The Deepearth by A.S. Etaski

Author:A.S. Etaski
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Corpus Nexus Press
Published: 2022-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

2153 S.E., House Dar’Prohn, Vuthra’tern

Y’shir rocked Izabet as she slept, each of them in the “present” together for the first time. At last.

He didn’t have to think forward, need not anticipate the next danger from their enemies or plan his alliances. His resources were secured while few others guarded the little foundling niece to the late Matron, who was no threat to the surviving Daughter. And everyone believed him.

Izabet was an “accident” from among the House Guard by the recently deceased First Son. This meant something to Y’Shir at least, that young Venic’s own suffering — her death and her stillborn child — had not been forgotten.

Even if we must build a lie to remember.

He enjoyed the short time he had alone with Beliza’s daughter.

“Turning blackness into purpose yet again, D’Shauranti?” the Dragon asked from behind him from over the left shoulder.

Y’shir didn’t move or look away from Izabet, though he bowed his chin in the direction of the Great Drake. “With such blood spilled at all times, what else can I do to hold our heritage against such odds?”

The strong, bulky guest settled himself into a chair without asking. Finally, Y’shir turned his head to look.

The old Elf recognized the shadow drake, Ilka, resting in the Dragon’s lap. She was quiet and asleep, exhausted to a degree few animals ever had to suffer in such consciousness clarity. Y’shir was glad to see her recovering from the torture and death of her mistress.

The Great Drake spoke while gently stroking the shadow drake behind the wing with the pad of his thumb, in an odd mirror to Y’shir with his granddaughter.

“I grant that the Houses under the Valsharess are more stable than any of yours, but with far less inheritance, ironically. Still. Fewer coups in Sivaraus, with older Matrons — at least among the top tiers. They can afford to leave the true brutality to Fadele and the Sisterhood.”

Y’shir frowned hearing that name. “Fadele is still alive?”

The Dragon nodded with a playful smirk on his reptilian lips. “She finally found a way to give herself a real cock. She’s changing the culture, as you have long desired to do, but with less forethought and more appetite.”

The Grandmaster shook his head, losing any appetite he may have had. He remembered the young, angry warrior he’d tried to train in Hand and Heart despite not being a mage. He’d only succeeded in the Hand, and later realized his mistake in giving her even that.

“We belong in the Deepearth,” he said.

“That you do,” the Black Dragon agreed, “and I do enjoy the company. I’m curious, though. How long does the Council of Eight exist without replacing a member as they will need to do now, hmm?”

Y’shir grimaced. A “Council” was what the Matron-Priestesses of each House called themselves when they could stand to be in the same place with each other, to attempt formal negotiations. “Never more than a decade.”

“So the ‘elders’ among them are still children bickering. Why do you constantly teach

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