I can tell, everything is going according to plan.”
She took a bite of her cookie and sighed with satisfaction. Vince gazed at her with unadulterated devotion and rapture. Poor guy was falling hard and fast.
“Is Aurelius around?” I asked.
Rasp nearly made another mess, almost knocking his drink over as he looked at his watch. He grabbed Vince’s shirt and dragged him from the chair.
“Shit, dude! We almost forgot. That meeting starts in like three minutes.” Rasp hauled Vince toward the door, flashing me an apologetic smile. “Aurelius. Sorry. He’ll be in another meeting for a while. I’ll let him know to come find you when he’s done. Okay?”
Before I could respond, the two men disappeared around the corner.
“Come on, dear,” Delphine said. “Let’s get a little something to eat, then we can go back outside and practice a bit more. I’d like to go over that last move a few times.”
I did as she asked, but even as I ate, my mind drifted. How would all this play out? We knew Bastien was laying a trap, and we were planning for it. My brother wasn’t stupid, though. He could be planning something to counteract that, too. Everything that was happening, all the meetings and subterfuge, everything seemed to be for nothing. If I had to guess, this was all going to come to a head the way history usually said it would.
With blood.
AURELIUS
“Afew hundred. That’s our best estimate at this time,” Octavius said.
Leaning back in my chair, I heaved a sigh. Another member of the war council voiced my frustration.
“A few hundred fighters? That’s all?” he asked. “I thought we could muster at least a thousand.”
Octavius spread his hands in surrender. “We’ve put out the call, but that’s all I can say for sure.”
“We have far more men of fighting age than a few hundred.” Benedictus pounded his fist on the table. “Where are the rest?”
“Some are ineligible,” I said.
“Ineligible
? What do you mean?” Benedictus looked as though I’d told him the sky was green.
I did my best to keep my voice even and calm. “Because many of the dragon shifter households have no children. You might be aware of that fact, Lord Beatrix, since your son”-I waved to
Vincent, who sat in the corner with Rasp, as they’d arrived too late to get good seats-“was the last dragon born. My father and I have given orders that no household with less than one man will be called up for battle.”
Benedictus sputtered, glancing around as if looking for help from any of the other attendees. None-not even his own contingent of loyal friends-spoke up.
Finally, he said, “Your Highness, we are in a grave situation.
All available fighters must be brought to the battlefield should it come to that. You have to see that?-“
“What Isee,” I said, finally losing my temper, “is that our race is on the verge of extinction. Our numbers have been dwindling for centuries. Neither my father nor I want to go down in history as the men who damned our entire race all because we didn’t want to lose a fight.”
Benedictus, too enraged to control himself, rose from his seat, his face red with anger. “If this does go to active fighting and war, and we lose?-“
“Then we lose,” I said, letting the words echo around the room before continuing on in a more resigned voice. “We lose. Perhaps we can reconstitute our numbers afterward. In a few centuries, if we are lucky, we might turn things around and regain our footing. I am a realist, Benedictus,” I said, glaring at the nobleman. “Pragmatic to a fault, some might say. We will fight.
I will fight. Your son will fight. All who are able to go to battle will fight, and we will lay our blood and tears on the field of battle. We will rain down fire and claw and fang upon our enemies, and we will not stop until all is lost. There will be no retreat, and I will do it happily for my people and my kingdom, but I will not shatter entire families and mates simply to have more cannon fodder.” I pointed at the report in front of Octavius. “The men on that list are our best fighters. They know what they are doing. Undertrained and underprepared men will be of no use to us in battle. There will be no further discussion on this.”
Benedictus opened and closed his mouth several times, like a fish trying to breathe out of water. Without making a sound, he nodded once, a bitter but resigned look on his face.
“As you command, Your Highness,” he said, sitting back down.
Slowly-somewhat hesitantly-the conversations restarted, going into other needs for the coming fight. While they discussed, argued, and orchestrated among themselves, I glanced out the window at the sunny day outside. My own thoughts went down a dark path, though, opposing the bright light beyond the window.
The back-and-forth with Benedictus had reminded me exactly how close dragons were from vanishing from the world. I still had faith that we could find a way out of this without an apocalyptic outcome, but the threat of destruction grew nearer with each passing day. Whatever happened would most likely come to a head two weeks from now when the Hikshil met with Bastien.
“Highness?” Titus said, snapping me out of my internal thoughts.
I turned away from the window. “I’m sorry? Yes?”
“Apologies. Did you hear the question Lord Silvanus asked?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t.”
The large man sat across from me, his bald head gleamed, and his thick graying beard twitched as he smiled.
“I was asking what the plans are for after the war. For good or ill, we need to make preparations,” the man said.
“True,” Benedictus said, having regained his composure. “It’s as you say, Prince Aurelius, should we lose, then the remaining dragons must have somewhere to retreat to. Does anyone here believe Bastien Laurent will stomach any of our kind to remain anywhere near the Pacific Northwest? He’d want us at least a thousand miles away.”
There were grumbles of agreement around the table. The truth of the matter was that Bastien had proven himself to be fully unhinged and maniacal. None of us believed that he’d be content with a small-scale victory. He’d want the whole thing. He’d want us pushed off the entire continent if he could. He and his parents had always been greedy and power hungry. It was part of how they’d garnered as much support among their kind. Wolves had no royalty, only noble houses. That being said, the Laurents were almost de facto royalty with the amount of sway they held.
“As I said, I’m a realist,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I’m a pessimist. I still think we can win this and survive. If things go badly, we’ll retreat south. We can get out of the area quickly if need be. We have one thing going for us that the wolves don’t. We can fly.”
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