Chapter Thirty-Six

A hush fell over the crowd and as one, as if choreographed beforehand, everyone lowered themselves to the smooth stone floor. The quiet was so absolute, a complete absence of even a cough or the rustle of clothes as positions were shifted was unnerving.

Draco, prepared by Taryn's extensive study of Imperial City court etiquette, followed the example dropping to one knee, head lowered. The position wasn't as grating as the complete prostration that Voldemort required of his followers, but still, it chafed against Draco's independent nature. He forced himself to stay still, staring at the veins of silver that ran through the cool green stone of the floor.

There was a change in the air. It grew still, and suddenly, for a moment, Draco could feel the warmth of sunlight in his hair before a massive shape blotted out the light.

The flapping of a great set of wings sounded, filling the strange absence of noise that had swallowed the room. Draco wanted so badly to rise, or even to just turn his head to catch a glimpse of the creature that had entered the throne room. The creature that had fathered him.

"All rise." The majordomo's voice echoed through the room.

Draco hid his shock as he beheld the large dragon resting comfortably in front of the crowd. The dragon's body was completely covered with brilliant, metallic silver scales. The scales ended just before the creature's neck began, and it and the creature's stomach were bare of the shiny, teardrop shaped scales. A diamond and pearl encrusted silver breastplate protected where his abdomen was scale free. A dragon uses his saliva, which has powerful adhesive properties, and which he secretes on an empty stomach, to stick precious stones on his neck and stomach, for protection as well as adornment. The rest of his skin looked like snake skin, smoother, but still maintaining the pattern that his scales followed. His wings, though obviously strong enough to propel his large body through the air, looked delicate. Almost gossamer. The dragon's eyes were closed.

A mist filled the room, rising from oblivion and swirling, deeper and more opaque around where the dragon was eventually hiding his form from view. Soon a tall, leanly muscled form walked from the mist, and as if waiting for his exit the mist floated away into nothingness, and Draco finally got his first glimpse of the Emperor Kokobiel.

The man, if such a being could be called a man, was extremely pale. His skin reminded Draco of the pure white marble used to create sculptures such as Michelangelo's much celebrated David. His hair, which Draco had expected, was metallic silver, falling like smooth strands of tinsel to his waist. Large black wings, a black so deep that they had a bluish tinge, sprouted from his back. The breastplate he wore in his dragon form had translated with him. Around his waist he wore a simple length of pristine white linen. An opalescent diadem, also covered with diamonds circled his head. His face was perfectly symmetrical and attractive even as it straddled the border of male and female with its androgyny. His irises looked as if they were filled with liquid mercury, and the pupils were vertically oriented.

"Rauroam," Kieve said, breaking from their group, "hoann iya'au ra'm ghmoaagh has rlooagh."

The Emperor's head tilted, his expression never changing as he answered his son. "Wo cac' ovno iya'aum oammarroar." The angel's voice was deep, yet musical, as if proving the fact that angels did indeed sing in heaven.

"Roghmooafariy, I lloas' oafaro a' soc lla'mc a oacrroao. Wah ho lloaiy hoa haghs oamo shoanagh aun a' Eoamh..."

Draco tried to push back his annoyance at this inability to understand the conversation, but frankly it pissed him off that he and Taryn couldn't understand what everyone else in the crowd could.

"Wo oamo oalloamo a'r ho na'raaoar rarloao a' Eoamh," the angel interrupted, "sarr, hoa ca'os' ovnroaa llhiy iya'au'rro a'rlo. I hoas faoo...ooamriy rariy Eoamh iyooams sao iya'au hoarro coaghoc a' rrasa Selsenle."

"Miy oana'ra'ghaos Rauroam," Kieve said simply. "I'rro faoo moahom a'aunaoc llah rliy harcmo oac ghmoacharcmo oas a'r roao."

The angel waved his hand dismissively. "Wo oaon iya'aum oana'ra'ghiy, faau nnoon a rlac hoa llo lla'aurc ranno a' soo a'aum sa' rla'mo a'ro, osnoaoarriy sao llo hoarro faosa'lloc auna' iya'au ho aro a'r Irlnomaoar Pmao. Na'll, orr aus llhiy iya'au oasnnoc ra'm oa ra'mrloar rlooagh."

Kieve motioned toward Draco and Taryn. "Thas as rliy fama'hom Draco, oa a'rrsnmagh a'r iya'aums faa'm savoo iyooams oagha'."

The angel's mouth twisted into a smirk. "And you would like for me to acknowledge him," he said in a strangely accented English.

"Yes," Kieve said simply.

"Why should I?" The angel asked, "What worth does he bring?"

Taryn laced her hand into Draco's when she saw his form stiffen slightly. The move drew Kokobiel's interest and suddenly, she felt the full weight of the angel's stare as their eyes locked.

A buzzing sounded in her ears, and her eyes widened. She was incapable of tearing her gaze away from the infinite, ancient force of the angel's stare.

"Ah, Myrddin brings interesting guests. Tell me, do they know that you are a Moirai?" The angel's voice sounded in Taryn's head, filling it with nearly overwhelming pressure. She felt a hard pinch of pain in her temples and her knees buckled.

"Taryn!" Draco's strong arms surrounded her, keeping her from hitting the floor.

"Hmmm, it has been a very long time since I have come into contact with a person not of my own seed that shares my nature," Kokobiel said calmly. "Myrddin, did you know of Draco's mate's surprising heritage?"

Kieve's brow crinkled in confusion. "What do you mean sire?"

The angel chuckled. "You have with you a Moirai," he said, studying Taryn intently. "Perhaps not a full blood, but her aura definitely holds the essence of a keeper of fate."

Taryn straightened in Draco's arms, gaining her feet. Her mind swam with memories of the girl who had changed her life forever. Aisa, who'd given up her life to give Taryn back her own. Taryn remembered the girls words, the blue glow that had accompanied Taryn's acceptance of her deal. She'd said that she'd given more than she'd intended. Somehow, Aisa had changed her magical core, lacing it with something that was other.

"As interesting as that is," Kieve said, breaking Taryn from her thoughts, "that isn't why we've come. Draco is sixteen, his blood is beginning to take over, and he only lives because of my blood and the torque surrounding his neck. Look at him. Surely you can see that he is your son. He also called to me by way of his power and appeared before me clad in the costume of Selsenle. That at least shows me his worth. You granted me the title of Imperial Prince because I believe that you trust my judgment. Please, trust my judgment now."

Kokobiel turned toward Draco. "Are you a weakling? A coward hiding behind the might and poetic words of Myrddin, all while siphoning the life force of a Moirai, or can you speak for yourself?"

Draco sneered. "Shouldn't you take some responsibility?"

A gasp rippled through the crowd at Draco's audacity. People shifted uneasily as they waited for Kokobiel's response.

"Draco..." Taryn began warningly.

"I could kill you where you stand half-breed," Kokobiel said, his voice never shifting from the musical, calm tone.

"But you haven't," Draco interrupted, "for some reason you've decided to listen instead of killing me outright. You're part of the reason I exist. You crept into my mother's home, impersonated her husband, and got her pregnant. Your decisions directly resulted in my existence. Whether you choose to acknowledge me or not, it doesn't change the facts. It is your responsibility."

"Draco, be careful," Kieve said.

"No," Draco said hotly, "I'm tired of bowing and scraping. Either he will acknowledge, and therefore save Taryn and I, or he won't. I won't stand here and pretend to revere him."

"Outrageous!" A loud accented voice called.

The outburst, and the angry stomping of feet across the stone floor drew Draco's attention to the tall man crossing the room.

"This isn't any of your concern Ritualus," Kieve said.

Ritualus tossed back his long, streaked hair. "Of course it is! You, as our Imperial Prince, shouldn't allow this blasphemy! Or are you incapable of holding your title and defending our father's honor?"

Kieve laughed in the other man's face. "That was pathetic Ritu. You used to be much more adept at court intrigue. Perhaps your age is finally catching up with you."

Ritualus' face hardened at the insult. It chafed that he, as his father's oldest non human son, had never been able to surpass his half-human sibling in power. "You-"

"Enough," Kokobiel said, "Ritualus, return to your family."

Ritualus' arms crossed over his chest, but he, after one last hateful look toward Kieve, moved back to his family group.

Kokobiel turned his attention back to Draco. "You and your little Moirai amuse me, and because of that I will allow you to prove yourself in combat," the angel said, rubbing his hand on his chin in consideration. "Do I have any volunteers for this challenge?" He asked, addressing the crowd.

"I nominate my son Rufus," Ritualus said immediately.

A huge, muscular man stepped from the crowd of yellow clad people. His mustard colored robe clashed horribly with his red and silver streaked hair. His face was craggy, as if chipped from stone, and he had a long cut running down the left side of his face. His nose looked as if his had been broken several times, and he looked older than his father. His eyes, not a metallic silver, but a dove grey instead, were hard and steely.

"I would be honored to fight," Rufus said. Rufus had ambitions of his own. He wanted to become a Sa'rcoam. A victory, in the presence of his Emperor, might be just what he needed to be considered for the rigorous training.

"Sire, please allow me to speak with my brother before the challenge begins," Kieve said.

"Granted."

Kieve swung an arm over Draco's shoulder, pulling him close enough to hear his whispered words. "Rufus isn't a Sa'rcoam, but I've heard that he is very good. You'll be allowed to choose the weapons. The match is supposed to end at either first blood or until you or Rufus can't fight any longer, but you'll need to be on your game because Rufus won't fight fairly. He will try his best to kill you."

"Does he have magic?" Draco asked.

"His grandmother was a Oceanid, and because of that he is able to manipulate the sea. That talent, however, won't do him much good here in the palace. Because he can't use his chief power, the match should be more evenly balanced."

Draco nodded. "Good." He straightened, turning to look at Taryn. She was biting her lip, fear clearly written across her pale face. He walked to her and took her face in his hands. "It's going to be okay. I'll do this and we'll leave." He kissed away the trembling in her lips. "Baby, it will be okay."

Taryn sniffled but nodded. "Kick his ass," was all she said, the waver in her voice belaying the strong statement.

"What weapon do you choose human?" Rufus asked scathingly.

"I choose unarmed combat," Draco said quietly.

Rufus laughed. "This shall be over quickly then. Soon you will be merely a smear on the floor."

Draco blocked out the taunts. This he could handle. He was used to bigger men underestimating him, and he'd weathered worse insults. He calmly began to strip away the robes and sandals, followed by the ornamental jewelry he wore, leaving him in only the white linen.

Translations

Wo cac' ovno iya'aum oammarroar – We didn't expect your arrival.

Rauroam, hoann iya'au ra'm ghmoaagh has rlooagh – Sire, thank you for granting this meeting. Roghmooafariy, I lloas' oafaro a' soc lla'mc a oacrroao. Wah ho lloaiy hoa haghs oamo shoanagh aun a' Eoamh - Regrettably, I wasn't able to send word in advance. With the way that things are shaping up on Earth.

Wo oamo oalloamo a'r ho na'raaoar rarloao a' Eoamh,sarr, hoa ca'os' ovnroaa llhiy iya'au'rro a'rlo. I hoas faoo...ooamriy rariy Eoamh iyooams sao iya'au hoarro coaghoc a' rrasa Selsenle. - We are aware of the political climate on Earth, still, that doesn't explain why you've come. It has been...nearly fifty Earth years since you have deigned to visit Selsenle.

Miy oana'ra'ghaos Rauroam. I'rro faoo moahom a'aunaoc llah rliy harcmo oac ghmoacharcmo oas a'r roao. - My apologies Sire. I've been rather occupied with my children and grandchildren as of late. Wo oaon iya'aum oana'ra'ghiy, faau nnoon a rlac hoa llo lla'aurc ranno a' soo a'aum sa' rla'mo a'ro, osnoaoarriy sao llo hoarro faosa'lloc auna' iya'au ho aro a'r Irlnomaoar Pmao. Na'll, orr aus llhiy iya'au oasnnoc ra'm oa ra'mrloar rlooagh - We accept your apology, but keep in mind that we would like to see our son more often, especially since we have bestowed upon you the title of Imperial Prince. Now, tell us why you asked for a formal meeting. Thas as rliy fama'hom Draco, oa a'rrsnmagh a'r iya'aums faa'm savoo iyooams oagha'. - This is my brother Draco, an offspring of yours born sixteen years ago.