When Tate exited the gates of the Dragon Corps he walked a few paces to the side where he would not be visible anymore and stopped. He leaned his back against the wall and took deep breaths. His head was pounding now, he felt so dizzy he wasn't sure that he wouldn't vomit in the next few seconds.
He had not done that in such a long time. He shouldn't have done that.
When he was a child he'd stumbled across that talent by accident. He'd been seven years old and was surrounded by dragons and older academy students. They had been trying to scare him. Well, they had scared him. Aquana had been sick for a few days and was being treated in her cave by a healer so she was not with him like she usually was.
His hands had been shaking and his eyes were filled with tears. They'd mocked him for that, for anything they could think of. His age, his height, Aquana, his family, his clean clothes, every bit of his appearance, everything they could think of to insult they had. All the while pressing in closer and closer. He'd only been at the Academy for two years at the time. Aquana had not passed her third stages of metamorphosis. At this time no one knew he had any talent in anything. To the teenagers staring down at him, he was nothing more than a baby who they had been forced to coexist with. Silly as it was for years afterward he'd had nightmares of all the dragons pushing in closer and closer. His back had hit a wall. In his nightmare they attacked, clawing and biting him. He'd always wake shaking and in terror.
What had really happened was something he didn't remember well, but the story had become famous for a time. In his fear and anger, he had screamed. What he did remember was the overwhelming pressure to escape. He wanted to get away from them. An instructor who had noticed the bullying going on in a discrete corner had been coming to assist when he witnessed fifteen dragon's heads thrown into the dirt. Then it was as if an invisible force was pushing them lower. Snarling and straining they had all been forced a step back and then onto their bellies. The students surrounding the boy had frozen in confusion and shock.
When the instructor finally got a good look at who had been harassed he sucked in a breath. It was the little one, Tate Delmot, son of Lord Delmont. The little boy had looked so tiny surrounded but his older peers and their fully grown dragons. His eyes had looked wild and unfocused and to the instructor's horror blood was gushing out of his nose and eyes.
The instructor had sprinted over to him but it was too late, the child's eyes had rolled back in his head and he passed out. Later, Tate was forced to try to recreate the phenomenon and after a bit of practice could do so easily however trying to do it to too many at once always caused nose bleeds at best and near head trauma at worst. The headmaster had not pushed it further when they'd had to call in an Imperial Physician to save him after Tate was pushed too far during one experiment.
After that, his older peers were more hesitant to bully him, not that it stopped entirely. Over time they found more covert ways of attacking him. He'd never been well-liked, jealousy would do that to people. He'd been treated differently from day one, not only was the Emperor his godfather, but he was also the youngest person to ever hatch an egg. Of course, this was something many Dragon Riders looked down on as the unintentional privilege of being the son of the family in whose vault the eggs were kept. It was common to hear people say that it could have been any child with the right access. Add to those things that he was so very young. He'd been required to complete the same tasks as his peers but at times was given more time or special privileges. Once Aquana reached maturity and they began to train in the air he was like a shooting star. Everything came to the two of them like breathing. Techniques and skills that took others years and years of practice had just flowed out of them. He was hailed as a prodigy and an unmatched talent. He quickly outgrew the instructors and classes of the academy. It was only human nature for those older than him who had dedicated more time to their craft to resent his meteoric rise.
Tate's driver finally seemed to have noticed him. Tate didn't mind the delay, it wasn't like he'd told the man he was going to come out the Dragon Corps gate and not the Academy's. He waited without moving for the carriage to reach him. The driver hopped down and came almost face-to-face with him.
The man's eyes widened. "Master, what-"
Tate cut him off by entering the carriage. Tate shut the door behind him.
The coachman took a moment to collect himself. He turned to close the door only to find it already closed. He couldn't help but stare for a moment at the blood on the door handle. Looking around awkwardly he pulled out a dirty handkerchief he'd been carrying around and wiped the stain away.
"Where to, my lord?" He knew what the original destination was supposed to have been, but there was no way the young master would go there looking like that.
"The palace."
The driver gulped and didn't dare ask if Tate was sure. He climbed back up into his seat and the horses took off at a brisk walk.
Tate sat back against the seat and leaned his head back. His body rocked and swayed with every bump and hole in the road. He lifted his hands to his shoulders almost unconsciously and put his hands under the opening in the collar of his shirt.
It was warm, wet, and familiar. He was lost in thought and as his mind wandered he ran his fingers lightly over his skin over and over again in circles. Blood from his hand dripped down his arm saturating the cuff of his sleeve. He didn't know what he was thinking about but he was very tired. He was always tired after doing that, he sighed and removed his hands from his shirt, what a stupid thing to have done.
He looked at his hands, they were covered in his own blood. He finally looked down at his shirt. It was sticking to his body to about halfway down his torso and the sleeve of his right hand was getting stuck to his wrist.
Inwardly he was laughing at himself. He was running behind so he was going to the Emperor like this. He wouldn't make it that far. He knew that the head Chamberlin would find him another shirt and some bandages. He wasn't really worried but he knew that he was in for it now.
Ever since he'd come back from the war he'd been under one vow. The original vow he made to serve his Emperor, his godfather, without question. It was the only vow he had taken that he still had the ability to keep. All his oaths as a dragon rider were useless.
The Emperor had asked him to stay still, to keep his head down, to try not to be noticed, and above all not to use any skills he had in front of ordinary people. Tate didn't know exactly what the Emperor had intended in these instructions all those years ago. Tate had followed them without question. It was accepted that he was a war hero and a great man, but to any citizen who had seen him in passing since he returned from the war they might say he was awe-inspiring as a figure of history but in person, he seemed like a normal man.
He remembered people staring at him as he passed in the streets of the capital, he was used to stares. However, if they saw him a few times they tended to lose interest. Of course, there were many types of interest one person could have in another, Tate was not as aware of the female interest in him nor was he entirely ignorant of it. However, to all the ordinary citizens who had seen him in those years, he probably seemed less mythical upon closer inspection.
The carriage bumped to a stop. Tate stood and let himself out of the carriage. The coachman was right there once again almost nose to nose. He had been about to open the door Tate realized.
"Go on back home, don't worry about waiting for me."
The coachman nodded.
Tate began to walk away but he stopped for a second and looked back. "Please clean the interior, I don't want anyone but myself and you to see it. Can I trust you to do that?"
The driver bowed. "Of course, my lord."
Tate nodded then continued to walk inside. When the head Chamberlin saw him his eyes grew wide. He held out a hand before Tate could even take a step inside.
"Wait please, my lord."
Tate paused and the Chamberlin turned to a footman nearby and whispered directions to him.
"Lord Tate, this man will escort you to a guest room where I will send a washbasin and some clothes. Do you need a healer?"
Tate shook his head. "I don't think so just send some bandages as well."
The Chamberlin nodded. Just as Tate was about to fall into step behind the young footman something in an upper window caught his eye. The Emperor was standing in a window looking down on him, his face was blank and impassive.
The footman and other servants had not noticed their audience and had already walked away. Tate looked at the footman then up at the Emperor then back at the footman.
The Emperor gave him a hard look and with a sharp jerk of his chin he clearly told Tate without words to follow the footman. Tate could feel those eyes on him until he disappeared from their sight. He sighed it was going to be a long evening.