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Felicity flapped over and put her paw-claw on his back, “It’ll be okay.”

Tristan shook his head, “They died because of me. They didn’t have to die.” He looked around at the cloaks. “Three assassins,” he whispered, “We need to get to the bottom of this and find out who sent them.” He looked over at Felicity and saw the look of sympathy on her face. “What did you find out spying on my sister?”

“I don’t think it is her,” she said. “Gisele was crying in her – I assume husband – his arms, and telling stories about the nurse maid that you advised her was slain.”

Confirms what I thought. I don’t think she’s the one. Which leaves father as the only likely suspect. Tristan gestured around the room, “Put the cloaks and daggers into storage.” He stood up and went to the desk as Felicity swooped around the room gathering the items. Tristan swapped out his bloodstained smallclothes and put on his armor, the knife on the same belt as his sword, hung the essence-lantern from his hip, and took the Cloak of Winterbloom, wrapping it around his neck and letting it hang over one shoulder.

He made sure his family’s seal was on the front of his armor, hanging from the chain and with the king’s favor slotted into the top. Spinning his essence crucible, he poured the energy into his amulet and assumed his half-breed appearance.

“Are you sure that’s smart?” Felicity asked. “Fairy dragons and learned people will know what that cloak means.”

Tristan shook his head, “I want them to come after me. Not people around me. Even if it marks me as a target…no one else dies on my behalf.” I’m not going to let anyone else die because of me if I can help it.

He picked up the alchemist’s kit – taking note of what was used up in Felicity’s frenzied potion making attempt. She was successful despite wasting so much, he thought as he saw the oils and herbs that were flung around the desk’s surface. He put everything save for his equipped gear into the storage dimension.

“I’m going to Blackspire,” Tristan said. “Hand me that small hip pouch.”

Felicity flew over to the bedside table and snatched up an old coin pouch that Tristan had left behind when he was a child; a present from his father. The only really valuable gift he had from the man. He fitted it to his belt, and pulled ten gold pieces from Felicity’s extradimensional storage space. “Want me to just shadow you from the outside again?”

Tristan nodded, “I’m going right to the Archon. I’ll inform him of what happened, and let him know that I cannot just stay in the capital. Too much of a chance for collateral damage…like downstairs…” he trailed off as memories of Gertrude flooded into his mind. The woman was a beacon of positivity and joviality; almost like an aunt, in some ways. Tristan shook his head clear of the memories. Not now. I can grieve later. He pushed them deep down into the recesses of his mind.

“I’ll track you the best I can and meet back up when you’re clear. Don’t get imprisoned, eh? I can jailbreak you – but it would be a pain!” Felicity took off through the window.

He headed down the stairs and out the front door, cutting a course directly for the main boulevard. But the streets were crowded. “It’s not a festival day,” he muttered as he pushed his way through the crowd to see what was going on. And his heart sank into his stomach.

Far down the road, heading up towards the castle at the center of the hilltop; the same destination that Tristan was headed to, was a man that he was very familiar with. The man who fathered Tristan before leaving him to his grandfather post-manifestation of his Elven heritage. Fawkes Anorox.

The man was atop a magnificent destrier, waving to the crowd as a fledgling-sized dragon was hauled behind on a series of four carts that had been strung together. Elemental Realm of Wind, judging from the light-green color, Tristan thought. Not the most naturally aggressive of the dragonkind. Why would one harry a kingdom’s borders?

His father’s light, grey hair still had a few streaks of black youth running through it. The beard and moustache matched up to the short haircut; but most prominent of all were the eyes. His father’s eyes were the color of warm, amber honey. And they were piercing, as if they were digging into the soul of whoever they made contact with.

Tristan immediately turned to the castle and began running towards the Blackspire, showing his symbol to any guard who questioned his approach. The sight of the king’s favor was enough to get them to back off. He’s vain. He’ll drag out this victory parade, Tristan thought. I have time to talk to the Archon and explain what happened.

Getting to the Blackspire itself was easy; as was getting inside. He received a few curious and many disgusted glances, but he ignored those as he walked up to a servant dressed in fitted black robes. “The Archon. Where is he?”

The servant raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “In the main hall, waiting for the return of the mighty Lord Fawkes Anorox.” He glanced down at Tristan’s family crest, and paled slightly. “Oh…you’re the half-breed dragonslayer.”

Tristan turned on his heel and went right to the throne room. Thankfully, the doors were open, and the hall was slowly filling out with the upper crust of nobility. He saw the Archon at the far end next to the king’s throne, and the two were conversing with a handful of other advisors. Tristan approached along the side of the room, and was stopped by two of the crownguard who crossed their halberds. “Archon!” Tristan said, raising his voice enough to be well-heard.

Grimtome looked over at Tristan and his faced immediately darkened. He turned to the king, said something, and then walked over to Tristan, waving off the guards. “What is it that makes you break decorum on such an-”

“Assassins,” Tristan interrupted. “Three of them. Poisoned everyone. I fought and killed the three.”

The Archon’s eyes narrowed and he gestured to a servant’s passage behind and to the side of the throne, “This way. Now. I have little time.”

Tristan followed the man until they were well into the labyrinthine passages of the servants tunnels that ran throughout the Blackspire. They emerged from another entrance in a well-appointed office, and Grimtome stood behind his desk, pointing at a chair in front of it. “Sit. Talk. Now.”

Tristan shared his making nice with the guards, inviting them all to dinner at their shift change, Gertrude’s instructions, the poisoning; everything except for Felicity and the stolen jewelry and gemstones. He ended with, “…And everyone is still down there at the table. The assassins turned to dust like last tim-”

The Archon raised his hand and Tristan fell silent. The man leaned forward and rubbed his temples as he sank into his chair. “I have to return to greet the conquering dragonslayer. But, with him around, we do not need you to stick near the capital in case of another dragon incursion.” The Archon reached into his desk and removed a white-cloth-wrapped object, handing it to Tristan. “Open it.”

Tristan did so unquestioningly, and inside was a small, black, wavy line intertwined with one that was white. “What is it?”

“My favor. It slots into your noble seal – just like the king’s favor would.”

Tristan nodded and felt around the object, finding another slot on the bottom that the favor clicked into. I always wondered what the bottom sockets were for. “Why give this to me?” Tristan asked.

“I want you out of the capital. I can’t risk these assassins that are coming after you harming more of the populace in their cause.” He pointed at it, “I can use that to talk to you. You might be a half-breed, but you are only one of three dragonslayers at the king’s disposal. Until your sister delivers and recovers, at least. We could always send out soldiers, but having trained specialists reduces casualties.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He pulled out a piece of parchment and began scribbling instructions. “I’m writing out orders that you will keep on your person at all times. You are going to be “on patrol” in the outlying provinces, hunting down another fairy dragon.” His eyes darted up to Tristan, “Perhaps one followed you after your escape from the Fey Realm – we know that the treasury was looted and priceless paintings were damaged very recently.”

Tristan frowned, “That’s unfortunate. But still, it doesn’t expl-”

“Your official task will be to hunt down this fairy dragon. But, as you said, they can shapeshift and turn invisible. Hence, you could be on this hunt for any amount of time. The perfect excuse for you to get out of the capital and away from the populace. The assassins are obviously after you. Say your goodbyes, pack your shit, and leave the capital.”

The Archon frowned and tapped the parchment that was rapidly drying before him. “You will be expected to answer my call to respond to dragon sightings. But this gives you the ability to leave on official business without stirring too much attention. And…when those assassins come after you, maybe you can get more information out of them.”

Just as I planned, Tristan thought. Glad my idea paid off. None of the responsibilities of nobility; well, save for being on-call to deal with dragons which is the whole point of my training anyways. But now I can travel wherever this assassin plot takes me. Tristan stood up and nodded, clasping his fist to his chest and bowing. “I’ll be ready to answer the kingdom’s call for a dragonslayer.”

The Archon put his wax seal on the bottom of the scroll and then rolled it up before handing it to Tristan. He put it inside of his collar, slipping it down to between the slightly pronounced torso of his armor and the layer of padding beneath. The Archon nodded, “Come, we greet the returning hero of the realm.”

Tristan scoffed as he was led back through the sinuous servants tunnels. “It was only fledgling. That’s hardly a difficult-”

“Have you hunted one that size?”

“No…” Tristan sheepishly replied.

“Then I would not recommend talking of it. And I will send some of my agents to clean up the mess at your family’s townhouse. We cannot have your father returning to a slaughter, can we?” The man kept walking and soon enough they were in the throne room. The Archon patted Tristan on the shoulder, “You be safe, now.”

“Why are you watching out for me?” Tristan asked with genuine curiosity and some suspicion. “You’re taking everything I’ve said at face value-”

The Archon lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in, his lips almost brushing Tristan’s elongated ears still shrouded in illusion. “I have learned much about you through divination spells, Tristan Winterbloom. You are destined for greatness based upon your bloodline alone. And, well, I hope that you don’t forget the people who helped you in your time of need. It is always good to have friends in high places.”

An opportunist, Tristan thought. Well, that’s good enough for me. “Thank you,” Tristan replied.

A cheer was sent up from the front of the hall, and the Archon nudged Tristan back towards the general gallery. Tristan left the man and joined the crowd as he watched his father, the man who all-but disowned him, walked before the king and bowed. His grizzled, smoker’s-voice came out in a deep baritone. “Your grace. I, Fawkes Anorox, first of my name, have slain a mighty beast that threatened your lands. Its corpse lies on the footsteps of your mighty fortress.”

Tristan felt rage boiling up inside him. The man who hated him just because of what he was. Who despised his mother and only used her for pleasure. The person who should have loved Tristan unconditionally, but instead shoved off his parental duties to Tristan’s grandfather. Tristan seethed as he stood there, listening to the king praise his father’s actions.

Finally, Fawkes stood up and glanced around the gallery. When his eyes met Tristan’s, his gaze narrowed. But he maintained his composure, and bowed once more to the king before being awarded a huge trunk of treasure. One of his squires – a wanna-be dragonslayer who was taken on as a squire came up and helped move the treasure chest aside. Tristan couldn’t help but scoff, and this drew glances from others around him.

The king clapped his hands and left the chamber, and the various nobles began congregating in small groups. Gisele walked up to her father and embraced him, before telling him something that caused the man’s face to become like stone. Fawkes turned to Tristan and made a beeline to him, shoving the younger half-breed against the wall. “You did what?!” His stony visage altered to one of sheer rage.

The room went silent as everyone looked at the returned hero pinning his son to the wall. “I didn’t do anything!” Tristan shouted back, holding onto his father’s wrist. Gisele must have lied to pin the blame on me. “I went to the manor and found everyone dead. Explain that, father!”

There was a gasp that echoed around the room as multiple people held hands to mouths. Tristan continued on, raising his voice. “My mother was assassinated. Every servant was killed! And where were you? Off hunting a fucking fledgling? For months? Some mighty dragonslayer you a-”

Fawkes punched Tristan in the face. To Tristan’s surprise, the blow barely registered. “You shut your mouth, boy,” his father growled.

Tristan felt that rage explode into an inferno in his chest, and almost against his will, his essence crucible began spinning. He felt the cooling energy arcing through him; but the essence carried with it the sparks of crimson and gold from the blood he drank, amplifying Tristan’s anger. “You hated mother. You hate me! You’re the one who hired them, right? You hired the assassins! You’ve wanted me dead for years and shoved the responsibility for raising me onto grandfather!”

His father became livid and punched Tristan again, “I would do no such thing!” he shouted, trying to save face in the light of the true accusations that Tristan levied. “Never! Why the fuck would I kill my own servants?”

Tristan was past the point of rationality. He wanted his father to pay for the years of neglect. He wanted the man to finally acknowledge, in public, that he hated Tristan versus simply tolerating him. “If not you then who?!” Tristan shouted as he pushed his father away. “Admit it! You hired them!”

Guards began to approach, but they were waved off by some higher up that Tristan didn’t spot. Fawkes was grinding his teeth, seething with anger, before he let out a laugh laced with fury and satisfaction. “That bitch of an Elf finally died, eh? About time! I can marry a proper woman!”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Tristan screamed. His essence crucible surged within his torso, and he saw the world blur silver, white, and icy-blue as the cascading crimson and black sparks scattered all around. “She was your toy that grandfather forced you to marry for sake of her honor!”

His father took a few steps back and drew his sword, “You bastard. I never wanted you!”

People cleared out of the center of the chamber, and Tristan heard booted feet approaching – but once more, they seemed to be held back in some way. He could feel his cape fluttering behind him as his essence seeped from him unchecked.

And then, people gasped. And he heard exclamations.

“An elf?”

“How’d he father an elf?”

“He was a half-breed a second ago!”

“Boo! Boo!”

Fawkes looked at Tristan with utter disgust. “I disown you. I disinherit you.”

“You can’t!” Tristan shouted as he felt righteous vindication rising up in him. “Grandfather is the head of the family, not you! You can’t remove me, only he has the right!”

Tristan felt a tap on his shoulder, and glanced sideways to see Archon Grimtome with a grimace on his face. “Your Elf side is showing.”

Tristan froze and felt his rage melt away, replaced by the cold, hard truth of what was just spoken. He looked around the room and saw the looks of disgust, hatred, and outright contempt from everyone. Even the Archon had a look on his face mimicking those of the people around him. But, the corner of his mouth whispered the words, “Get out of the capital. I’ll talk to you later.”

Tristan looked at his father and readjusted his cape. Well, if the owlcat is out of the hut, then I guess I should just embrace it. Give these assassins a nice, pretty target to lure them out like I planned. Tristan stood to his full height, and spoke with as much strength he could muster to make his declaration. “I am Tristan Anorox, first of my name, and heir of the Anorox family! I am Tristan Winterbloom, of the Elven Winterbloom bloodline; lords of the Fey Realm and rulers over all other Elvenkind.” He glared at his father who seethed with hatred. “And I am going to go slay a dragon you could never find, let alone kill.”

He turned and began walking out of the room. People moved aside – afraid of the Elf who walked among them, seeping magical power from his being and freezing the ground where he walked. The guards didn’t stop him, but did follow a short distance behind. As did his father, whose hand was on the hilt of his sword.

Tristan got out of the castle and immediately touched his index finger and thumb together, the ring finger to the same thing, held his middle finger aloft, and tucked his pinky into the base of his palm. “Verhoa minut hunnulla, joka maastouttaa minut.” (Manifest a shroud around my form that will blend me into the surroundings).

He blended into the environment, and his pursuers were left lost. Felicity flew down and landed on his head, making paw-claw biscuits on his head; somehow able to spot him despite the blending spell. “Good show. Really good job.”

Tristan grunted in response, only glancing up as he felt something glass thud against his skull. “I got you something special. Some of that dragon’s blood. It still smelled fine.” She put it into the extradimensional storage space. “What now?”

“Now I leave the city,” Tristan replied. And I don’t know if I’ll come back.