“The dwarves were getting ready to return home when something caught their attention. One of them spotted what he thought was a smooth stone buried in the debris of the nest, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was an egg. One of them had survived the attack, and the dragonling inside could still be alive. They brought the egg back to their home and built up a fire to keep it warm. Despite being abandoned to the elements for days, if not weeks, the dragonling fought his way back to life and hatched two days later. Knowing their underground settlement was no place for a dragon to grow up, they sent a missive to Nimbronia, and word eventually reached my uncle. He left immediately to receive the young orphan and brought him back to Oescienne to raise as a foster son.”
Sapheramin reached for a large goblet placed in front of her and took a long drink from the cup. She set it back down before saying, “And that, my dear Jahrra, is how Jaax came to be my uncle’s ward.”
The clinking of wine glasses and silverware, the comfortable hum of bright voices and the occasional bark of laughter swirled around Jahrra, but she barely heard any of it. She slumped back against her chair, astounded at what Sapheramin had just told her. She couldn’t believe it. She’d never really given Jaax’s upbringing that much thought. No, that wasn’t right. She had never given it any thought, really. To her young self, Jaax had been a hero of old, a brave and fierce character who had emerged from the pages of her favorite storybooks. Later, he had become a thorn in her side, and finally, a trusted friend and ally, even with their occasional disagreements. Jaax had never offered up any information with regards to his life before establishing himself as her guardian, and she had never bothered to ask him. But to hear that his childhood was so parallel to her own was a little hard to take at the moment.
Slowly, Jahrra turned her head to look at her guardian once more. He was no longer absorbed in any of the conversations surrounding him, but rather, he was gazing down at his own goblet, his brow creased and his eyes intent. Jahrra knew that look. All throughout her childhood, she had despised the times his thoughts turned inward like that. It usually meant bad news for her. After learning of her true identity, Jahrra had come to realize Jaax’s serious, broody nature couldn’t be helped. He had the fate of the world on his mind, and to some extent, the fate of the world balanced on the decisions and actions he made. And, she played a large part in those decisions and actions.
But now, after hearing this story from Sapheramin, a story she had never once thought to learn about, a story that had played some part in shaping Jaax into who he was today, she wondered how often his darker moments were spent ruminating on the parents and siblings he never had the opportunity to know. Like Jahrra, Jaax was found alone. Like her, he was an orphan. Like her, he had been taken in by Hroombra. If she had known this sooner, when she was a younger child, would it have made her dislike him less? Would she have been more understanding of his bitterness and his need to bury his emotions behind a shield of stubbornness and anger?
Those very thoughts made her sick. They had spent so many years butting heads and clashing on so many fronts, her and Jaax. Was it all because she thought he didn’t understand what it must be like to be an orphan without a family?
Stop it, Jahrra, she snapped at herself, her fingers tightening around the stem of her crystalline wineglass. The thin glass was cold to the touch, and had she not been distracted by her own internal turmoil, Jahrra would have realized the goblet was carved from solid ice. You and Jaax have just patched up your latest round of traded wounds. To dwell on regret and guilt is foolish, and it will not change anything.
Even though Jahrra was determined not to feel bitter for all the times she and Jaax had disagreed, she couldn’t help but notice a tiny part of her heart warming a little. She glanced his way again, glad to see him conversing once more with some dinner guests across the table. His look of intense, worried concentration was gone, and the corner of his mouth curved up in a draconian grin. No, she could not change the past, but knowing more about his somehow endeared him more to her. Jahrra smiled, grateful for the story Sapheramin had told her. She turned back toward her Korli dinner partner only to discover a glint of worry shining in her amber eyes.
“Are you well, Jahrra? I haven’t upset you, have I?”
“N-no,” Jahrra managed. And then seeing no reason to keep the truth from her, she went on, “I was just thinking I might not have been so hard on Jaax when I was younger, had I known. That is terrible, what happened to him.”
Sapheramin nodded somberly. “It is. I understand you had a similar childhood.”
Her voice was soft, soothing, so the mention of her own tragic past didn’t sting so much. Swallowing, Jahrra nodded. “My parents, well, my foster parents, died when I was young. That’s when Hroombra took me in. It was a long time ago.”
“That doesn’t mean the pain hasn’t completely left your heart,” Sapheramin said firmly. “I know. My uncle has been gone just over a year, and I rarely got to visit him. Yet, I still feel his absence like an ache in my heart.”
Jahrra looked up at Sapheramin, her emotions barely kept in check. “I can definitely agree with you on that.”
The Korli dragon gave a light laugh and then, with a new bout of energy, said, “How about a change of subject? I do not wish to dwell too long on sorrowful things.”
“Good idea,” Jahrra concurred, reaching for her wineglass once again and taking a drink. The liquid was crisp and slightly sweet, like mead flavored with a hint of apple. She liked it.
“Why don’t you tell me all about your journey from Lidien?”
And so, Jahrra told Sapheramin the tale of their adventures. Dervit, who had lost interest in the conversation across the table, flicked his ears in Jahrra’s direction when he heard the course of her conversation and eagerly joined in with the retelling of their harrowing tale. For Sapheramin’s sake, Jahrra recalled their meeting with the limbit, and his role in helping them escape the Red Flange in the mountains. She described their time in Cahrdyarein, speaking of Keiron and his treachery only fleetingly. Dervit obliged the dragon’s curiosity when she asked about how they discovered the enemy’s plot, and then Jahrra finished up by recalling their time in the Serpent’s Tomb and the final battle on the bridge.
“Now that part of the story I do remember,” Sapheramin said with a grin. “I never get tired of roasting enemy brigades who think to spread their disease to the peaceful realms of the west.”
Jahrra and Dervit laughed. The night had grown late by then, the main course having been cleared away several minutes ago and the dessert plates picked clean. Many of the guests had started to rise from their seats so they might retire for the night. Jahrra watched some of them as they approached the king’s dais, bowing and thanking him for a fine meal. By the time there were only a few dozen or so nobles left, Jaax stood from his place at the table and moved closer to Jahrra.
“Now is the time to introduce yourself to his majesty and see if he is ready to finally give us an answer.”
Jahrra, who had been so caught up in her conversation with Sapheramin and Dervit, was taken aback for a moment.
“Wait, right now?” she breathed, feeling her face pale.
“Yes,” Jaax said, his tone sharper than usual. “If we wait until tomorrow morning, he will be swamped with petitions from his subjects.”