Defiance Ch. 15

"But you're all greased up, aren't you. I bet I could slip it straight in, fuck you bloody and be out of here long before the prince returned." His eyes travelled the length of Tate before coming to rest of his face. "You'd probably like it too, wouldn't you whore?"

Tate didn't allow his expression to change as he sat watching Richard. He got slowly to his feet and casually let the blanket drop. He didn't allow his nakedness to distract him as he reached under the prince's mattress and retrieved the blade the Christian kept there for what he claimed was his last line of protection. He raised it casually, all the while keeping his eyes on Richard. "I may not be a bloodied warrior captain, but if you so much as try to touch me I can assure you I'll cut off that repulsive bit of meat you have dangling between your legs. Now get out before I decide to tell Christian your words. You'll recall he killed a solider once for touching me?"

The fanatic light left Richard's face and was replaced with absolute hatred. "You'll die, you know that don't you? Christian won't be permitted to keep you, not now he's to be king. Your death will be arranged and I can promise you this whore, when the time comes I'll be the one to do it, but not before I've fucked you so raw that you'll pray for death."

Tate smirked at the captain and felt a profound sense of pleasure when Richard turned a distinct shade of pink. "That's all well and good captain but until then why don't you get the fuck out?"

Richard took one faltering step forward before he physically shook himself and turned his back. He slammed the door closed behind him with an audible thud and Tate was finally left alone to absorb everything that had happened.

He heard the bells begin to chime signalling the kings passing. He only barely managed to reach the chamber pot in time before he emptied the meagre contents of his stomach.

** Tate faltered twice, unable to force himself to approach the soldiers in fear that they might refuse his bribe and betray him to Christian. He cursed himself for a coward but it didn't help his skittishness. Move, he told himself, go now before it's too late. He couldn't make himself do it though, even though he knew that he wasting valuable time, even though the burning need inside of him to see the prophet was so fierce it was almost painful.

He was so intent on his own thoughts that he did not notice the approaching guard until an armoured hand landed on his shoulder. Tate gasped and instinctively pressed back as a scarred face lent close to his own.

"Hello my lord." The guard snickered, the scar across his lips causing his smile to look more like a grimace. "Did you intend to hide here all day, or is there something you wish to ask me?" Tate opened his mouth but struggled to find his voice, which made the guards smile widen. He pressed in even closer and his voice when he spoke was less than a whisper. "I wondered when I might be given the opportunity for us to chat. You and I have a common friend little lord."

"A guard should not consider a prince as a friend." Tate said softly, turning his head from the putrid breath that washed over him. "If you'll allow me to pass?" He made himself meet the other man's soft blue eyes and tried for a gentle push. "Excuse me." He said politely when the other man didn't move.

"I'm not talking about a prince; I'm talking about a common man. A man that as common as they get in fact. I'm told you and he are quite intimately known to one another."

"I know no common men." Tate ground out, desperate for the solider to move away from him.

The smile disappeared and was replaced with a calculating look. "Lies do not become you my lord, for all know you've spread your legs for a tinker, and according to your lot they're about as common as you can get."

"Get off me!" Tate snarled, pushing hard now against the soldier's chest.

One hand wrapped around the Halfling's neck and the other caught his wrists. Tate was pushed hard against the wall at his back at the smiling guard leaned disturbingly close. "No need for hysterics little lord. It's true that I've probably got more reason to kill you than most but my people are still worthy enough not to blame a weak little man for the deeds of a spoiled, insane prince."

"What are you doing?" Tate demanded in horror. His eyes searched the area frantically. "You can't say such things. If someone were to hear-"

"No one will hear, not unless you start screaming."

"I do not scream."

"No?" The guard asked with a smile. "You're not frightened of me then little lord?"

Tate stopped struggling and raised himself to his full height. He stared unblinkingly into the guards pale eyes as he abruptly realised something. "You've the accent of a tinker master guard." he said quietly. "And skin that's a shade too dark to be considered truly northern."

"Well well well, aren't we the observant little lordling." He pressed in even closer until his lips were almost touching Tate's cheek. "Lukas is quite taken with you boyo, him, our new king, Tanis, the captain of the guard. Seems every powerful man in the country wants to dip his wick. Seems strange to me, given the fact that our northern lieges are as closed minded as any race I've ever known. They're not usually so open about plugging a man, nor so venomous in protecting and keeping him."

"You've a point have you?" Tate ground out angrily.

"I'm just curious is all?" The tinker smiled, causing his scar to stretch and pull. "And now you keep coming here, to see the prophet. Seems to me that the fae are known to call to one another."

"You think me fae?" Tate asked, exasperated. He had been called some nonsense in his time but he believed this was the first time he had been compared to a mythical elf "Are you really so foolish to believe in such twaddle?"

"You really think it's so strange, with them eyes and that skin of yours. It ain't natural, I can tell you that now."

"They're darker in the south. All know that."

"Aye, they are darker. They're brown or black but there isn't a single soul I've ever seen that looked like you."

"I'm a half-blood." Tate said defensively.

"You're unnatural, that's what you are." His eyes travelled the length of Tate before he slowly stepped back and created some distance between them. "I promised Lukas I would give you a message next time I saw you. Every midnight he waits in the orchards for you. He'll keep waiting until you appear to him again."

"Why does he wait?" Tate asked, his heart hammering in his chest. "I can't go out at night."

"Why does he do any of the things he does?" The said softly. "Because he says he loves you."

Tate felt like he had been punched. He pushed the feeling aside, locking it away with every other raging emotion he had been forced to suppress. He had a purpose for coming to the tower and even as they spoke the need manifested inside of him. "I need to see the prophet."

"And you've a worthwhile bribe do you?"

"I -- I don't have any money, but-" Tate pulled out one of Christian's rings, fairly certain now that the tinker would not betray him but unsure if the man would want such a dangerous item. "He has so many that he will never miss this. It's a ruby." Tate held it up, tilting it in the light so the stone caught the light and sparkled like liquid fire. "It's very valuable."

"Give it here then." He said, reaching out and snatching the ring from Tate's hand. He inspected it for a moment before pocketing it.

"Will you let me up?"

"The prince won't be missing you will he?"

"He is occupied dealing with the kings passing. He won't notice."

The tinker turned and walked away from him abruptly. After a moment's hesitation Tate followed. They stopped outside the prophet's cell door, where the other guard gave Tate a sly look. The scarred one unlocked the door and both men abruptly turned their backs.

Tate hesitated for a moment before rushing through. He took the stairs quickly, barely registering the sound of the door banging closed behind him. The compulsion the prophet had placed on him seemed to deepen with each step but Tate resisted the urge to throw himself into the room. He slowed his pace and collected himself before entering the prophet's tower.

The man was just as heavily chained as before. His silvery hair and milky white skin shone beautifully in the moonlight, but the rest of him looked withered and weak. His unseeing eyes turned eerily in Tate's direction and the old one gave an almost vindictive smile. "You made me wait drakling."

"I couldn't get away." Something in the man's tone made Tate apprehensive. "Are you well?"

A bark of laughter before a look of emptiness. "It will end soon."

A shiver ran up Tate's spine. "What will end?" he whispered.

Those dead eyes met Tate's, seemingly staring directly at him. "The end of the beginning fair drakling."

"You speak in riddles." Tate said softly.

"I speak the truth."

"Is that why you called me?" Tate asked without any real venom. "To tell me tales?"

"I called you to enlighten some of the lies you've been fed. You suspect what you are?"

"I am a half-blood, what else is there?"

The ancient one turned slowly away from him and stared intently out of his tiny barred window. "There is so much more, an eternity of more. You have dreamed them, or a part you might comprehend."

"What do you know of my dreams."

"I know of unimaginable power, of fire and flight and lust. I know of ancient knowledge and immeasurable arrogance. I know of freedom unlike you or any of your father's race could ever hope to comprehend." He shifted, causing the chains around him to rattle loudly. "I have dreamt with you little brother; I have seen the things you yearn for. Do not tell me that you know not what I speak of."

"Dragons?" Tate let out a laugh that sounded a little hysterical even to him. "I think my father might have noticed if he had lain down with a dragon."

"You mock me?" The ancient one asked, his voice no les terrifying despite the softly spoken tone.

"No, of course not." Tate held his hands up pleadingly, despite the knowledge that the sightless one could not see him. "Please, forgive me."

"You think me insane." The prophet said, his tone accusing. "Were I not chained and cursed you would never dare to so slight me."

"Please, I do not think you mad. I know you are something more than a man, just as I know there is something in me that twists the lives of the people I come in contact with. Please, I have come for your help. I do not want you ire."

Moments passed in silence before the prophet raised one skeletal arm. "Grasp my hand Drakling, I wish to show you something."

Tate hesitated before forcing himself to step forward and take the ancients ones hand. He gasped momentarily when the deceivingly fragile hand clasped his own in a manacle like hold.

"I would show you our world precious one." The prophet hissed.

***

Lukas released a relieved breath when he saw Falliath waiting patiently for him in the main fountain square of the city. The boy was clean and smartly dressed in plain gray and black. He had been living well enough on the money Lukas had sent from his earnings in the guard.

The boy grinned when he saw him, his big green eyes sparkling mischievously. "Good to see you're not dead yet." He announced, mindful of anyone who might be listening to them.

"You seem to be fairing well enough." Lukas said with a fond smile. He pushed a pastry he had purchased earlier into the boys bony hands.

"Well enough. So, have you found your sister?"

"She's with Tate."

"Fortunate indeed." The boy said, his words muffled by a mouth full of food.

"The wedding will be soon. I plan for us to leave on that night."

A slight pause in the chewing. "Aye, so you've said before."

"You still want to come with me?" Lukas asked.

"Of course."

Lukas took a deep breath, feeling more than a little sick for what he was about to ask. "Would you be able to steal two horses and have them ready and waiting at the northern gates?"

The boy regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before shrugging. "Only one way to know for certain." He grinned. "How hard could it be?"

****

They were as much men as dragons. They walked as men, eat and fucked and lived as a human would, yet they were so much more.

They lived for countless, unimaginable years. Their bodies were strong, their features beautiful and alien. They had magic, which would allow them to transform into creatures of inconceivable power and size.

They lived in solitude atop a great spiralling city in the sky, which sat atop a mountain that only those with wings could hope to reach. Beneath them lay a wide desert with the heat and solitude their kind so craved. It was beautiful, they were beautiful.

****

"We continue on with the wedding as planned then?" The chancellor asked, his expression grave. "What of your coronation?"

"My father's funeral is to take place within two days, is that correct?"

"Yes sire."

"The wedding is scheduled in ten days"

"Correct sire" The chancellor took a deep breath. "The mourning time in possibly too --"

"No, I want the wedding to take place as planned. I'll be king as soon as the mourning period is over and I want to make sure I have begun the process of obtaining an heir by that time."

"As you command sire." The chancellor performed a low bow. "There is much to be done. If you will excuse me?"

Christian gestured him away with a small wave of his hand. A moment later a page boy hurried over to him and conveyed that a tracker known as Lamidor had apprehended a prisoner under Christian's orders and had him detained in the dungeons.

The price felt his heart leap up in his throat. If the tracker had made him way into Christian's own chambers there was only one possible person the prisoner could be. His hands began to shake and he felt sudden and intense anger that the thought of a mere tinker could cause him such panic.

The prophet had lied. It was the only possible outcome. They were known for their deceitfulness. There was no possible way a mere gypsy could bring about his downfall.

And now that he had the dog in his dungeons he was going to prove that fact once and for all.

*****

Tate came back to his own body with a jarring impact. He looked up at the prophet from his crumpled position on the floor and felt a sense of wonderment.

"Do you still think me mad little darkling?"

"No," Tate whispered. He pressed his head down across his arms. "Please forgive me. I didn't know."

"Your mother did you a great injustice leaving you here unprotected and ignorant of the power you hold." He leant forward, his sightless eyes piercing Tate to his very soul. "Halflings are rare among our people. Most females cannot conceive a child of mixed blood and any mortal woman who bears a dragon's babe will not survive long before the drakling destroys her from within. It baffles me why she would have left such a treasure along and unguarded."

Tate considered what he had seen in the spiralling tower. The images had been sudden and piercing but he could not help but recall the image of those few souls that had lived among the dragons, noticeable by the gilded collars that had circled their slender throats. He had felt a kinship to them, but also a deep and resounding sense of horror.

"They are slaves." Tate whispered.

"Companions." The prophet corrected. "Their very purpose is to give pleasure."

Tate felt himself shiver at the thought. "You said our people have power and freedom. I saw none of that in the drakling's."

The prophet let out a tight smile. "Had you been trained you would realise what an honour being a companion conveys. You would never be harmed or ridiculed again. You would be cherished, as you were meant to be"

"I don't want to be cherished." Tate said, feeling sudden anger as he got quickly to his feet. "I want freedom. I want my life. Surely you can understand that?"

The prophet's expression turned to one of pity. "Had you been taught to harness your gifts instead of pouring energy out to anyone who comes in contact with you might stand a chance to gain your wish. As you are though Drakling, you will never gain acceptance among mortal men. Their minds are too weak and your pull is too strong."

Tate shook his head in silent denial. "What are you saying?"

"You're undeniably fair child but do you not question why so many are drawn to you? You cry out to them, you cry out to me. I can hear it. You entice them and entrap them and weave so many strings that it is impossible for them to ever untangle themselves. Their mortal minds fixate on you and they want to own, to possess and command."

"But," Tate gestured uselessly at himself. "I'm not doing anything."

"Its second nature to you so you don't even realise what you're doing, but I can assure you drakling that the pull is strong and enticing even to me. It is how I recognised you; it is how I know what you are."

The implications of what he was saying crashed down all at once at the half-blood fell heavily to his knees. "How do I stop it?"

"Years of training by those who have already mastered control."

"That is impossible." Tate whispered. "There must be another way?"

"None that I know of. Perhaps if you learn to recognise the gift in yourself you might learn how to control it." The prophet shifted slightly and seemed to almost collapse in on himself. "It is time for you to go Drakling. We will not meet again."

Tate couldn't leave, not now when he had so many questions.

"Our new king will search for you soon. I regret that he intends to cause you great harm this night."

"It will be as any other night then." Tate laughed bitterly, disorientated and confused by all he had been told. He looked pleadingly back at the prophet as he got slowly to his feet. "Please, before I go just tell me. Is it my fault? All the death and heartache, did I cause it? Did I make Christian mad?"

"The madness always lurked, barely beneath the surface. The boy is weak willed and cruel, but I will not deny that your interference has brought out his madness far faster than it would have naturally occurred. I am sorry, I know it was not what you wished to hear but just remember, they are only mere mortals."

"Thank you." Tate said woodenly as he got slowly to his feet. "Thank you for your knowledge."

***** This pathetic withered creature was what he had feared so completely. This broken, snivelling thing? Christian threw back his head and allowed his laughter to flow. The prophet had obviously been lying to him. Later, after he had fully enjoyed the feeling of relief in his heart he would pay the prophet a visit and show him the consequences of his misbegotten tongue.

In the meanwhile he would deal with his supposed slayer. He studied him for a time, smirking at the filth as his feet. The tinker stared resolutely at the floor. He was shaking softly, which caused the chains that encircled his wrists and ankles to clatter and clink.

"Do you know who I am?" Christian finally asked.

The gypsies wide blue eyes finally rose to meet his. This is the man, Christian suddenly thought, that stole Tate's heart. "Do I know you?" It spat at him, eyes flashing with hatred and anger. "Of course I know you child slayer, slaver, murderer. Your name is infamous."

Christian closed the short distance between them and punched the older man in his filthy face. The tinker collapsed in on himself with a choked groan.

***

Tate walked slowly down the spiralling staircase as he tried to contain the almost overwhelming pain he could feel in his gut.

He had always considered himself partially responsible for the atrocities the tinkers had been forced to endure but he had consoled himself with the knowledge that Christian was the real villain. He was the one to blame for all that had happened because he was cruel and mad and utterly ruthless.