Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(2)

“Shit,” Zane mumbled, understanding the implications. “You think?”

The only way to kill an immortal dragyri was to remove the amulet that kept him tethered to The Pantheon, the sacred gemstone that infused him with life, the permanent talisman he received at his formal induction into his adulthood lair. And the only way to get it off his neck, since the cord wouldn’t break, was to first remove his head—a pretty severe punishment for a fairly insignificant crime…

Then again, they were referring to Lord Ethyron, and there was only one dragon lord who was worse—

Lord Dragos.

Zane instinctively clutched the sapphire ornament that hung around his neck, raised it to his lips, and pressed a kiss of reverence against the sacred stone. For the first time in a while, he was genuinely grateful that he belonged to the Lair of Sapphire, that he was subject to Lord Saphyrius and not one of the other dragon gods. As the third deity of the sacred pantheon, within the venerable Temple of Seven, Zane’s ultimate master displayed characteristics of both light and shadow, but he wasn’t that bad. The dragon could be both generous and brutal, merciful and unforgiving, but he was generally fair, just so long as he was given his due; and he loved his immortal offspring as much as any father loved a son.

Lord Dragos, on the other hand, the first deity of the sacred sect, the one who ruled the Diamond Lair, was by far the worst of the lot. Had Caleb belonged to him, he would have surpassed Lord Ethyron’s cruelty in the same situation—hell, he would have had Caleb placed in a cauldron and boiled until his skin blistered and strips began to float in the water. And even then, he might have considered removing his amulet…

Once again, Zane shook his head to dismiss the morbid thoughts.

That wasn’t his problem.

That wasn’t his ruling lord.

Thank the gods.

“Not to sound insensitive,” he said, “but why did Valyntheros call you?” Like Caleb, Valen was also a member of the Emerald Lair, so it only made sense that Caleb’s punishment was Valen’s concern—but Axe was Zane’s pantheon brother, a fellow member of the Sapphire Lair, and he kept his relationships closer to home. It just seemed odd that Valen would have called Axe.

Axe sauntered away from the windowsill, strolled to an antique rolltop desk in the corner of the room, and retrieved a piece of parchment from the upper right-hand drawer. Turning to face Zane, he said, “You do know that Levi and Caleb are thick as thieves, right?”

“Yeah,” Zane said, waiting for a deeper explanation. Levi was a member of their lair as well, their sapphire brother for all intents and purposes, and every member of the house was connected by a bond as true as blood. While they didn’t say it often, the Dragyr revered each other. Since a male could only father one offspring—a son—they did not have blood siblings, which made their housemates even more significant. Despite occasional spats, they would go to the mat for a member of the lair—hell, they would die if they had to—for a brother.

Axe blew a loose strand of dirty blond hair out of his eyes and met Zane’s stare with a blazing sapphire gaze to match his own. “Those fifty lashes were supposed to be a hundred.”

Zane grimaced, but he didn’t speak right away. Shit, a hundred lashes would flay all the skin off a dragyri’s bones. And the worst part was that Lord Ethyron would not allow Caleb to regenerate the damage quickly. In fact, he’d probably have some willing human servant mete out the punishment, just to add insult to injury. “Yeah, so he went light on him—what gives?”

Axe smiled, but the expression was absent of mirth. “Lord Saphyrius knows that Levi and Caleb are close,” he explained, “and he wanted to spare Levi the anguish of watching his friend suffer as he slowly healed. So he offered up one of his own to appease Lord Ethyron’s ego, to mitigate the damage.”

Zane closed his eyes. So, Lord Saphyrius had tried to appease Lord Ethyron for Levi’s sake… He blinked them back open. “In exchange for the last fifty lashes?” he asked, understanding just how the deal had gone down.

“Exactly,” Axe said.

“So, you’re going to finish off the gangsters for Lord Ethyron—give the family vengeance to make up for the failed protection?”

Axe shook his head. He paced to the sofa and dropped the parchment in Zane’s lap. “Nope, my brother. You are.”

Zane sank back into the cushions and lifted the paper, quickly perusing three cursive names: the identities of the rival gangsters, those who had killed the petitioner’s son. “What were the exact orders?” he asked.

“Execute them,” Axe said.

“All three?” Zane asked.

“All three,” Axe confirmed.

“And their souls?”

“Rotten to the core,” Axe said.

Zane nodded, understanding.

Whether it was a code between gods or just common sense, even the Dragons Pantheon knew better than to take the life of an innocent soul, one that belonged to another race, to another set of deities: Humans had their religions; dragons had theirs; and never the two should meet. And while feeding on prey was one thing—even lions fed on zebras; after all, nature was nature—getting involved in the immortal journey of another species’ souls was, well, considered off limits. The dragons were both allowed and expected to dispatch the wicked—demons, shades, and morally depraved humans, a trait which the Dragyr could discern—but they left the pure of heart alone when they could.