Arctic
Foeslayer's mother lets me borrow some of her jewelry. It's too strange and colourful, jagged peices of onyx and bloodred rubies slipping between my talons. Like the goal is to stand out, not to blend in. I close my eyes, and I can still hear my etiquette teacher at school droning on and on and on about the symbolism of certain gemstones and the importance of showing respect for the Great Ice Dragon in every aspect of our lives.
Foeslayer wears moonstones and opals. She looks beautiful, I think to myself, in a quiet corner of my mind.
"Here," she says, picking up the onyx necklace and putting it over my head. "It'll look like we match."
I take her talon in mine, looking away.
"Arctic," she says slowly. "We need to be careful. I know a lot of these dragons–by reputation, anyway. Half of Queen Vigilance's court is going to want to give you back to your mother by force–and the other half probably just wants to use you for your magic.
"What are you implying?" I say, bristling.
"Just, that... well, um..." she buries her face in her talons. "Arctic, this isn't the time for your little sour faces and snippy remarks. If these dragons doubt us–not that they have a good reason to–then we're not going to be able to live here anymore."
I scoff. "Why do we even want to live here? Please, enlighten me."
"Arctic," she says sternly.
"I'm not a dragonet. Don't talk to me that way."
"This is what I'm talking about!" she says, gesticulating. "This. The snarking! We need to get these dragons to believe that we are something worth fighting for, that we're sympathetic, because otherwise they're going to try and kill you, and make our lives in this place so terrible, we're going to have to leave."
Which would be a bad thing? I want to say back. I don't. Not that she gives me any credit for that.
"Fine. Then–how do we do that?" I ask, impatient. At school, they taught us all about how to save face at court parties. But IceWing relationships never had to involve any of this feelings nonsense.
She furrows her brow. "Um, I don't know. I could... put my wing over your shoulder." She demonstrates, smiling. "And maybe you could, um–you could lean in and whisper things to me."
"What things?"
"It doesn't matter. I'll just, um–I'll laugh, and I'll smile at you. Like--like this." Her fake laugh sounds like something dying.
"That was awful."
"It would be better if it were–you know. If I really needed it to be good," she promises. "I'll work on it, don't worry. And—you should call me things like love, or darling. Do you do that in the Ice Kingdom?"
I shake my head, horrified at the thought. "Three moons. No."
The displays of affection, the food, the sleep cycle. What an odd kingdom.
"Well, come on sweetheart," she says, poking me. "Give it a try."
"All right, darling," I mutter. It does feel nice to say.
She giggles. "See? You're gonna learn in no time."
This is the beginning and end of my universe.
This is my life, now.
***
The room feels warm and suffocating, too many dragons pressed too close together. It's not hard to spot the queen, making small talk with an advisor up on one of the balconies and overlooking the whole scene with amusement. She's decked out with jewels, and she has a certain authority to her. Something in the way she carries herself that says I could ruin the lives of everyone in this room.
Her eyes snag on me. She says something to her even gaudy-looking advisor, and whisks down the stairs.
"It's gonna be okay," Foeslayer says softly, smiling.
Who said I was nervous? I probably have more experience with court functions like this than she does.
I'm the one with power here. I'm the one who could kill everyone in this room, if I wanted. Then at least they would respect me. They would treat me like a prince (Or, they at least wouldn't all be whispering and pointing, as though I'm come kind of oddity to be ogled at.)
"Prince Arctic. Foeslayer," Vigilance says. "Meet the most esteemed dragons in your tribe."
"This is a beautiful party," Foeslayer babbles. "I, um, I like the–flower arrangements. And wow, that cake looks really good! I mean, wow, look at that frosting, huh?"
Her mother most definitely did not make her take etiquette classes. Or, if she did, Foeslayer must not have been listening.
Vigilance raises her eyebrows, unimpressed. Foeslayer clears her throat, looking away.
"Well. Aren't you two... charming," her advisor says tightly. She bows, looking Foeslayer up and down. "Foeslayer–your mother and I go way back. You've grown up so fast."
"This is Allknowing, Arctic," Foeslayer says, smiling in a forced kind of way. "She's a seer."
I've ever met one of those before. Didn't Foeslayer say that all the ones with powers had the scales by their eyes?
I don't know what it is–but I don't trust this dragon in the slightest.
"You know, Prince Arctic, I foresaw your coming in a prophecy, months before the delegation," she says. "Whether or not you'll be useful to our tribe is... yet to be seen."
Foeslayer grabs my talon, putting a wing over my shoulder. "We're just so glad that there's somewhere we can be together," she says, meeting my eyes.
"We are," I say, plastering a smile on my snout. Do it for her. You've done it before, the technique is just... a bit different. "I'm sure we can, uh–negotiate further. About that."
She laughs. "Of course we can. We've got all the time in the world, haven't we? So, indulge my curiosity: how did you two lovebirds meet?"
Foeslayer tells her the story, and I put my wing over her shoulder, trying not to show my boredom on my face.
***
"So," a chatty, overinterested dragon says, sipping champagne from her glass. "What was the Ice Kingdom like? Did you all live in igloos? Is it true you keep polar bears as pets?"
Now that's just bizarre. "No, we do not," I say. "Look, I don't know who you are, but I just want to be with my girlfriend. That's really all. This isn't–ask an IceWing." So entitled. Does this tribe not have any manners? I restrain from making that last comment–for Foeslayer's sake.
She swoons. "You want to be with your girlfriend? That's so sweet."
No one got this intoxicated at IceWing parties. These dragons have absolutely no self-restraint.
Another NightWing adjusts his glasses. "What was it like, back there? It must have been terrible, for you to leave." In the warm firelight, they look a little bit ominous. I can't believe they don't have moon globes here. How do they live this way?
I hesitate. "It was–it was–" It was my home. It was a death trap. I would have been miserable, but at least I would have known what my life was going to look like even a month into the future. "It was my tribe. It–it's none of your business."
Foeslayer rushes over, exchanging a glance with me. I know it's supposed to mean something, but I don't know her well enough to tell what exactly.
"Arctic," she says, throwing her wing over me. "There's something I've gotta show you, darling," she says, smiling just a bit too wide. "I'm so sorry, you two–I'll give him back in a few minutes, I promise." She's not good at playing this part, even worse than I am.
We race down the hall together, and she's laughing, and I'm laughing, and I can't even tell why.
"There's–there's, um–a good spot, just up here," Foeslayer says, beckoning. She throws open the glass door and ushers me out onto the balcony. The stars are bright in the sky, like little pinpricks in the black. The rain has finally let up; I think this is the first time I've seen the sky since I got here. The night air is startlingly cool on my scales after all the stuffy rooms, and I feel myself relax a little bit.
"I used to go out here when I was a dragonet," she says softly, her breath turning into steam in the cold air. "Mother would drag me to parties like these all the time. She tried to teach me all the manners, but it just didn't stick to my brain. I don't... know why. I can't learn things if I'm not interested in them. I just zone out. Eventually I'd always find a way to sneak off here, and look at the stars, or run around the palace, pretending I was a soldier. Until she caught me, and dragged me home, and told me how I was never going to amount to anything." She trails off, the upbeat tone of her voice trailing off.
"You would have been a terrible IceWing," I mutter.
She gives me a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I was... joking. That was a joke." I narrow my eyes, and Foeslayer bursts into laughter.
"I'm sorry," she says, covering her mouth with her talon. "You have the worst joking face I've ever seen in my life. You look like my mother."
"I do not!" I exclaim vehemently. "You're the one who–who can't act to save her life." I want to be mad at her, I want to hate the ground she walks on. Do not laugh right now. By all the moons, Arctic, do not laugh right now, or she'll never take you seriously. I bite my tongue, glaring at the ground. "What was that, back there? And you need to cut it out with the darling thing. It's not dignified."
Foeslayer snickers, or maybe she's crying too, I can't tell in the dark. "Who says that to their girlfriend?"
"It's true!" I exclaim. "Stop laughing! Maybe in your tribe you walk around–calling each other darling in public and eating fruit but that's not me, all right! It's not!"
"You need to loosen up," she says firmly. "If you're ever gonna be happy here. Just... relax. No one cares, Arctic—this might be news, but guess what? Their lives don't orbit around you."
"You need to stop bossing me around!"
"Oh, by all the moons. What are we even fighting about?" she's laughing again, throwing her wings up in the air. "This is so stupid. This whole palace is so stupid. I hope I never have to set foot in it again. My family's been tangled up in this nightmare for generations, and it's terrible. Look at my mother! She's crazy! Just like her grandmother, and her great-grandmother, and her great-great-grandmother too. This place does that to you."
And I'm laughing too, unable to stop myself. "I hate it. I hate all of it, Foeslayer."
"I know. I—I love you."
"I know that too."
"That's not what you say to your girlfriend!" Her voice is stretched thin, close to collapsing into tears or laughter.
"Well, get used to it," I mutter.
"You're so stupid." She shakes her head, burying her face in my shoulder. I freeze up, but don't pull away.
***
We stay like that for a while, until I start to notice smoke on the horizon, something burning in the trees. I furrow my brow.
"Foeslayer. Look." I point. "Is that normal?" Maybe this is another NightWing thing where they "let loose" by starting wildfires on purpose. Figures.
Her ears prick up, and she scans the horizon, suddenly alert. "That's not that far away," she whispers. "I mean–I'm–I'm sure it's just–"
That's almost certainly where the IceWing army is camped out. Or nearby. Right at the edge of NightWing territory.
In my heart, I already know. it was inevitable. Mother's never been one to make empty threats.
When I was a dragonet and I'd do something to displease her, she wouldn't just punish me. She would punish the nanny and the cook and the cleaner, even Father. She would make it just as much my fault as every single one of theirs.
You won't come home? That's fine. You're a grown adult, you can do as you please. But freedom to choose doesn't mean choice without consequence.
"It's–it's not–" Foeslayer hesitates. "No. There's no way. You can't plunge two tribes into war over literally two dragons. That's just... ludicrous. I mean, come on."
Maybe she wasn't paying attention in history class. But I was.
Going to war to drag her son back home is exactly what a good IceWing queen would do.
***
Prudence assures her daughter it's fine; that she was just seeing things. Foeslayer nods along, looking up to her mother with a childish kind of desperation.
What would she know about it anyway?
These dragons are all soft. They throw their pretty parties in their pretty palaces–they never have to train for combat, never have to fight for their survival. No sense of tradition, or discipline–only endless indulgence and greed. Pathetic.
I watch from the corner as everyone seems to get increasingly intoxicated, staring at my reflection in my drink. I answer the most barebones responses to all the questions I get asked, and dragons still seem to loose their minds. Perhaps my disinterest adds to the effect.
And I watch as a scout comes in, followed by a dozen soldiers. The crowd parts around them, nobles whispering among each other.
"Your Majesty!" The scout says. He's limping–I think his back talon might be burnt, and there's a gash on his chest that looks deep.
Isn't someone going to do something?
Vigilance seems to materialize. She doesn't look surprised.
I watch the scout drip his red blood on the tile floor. I'm not listening to her questions, not the poor dragon's answers.
If we could have just disappeared–like I suggested, like I wanted to, then none of this would be happening. We'd be on some island off the coast, just her and I. No one would have died. We would have been happy.
I look over to her, my talons shaking with rage.
You might blink your eyes and play innocent. But you did this to me. You made me ruin my life. And the blood is on your talons, Foeslayer.
Not mine.