Dragon Heartstone > Chapter 47–The Enemy of My Enemy

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Dathon’s boots crunched on shattered glass as he stood at the edge of the Palace balcony. A loose stone had been tossed through the window sometime during the night. The wind carried the acrid stench of tallow smoke and decay, forcing him to breathe through his mouth. Below, his city—no, the mess of his city—stretched out like a festering wound. Wolfbern’s streets teemed with refuse and desperate people, scurrying past his Enforcers like rats avoiding torchlight. Every shuttered window, every shadowed alley reminded him of his failure to maintain order.

Another missive from Viperious lay crumpled in his fist. More demands for men, supplies, and resources he didn’t have. His temples throbbed. The conscripts he’d managed to gather yesterday had melted away in the night like frost after dawn. Supply wagons—curse them all—vanished before they could even reach the Palace storehouses.

He should never have been in this position. The takeover of Cazidor and the invasion of Bretagne were his ideas, carefully constructed and planned. Yet that treacherous serpent Viperious had wormed his way into the Council’s favor and seized glory for himself.  While he struggled to control Wolfbern, that snake took his plan, accelerated the timeline, leaving him to govern a city ready to burst into flames at the slightest spark.

The Council Chamber offered no respite from his dark thoughts. Maps and parchments cluttered the massive oak table, each one a cumulative reminder of his precarious position. His advisors huddled around it, their faces lit by guttering candlelight, drawn with exhaustion. The latest report lay open before them: the Brotherhood of Assassins—their one-time allies in deposing King Alric—had orchestrated a mass escape from the dungeons.

“We must regain control.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth. He forced himself to keep his voice steady, though his fingers dug into the table’s worn surface. “Double the Enforcer patrols. Stamp out the Brotherhood before they cause more damage.”

He watched his advisors exchange uneasy glances. Garrett, the Enforcer captain, cleared his throat. “My lord, we’re already spread thin. We lost three more men last night.”

A pain built behind Dathon’s eyes. Viperious’s harsh decrees had pushed the city closer to open rebellion. The people’s hatred was tangible now, heavy in every fearful stare and barred door.

“My lord?” A page approached, holding out a scroll. The broken Council seal caught Dathon’s eye immediately.

His hand shot out, grabbing the page’s wrist. “Who broke this seal?” The words came out as a growl.

The page’s pulse raced beneath his fingers. “It was delivered thus, my lord. By a messenger… with a hook for a hand.”

Ice settled in Dathon’s veins. He released the page and swept his gaze across the chamber. “Leave us.” His eyes fixed on the trembling page. “Except you.”

Chairs scraped against stone as the chamber emptied. Dathon’s heart hammered against his ribs as he approached the nearest candle sconce. The parchment shook slightly in his hands as he unfolded it.

The words swam before his eyes, each one driving a dagger deeper into his gut. Past the honeyed congratulations to Viperious, past the mentions of Bretagne, one passage burned itself into his mind: “We leave it to you whether you wish to keep Dathon on as your aide. Though he may, as you suggest, have outlived his usefulness to the Council…”

The candlelight blurred as rage clouded his vision. His chest constricted; each breath shorter than the last. All this time, while he’d been drowning in Wolfbern’s chaos, Viperious had been plotting his disposal.

“The messenger,” he managed through clenched teeth. “Where does he wait?”

“By the servants’ gate, my lord.”

“Take me to him.”

The journey through the Palace corridors gave him time to master his breathing, to force his features into a mask of calm. In a shadowed alcove behind the kitchens, a hooded figure waited. The familiar glint of steel caught his eye.

“Show yourself, Coronados.”

The assassin stepped forward, moonlight catching the cruel curve of his hook. Those sharp eyes studied Dathon’s face. “You’ve seen the message, then.”

Dathon’s hand instinctively touched the pocket where the damning parchment lay. “Why show me this?”

“So I can propose an arrangement of mutual benefit.” Coronados’s voice dropped lower. “Keep your Enforcers out of our affairs. In return for a share of Viperious’s supplies, we guarantee you maintain control of the city’s vital quarters.”

A bitter laugh escaped Dathon’s throat. “You offer me scraps of what I already rule?”

“We offer you survival.” Coronados’s hook caught the moonlight. “Choose quickly: ally or foe?”

The weight of Viperious’s betrayal pressed down on Dathon’s shoulders. He needed allies, even dangerous ones. “One additional term. Any messages between Viperious and the Council come to me first. And I’ll need a skilled scribe with… particular talents.”

Coronados’s eyebrow lifted, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Interesting.” He extended his hand.

As Dathon reached for it, the hook slammed down, pinning his wrist against the wall. The cold metal bit into his flesh, and he could smell Coronados’s breath, sharp with spiced wine. “Betray us again,” the assassin whispered, “and the Brotherhood will paint the Palace walls with your blood. We care not who rules, only that someone does. Are we clear?”

Dathon forced himself to meet Coronados’ predatory glare and nodded. When the hook released him, he resisted the urge to rub his wrist. A dangerous bargain, but with Viperious’s betrayal now confirmed, he needed every weapon he could grasp. Let the Brotherhood have their piece of the city—for now. He had larger prey in mind.