A Destiny of Dragons (Tales From Verania #2)(92)

“Tiggy,” Gary snarled. “Hold me back. Hold me back!”

Tiggy grabbed on to him tightly.

Gary began to struggle. “Let me at him, you overgrown assface! Tiggy, let me at ’em!”

And I… well. I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t know that I’d ever been discriminated against for the color of my skin. Yes, I wasn’t as dark as the people in the gypsy city, and yes, my father was white, but it wasn’t a problem in the City of Lockes. Or Meridian City. Or anywhere else I’d traveled in Verania.

But before I did something rash and accidentally exploded them where they stood, I thought maybe it didn’t actually have to do with me, per se. Yes, they were talking about me, but it— “My father is a good man,” I said, voice as even as possible. “My mother is a great woman.”

And there it was. The matching looks of derision. It wasn’t so much that I was lighter in skin than they were, but more the prejudice over the fact that my mother had chosen to leave the clan rather than forsake her love. They saw me as tainted not because of my father, but because of my mother’s choice.

You know what?

Fuck these guys.

I ignored the crowd that had started to gather around us, people whispering to each other, eyeing us warily. They were inconsequential at the moment. If they pressed forward any farther, then we’d have a problem. But right now, they were on the periphery.

Ryan had his hand on his sword, still sheathed at his side. He sounded like he was barely in control of his fury when he spoke. “I am the Knight Commander of the Castle Guard, serving under Good King Anthony and the Grand Prince of Verania. But if you say something like that again to Sam, I will cut your mothercracking heads off.”

“And then I will bathe in your blood and put unicorn curses on your children!” Gary shrieked.

“So badass,” I whispered reverently.

Kevin had ambled his way back over, the wooden platforms creaking under his weight. “Hear me, O people of Malapala.”

“It’s Mashallaha,” I told him.

“Mashamasha.”

“Mashallaha.”

“Macarena.”

“Kevin, just threaten them already!”

“Right, right. Ahem. Ahem. Hear me, people of Mash Potatoes…”

“Oh my gods.”

“…I am a benevolent Lord Dragon, but I can also kick some major ass if called upon to do so. You may bask in my presence—in fact, I encourage you to do so because I am glorious—but if there is one wrong move made toward Sam of Wilds, I will burn the flesh from your bones.”

The crowd took a step back.

“Damn right,” Kevin growled. “I have motherfucking spaketh. Now give me your shiny shit and get out of my sight, you racist dickbags.”

I don’t think I’d ever seen so much gold thrown in my direction before in my life. I felt like a high-class stripper.




LEFT AND Right didn’t have much else to say as they led us farther into the city. The people still stared as we passed, but they kept their mouths shut and averted their eyes anytime Kevin or Gary glared at them. Tiggy kept right at my heels and snarled at everything, like he was daring anyone to even look at me wrong. Ryan walked at my side, hand gripped in mine. I could almost pretend that everything was fine, that everything was normal, but when had any part of my life ever been normal?

That was slightly distressing.

We were in what had to be the middle of Mashallaha, the water below us crystal clear, the walkways shaded by palm trees, when Left and Right slowed to a stop. Ahead of us was what appeared to be four large carriages stacked atop each other. All the wheels were gone, and they looked to have been repurposed as a residence instead of part of a caravan. The carriages were stacked purposefully at odd angles, the middle jutting out to the left, the top facing toward the right. A wooden staircase wrapped around the outside of the dwelling, with a landing at each carriage house. Wind chimes hung over the bottom doorway, loud and obnoxious in the breeze. The door to the lowest carriage was a bright yellow, strange symbols carved into the wood.

It was loud and gaudy and over the top.

I loved it.

“Uh-oh,” Gary said.

“What?” Ryan asked.

“Sam has that look on his face.”

“What look?”

“We should live here,” I said, ignoring the both of them. “Make this exact same house back at Castle Lockes and live in it forever.”

“The crazy-eyed look he gets when he sees something kitschy and needs to own it,” Gary sighed. “I blame his fairy drag mother. Mama always said Sam had an inner drag queen, just waiting to burst free. You should have seen him the day he discovered how to make his own feather boas. Those poor, poor ducks.”

“Sam,” Ryan said, touching me on the shoulder. “We’re not going to live in a replica of this house ever.”

I gave him a wounded look. My bottom lip trembled. “But… I’ve been dreaming of this for the last forty seconds.”

“Don’t you give me that look,” Ryan warned me. “I swear to the gods, it’s not going to work this time.”

“It gonna work this time,” Tiggy whispered to Gary.

“It always does, kitten. We’ve taught him well.”