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This can’t be a good sign.
The thought came and the scar-like eye on his hand sent a shock through his entire body. He imagined the sensation that had him jumping up from the seat and clutching his hand to his heart was akin to being struck with a bolt of lightning.
A wave of warning came next. A voice dark and strange descending upon his mind.
She’s coming. She’s coming. She’s coming.
Run.
11
Meira
The warlord’s home opened with a foyer large enough to hold an army. White marbled floors lead up to two sweeping staircases connected to the next floor. Meira looked up at the glistening chandelier as she closed the door behind them.
Bram’s boots squeaked against the marble as he stopped and turned to take in the expanse of the room. At his side, Lowell was sighing dramatically and folding his arms over his chest before leaning against a wall.
Their steps echoed through the open space. Meira found herself reaching out to touch the railing of the stairs, half marveling at the dark polish and half annoyed that anyone spent their money on making something so shiny when there were much more practical and meaningful ways of doing so.
In the next room, a hearth was lit, though the flames had begun to dwindle. Warmth called her forward to warm her frozen fingers and toes. Seeing as there was no one to stop her, she strolled right past Bram and Lowell and weaved around the arrangement of furniture to get to the fireplace. She nearly sighed with the same exasperation as Lowell had as the heat washed over her skin.
Her heart beat against the insistent tug that demanded her to hunt. Though she did her best to look relaxed, her attention kept jumping between the doorways and the shadows of the room. Underneath her glove, the mark began to itch.
“How long do we wait before we let the boy get himself to Croughton?” Lowell said, still leaning against the door.
Bram’s voice came only a few feet behind Meira. “We’ll wait as long as it takes.”
Despite the odd nature of their mission, to leave without seeing it to completion would be a shame upon their legion. The words to the end were more than a tradition to say; it was the heart of the scale riders and their devotion to seeing every mission through. Meira wondered then how much shame would be upon her if she had to abandon this mission. In the fifteen years she’d spent with the scale riders she’d only heard of one banishment, a rider who’d run from their post during a particularly brutal skirmish on the Empire’s border. They’d been called a coward and forbidden from returning. As far as she was aware the banishment even went as far as to the man's bonded dragon. There was a small relief in knowing that no matter what she wouldn’t be torn away from Mrithun.
The bond of a rider with their dragon was a strange one. On her end, she felt an immense endearment toward the animal, a stronger desire to ensure her Bold Wing was always cared for and protected. Yet Mrithun could damn near read her mind. She got the feeling that her dragon always knew where she was even when miles separated them. Whatever the Bold Wing felt, it was certainly even stronger than what she did, which sounded altogether impossible. She’d think so if she didn’t see the evidence of the bond every time they were together. The understanding in her Bold Wings eyes, the way her dragon was attuned to her very emotions and often put herself between Meira and any threats.
What was an itch grew to a burning sensation in her palm. She blinked and could swear she saw the backside of the Brendal home on the inside of her eyelids. Her body tensed as she closed her eyes and examined the building. The same painted brick, navy shutters, and gold accents but all from another angle, another perspective.
Meira felt that tightness in her chest strengthen until it took everything in her not to start stumbling forward and then sprint through the rooms. Her body and mind screamed for her to go and look. To hunt and to find. He was close, he had to be.
She had to find a reason to get away from Bram and Lowell, a reason that would allow her to search the spacious home. Lowering her hands and turning toward Bram, she did her best to look natural, but the movements felt stiff and Bram watched her with a curious gaze. After over ten years of knowing each other, he knew her well enough to notice her tells. She forced a smile.
“Think they’ve got a bathroom somewhere in here?” she asked.
Bram’s lips twitched as he fought a frown. “Why? Are you feeling sick?”
“Just need to relieve myself.” She shrugged and turned back toward the fire offering her hands again as if it was of no rush, but the urgency was building, a terrible constriction in her chest that made each breath harder to take than the last. Embers glowed and the firewood crackled before her. She watched it with rapt attention.
“They probably have a gold toilet,” Lowell snickered to himself. “I’d bet they were fed as babies with golden bottles and laid to sleep in their little golden cribs.”
“We had a nursemaid for our son and I doubt he would have slept at all in a golden crib. I can’t imagine it would have been very comfortable.”
A man stepped out from an open doorway to the right of the fireplace. Meira almost expected to see that stranger. Her stranger. But this man was far from the sharp jawline and tempting eyes she’d seen in her visions. Everything about him was round from the shape of his face to the slope of his belly resting over his navy trousers.
“Warlord Vigor,” Bram spoke first. That was for the best seeing as Lowell had turned a dark shade of scarlet and Meira was sweating from forcing herself still. “We’ve come to accompany your son to Croughton as requested.” Bram leaned ever so slightly, looking around Vigor for a glimpse at the son who’d not yet shown himself. All that was behind the large warlord though was more darkness.
Vigor took a step forward. Flames reflected off the golden handle of his cane, shaped into the menacing effigy of a roaring lion. Meira felt the intensity of his gaze laze over each of the scale riders one by one.
The man scowled. “We had some unexpected visitors and he’s been delayed but should be here shortly.” He turned his attention back to Bram. “You are aware that someone should be with him at all times, correct? I’ve made him an appointment with several potential business ventures but the atmosphere surrounding them has already become somewhat of a mess. A meeting with any man from one of Elton Hamza’s previous business ventures and suddenly the person ends up dead. That will not be what becomes of my son, do you understand?”
Elton Hamza had been undoubtedly successful and spoiled with riches. Was it so much so that it was worth killing each other for? Meira had never had an ounce of wealth to her name, not even in her long-forgotten village years ago. The idea that any of it would be enough to bring men to each other’s throats was absurd.
The Empire loved its coin, even if the mystery of it befuddled her. They loved it about as much as they looked down on scale riders and certainly far more than they ever cared for witches.
