"Dragons." Collins perked up at the word. "But they told me dragons were extinct." Carrie's fingers in his hair sent a shiver of desire through him that reawakened the aches the Advil had relieved. At least one part of me still works. "Was that another lie?" Though he now intended to reveal some information about the renegades, his vow to Vernon still bound his conscience. He would not give up Prinivere without a compelling reason.
"Dragons are extinct," Quinton confirmed. "But the king confiscated two Randoms who transformed into dragons at coming-of-age. The law compels him to kill them, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He's hoping that, raised and handled properly, they won't harm anyone."
"Wow."
The pace of Quinton's speech quickened, revealing excitement. "They're young now, babies by dragon standards. I figure they're maturing about one human year for every twenty. It seems the people here grow according to their slowest maturing form, and dragons-" Apparently realizing she had taken over the conversation, Quinton laughed. "Sorry if I'm boring you. I find them absolutely fascinating."
"I'm a bio grad student, too," Collins reminded her, interest piqued. "Are they male or female?" Simple statistics suggested a fifty-fifty chance they would come up opposite genders.
"Both," Quinton blurted, then laughed and corrected. "One of each, that is, not hermaphrodites. I get to train and, eventually, breed them."
Collins stared. "The king wants more dragons?"
Quinton's hands dropped back to Collins' shoulders. "Not yet. But I'm working on him." She squealed. "Can you imagine? I'm thinking they're egg layers, but they're definitely warm-blooded; and I think I'm seeing rudimentary nipples. Probably the closest thing to dinosaurs we'll ever see, don't you think? Imagine what we could learn from them."
Quinton's excitement was contagious. Though intrigued, Collins found himself distracted by troubling thoughts. The people to whom he had believed he owed his very life had actually placed it into danger. Those he had trusted as friends had lied to and betrayed him, played him for a fool. He pictured Falima; her silky black mane and startlingly pale eyes no longer seemed so beautiful when he knew they housed a soul that had used him, that found him unworthy of truth or trust, that pretended to like him while manipulating him like a brainless puppet. Zylas apparently made a career out of deception. A rat, indeed. I should have seen through it. His blood warmed, grew hot, and seemed to boil in his veins. "I'm with you," he said evenly. "Breeding dragons, finding the portal, going home."
"Revealing the traitors?" Quinton added.
Collins squirmed. I owe the bastard nothing. "What do you want to know?"
Chapter 16
MOMENTS later, Benton Collins sat in a pillowed chair nearly as comfortable as his father's old La-Z-Boy in front of a table laden with food. King Terrin occupied a similar seat across from Collins, and Carrie Quinton held a place to his left and the king's right. A large slice of white bread slathered in honey took up most of Collins' plate, surrounded by an array of berries in colors that ranged from deep ebony to brilliant green with stripes of indigo. He had chosen his meal from the myriad of dishes at the table, and many of the ones he bypassed still called to him. The warm aroma of sweet spices mixed with mashed, orange roots reminded him of pumpkin pie, and he instinctively reserved that for dessert. Though he had never cared for spinach, the buttery aroma of the assorted greens beckoned, and a platter of cubed fish smothered in a spice that resembled curry lured him to try it next. The complete absence of anything insectlike thrilled him, clearly a dispensation extended by the king.
Hunger got the better of Collins' caution, and he found himself incapable of concentrating on protocol. He dove into the meal with gusto, glad his choice of bread made sorting out the crude utensils unnecessary. As he gradually went from famished to merely interested in the feast, he deferred to Quinton's manners and worried more over what the king might think of him. The man held the power of an entire world. He could promote with a word, execute with a gesture. Collins wished he had taken the time to grill Quinton on how to handle the situation. He knew next to nothing about royalty in general and less about Barakhain royalty in particular. A poorly chosen turn of phrase, an improper glance-anything might constitute a capital crime, Collins realized. Days ago, the simple act of filling his belly had condemned him to the gallows; and, then, he had not had the arrogant and arbitrary whims of a king to consider.
King Terrin seemed nearly as uncomfortable as Collins. He shifted in his chair and examined the food choices of his companions with hawklike intensity. Collins could not help noticing the lack of servants, guards, and food tasters, which he might have attributed to a genuine show of trust if not for the fact that they now sat in the room above the one he had shared with Quinton. Switchers could never make it through the door.
As Collins mopped up the last crumbs and filled his plate with all the delicacies he had missed, the king cleared his throat. "I understand your name is Ben."
Collins froze with the warm bowl of mashed, cinnamony roots clutched between his hands. "Yes, sir." Sire, he reminded himself, but it felt too weird to say aloud. He remembered the time he had gone for jury duty, equally stymied by the requisite, "Your Honor." He had grown up calling his parents' friends, and several of his teachers, by their first names. Titles implied a hierarchy that Americans prided themselves on never having to consider. All men and women, he had heard since birth, are created equal.
The king did not seem to notice the lapse of protocol. He looked at Quinton with darting brown eyes, as if begging her to assist him with the same propriety with which Collins struggled. He cleared his throat again and stroked the stiff amber curls of his beard with thoughtful motions. "And you come from the same place as Carrie?"
"Yes, sir," Collins said again, still incapable of forming his lips around "sire." That started to bother him. Since titles held little meaning in America, he thought he should be able to speak them as easily as any name. He wondered if it had to do with the same damnable honesty that kept him from saying "I love you" without long consideration and absolute certainty or singing the "dear" in Happy Birthday to a stranger. Didn't keep me from lying to Korfius at all. That reminded him of the boy, another innocent caught in Zylas' and Falima's game. He should make certain Korfius did not get punished for a forced and contrived association. He shoveled the mashed roots onto his plate, then replaced the dish, only then realizing the king had asked another question.
"I'm sorry." To demonstrate the sincerity of his apology, Collins forced out the proper title. "I'm really very sorry, Sire. I missed what you just asked."
Without a hint of offense, the king repeated, "Do you know how you got here?"
Now that he had heard the question, Collins needed it interpreted. "I'm not sure what you mean, Sire." The title came out easier the second time. "I walked here under my own power. I was following-" He glanced at Quinton, wondering just how much the king already knew. The guards had escorted him directly here, and he had waited less than ten minutes for Quinton and the king to arrive. If she had briefed him on their conversation, it had not taken long.
Quinton nodded encouragingly.
King Terrin finished the thought. "You were following a white rat."
"Yes," Collins admitted, his food forgotten for the moment. "I'm not the first, I understand."
The king bobbed his head as Quinton had done, blond curls pitching and raising. The movement released a wave of musk. "There were three before you, including Carrie. The first two came together and got killed breaking into the castle."
Terrin did not elaborate, and Collins found himself less curious about the details than he expected. He did note that the first visitor, the D amp; D player, apparently never even made it to the castle.