The Order of the Scales by Stephen Deas Page A

have judged matters awry, the Lesser Council will be glad to rid themselves of Jehal. The Speaker’s Throne is hers for the taking. Jehal may even keep his life if his queen demands it, although the Veid Palace of Furymouth shall become his prison.’ He growled. ‘The most gilded of prisons. But time is not on our side. Our strength is fragile, Isentine. Jaslyn must understand this. She must act or I must act for her, and I cannot rule alone as a prince. Then there is the matter of heirs.’
    Isentine wiped his mouth. ‘I hope you brought a plentiful supply of Maiden’s Regret.’
    ‘I have enough.’
    ‘Jaslyn is . . .’ Isentine made a face. ‘I do not think she has ever had a lover, Your Highness.’
    A tinge of red touched Hyrkallan’s face. ‘That is hard to believe, Eyrie-Master. Given her sisters . . .’ Hyrkallan obviously hadn’t looked where he was going before starting that sentence. Now he stopped, realising far too late what he was about to say.
    ‘Nevertheless,’ muttered Isentine when Hyrkallan had had enough time to feel suitably embarrassed. ‘I ask that you be gentle.’
    ‘She has to stop this foolishness, whatever it is that she’s doing. I don’t understand the nonsense that has possessed her.’
    No. You don’t. The Order of the Scales had careful rules about which of their secrets they told to whom. Hard rules with harsh punishments for those who broke them. Princes learned more than dragon-lords. Kings and eyrie-masters more still.
    ‘Then you will see it for yourself.’ Even after twenty years, Shezira had never quite believed. Isentine had always seen it as a compliment, really, a tacit nod to the meticulous care with which he ran his eyrie. Now Hyrkallan would see it all for himself. A dragon untouched by alchemy. Aware and awake. Alive. Intelligent. He would feel a dragon read his thoughts and plant its own straight into his head. All these things without a word being said. No rules broken. Shezira never believed and left the dragons to me and to the alchemists. Antros? He simply didn’t care. Almiri didn’t need to. Lystra? I suppose I might never know whether she believed whatever she was told. Jaslyn saw half of it for herself before anyone told her anything. She was the only one. Did I even believe it myself, when I was first made into the master of Outwatch? I don’t think I did.
    He frowned at himself. No time for rambling, old man. Back to the present. ‘The hatchling must be dulled,’ he said sharply, ‘and if that cannot be done, it must be killed.’
    That got Hyrkallan’s attention. ‘You want to kill Jaslyn’s hatch-ling?’
    Too hard to explain until Hyrkallan saw the abomination for himself. Then he would understand. ‘We can agree, Lord Hyrkallan, that Queen Jaslyn’s place is not here. She must be persuaded of this. If our reasons differ, the result does not. When she is gone, I will do what I have always done, what needs to be done, both for this realm and for others.’
    ‘Every dragon.’ Hyrkallan wagged a finger in Isentine’s face. ‘You save every dragon and make it grow.’
    Isentine smiled. ‘You sound like her. Shezira.’ Would it help to tell Hyrkallan that one hatchling in every three refused to eat? Starved itself to death rather than take the alchemists’ potions? Probably not. Hyrkallan could have that later, when he was ready for it. When he was ready to know that the problem was getting worse too.
    ‘I know.’ They started to walk again, this time in silence, both of them lost in their memories of the dead queen they’d both admired and maybe loved. Isentine led them to the yawning shaft that formed the hub of the underground eyrie and started painfully on the stairs that circled downward.
    ‘My legs aren’t what they used to be.’
    ‘Shezira came to me before she was made speaker. She wanted to replace you. I told her she was mad. I think that was what she wanted to hear.’
    ‘She sent Jaslyn to me as my successor.’