The woman left, as did the men after delivering Solène’s bags, and Solène sat down on the bed, surveying her new home. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning like an idiot. All she had ever done was survive. Now the possibilities seemed limitless. Her mind boiled with questions. When would her training start? What would it involve? She wondered what she might learn. Would it seem too eager if she went to the library to take a look around?
As much as exploring her magical talent appealed to her, the idea of learning how to use a sword excited her. She had seen bannerets about the place, the swords that only they were entitled to wear strapped to their waists. She had always wondered what it would be like to use a blade, and now it seemed she would get the chance to try.
CHAPTER 21
Alpheratz had visited the village a number of times, filling his belly with the humans’ cattle and sheep. The inhabitants had done their best to make feeding difficult for him, but he had stripped away their herds nonetheless. Now that it had little value as a source of food, it was time to finish the place and move on.
He circled the village from above, trying to decide where to begin. If he started with the buildings on the outskirts, he could herd people toward the centre with little effort. The outlying buildings took light easily, whipping up the inferno of flame and smoke that created the terror he so wanted the people below him to feel. Lining up several buildings that lay along a rough curve, he swooped. His squeezed on his flame glands and let out a long tendril of flame that ignited each building and scorched the ground between.
He flew along an ever-decreasing perimeter, squirting jets of flame at anything made by man, taking satisfaction as fire rose. People ran out of the burning buildings, confused and terrified, just as Alpheratz desired. He considered killing them as he went, but he wanted them to have time to consider their fate, to know they were about to suffer and die. He wanted them to feel fear. Terror. Still, he held hope that when his vengeance was complete, he might find others like him somewhere in the world.
The people began to flee the conflagration, toward the centre of the settlement. He tightened his circle with each pass, herding them to their deaths. When only the cluster of buildings surrounding the central open space remained, he paused, allowing his flame glands a moment’s rest. Spotting a sturdy-looking building, he glided down to perch on the apex of its roof. It flexed under his weight and a number of slates shattered, but it held him. The square below was filled with people, their eyes fixed on Alpheratz. He screeched, more for effect than out of true anger, and revelled in their terrified response. An arrow pinged off one of his scales, no more an irritation than the buzzing of a bee. Somewhere among the vermin beneath him, there was a brave one, not that it would matter.
He screeched again, accompanying it with flame. Cries of pain and prayers for aid filled the air, but it was all so much noise to Alpheratz. He breathed deep and emptied himself of fire until he could no longer see any people before him, only a raging inferno. The heat was so great that even his eyes stung. His task complete, he stretched his wings and gave them one great beat, letting the fire’s heat lift him high over the village. He looked down, satisfied that once the flames had died, the destruction of the village would be complete. He turned toward his mountain, content that his work for the night was done.
He’d flapped his wings only twice more when he spotted another building in the distance, substantial enough to make it worthy of his time. More importantly, he spied two figures running toward it and altered course accordingly. He swooped low over them, letting them know that they had not escaped. Spinning about so he faced them, Alpheratz slammed onto the ground in front of the humans, who stopped, wide-eyed. They were a female and a male hatchling who barely reached her hip.
“Get behind me, Jacques,” the female said.
The hatchling did as he was told, his fear-filled eyes wet with tears.
“Get away from us, you filthy bastard!” the female shouted, displaying the protective instinct with which most creatures treat their young.
Alpheratz ended their lives with a jet of flame so intense neither of them had time to scream, but felt no satisfaction. Indeed, he felt sick to the pit of his stomach. The image of the woman’s defiant, terrified face burned in his mind. The love she showed, trying to protect her young even in the face of her own death, disturbed him. He thought of Nashira and his own hatchlings. Was this human female so different?
Hate fought with shame and regret with such fury that he thought his heart would come asunder. He launched himself into the air, desperate to be rid of the place, to take his mind elsewhere. The bigger building loomed in front of him and he hurled himself at it with every ounce of the raging turmoil inside him. He tore chunks of stone from the walls, burned it with flame, smashed his body against it, desiring to hurt himself as much as cause destruction. He sought oblivion in rage, but could not find it.
Amaury stared out of the carriage window as it rattled along the cobbled streets toward the cathedral. He seemed to be spending a great deal of effort trying to distract himself from the dragon. It didn’t work, however. To say he was worried was an understatement. He was a juggler who had thrown all his balls in the air, and he had no idea when they would come back down. The penalty for dropping one would be death.
Boudain the Tenth was too squeamish about breaking with a thousand years of law and tradition for Amaury to make him completely privy to his plans. The king couldn’t understand that every omelette required eggs to be broken. He needed to be managed as carefully as the public.
Their relationship had been soured by Amaury leaking news of the dragon. There was no way to hide the Prince Bishop’s involvement in that, and he would have to take his chastisement with good grace when it came. He would still have to watch out for the king’s other advisors. They hungered for Amaury’s power, and he would be damned before he let them have it.
He leaned back into his seat and drummed his fingers on the windowsill. When he was ready to announce the Order, he needed to be certain the king had no option but to agree with him. Covered in the glory of saving Mirabaya from a rampaging dragon, they would be seen as the sword and shield of the nation. As risky as it was, he knew his chosen course was the correct one. There would never be another opportunity so good.
The carriage came to a juddering halt outside the cathedral. Amaury didn’t wait for an attendant to open the door. He was too eager to get to the archives and continue his studies. Every time he stepped into the vaulted, cavernous room beneath the cathedral, he learned something new. His mentor, the previous Prince Bishop, had been the first man in centuries to recognise the power that knowledge could give. Something of a zealot—not a trait Amaury would ever claim for himself—that knowledge had been anathema to him, despite the man’s wish to assert the primacy of the church over the entire world.
For a time after his ascension, Amaury had not known what to do with the archive. Only after he had discovered Ysabeau’s existence, and her talent, had he turned his mind to magic and how it could be used.
There had been a time when kings, princes, and dukes had heeded the words of the great prelates of the church. Now, in a time when Amaury’s letters to even bishops in other countries went unanswered, the church’s influence over the secular world was all but non-existent. He was less interested in the spiritual power of the church—far more so in the temporal.