A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,34
to the palace when the guards spotted her. Falcon helms turned toward her, creaking together. Spear shafts slammed against cobblestones. Perhaps sensing the men's unease, the wyverns atop the columns shifted and ruffled their wings. Treale froze, hood pulled low. Her heart thrashed and she clutched her amulet tighter.
Be brave, Treale, she thought. Her throat constricted and she could barely breathe. Be brave like King Elethor. You fled the last danger; today you will be strong.
A guard detached from his phalanx and came marching toward her. He bore a round shield, and a red cape fluttered behind him. Treale fought down the urge to flee, though her knees shook and she had to force her breath through clenched teeth.
"What do you seek here?" the guard called.
Treale curtsied in the manner of Osanna. "I seek the weredragon, my lord." She spoke with her best Osannan accent, knowing she would never pass for a Tiran. "I come to see the beast."
When the guard reached her, he tugged her hood back. He cursed, and behind his falcon visor, his eyes narrowed. Her black hair, olive skin, and dark eyes were as foreign in this land as hippopotamuses—beasts that filled the Pallan—would be in Requiem.
"Osannan dog," the guard said. "You scum have been washing up on our shores and swarming our streets."
Treale let out a shaky breath. Thank the stars. Her accent had fooled him; he thought her a daughter of Osanna, that war-torn land of eastern men, and not a child of Requiem. Tirans perhaps hated the former, but they slaughtered the latter.
"My lord." She gave another quick curtsy. "I might be scum from the sea, but even scum hates the wretchedness of weredragons." She forced a snarl. "The weredragons burned my village in Osanna. They killed my father. He was a jailor in our land. Now I seek to be a jailor too—not in the ruins of my Osannan town, but here in this land of southern glory. You keep a weredragon imprisoned beneath the palace; I saw it chained and whipped yesterday. If you'll have me, I will join your rank. I will help you guard the beast, shackle it, and whip it too." She clenched her fists. "I would enjoy beating it bloody."
The guard widened his eyes, silent for a moment, then burst out laughing. Treale stood, barely daring to breathe. It was a long moment before the guard could speak again.
"You!" he finally said. "You—a dog from Osanna, a land of flea-ridden woolmongers—want to serve in the Palace of Phoebus?" He raised his spear. "Find yourself a brothel to spread your legs in. That is all your kind is good for, whore. Be thankful we even let you do that much; I say we should butcher your kind like weredragons." He raised his visor, revealing a leathery face, and spat at her feet. "Kneel and clean the cobblestones of my spit; that's what you Osannan scum are worth."
Treale stood frozen, rage flaring within her. She was a daughter of a great lord. She had flown by the King of Requiem in battle. She was a warrior, a woman of starlight, a—
You are alone, a voice whispered inside her. Your home is gone; your father is dead and probably your king. Whatever nobility you once claimed is lost.
She bit down on her anger. If saving Mori meant giving up some pride, well… she had enough of that pride to give.
She knelt. She cleaned the cobblestones with the hem of her cloak. She clenched her jaw and tried to ignore the burning in her eyes.
When she rose to her feet, she bowed her head and spoke softly.
"I will clean for you in the dungeon, if you let me. If I cannot stand there as a guard, let me serve you as a maid. I can clean. I can cook for jailors. But one thing I insist upon." She raised her eyes and met his gaze. "I want to work near the weredragon's cell. Her people burned my village. I will watch her suffer and I will hear her scream."
The guard looked over his shoulder at his phalanx, then back to Treale. He reached into her cloak, cupped her breast, and squeezed hard. Treale sucked in her breath and froze, daring not move. She wanted to shift, she wanted to burn him, she wanted to run… yet she could only stand here frozen between her pride and Mori.
"Yesss," the guard said slowly, crushing her in his hand. "Yes, I think we might