"Ah. The splendor of ruling the elves," the high lord murmured. His crystalline eyes grew distant. "You're not naive to think that. Most do. It's why so many covet the position of aesolin. But the truth is, it is a tedious, thankless title, and one that I deeply resent having to hold."
There was nothing subtle about the rightness of his statement. It was like chilled water being flung onto her face, such was the stark truth of it. She felt a weight pressing down on her, as if by his admission, Isael had hefted a part of his burden onto her shoulders.
"You're not the dragon," she said sheepishly.
His lips quirking wryly, he said, "I am not Avalrashael." Meeting her eyes, he added, "But you are correct about one thing. I didn't win the duel."
Cera leaned forward on the table. Nowshewas breaking the rules of decorum, but she didn't think Isael much minded.
"But you have the dragon's wind. Did you steal it?" Her eyes widened as she realized that she was accusing the high lord of the elves of theft. Clearly sensing her impending backtracking, Isael waved a dismissive hand.
"A reasonable deduction," he said, mimicking her pose. His voice grew low, as if he were letting her in on a great secret. It wasn't long before she realized that was precisely what he was doing.
"It is true that I dueled him and that we dueled with blades. I am a master swordsman. You cannot fathom what that means if you have only seen humans wield the blade. But for all my skill, my expertise, I couldn't land a single blow."
Isael sighed before pressing on. "Avalrashael had no form, no poise, he knew nothing of swordsmanship, hardly even knew how to use his human body. It didn't matter. He had the wind, and I couldn't touch him.
"I was furious. I tried reminding him that it was a duel of swords, not of magic. The dragon was unrepentant. He told me that the power to call the wind was something inherent to him. That the magic was woven into every fiber of his being and to ask him not to use it would be like asking me to duel without arms."
His stare turned hooded. "And I knew precisely what he meant. You see, it was no coincidence that I survived the war while others fell. Danger always had a way of averting itself from my path. My arrows always struck true, my blade always moved with a little more grace than that of my opponent's. A fall that might kill another elf only left me bruised, and even that was a contrivance meant to avert suspicion."
He paused, waiting for Cera to supply her deduction. When she did, she spoke hesitantly.
"You didn't get the dragon's power. You could always call the wind."
Isael nodded. "Not like Avalrashael, but I could never really test the full range of my capabilities before I met him."
"But why not? The elves of Ishvalier were all powerful magic users, right? I know that wind magic is stigmatized, but you were the son of their lord, surely—"
Isael held up a long, elegant finger, silencing her. "My mother was the Lady of Ishvalier, married to her brother, as was tradition in our lands. The rulers couldn't allow Trianus's power to slip from their bloodlines. Unfortunately, several generations of wedding brother to sister does not a healthy bloodline make. My mother's husband was sterile, and equally pressing, the fae magic in us was growing weaker with each generation. So, she did what her ancestor Hesobin did, and sought out new magic to strengthen our people."
Everything clicked in her mind. The words spilled from her lips before she had time to consider their implications.
"You'rehisson. That's why you had to hide your powers. So that the lord wouldn't find out."
Isael gave a quick shake of his head. "My father knew. My brother and I were not the first children he'd passed off as his own, but I was the one he wanted as his heir. Even if it came to light that his other sons were not his own, they were still of my mother, still of the elves, and any one of them would have had a better claim to the crown than the son of a dragon."
His final word hung in the air, stretching out in the ensuing silence. Cera looked him over with new eyes, once more noting the differences between him and the other elves. The broadness of his chest and shoulders, the strong arch of his jawline, the predatory gleam in his blue eyes.
She asked, "This is what you really look like?"
He gave a slight nod. "I favor my mother."
"Can you...look like anything else?"
"I can't change forms. Avalrashael said it was likely due to my age and the amount of time I'd spend bound in elven flesh."
Her brow furrowed. "Your duel. Was that the first time you met him?"
Another nod.
"Did he not know of you? I read that dragons are diligent fathers."
"When they mate with one of their own kind, perhaps. My mother came to him with the purpose of conceiving a child, and he indulged her out of curiosity, or perhaps boredom. Whatever it was, they made the mutual decision to part ways once they were finished."
"And you went to meet him to...ask for help ending the war?" She asked uncertainly.
Quietly, he said, "I went to him because there was nowhere left to go. My family was dead. My people were dead. My lands were overrun. I could either flee south and wait for the dragons to overtake those lands, or I could ascend the mountain and... Well, that is a tale for another time."