Page 7 of Foundling

“He’s amusing,” said Eudora.

“He’s in my way.”

The four of them nearly jumped and hurried to sidestep out of the way of a former queen. Attalus nearly shivered under the frosty stare of Clymestra, and her daughters fell quiet.

“My lady,” Attalus managed through gritted fangs, “a pleasure.”

“I doubt it,” quipped the dragoness before turning her attention away. He was hardly enough of a threat to warrant more than a glance, surrounded as she was by her loyal daughters. “I see truly everyone was summoned. How unusual.”

The observation was made at Attalus’s expense, of course. “I’d never miss a chance to see our illustrious anax, dear brother as he is.”

“Don’t be glib, boy. What would your mother think?”

His mouth was more snarl than smile, but he couldn’t stop it. Of everyone in Highhome, he hated Clymestra most of all—even more than his father.

While Clymestra’s position as former analeia was pitiable, she’d been petty to take her vengeance out on her replacement. Attalus’s mother Damaris hadn’t wanted to be taken as queen—every dragoness knew the danger of keeping intimate company with the anax after Diometrios killed his first queen, his own true mate.

Why Clymestra had wanted to take the place of a murdered mate, Attalus couldn’t fathom. She was either brave or stupid. Or perhaps blinded by her own ambition. It was no surprise rumors abounded that the second queen had helped the first into the afterworld. Although it was widely known that the anax had killed Xanthe, the first queen, the details were unclear. Her four sons had loathed each new queen and their growing broods, all of them an insult to their beloved mother.

The story went that it was in a fit of madness that the anax struck out and killed his mate. It was because of that madness that he didn’t follow her into the afterworld, as mates so often did. While Diometrios had apparently always exhibited bouts of madness, his true mate had kept his mind as sound as possible. Without her, his mind was almost always clouded with rage.

Attalus had never known a family or court that wasn’t in chaos. His father lucid was often more terrifying than him raving mad. Even his eldest offspring lived in terror of what he might do.

Clever and cunning as she might be, even Clymestra couldn’t tame that beast. Attalus would’ve thought it a relief to be pushed aside for another. It wasn’t as though she and Diometrios were true mates—they didn’t even like each other. Perhaps no female liked being discarded for another, especially one much younger, but still.

When Damaris had been forced onto the dais and into the king’s bed, she’d had no allies. The king was a threat, as was Clymestra and her four daughters, Xanthe’s four sons, as well as the illegitimate offspring beget by other unfortunate noble dragonesses. Her only solace had been her two sons. Together, the three of them sheltered deep within the palace, seeking some semblance of safety from all that would harm them outside.

It was only when he and Theron were big enough to fly and defend themselves that they strayed from the Pinnacle. Taking to the winds, they’d found some modicum of freedom.

To this day, Attalus couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that, during one of those flights, they’d spotted a certain fishing boat.

The time stolen with Karik had been happy for Damaris, and even Theron and Attalus had come to see him as something of a father. All four were joyous at the birth of Briseis. But their mother had been a fool to think she could keep such secrets forever.

He didn’t know it for sure, but he had good reason to think it’d been Clymestra who found out about Karik and Briseis—and then told the anax.

What followed was a bloodbath—days filled with snatching claws and biting teeth.

Diometrios wasn’t satisfied filling his belly with Karik’s head and Damaris’s throat; his rage was total and complete. Whatever shreds of reason had lingered within him burned away in those dark days.

Araxos had had no choice but to finally make his move. The whole court had known he would be the one to challenge for the dais, and that he was the only one strong enough to succeed.

It was a long few years of constant fighting, but once the blood finally coagulated, the mad king was dead, Theron and Briseis had disappeared, and the world Attalus knew had shattered entirely.

He heard there were families, even Savrakae families, that liked each other, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. They were too ornery, too conceited. His kind knew nothing but blood and fire, and that was why he tried to get away from them as often as he could.

Still, Attalus wasn’t stupid enough to ignore a summons from the new anax. At least Araxos hadn’t eviscerated anyone in front of the whole court yet.

Attalus followed the dragonesses further into the great hall. Behind him, he heard the silver doors click shut.

Strange. He didn’t even know they had working hinges.

Most of the court seemed to be there, Savrakae of any note already gathering in a loose circle around the royal dais.

Dragons came in most colors, and it was an easy way to denote the factions within the court.

Diometrios and his line were famed for their molten gold scales. His four sons with Xanthe took after him in coloring and visage. The eldest was Aristander, wise and somewhat grizzled, with his metal arm; he was gone from court almost as much as Attalus. Then came Araxos, the new anax, brutal, reserved, utterly ruthless. He’d made his next brother Erastus archon, overseer of Highhome, and the youngest brother Tychon served as agodoros, head of the armies. Araxos trusted no one but his brothers, Aristander most of all, and had given no roles or titles to his half-siblings.

Attalus knew it was a point of pain for Clymestra that her four daughters had taken her bronze coloring. Pyrrha, Chrysanthe, and the twins, with their lithe tails and long necks, resembled the elegant bronze statues they were fond of making in the human kingdom of Pyrros. Beautiful as roses and just as thorny, the remaining sisters and their mother kept a formidable faction behind them, populated with those of Clymestra’s kin and courtiers who’d survived Diometrios’s death throes.