34. Skyfire

The Dragonspires

Immediately after talking to Kihrin

The D’Moló emerald mines were more of a mining town, a small community of several thousand people nestled in the foot of the Dragonspires. The population was entirely male save for the velvet girls that worked their trade there. On the whole the community seemed ramshackle and temporary. If House D’Moló had spent any of their money on the town, it was on the mines themselves and not on the areas where workers lived. Those were shanties, barely holding up under their own weight.

The Four Riches looked like it was the seediest tavern in the entire mining town, and that was saying something. She watched three men with broken arms spill out the front door as she approached, cursing to themselves and moaning. Tyentso didn’t see a bouncer specifically throwing them out, but she thought that could be assumed. Enough noise filtered through the thin walls to make her wonder if someone was staging fights inside.

Tyentso thought about staying invisible, but there were so many people crowding the streets near the entrance—all the boisterous drunks looking for a fun night out—that it was impossible she wouldn’t bump into someone. So instead, she plastered her best “don’t mess with me” glare on her face and strong-armed her way inside. She pushed aside anyone who tried to stop her. Or magically shocked them. Or both.

The tavern lived up to all her expectations, dim and smoky and smelling of stale beer, piss, and blood. It was a raucous place trying whenever possible to separate miners from their metal. A large crowd gathered on one side of the bar to watch some sort of arm-wrestling contest. Still more people gathered around the bar, working diligently on improving their drinking skills. People shouted at each other, traded insults and drinks.

Tyentso was supposed to find a dragon here?

“Hey, you want anything?” A bar wench approached her, looked her up and down, and quickly decided that she was a customer and not anyone related to the velvet industry. Possibly those D’Lorus black eyes gave it away, although in this lighting, it was hard to say. The brightest corner of the whole tavern shone from somewhere beyond the crowd gathered around the wrestling contest, blocked by the wall of bodies. Probably a firepit.

“Give me a rice wine.” Tyentso placed enough thrones on the woman’s tray to pay for a whole night of drinks. “Keep the change. Have you seen anything odd—”

A sharp, snapping sound filled the air, followed immediately by a man’s scream and a child’s mocking laughter.

Tyentso stared in the direction of the crowd.

“Well, yeah.” The woman picked up the coins, gave them an appreciative once-over, and then leaned in to stage-whisper, “Gorokai’s back, and that’s plenty odd. But I wouldn’t mess with that, ma’am, not unless you want to end up hurt. He’s bad news.”

Tyentso blinked at the woman.

Gorokai’s back. Sure. Said like any old piece of gossip. Said the way one might explain that the local bully had come back—unwelcome, but too tough to run out of town. Keep away from the dragon, ma’am, if you know what’s good for you.

Tyentso pushed her way to the front of the crowd.

A giant bruiser of a man cradled his savagely broken arm with tears running down his face. Sitting across from him, laughing, was a small, pale-skinned boy with silver hair.1

The boy banged the table in front of him. “Next!” When no one immediately stepped up, the child pointed to the mound of coins, notes, and raw gems piled up in front of him. “Oh, come on, doesn’t anyone want to be rich?”

The crowd grumbled, unhappy. Clearly, they all wanted to be rich, and equally clearly, no one would end up that way by accepting the boy’s wager. Tyentso wondered why no one had tried to steal the gems, but then she noticed the blood under the table. She corrected her opinion: several someones had already tried. And failed.

The crowd could only watch, salivating over the treasure like a pack of dogs scenting raw steak. She didn’t blame them. The gems in that pile were …

Tyentso cursed.

A shockingly large yellow diamond perched at the apex of that pile, reflecting the light from the nearby fireplace so intensely that it seemed to glow.

Tyentso’s breath left her in a sharp huff. Skyfire. That was the fucking Cornerstone, right there, being used to sweeten a betting pool. Which meant …

Which meant the little boy was the dragon Gorokai.

At that moment, said dragon-disguised-as-child turned and stared straight at her before a remarkably sinister grin spread over his face.

“You.” Gorokai pointed at Tyentso. “Oh, you’re strong. What an aura you have.” He put his elbow on the table and wriggled his fingers. “Fight me.”

“I don’t arm wrestle,” Tyentso said.

“Fight me,” Gorokai repeated, “or I’ll get upset.” He narrowed his eyes. “When I’m upset, I might do anything.”

She glanced at the crowd, who were muttering to themselves. No one was exactly cheering the boy on, although they had been quite vocal earlier—probably egging on the man they had hoped would win. More important was the fact that the building wasn’t large enough to hold this gathering and a full-size dragon.

The threat was clear enough: play the dragon’s game, or watch as the dragon threw a temper tantrum that would level the entire camp.

Tyentso gestured toward the Cornerstone. “You’re supposed to give that to me.”

Gorokai beamed at her. The context of knowing what he really was made an otherwise adorable smile creepy as hell. “Win against me in a game and it’s yours.”

“I thought you preferred riddles,” she said as she sat down in the chair the wounded man had vacated.

The boy rolled his eyes. “You’re thinking of Baelosh.”

Kihrin, Tyentso thought, I thought you said he was going to give the damn Cornerstone to me.

She could all but feel Kihrin sighing. [He was supposed to. Unfortunately, he’s very good at not doing what he’s supposed to do. You know what that means.]

I’m going to have to play.

[You’re going to have to play, yes.]

“Don’t do it, lady,” one of the men said lowly. “That one isn’t just breaking arms. He’s ripping them off too.”

Gorokai’s violet gaze flicked over to the miner who’d said that. A low growl rumbled from him that was far larger than his small size and shook the floorboards.

The miner turned gray and backed away.

Tyentso put her elbow on the table and presented her hand. “Promise me you’ll leave these people alone no matter who wins,” she said.

“I thought you wanted Skyfire,” the little boy said. “Make up your mind.” The glee in his voice was wire tight and promised all manner of ugliness.

She shuddered. Tyentso hoped that the fact the barmaid had recognized him—had identified him—meant that he wouldn’t destroy the town. This was his playground. He’d been here before, enough to be a known, if feared, factor.

But no. That was wishful thinking. Gorokai didn’t give a fuck. He’d wipe out this town for a laugh. Or any town.

“If you expect to win,” Tyentso said, “then what’s the harm in promising both?”

“I haven’t seen what you’re offering,” Gorokai said. “It would need to be twice as good.” He pointed to the circlet on her head. “I’ll have that.” Then he pointed to the wand at her belt. “And that.”

“They’re yours,” Tyentso said, “if I lose—and if you can take them.”

If Tyentso lost, she’d be dead—and in those circumstances, the Crown and Scepter would teleport back to the Arena in the Capital.

Good luck getting those artifacts then.

The little boy sniffed. “Acceptable.” He reached up and put his hand in hers, so that she had to shift the angle a little to let the boy’s elbow reach the table. It felt like a child’s hand, soft and warm and showing no signs that he’d been mutilating arms all evening for giggles. She felt sorry for the miners, who had no way to know that this was just a trap, that trying to win against this “child” would be like betting someone they could lift a rock off the ground only to discover said rock was one of the Dragonspires. He only looked like a child.

He was still a dragon.

Gorokai grinned at her and started to lower his arm, fast and hard with the full force of all his immortal draconic strength. He stopped smiling as her arm didn’t budge.

Tyentso may not have been a Guardian or an Immortal, but by the Veil, she was the Empress of Quur, and that meant something. In many ways, it was like being a god-king. The patriotic fervor and power of a nation channeled tenyé into her every second of the day. It was a heady, intoxicating bounty. If she wanted to channel that power into keeping a damn dragon from ripping off her arm, she could.

But she saw the problem immediately: she wasn’t winning either. Neither was Gorokai. They just sat there, staring at each other while their tenyé built up like the air pressure before a tornado. Coins began to bounce and slide across the table. The air shimmered with magical energy.

The miners witnessing this confrontation began to back away, while those in the rear of the crowd ran. Even people otherwise fully insensitive to magic felt the tremendous potential for destruction vibrating in the air.

Gorokai’s smile returned, but this time, it was far more feral, with very little of the cute child in it. The whites showed all around his irises; he didn’t look sane. The skin along his arm rippled, as though something under his skin had decided it was time to crawl out.

Probably true.

Okay, Scamp. Do your thing.

Tyentso couldn’t hear or feel what Kihrin did, but Gorokai flinched as though someone had just screamed in his ear.²

That second of distraction was all she needed. Tyentso burned through a stunning amount of magical energy as she slammed the dragon’s arm down through the table, shattering it and sending the pile of treasure bouncing to the ground. She caught the yellow diamond before it rolled away.

“Run! Keep running!” Tyentso screamed at any bar patrons or staff stupid enough to try to collect any of that treasure. In theory, she’d won, and that meant Gorokai would leave without killing anyone. In theory.

She didn’t trust that theory. She was confident that if she left the dragon there, he’d go back on his word and level the damn place just for spite. But that was the trick, wasn’t it? Gorokai might not do what he was told, but he was also easily distracted. Dealing with him was just a matter of giving the damn baby a different toy to rip apart.

Whatever Kihrin was doing, he was still doing it. Gorokai bent over, clutching his head. He paid no attention to his surroundings.

“You lose,” she told the dragon.

Tyentso opened up a gate under his feet.

34. SKYFIRE

Tyentso’s story

The imperial military camp, Khorvesh

Later that evening

The Dragonspires

Immediately after talking to Kihrin