For Renfro

Wilma nestled on the dais next to the King, her shimmering, dark blue scales contrasted with the gilt lining of the throne. She watched as the various supplicants came before their ruler, nodding as her eyes followed each one. Every person gulped when she flicked her tongue out snakelike and let forth a low rumble. Their discomfort amused her.

Today’s company seemed different from the usual. She heard silence. Oh sure, the humans talked to each other, and some of it she understood. Each of their thoughts would normally fill her head as voices that revealed the true beliefs and motives. Wilma served another purpose than just intimidating pet. The King relied on her to inform him of treachery and lies in those who approached him.

A few voices still reached her, but only a few. The King and his closest guards. Everyone else remained silent. Wilma locked eyes on the closest man she could not hear, but he broke contact after a moment, unsettled. He continued talking to the king while she tried prying into his mind.

There was no voice. She could not communicate in the way she normally could, subconscious to subconscious. Her prey never knew of her intrusion, or if they suspected it, they never did until long after, like a strange dream they had while waking. These voices told her many things.

Once, an emissary had arrived from a foreign land, Renfro if she recalled correctly. He’d felt off, and his subconscious spoke to her readily.

“The King won’t believe me. What am I doing here? This isn’t for me. I can’t distract him with much. The army is on the way already. Make him suspect nothing. Keep him distracted. How? How do I keep him distracted?”

Wilma had sensed his desperation and uncertainty. She inserted her own narrative. This was what she loved best. She plucked at his memories and found ones to suit her, then suggested new ideas as the emissary’s own.

“King Dracchus,” he had begun as he approached the throne that day, “I would very much like to be intimate with your wife,” he had declared, slapping a hand over his mouth in horror. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”

The King had looked over at his wife, and she had sighed, rolling her eyes. “What makes you think it wise to say such in our presence?” Wilma had already shared her information.

“I…I…I…she is beauty beyond measure, O King. I should be honored-”

“Tell me where the attack is coming from, and when.”

“King?” Wilma remembered fondly how the emissary had gulped in surprise and began to sweat. The guards had taken him for questioning and he had been executed the next morning. No army ever came once the emissary’s head had been returned to his homeland.

Searching the court, Wilma tried now to pick out the source of her discomfiture. Among the many familiar nobles and guards, advisors and entertainers, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except that the silence persisted in her mind. She shifted, turning her gaze from one person to another, unsure now of their motives.

Sensing something his dragon’s unease, King Dracchus motioned his guards forward to flank each person who addressed him, and insisted on searching them for any weapons that may have been missed previously. Wilma shifted. Some came just within range to almost pick out a voice, but even just as far away as the queen and the guards who had stepped away, intolerable silence pervaded. Her low rumbles made the King look askance.

Wilma looked at the king and snarled, standing and walking alligator-like towards the crowd. Several nobles and entertainers, who had never seen such activity from her before, rushed to get away. As she came closer to the throng voices, crashed into her head.

“What is she doing?”

“-seen anything like this from-”

“-needs to make her stop-”

“-ime is now, do it!”

“-her away from me-”

“-for your life!”

She snaked her head from person to person, sniffing and listening to the voices. Feeling fear and nerves, sweat glistened salty upon human flesh, dampening their garments with the scent of danger and the aroma of unease.

As the crowd parted, one noble in particular strode forward, one eye on her but nodding to someone else. Someone near the king. His voices spoke loudly to her whispering of treachery and death. Wilma’s beak parted, belching a flaming liquid all over the noble, whose voices screamed inside even as he died.

The King roared, but his voice turned into a gurgle. As Wilma turned, a guard’s spear pierced her side, then another. Over and over they plunged, and as the light dimmed in her eyes, she saw the blood-covered queen withdraw her dagger blade from her husband’s corpse, and heard her yell, “For Renfro!”

***

Story Prompt: A dragon, who hears voices, gives the king an urgent message.

From: 500 Fantasy Writing Prompts by Erica Blumenthal