Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(38)
“Rise,” the dragon commanded.
And they did.
Each dragyri male in order, opposite his master’s throne: first Ghost, in the center; then Jagyr to his right; then Zane to Ghost’s left and Blaise to Jagyr’s right… On and on, the Genesis stood, facing their makers’ cathedrae, until all were standing at their full, proud heights.
Ghost was the first to speak, from the center of the line. “Greeting, my lords; how may we serve you?” Despite the homage inherent in the words, his tone was unmistakable: What’s up, you overbearing monsters—and what the devil do you want?
That was just Ghost’s way.
And all had come to expect it.
In fact, the lords either excused it, or they no longer noticed it—he was Lord Dragos’ progeny…enough said on the subject.
Lord Topenzi spoke next, and his noble, gentle spirit filled the hall like a light summer’s breeze on a hot, scorching day, refreshing the males as one. “Thank you for coming.” His affection was tangible. “We will try to make this brief so you can be on your way.” He then eyed each male, one at a time, and crooked his fingers inward. “Enough with the peripheral vision. You may release your amulets, and you may regard our eyes.”
Hmm, Zane thought as he dropped his hand to his side and allowed his gaze to take in the visage of the dragon lords, face-to-face, eye to eye, subject to lord. Well, that’s a first.
A sudden tinge of pain tightened Zane’s chest, and for a moment, it felt like there was a fist squeezing his heart. And then he both felt and heard the voice of his ruling lord—his father, Lord Saphyrius—speaking in his mind. “Guard your thoughts, son. This is no time to be careless…or sarcastic.”
Zane didn’t acknowledge the admonition, but he took note of his master’s warning, and the sensation immediately eased.
“Now then,” Lord Dragos bellowed, startling them all to attention with the tremolo of his voice, “you have been summoned as a result of a growing concern.”
Zane glanced askance at Ghost to see if the dragyri might give anything away—after all, he dealt with Lord Dragos more than the rest—but his face was a mask of indifference.
“The other night, when Zanaikeyros traveled through the portal on Lord Ethyron’s business,” Lord Dragos continued, “he was beset by two demons and a shade.” He cleared his throat, ostensibly for effect, as dragons didn’t suffer physical anomalies…of any kind. “The incident sparked a discussion amongst the Omniscient about the safety of our sons. As you well know, there are only seven of you left, seven of the original embryos.”
Zane almost blanched—original embryos? Wow, that was endearing—but then he caught himself, reined in his thoughts, and turned his attention back to the dragons.
“What Lord Dragos is trying to say”—apparently Lord Topenzi caught the insensitive reference as well—“is that your lives are too invaluable, far too important, too rare to risk. We must consider the incident as a serious threat, and we must address it going forward.”
A black stain, like sludge, projected outward from Lord Dragos’ aura, and he sneered at Lord Topenzi, his amalgamated upper lip taking the momentary form of a dragon’s snout as he flashed a row of barbaric, treacherous teeth. “I know exactly what I meant to say, Lord Topenzi,” he snarled. “I do not require an interpreter.”
Lord Topenzi merely declined his head and linked his hands in his lap, unruffled.
And that’s when Lord Saphyrius took over. “Zanaikeyros…”
Zane’s eyes swept to his ruling lord and fixed on his seeking gaze. “Father.”
“Friday night, as I was divining shadows in the Oracle Pool, I saw a glimpse of the night’s event. Is it true that you were bitten, not once, but twice, by one of the demonic beetles?”
Zane nodded, reluctantly. Was his ass going to be the topic of discussion? “Yes, milord; it’s true.”
Lord Saphyrius frowned, and Zane winced.
My bad, he spoke in his head.
A bright blue band of light streaked through the air, as if conjured by Lord Saphyrius’ emotion. “You could have died, my son. Right then. Right there. In an instant. I could have lost you.”
Zane heard the concern—and dare he say, the tenderness—in Lord Saphyrius’ words, and his throat constricted…just a bit. He fidgeted with his amulet as he sought to formulate a respectful reply. “I’m fine, Father. I am. Levi and Axe were there, I did not take any unnecessary risks, and all was well in the end.”
“Yes,” Lord Saphyrius acknowledged. “Levi removed the toxins with cleansing fire, but that does not allay my concerns—our concerns—for the future.” He pressed the tips of his diaphanous fingers together in a thoughtful, contemplative gesture. “If the Pagan Horde has grown so bold, if they would attack a Genesis on the front lawn of a human’s home, knowing full well the war they could start should one of you be harmed—the decades of battle that would inevitably ensue—then perhaps they have grown truly arrogant. Perhaps it is time for us—for you—to take greater precautions.”
Zane furrowed his brow. “What kind of precautions, milord?”
Ghost visibly smirked, but he stopped short of rolling his eyes. Everyone knew the dragyri was as suicidal as he was homicidal—the last thing he cared about was safety.