Invasion and Dragons Page 3

  “I expect you will find out soon enough,” Sairen replied, and he slid the door open. He gestured to Landon, his anxious face breaking into a malicious leer. “After you, Lord Dayn.”

  Chapter 2

  Landon had a retort ready for Sairen, but that vanished when he saw dozens of people in the room. Except for a man and a woman seated at the table, everyone else was standing around in small groups, chattering to one another in Tarsli or Sikhan. Landon noted the rich fabrics and jewels every man sported. Their clothes ranged from stately robes to long-sleeved shirts and trousers. The table was long and polished to a mirror finish; he could see everyone’s reflections. A large chandelier hung over the table, the smoky tendrils of the many candles drifting towards a grate in the ceiling.

  No one noticed the door had opened. The nobles continued in their respective conversation, their voices blending into a cacophony of sound to wash over Landon like a wave. He felt trapped. Even with the blinding light from the chandelier, the room was cold and dark. It was large, with plenty of space for the table and the nobles to stand comfortably, yet he felt the walls closing in.

  “Ah, Landon, so good of you to join us.”

  Landon started as Katsunaka appeared in front of him, his bronze eyes smiling. The Tsuregan king’s kymono was far more elaborate than Darrin’s. It was gold with black trimming on the sleeves and belt, and he wore a cap that had an oblong felt piece sticking up at the back. He dipped his head to Landon.

  The conversation in the room died, and every eye fixated on Landon. His eyes unbiddingly searched the room for the Menrians, but he saw neither the Drakshus nor anyone resembling the mountain people who reveled in torture and blood. That was good. He relaxed a little and entered the room, that single step as difficult as moving a boulder. All the nobles examined him, taking in the fine clothes that barely disguised his thin frame. Landon forced himself to walk, to appear unafraid as he sidled around the table. Two noblemen shifted aside to let him pass, saying something in greeting that Landon didn’t catch.

  Landon’s father clapped a hand on his back as he slid into the vacant seat between his parents. Diego’s shoulder-length dark hair was streaked with gray and complimented the richly embroidered purple coat he wore. His hazel eyes, the same shade as Landon’s, were guarded and wary. He smiled nervously. Next to him sat Landon’s mother, Sierra. She wore an orange-red dress that shimmered like fire, and a ruby necklace winked at her throat. She too smiled at Landon, but it seemed forced.

  There was a moment of silence, as though everyone expected Landon to speak, and then the conversation resumed. Landon took slow breaths, alarmed that his heart was racing. How was he supposed to get through this council? He could barely walk into a room without having a panic attack, and that was with none of the Menrians present.

  “Darrin took his time getting you,” said Sierra. She and Diego leaned in to keep their conversation private. “Katsunaka, sent him to fetch you a half hour ago.” She glanced at the Tsuregan king. “I thought you would be here sooner.”

  “You know Darrin,” Landon replied, dropping his voice to hide beneath the babble of nobles. They were still watching him. “He wanted me to be a good boy and behave.” He told them everything Darrin had said, leaving out his comments about Myra and marriage. Although the nobles were talking, Landon knew they had sharp ears. As he spoke, fear welled up inside him. He fought to keep the emotion from his face, adopting the same carefree expression as everyone else in the room. He refused to show fear.

  “Takeshi also brought a message,” Landon said, nodding to where Katsunaka stood by the door with Sairen. Katsunaka’s face was dark. “Darrin panicked and had Sairen bring me here. He said he had to deal with the situation quickly. Have you heard anything?”

  His parents shook their heads. “We were brought straight here,” Sierra said. “Everyone is going through the preliminary greetings, and the Menrians still haven’t shown up.”

  “They haven’t?” Landon asked nervously. He looked around the room for a clock but saw none. “We should be starting soon, right?”

  “I’m sure they’re tormenting a poor soul,” Diego muttered. “Better yet, they slipped in their tubs and broke their backs.”

  Landon choked out a laugh, glancing at the surrounding nobles. Although he had only been around the trainees, he could distinguish each nation’s king and his advisor based on their appearance. The Lythran king and his advisor had the same narrow face and beak-like nose as the DiCorvi brothers. They were talking with the Caborcan king and his advisor, who resembled Juan except for lighter-colored skin and browner eyes. Katsunaka wandered over to two portly men wearing dark red robes lined with fur. Landon assumed they were the Maisans. They laughed the loudest, their voices booming through the room and ringing in Landon’s ears. Watching them, he was reminded how the Nircanian judges had been left out of this event. The most important peace council in the world, and the leaders who cared about Landon’s family and peace the most had not been invited.

  The Maisans were joined by two more men, both lean and muscular. One had bronze-colored skin, which was a stark contrast to his ice-blue eyes and white hair. The other man was equally tan, with reddish-white hair, and his green eyes studied the room with an air of contempt. Both men wore white suits with jewels sewn into the collar and cuffs, and they sported a gold, dragon-shaped insignia on the left breast.

  “Are they the Dagnorians?” Landon whispered, pointing to the white-suited men.

  Diego nodded, his lips puckered like he had a sour taste in his mouth. “Yes. Emperor Ebram Dre’Goran and . . . curses.” He glared at the advisor. “Looks like Tan’Loraen got a promotion.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Sierra before Landon could.

  “Judan Tan’Loraen was the one who brought me into Dagnor.” Diego kept his voice low, taking advantage of the clamoring voices to hide their conversation. “At the time, he was a general in the Dragon Guard. Now it seems he is the vizier, which is what the advisors are called.”

  Landon shuddered. “Do any of the other kings believe you were the cause of Hondel’s destruction?” he asked. It was because his father was forced into Dagnor that Hondel had been destroyed by the Dagnorian dragons.

  Diego shook his head. “I don’t know. It depends if Issachar and the Drakshus told them. If there’s one thing I know about the Menrians, it is that they like to keep secrets.”

  “A den of weasels with nothing better to do,” Sierra muttered. Landon grinned, and then the sliding door opened to admit Darrin and two other men into the room. His confidence vanished with a flash.

  The foremost man was none other than Kennin Drakshu, appearing as dangerous as Landon remembered despite bearing no visible weapon. He was followed by his son, Niklas, whose blue eyes went immediately to Landon. Niklas’ lips curled into a cruel, languid smile that chilled him to the bone. Landon looked away, and stared at his reflection in the polished table. A barely contained panic and terrified image looked back at him.

  So much for a brave face. He bit back a whimper when Kennin said, “They will be along shortly. Jerich was questioning the messenger.”

  “I wish they didn’t have to be here,” Landon said.

  “Same here, musuko,” said Diego, briefly clasping his shoulder. “But we can do this. We have survived Hell, and we can survive this.”

  “I know,” Landon said, “but I don’t want them to think I’m weak. I don’t want them to know . . .” He stopped, unsure if he wanted to voice his fears, even to his parents.

  “You don’t want them to know how much they hurt you,” Diego finished for him. He smiled, gentle and understanding, and leaned back. “I know what you mean, Landon. That was exactly how I felt when I saw Kennin and Sayre arrive. I wanted to attack them and give them a small taste—just an inkling of the pain I suffered for eighteen years—but,” he shook his head, “I am scared of them. It’s hard to admit but it’s true.”

  “We are not beaten.” Sierra commented, lookin
g at the gathered nobles. Her voice hardened, and she sat up taller in her seat. “You, eliin,” she took Diego’s hand, “have been an ambassador for three years, and our son,” she turned her gaze to Landon, beaming with pride, “was raised by the wisest people in the world. The kings may think they have left the judges out of this council, but they are fools. Today, Nircana will have her representatives. We can make this treaty in our favor.”

  That rang deep into Landon’s soul. He focused on his parents, ignoring the nobles in the room. He saw their fierce determination, the spark in their eyes that would not be quenched. They had suffered longer than he had, yet they would not let it affect them.

  Landon too sat up straighter and met his parents’ eyes. “Thanks,” he said, feeling calmer. “I needed to hear that.”

  Diego winked. “Just follow our lead and you’ll do fine.”

  Landon flashed a grateful smile and was about to reply when a voice said, “You must be the infamous Landon Dayn.”

  Landon looked up, and his parents stiffened. The Caborcans had taken the chairs on the other side of Sierra. The one nearest to her wore a dark blue doublet and tight-fitting black trousers. His black eyes drank in Landon’s bewildered face, and his thin black moustache twitched.

  “I am King Miguel Guiterrez of Caborca,” said the Caborcan, “and this is my advisor, Alvaro Ramirez.” The Caborcan king smiled, his white teeth almost blinding. “I have heard so much about you, Landon. Diego, he really is the twin image of you.”

  Landon flinched at the word twin. He tried to hide it, but the king caught it, and a small flicker of amusement crossed his face. “It is very rare for a child to take after a parent so much,” Guiterrez went on. “Even Chancellor Drakshu’s son has a bit of his mother’s looks.”

  “Along with that vision ability of hers,” piped Guiterrez’s advisor in a bored voice. He had a well-trimmed beard devoid of gray hairs and surveyed the room with an equally bored expression. His clothes matched his king’s except he had silver trimming on the sleeves and collar.

  Guiterrez nodded. “I am truly sorry for your imprisonment,” he said. He put on a sympathetic face that reminded Landon of a snake trying to swallow a mouse too big for it. “Those visions of hers made it impossible for us, or the samurai, to rescue you. And then there was that business with the Twin . . . so unfortunate.”

  Landon stared at him, annoyed by the falsity of his sympathy. He opened his mouth to tell Guiterrez to mind his own business, when Diego spoke first.

  “And yet it was the Nircanians that rescued him,” Diego said. “They did what none of your armies and spies could ever do. They searched all of Nircana and the surroundings countries until they found my son.”

  “Which astounds me considering their feelings towards the higher class,” said Ramirez. He eyed Landon with the same bored expression. “I hear Nircanians sacrifice wandering nobles to their heathen god, especially their children if they are lucky to capture a family. It was very brave of you, Lady Dayn, to allow a people like that to raise your only child.”

  Anger flared in Landon. He opened his mouth to speak, to defend his people, but Sierra beat him to it.

  “Those are rumors, Ramirez, and you know it.” Sierra gave Ramirez a dazzling smile. “I trust the Nircanians with my life. They kept our son safe from the Borikans for eighteen years. Could you have done better?”

  “And yet,” said Guiterrez, “I heard they brainwashed your son into thinking he is one of them. They wanted to use Landon to strengthen their government.”

  “The last son of Hondel,” the Caborcan advisor said, shaking his head, “corrupted by a country of rebels evading leadership.”

  This annoyed Landon so much that he blurted, “Corrupted? At least I’m not greedy and vain like you lot.” He snorted. “You’re nothing more than a bunch of roosters strutting around the farm, trying to look prettier than the other.” Because the opportunity was too perfect to pass up, Landon leaned forward and grinned at the king. “By the way, I think your feathers need a second preening job.” He nodded to the king’s head.

  Guiterrez’s hand twitched as if he wanted to check his hair. Ramirez began smoothing his coat but stopped himself. Guiterrez and his advisor’s gazes became cold. Guiterrez opened his mouth to retaliate, but Katsunaka clapped several times. All eyes turned to the Tsuregan king.

  “Lords and Ladies,” Katsunaka formally announced. “If you will have a seat, lunch will be served immediately.” To prove his point, he took the chair directly in front of him, folding his hands into the large sleeves of his kymono.

  The others took chairs, advisors sitting to the right of their king. It was then Landon noticed the Menrian king standing near the door, a thin man with blue-green eyes that shone with the same malice as his war chancellor. Next to him was a woman in a green dress, fanning herself with a lacy fan decorated with birds and flowers. She was the only other woman besides Sierra.

  Cold sweat broke out over Landon’s body. When did she come in? His hands trembled, and he balled them into fists, hoping his whole body wouldn’t start shaking. He felt the air being siphoned from his lungs, and he sucked in breaths to still his racing heart. Angen had blinded him with a potion before he met her, so he had never seen her face. His encounter with her had been brief, but it had been as traumatic as Angen’s tortures. Landon wanted to look anywhere else but at the woman, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  “Landon?” said Diego, looking from his son to the woman. “It’s all right,” he dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “She can’t hurt you here.”

  Landon gave the barest nod of his head. The Menrian king sat, and Sayre Drakshu took the chair directly across from Landon. She looked like a queen, with her blonde hair pulled up in an elegant bun and pinned with jewel-studded hairpins. Her dress was decorated with jewels along the neckline and down the bodice, and gold earrings dangled from her ears. She smiled at Landon, her blue eyes studying him with intimate familiarity. She spoke, and it took all his self control not to whimper.

  “You look well, Landon,” she said in the beautiful and terrifying voice that haunted his nightmares. She cocked her head, grinning at Landon’s blatant terror. “Whatever is the matter? Did you expect an old crone with a bent back?”

  Landon had no response. He could do nothing but tremble at the sight of her. In the moments when he had been alone with his parents, he never thought to ask what Sayre looked like. He had been content to imagine her as a witch, with a warty face and yellowed claws for fingernails. It was frightening to see her as a beautiful and normal person. Landon wanted to run, and it took all his self control not to bolt for the door.

  His thoughts showed on his face and Niklas laughed. “It appears so, Mother. Look at him! He’s ready to run like a scared rabbit.”

  Niklas’ voice ripped through Landon’s terror, and he tore his eyes away. He bit his lip, berating himself for his weakness. He knew he would meet Sayre—see her for the first time—and he thought he was ready for it. Clearly he wasn’t, and now every king and advisor knew how scared he was of her.

  “Mind your manners, Niklas,” said Kennin, smiling. “The mind does its best to account for lack of sight.” His dark eyes fell onto Landon, entertained by his fear. “Many people would not expect a Seer to attend balls and banquets, but to hide away in rooms with candles and incense.”

  “Nor would the average person expect a king to deem his Seer’s obscure visions and dreams as divine guidance. Most would call it superstition,” said Diego. His voice was calmer and smoother than Landon expected. His father sat with his forearms resting on the table, facing Sayre like she was any other noble. If Landon hadn’t known better, he would have thought his father was intrigued by the Seeress.

  Sayre rolled her eyes. “You would say that, Diego. Yes, my visions can be troublesome sometimes, but I at least knew your son would survive. Isn’t that right, Landon?”

  Landon didn’t answer. He looked away, trying to find a point to focus o
n that didn’t have eyes. He couldn’t do this. He could deal with Kennin and Niklas, but not Sayre. He felt her eyes on him and wanted to scream.

  “Gods, Landon, are you really so frightened of my advisor?” asked Issachar. He acted shocked, but Landon had been around the Menrians long enough to know he was faking it. “You suffered at Angen’s hands, not hers.”

  “Clearly she made as much an impression as your Borikan Twin,” said one of the Lythrans. He was fiddling with a gold chain around his neck, and Landon suspected he was the king. “Goddesses know they are frightening to look at—Oh good! Here is lunch.”

  Two panels in the walls had opened to admit servants into the room. Each carried a large tray with empty goblets, utensils, and plates laden with food. They set the food out, laying the silverware and glasses in the proper places, and left the same way they had come. Three more emerged, each pushing a trolley bearing various pitchers. They made their way around the table, filling each noble’s glass with his desired drink. For the moment, all the attention was diverted from Landon. He let out a shuddering breath and wiped the sweat from his palms on his knees.

  “Which drink would my lord prefer?” asked one servant, gesturing to the bottles.

  “Don’t call me that,” Landon said without thinking. The table erupted into laughter, and both he and the servant looked around in confusion.

  “My goodness,” said one of the Maisans. He was so plump that he looked like he would burst from his robes. “You warned me he had character, Hiro, but I did not expect this. I must commend you on your work, Lady Dayn. You have succeeded in making a peasant out of your son.”

  “High Ruler Egorov, that is out of line,” chided Katsunaka.

  “Just making an observation,” Egorov replied. He shrugged and took a long draught from his goblet. The other Maisan, whom Landon assumed was the advisor, smiled from behind his drink.

  Landon took a deep breath to calm his nerves, knowing that was the extent of the Maisan king’s apology. He turned back to the servant and said, “Just tea, thanks.” Several of the nobles laughed harder, and Landon’s face became hot.