Talon the Black (Dragonwall Series # 1)

Chapter 37 - The Color Black

Kastali Dun

Talon sat with his Shields, eyeing them in silence. Firelight danced across them, casting long shadows around the sitting room of his tower. A thunderstorm threw itself upon the keep's walls, breaking the day's humidity. Inside, all that could be heard was the crackling and popping within the grate. No one wished to speak, especially not he.

Three days of funeral games had come and gone. What he believed would be an adequate postponement of the inevitable was no longer so. Tomorrow the dreaded trial would arrive, and he would be forced to confront the outsider responsible for causing so much pain. He had half a mind to delay it further, knowing he was in such a poor state, but this was his duty.

He gave a heavy sigh and turned his gaze back to the fire. Duty. Always the driving force. He had every reason to despise it. Duty urged him to face each day anew, and duty kept him hard at work late into the night. This was the price of a crown—a lesson that took him many years to learn.

He never wanted to be king. When he was younger, he'd denied such a day would come, but it had, painfully so.

"No good will come from tomorrow," Reyr murmured after the silence had grown too great. He met Reyr's eyes, noticing the intensity within. It often felt like Reyr could read straight into his soul, and sometimes it was too much. He looked away and found the others also watching him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "What would you have me do, Reyr? Cancel the trial? Policy demands it."

Koldis snorted. "The lower council, you mean? They demanded Claire's head too, yet you did not acquiesce."

"I already heard your argument, Koldis. You have given your reasons often and without restraint. All of you have." He glared at them. "You would have me speak with her in private. You would have me look the fool." They'd been over this more than once. The conclusion was always the same. "Without a trial, the people will believe I am weak. The council will feel slighted. All will claim this temptress has me eating from the palm of her hand. Am I to abandon the law?"

"Yes, yes." Reyr waved a hand in dismissal, his fires stoked. "The people cry for justice. We all know they do. Since when have the people come before your duty to do what is right?"

"And what is right? Hmm?" His voice was nearly too low, like the warning growl from a berated cat, or the stifled snarl from an irritated dragon. He already knew the answer Reyr was bound to give.

Politics. It always boiled down to politics. Slippery snakes he longed to squash. But if he did, more would simply spring up from the ground. It was impossible to please everyone. If he leaned one way, his people would cry out in dismay. If he leaned the other, the response would be the same.

"Speak with Claire," Reyr said. "Discover the truth behind what happened. You are not merely depriving yourself of answers. Cyrus was our brother too." Nods from the others rippled around the room. They were against him, and he hated it.

He sighed. Unsettling as it was, Reyr's suggestion was sound. Too sound. It was the truth that left him fearful. Unbreakable Promise or not, he was hardly ready to confront whatever it was this outsider had to say.

Maybe that made him a coward, inclined to hide behind his emotions.

Reyr seemed to know it too. The look he gave spoke volumes. "Your Grace, if I may—"

"No." An abrupt shake of his head silenced all further protests. He simply could not bring himself to grant their requests. Not yet. He needed more time. He needed to heal. He needed to see this woman for himself and discover what she was about. Only then would he decide whether or not to act upon Reyr's advice.