Cinder Bound

9 - Gold Venom: Tavlen

The tournament involved three consecutive nights of festivities. The first was a celebratory feast, where contestants paraded and preened so spectators could place their bets. Then came the individual games: contestants from both sides sparring one-on-one. The final night pitted the two teams against each other.

It was the afternoon of the first night and Tavlen's warriors drilled each other in giddy anticipation of the blood to come. Or Tavlen assumed they drilled each other. He was stuck in his office playing nanny to a bored Court dragon.

To his credit, Reylin had suggested they visit the training grounds, but there was no way Tavlen was giving an ex-military snake a tour of their training regime. (Tavlen had only been allowed to take one third of his army South. He'd primarily filled those ranks with his weaker divisions to focus on training. Information Veritrith would greatly appreciate).

Though Reylin didn't seem to take his role as spy very seriously. In his week on the Coast, this was his first visit to Tavlen's manor (beach lounging with beer was a busy business, see).

Everything about Reylin the Son was an irritant. The way he kept his hands clasped innocently behind his back, the way he meandered around the office or feigned interest in the window while his eyes really lingered on marble Tavlen rolled on the desk. His very presence grated like sand on a burn.

Not that Tavlen liked his office much anyway. Perched like a great boil of stained glass over the city as it was.

Tavlen held up the tiny glass marble he'd stolen from Eleos of Kana. He positioned it so that it covered Reylin's face and closed one eye, as if he could blot out the broad shoulders and blonde hair from his office entirely.

"So many creatures in one place," Reylin said to the window, rocking on his toes like a museum visitor half-bored with the view. "Rather incredible really. If the Court saw this, us dragons would be in trouble."

Tavlen tucked the black glass back in his fist and slumped in his chair. "If you're trying to make me feel better about exile, don't."

Reylin's polished boots made soft clacks on the stone as he ambled back to Tavlen's desk. He dipped his head to smile at Tavlen's scowl. "Just trying to make conversation."

Tavlen tossed the marble in the air and caught it again. "No need to do that either."

Fent leaned against the empty bookshelves at Tavlen's back, copying one of his many notebooks with a quick hand. (With Tavlen's tendency to burn anything in his vicinity, the Worm had developed a rather frantic compulsion to copy his notes over the years). "We could talk about the missing vials from the Coven's last shipment for us," he suggested.

Reylin shrugged but didn't glance in Fent's direction. "You decided to move against the Venomous." He plucked a glass figurine from Tavlen's desk and held it up to the long stretch of windows, which checkered the afternoon sun in orange and green on the floor. "Contrary to my advice, if you recall."

Fent refreshed his ink in the well at Tavlen's left hand. "Not against. Just not with." The quill clinked against the glass rim. "For now."

Reylin's eyes finally flicked to the secretary, the barest thread of annoyance stitching the corner of his mouth. "You do realise I am here to take our Queen Venomous back her answer." He set the figurine down on top of the letter he'd brought, sealed in Veritrith's red wax. "Her patience is not eternal."

Tavlen wove the glass bead through his fingers. "I'm already banned from court. What more can she do?"

Reylin leaned against his desk. "Take your title. Call you a traitor. Slice the last sin-scar down your cheek and smile while you're torn to bloody little bits by Coven law."