A Dragonbird in the Fern

by Rueckert, Laura

  If it was possible, my heart sank even further, down into the Farnskag dirt. I had mistaken sweat and dust for the tattoo that would identify Scilla’s murderer. My eyes burned. At this pace, I was never going to find her killer.

  I hid my disappointment as best I could. Leonno’s mother begged us to come and sit down in the shade. She offered us mugs of water and fresh green apple slices. After a round of polite conversation, the three of us wandered the road back into town.

  Freyad eyed me as we walked. “You really thought Leonno might be the assassin?”

  I’d concealed my feelings as long as we were with the boy’s mother, but my eyes grew moist again. I nodded.

  She rubbed her hands together. “I saw the drawing too, back in Glizerra. But our tattoos are not random. They have meanings. The kahngaad keeps her distance from people in order to hold a strong connection to the Watchers. That’s how she knows which tattoos are the right ones for each person, outside of the ones that show professions or family membership, but those are specific too. I don’t think anyone in Farnskag has a leaf tattoo like that. But I will keep an eye out. I promise.”

  Aldar chimed in, “And we’ll both keep our ears open. Maybe someone will drop information that helps us figure it out.”

  If anything, my eyes smarted worse than before. I raised a hand to press at them before the dampness could slip out. Raffar’s agents hadn’t reported anything helpful lately, but now Freyad and Aldar had promised to help me. Maybe there was hope for Scilla after all. A gentle brush against my hand told me Scilla felt the same way.

  __________

  Aldar held up the slate. He might as well have stuck a dagger in my chest. First, I read it in Farnskag, then, taking care to make my voice not sound as hurt as I felt, I uttered the Azzarian translation: “One.”

  Aldar sighed. “Close, Your Majesty. It is a number. It’s four. Let’s go over all the numbers again.”

  He kept talking, but blood rushed in my ears, and his voice was a senseless jumble in my mind. No! I remembered that word. That was the number I’d thought was three, but he’d said was one. How was it supposed to be four?

  The room started to spin, and a door slammed shut in the adjoining dining room. I needed a few seconds alone. “Could you please open that again?” I asked Aldar. “It was giving us such a nice breeze.”

  “Of course.”

  Aldar strode from the room, and I lowered my head to the tabletop. I inhaled and exhaled. I swallowed down years of shame. Reading had always been difficult, but how could I have this much trouble learning simple numbers? I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again.

  A crumpled piece of parchment lay on the floor, under the wardrobe in the corner. I left the table, crawling on hands and knees, reaching as far back as I could to retrieve it . . . it was the paper from Aldar’s scavenger hunt, the one where I’d first proved how dangerously awful my Farnskag was. My insides twisted. As I unfolded it, I swallowed the lump in my throat and lay the slip next to the slate.

  My gut cramped even worse, and my mouth felt like it had been swabbed with wool until it was bone dry. The word on the parchment . . . the word on the slate . . . it was the same word.

  I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t lazy. This word that Freyad had identified as one, that I had learned as three, Aldar now said was four.

  He was teaching me the wrong words. Deliberately.

  Aldar, who had helped me understand life in Farnskag, who had pledged to help me find Scilla’s killer. Aldar . . . who now couldn’t be trusted?

  My heart felt ready to boil over, and I held my head in both hands, my brain scrambling to understand the situation. What was going on? What was I supposed to do? Who could I turn to for help?

  A gasp hissed from the doorway. My tutor stood, his tattoos stark against the paleness as his face drained of color, his eyes locked on the square of parchment in my hand and the slate next to it.

  Hot anger threatened to wipe out rational thinking, but I needed to keep my wits about me. Why would he teach me incorrectly? Did he want to frustrate me? To drive me to leave the country? Or was he trying to steal Azzaria’s respect in the eyes of the Farnskagers? What sense would that make?

  Before I could decide, he flew across the room to me. If I hadn’t been sitting, I would have run out the door, but within a second, he knelt at my feet, his head bowed.

  “I’m so sorry, Queen Jiara. I just don’t know what to do. Once you’ve learned Farnskag, Raffar won’t need a translator anymore. He’ll send me away. But my father is dying, and I can’t go. I can’t leave him alone when I’m the only family he has left. And I can’t bear to live back at the university. It is not the life for me—”

  “You’ve been teaching me the wrong words on purpose?” My stomach contracted so intensely I was afraid I’d be sick, and I gripped the tabletop.

  He shook his head. “Not all of them. Sometimes.”

  He even admitted it! Fire rushed up my back and to my face again. After all the times I’d told him how difficult learning was for me . . . “And the reason you make me look at the spelling is because you know it confuses me.”

  He bit his lip. “I wasn’t certain, but I had the feeling it did.”

  I wanted to pound him with my fists, toss him into an elephant bird pen. My hand rose to my mouth as sourness crept up my throat. I stood to fetch Raffar. Regardless of Aldar’s reasons, he had abused my trust. How could I ever believe him again? How could Raffar?

  Then I had another thought. Just how dangerous was Aldar? “And your scavenger hunt?”

  The remaining color left his face. “A mistake! A horrible, horrible mistake. Please believe me. I only intended for you not to be able to find the last clue, to miss the prize.”

  He’d literally plotted against me. But at least he hadn’t meant me physical harm.

  Fists at my sides, I stared at him.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s it? After months of betrayal? You’re sorry?” He had made me feel so inadequate, so unintelligent, so . . . no, my feelings weren’t the most important thing here. “I was almost trampled to death!”

  “I didn’t mean that to happen!”

  “I’m the queen of your country. How am I supposed to be a help to Raffar if I can’t speak Farnskag? Even if you didn’t care about me, you said he was like a brother to you!”

  “He is.” He raised his hands as if to grab hold of my legs. But he must have seen the barely controlled anger in my expression, and let them fall without touching me. “Please, I can’t handle leaving my father, and my home. I can’t handle leaving Raffar. Can you imagine how often I wished I were as strong as you? You go to a foreign country, and nearly everyone around finds you . . . intriguing. I’m not like that. I was always so lost. If I had to go through that again . . . I don’t know. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t survive.”

  There was a short banging on the door, then it opened and two guards entered. Their eyes snapped to Aldar, on the floor, and to me standing over him. They exchanged words with Aldar.

  “They asked what’s going on,” Aldar said softly, his eyes pleading. “And if the queen needs help.”

  Through my anger and hurt, I forced myself to slow down, to see the man kneeling in front of me. He was Raffar’s closest childhood friend. A person losing his father, like I had lost Scilla. And depending on whether he’d really be sent to the university, maybe even losing his home.

  Deep inside, how different from Aldar was I? If it wasn’t for the evidence indicating a Farnskager had killed Scilla, I never would have come this far away. I never would have left Azzaria. And why not? Because I wanted to stay home. Just like him.

  I shook my head. It didn’t matter how similar he was to me; his actions were inexcusable. I turned to the guards, my mouth open to ask for Raffar. But before the words hit my tongue, I had an idea. “Aldar, from this day forward, you teach me spoken Farnskag.”

  Aldar raised his head. Tears streaked his cheeks, and his eyebrows c
reased. “You’re giving me another chance?”

  I glared at him with the hardest queen stare I could muster. “If I ever find out you betray me or Raffar again, you will rot in prison.”

  Aldar nodded. “I won’t. I promise. Thank you.”

  And now for the only reason I was giving him this chance. “Tell the guards we’re going on an outing. You’re taking me to the prison right this minute to speak to the Stärklandish assassin.”

  He slumped against the wall. “Your Majesty, it could be dan—”

  “Now. Or I go to Raffar.”

  Aldar nodded.

  “And your translations will be perfect, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I promise.”

  Chapter 19

  The prison was all the way across town, and Gio, the wind god, and Azzoro, the water god, tussled in the sky as only brothers could, so Aldar ordered a carriage to take us there. The prison building was smaller than I’d expected for a town of this size, and I remembered that the Servants of the gods said the reason we had earthwalkers and other countries didn’t was that Azzaria had a stronger sense of justice than other countries. If Baaldarstad needed so little room for prisoners, and still had a well-functioning society, what did that say about us? Could it be we in Azzaria were too strict?

  Inside was only an office consisting of two desks and a rack of weapons, and six cells beyond that. An older man in one of the cells stumbled from one wall to the next, raving about just one more drink. A tattooless man in another cell covered his ears. The others were empty.

  The guards on duty dropped their jaws when we entered but made no move to stop us. Aldar explained what we wanted, and a woman armed with a staff and a club led us down steep stone steps to the secure area.

  Dark torches lined the rock walls. The guard lit them as we went, the glow reaching further into the dark corridor.

  The first cell we passed was empty, but in the second sat a man with a scraggly beard. He covered his eyes with his hand, blinded by the sudden torchlight. His clothes were filthy, but the embroidered diamond shapes on his sleeve cuffs hinted that he’d once cared for his appearance and confirmed he was from Stärkland. No one here or at home wore embroidery like that. The guard grumbled a few words, including “Skriin.” So now the prisoner knew I was the queen.

  I imagined how my mother could intimidate men with only a look and stiffened my back. I needed to get whatever information out of him I could.

  “Your Majesty!” He stood slowly, as if his joints were stiff, and bowed. “Thank you to come.”

  My ears were playing tricks on me. Or Scilla’s spirit was confusing me. Or what else could explain my ease in understanding his heavily accented speech?

  I turned to Aldar, whose eyebrows rose. So, Aldar had heard it too. I could understand the prisoner because he knew my language.

  “You speak Azzarian?” I asked the man.

  “Some, Your Majesty.” He brushed his hair back from his face. When he glanced at Aldar, his eyes narrowed.

  The prisoner wasn’t as old as I’d expected. My age. Possibly even a little younger.

  He returned his gaze to me, and a sparkle touched his eyes. “The king, he let me out?”

  Before I could answer, Aldar cleared his throat. “Queen Jiara, I hate to see you waste your time with this scum. The stories the prisoner tells . . . you can’t believe anything he says.”

  And that from Aldar. I could barely refrain from rolling my eyes. If he would have appeared nervous or fearful, I may also have told the guard to thrust him into the cell next door, certain he was trying to manipulate me again. But he leaned against the wall, bored.

  “I will speak with him.” If only I knew what to ask. I waved a hand and decided to begin with something simple. “Your name?”

  He nodded. “Jonas.”

  I inclined my head, but he refused to elaborate with a family name. So, he was keeping secrets. I let it slide, for now.

  “Where did you learn Azzarian?”

  “I grew up . . . across border from Caotina.” He spoke slowly, haltingly, as he considered the right words. “I like the spiceberries and sneak across border.”

  “Did you not have spiceberries in Stärkland?”

  The prisoner’s eyes glittered in the torchlight, and his dry lips broke into a smile. “Parents say spiceberries make sick. Sick in the head. They tear plants out of dirt. But boy gave me some once. Azzaria boy. Very good berries.”

  Sick in the head? How did Stärklandish people get that idea? Azzarians loved spiceberries. Unfortunately, they didn’t grow in Glizerra. They needed the cooler climate of the northern provinces. A juicy combination of sweet and mildly peppery, I could imagine a daring boy venturing across the border just to snatch a few.

  But Scilla had been found not far from Caotina. “How did you come to be here, in this cell?”

  The prisoner’s eyes flicked to Aldar and to the guard, then rushed back to me. His hands slid over knuckles crusted over with blood. For several heartbeats, he stared at me. “I came to speak with king.” He pointed to Aldar. “He . . . attacked my party. Killed my companions.”

  Aldar attacked? He wasn’t a soldier. Aldar sighed exaggeratedly as if saying he’d warned me.

  “What do you know about the death of Princess Scilla?”

  His lips turned up, but his eyes creased in a sad way. “Your sister, no? A smart woman. Very good woman.”

  I refused to let his words or his expression soften my heart. Maybe he’d heard about Raffar’s marriage from the guards. Anyone could say nice things about a stranger. But the lightest caress on my cheek coaxed a shiver across my spine and a tenseness to my limbs. Scilla could be nearby, listening to the prisoner’s tale.

  Not that he’d divulged anything helpful but his proximity to Caotina. “What else?”

  Again, he looked to Aldar, then his eyes locked on my wrist. He stared so long that I had to ignore the urge to hide my arms. “A Watcher, Your Majesty? Which one?”

  I didn’t answer. I was interrogating him.

  He shrugged. “No matter. It is good. The Watcher keeps you safe.”

  Stärkland shared the same beliefs as Farnskag? Could that be? If only I had paid more attention to my tutors’ details of foreign countries. “What do you mean?”

  “You are safe. Not like sister. King Raffar was wise to give you Watcher.”

  I ran a hand over the smooth, black stones. If they’d ever protected me before, their power was used up now. Not that this boy needed to hear it.

  Aldar yawned, and again I tamped down the urge to shove him into a cell. “Queen Jiara, I thi—”

  I held up a hand. “Continue, Jonas.”

  “Yes, they protect. You don’t revere the Watchers in Azzaria. But they are around you always. You should find the . . . sacred Watcher writings. I don’t know the name in Azzarian.” His chuckle turned into a cough. “Or Farnskag. The writings explain.”

  They might explain, but they would explain in Farnskag, which would be similar to having no explanation at all. Aldar’s sighs and yawns grated on my nerves, and Jonas seemed hesitant to talk much while Aldar was present. Now that I knew Jonas spoke Azzarian, I would come here on my own and interrogate him without an untrustworthy man listening. All I’d have to do was to get Freyad to bring me . . . or escape my guards.

  __________

  The entire day, Jonas’s tale knocked around in my head. Not even a letter from Pia could cheer me up, not even the picture I drew for her showing me defending myself from an elephant bird with a knife.

  No. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jonas. Maybe I hadn’t lent his words enough credence. By the evening, I paced our suite and waited for Raffar to return from a meeting with the council. I chewed on my lip as I thought of the twisted tale of the ambush, and how different it was from the “truth” Raffar knew. Most likely, Jonas had made everything up, but even so, I had to tell my husband.

  The door hit the wall as it was thrust open,
and my heart leaped in my chest.

  “Raf—” My voice faltered. Aldar stood directly behind Raffar, with two servants behind them, their arms full of trunks.

  Raffar spoke so quickly as he gathered belongings from the table next to his side of the bed and his wardrobe that all I caught was the word leave.

  Aldar stood with hands clasped at his back and translated, “Jiara, I am sorry to have to do this so soon after your arrival, but I must travel to Gluwfyall today. It’s imperative I leave immediately.”

  Travel? Today? I closed my eyes and tried to remember where Gluwfyall was. A couple of days east of here, if I remembered correctly, just before the mountains that formed the border to Svertya.

  “The region’s council there is paralyzed by constant fighting. I just found out they haven’t paid the university staff in weeks, nor the registrar. Apparently the square and public buildings are in such disrepair that the citizens refuse to gather in the town’s meeting hall. The sense of community is in danger.” He stopped tossing things to the servants and sighed as his worried eyes met mine. “This needs my personal attention, before we face a revolt of some kind.”

  I nodded. A monarch had duties. He had to ensure smooth workings in his kingdom. But shouldn’t I be packing too?

  “And I?”

  Raffar laid a gentle hand on my cheek. “I need you to stay here, to represent us at all the events planned during the next few weeks. Freyad will make sure you continue to meet people. And, you’ll have plenty of time to study with Aldar.”

  Aldar smiled when he translated that.

  My eyes flicked to the interpreter, then to the floor. But without Raffar here . . . I didn’t know what to think except that since this morning, Aldar made my skin crawl. And now, Raffar wouldn’t be around to listen to my suspicions.

  My hand rose to take his arm, but I didn’t want to cling. “Could we talk first?” I motioned to our bedroom where the lexicon was.