A Dragonbird in the Fern

by Rueckert, Laura

  Being alone, for the first time in days and far from the dangers of Baaldarstad, was like floating on the quietest canal in a tagarro boat. Every bit of me relaxed. My limbs tired and sore, I trudged around the small suite: a bedroom, a sitting room with a desk and a hard sofa, a washroom. A large window facing the lake. The fact that I didn’t run there immediately was proof of my exhaustion.

  Raffar’s belongings were scattered throughout the rooms. I trailed a finger along his shaving instruments, pressed my face into one of his tunics.

  It smelled much better than I did.

  My skin was sweaty; my hair was tangled; and my arms, legs, and back ached so badly, I walked with a stoop like an old woman. I never wanted to see another branch again. My body begged for a bed. I sniffed my own tunic. Maybe a bath before bed.

  I peeked into the bathroom again. There was a tub. I’d have to order water right away, before I fell asleep.

  “Jiara!”

  I spun around.

  Raffar’s teeth gleamed white in contrast to the tattoos on his face. My mouth curled upward at the mere sight of him. He strode to me, and his big hands grasped my shoulders. The warm heaviness drew me to him, and he pulled me to his chest.

  “I missed you, wife,” he said. “I know we haven’t shared the manor very long, but still, I missed you.”

  I smiled against his chest. “I missed you too.” His chest felt so good under my hands. I had the urge to—no. I forced that urge away with the practice of the past months. He wanted to wait.

  Raffar’s heart beat against me. His hand stroked my back, then my head, and I snuggled closer despite myself. He sighed, but like always, pushed me back. Finally, he brushed my jaw with his thumb. His eyes took on an excited glint, and he spoke so quickly, I had to laugh.

  “You forget to speak slowly for me,” I said.

  With a short shake of his head, he grinned. “Sorry. I said, I think you will like the festival tonight.”

  Festival? Tonight? What Freyad and I had to say was going to crush him—how could we go to a festival? My muscles grew heavier, if that was even possible. I tugged Raffar by the hand from the washroom so I could sink onto the sofa. As he settled next to me, my eyes drifted shut, and I tried to imagine myself greeting hundreds of strangers, listening to chants and watching fern dances all evening long and pretending everything was all right.

  “Wait,” I said, “Freyad will come. We have something very important.”

  Before he could respond, a knock sounded at the door. Raffar stared at me for a second, then he opened it. He greeted Freyad with the gakh and whispered something that sounded like thanks for keeping me safe.

  My shoulders tensed again. Aldar was Raffar’s closest relative. This betrayal was going to break his heart. While Raffar and Freyad finished their greeting, I withdrew the parchments from one of my bags and sat at the table. But Freyad’s expression must have given us away.

  “What’s wrong?” Raffar asked, looking first to Freyad and then to me. “Are you all right?”

  I shook my head. “You need to know some things that happened while you were gone.”

  His brows creased. “What—”

  With a deep breath, I told the story in chronological order. Freyad jumped in whenever the words got stuck in my head or on my tongue. How I’d noticed Aldar teaching me incorrectly, his excuse that he was trying to ensure more time in Baaldarstad, but how I’d caught him doing it just as often even after that. How I’d downplayed my knowledge of Farnskag around him. Then the discussion with Jonas and the false translations. The partial council meeting and the threat that Aldar and the other council member would “go ahead with their plan.”

  “Who was the other man?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. But he’s younger than Geord. Heavyset with a wider nose.” I tried to remember another specific characteristic. “A tattoo! Like a bird on the side of his face.”

  Raffar’s jaw was made of stone, but he nodded stiffly. “All right. That sounds like Beng. But . . . not Aldar. He’s my blood. We grew up together.”

  But I hadn’t gotten to the worst part yet. I pushed the second document over to him, the letter from Stärkland. I told him how Aldar had met the foreigner and what Jonas had translated.

  He rubbed his face and pulled the parchment across the table. “I know you’re much better with Farnskag now, but are you sure? And this prisoner . . . we have no idea if we can tru—”

  “I’ve ordered two translators from the university,” interrupted Freyad. “They should be here within minutes.”

  His nod was short, his entire body tense. “I . . . it sounds terrible, but I hope you’re both wrong. Aldar wouldn’t do this.”

  My hand rubbed soothing circles over his arm. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I liked him too. In the beginning, anyway.” I imagined him joking with Raffar on the tagarro boat or while we were in the carriage. “He was funny. He always talked to me, gave me the feeling I wasn’t alone. He even tried to keep me from making mistakes, like that time at White Mother.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “What mistake?”

  Freyad squinted at me like I was the one who was confused, so I said, “He suggested I stay in the carriage so that I didn’t insult anyone by gawking at White Mother.”

  Abruptly, Raffar turned from me to meet Freyad’s eyes. Both of their jaws stiffened, then Raffar said, with barely restrained rage, “I asked him why you didn’t come, and he said you didn’t want to ‘see the boring rock.’ The guards were all talking about it, about how maybe I’d made a poor choice of wife.”

  My face burned and my heart stuttered. “I never said that. I may not have grown up with the Watchers, but even then, I could tell how important they are to you.”

  Raffar grimaced as if he were swallowing down bile. “That means he’s been deceiving me—us all—for months. In little ways as well as big. I just don’t understand. If he wanted to be king, why go through so much trouble? Why didn’t he talk to me? Except for his years studying in Gluwfyall, we’ve always been close. I might have left the succession laws as they were.”

  There was another knock at the door, and Freyad ushered in the translators, introduced as professors from the university. One professor recited the documents written in Stärklandish, then the other took over what was in Azzarian.

  With a hard swallow, Raffar gave me a short nod. The story I’d put together—all of it—was true.

  My husband cleared his throat as the translators, sworn to secrecy, left the suite. “All right. We need to find him. Have two—”

  “Matid and I already instructed a small team of warriors to search Baaldarstad and the surrounding area,” Freyad said. “They began before we left. They’ll keep it quiet until you have the chance to talk to him.”

  Raffar’s face was like stone, but he murmured a thank you.

  “And what about Jonas?” I asked. “Can you let him return to Stärkland now?”

  Raffar mulled it over for a moment. “Regardless of how the prisoner said it happened, three of our soldiers were killed. I can’t ignore that. Hopefully, we’ll have Aldar soon, and I’ll interrogate them both myself when we arrive next week.” He hesitated. “No, that’s too long. We must cut short our plans here.” He smoothed his hand over mine. “But if all goes well, shortly after we’ve talked, I can send him back. Especially since it was Aldar who suggested I keep him prisoner.”

  We considered heading back to Baaldarstad immediately. But my guards and carriage drivers were as exhausted as I was, and Raffar said it was important to keep up appearances for at least another day or two.

  There was nothing else we could do for the moment, so Freyad headed for her room. Only seconds after Raffar had closed the door behind her, another knock came.

  Exhausted from the trip and the tense discussions, I withdrew to the couch, curling as best as possible into the stiff corner.

  Raffar spoke briefly with someone at the door, then slid in next to me. “That was one o
f the governor’s aides. The festival will begin in about two hours.”

  The festival? After all of this?

  No. For months, I’d gone to every chant, every dance, every concert, and almost every discussion at the meeting hall. Market day. Weapons training. Hospitals and schools. I’d waved, I’d let them touch my hair, I’d done the traditional gakh greeting. I’d smiled and smiled and smiled.

  Something steely shot up from my exhausted limbs and into my back. “I can’t.”

  “I understand how you feel, but we have to keep up appearances.”

  I shook my head. “No. Not today.”

  Raffar stared at me, his mouth slightly open. Finally, he said, as if it were obvious, “But it is the Lake of Light Festival. Most of the province will be there. Everyone will notice if you’re not.”

  I leaned my head on the uncomfortable sofa’s armrest. “I’m tired. I’m dirty. I—”

  “You are beautiful.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “It only happens once a year—”

  “I can see it next year.”

  His jaw dropped, and panic seeped into his features. “Jiara! It’s one of the most amazing—”

  “Raffar! I don’t want to!”

  He ran a hand over his mouth. And . . . were his eyes damp? Then he dropped from the couch and knelt on the floor in front of me. “I know I ask too much of you. And there were so many things I didn’t even realize, all these months. What was going on with Aldar, how you’ve been watching out for me, and for our country . . . you’re amazing.”

  My face warmed, but I didn’t give in.

  “A bath is already being prepared. And you can lie down for an hour before it gets dark.”

  “But—”

  “Please, Jiara, refuse everything I ask of you the next fifty days, the next hundred even. But you will want to see this. With the way you love the water . . . I know you will. It’s one of the most special events you can imagine. As if Watcher of Water itself dances for us.”

  Had I misunderstood his last words? The Watcher danced? Despite my exhaustion, the urge to see what he meant for myself sprouted in my soul.

  Raffar took my hands in his and stared at them. He chewed on his lip and finally said, “For once, no one is asking for you to do something for Farnskag or Azzaria. Come to the

  festival—do it for yourself. After all that’s been going on, we need some beauty in our lives.”

  If his eyes weren’t so warm or his grip so gentle, I might have refused.

  Watcher of Water dancing.

  All I could say was, “All right.”

  Chapter 27

  “Jiara.”

  Raffar’s voice caressed my ears. I could listen to it all day. And he smelled so good I wanted to burrow right in. But gritty sand filled my eyes, and heavy stones weighed down my limbs. I didn’t move, not even to sniff him more closely.

  “Jiara, wake up. The festival.”

  The festival. I groaned loudly and was rewarded by Raffar’s throaty laugh.

  He smoothed my hair from my face and slipped his hands around mine. Then he tugged my lethargic body into a sitting position.

  I slit my eyes open. “I changed my mind. I want to sleep.”

  “Too bad.” He raised his chin at me and held out a cloak. This far north and this high up in elevation, it would be chilly in the evening. “Hurry or we’ll be late.”

  I ignored the cloak and patted my cheeks to get the blood flowing. When that didn’t work, I trudged into the washroom to throw water on my face from the basin there. And it was good I did. The looking glass showed me my hair needed brushing. Raffar never warned me; he never seemed to notice when it did.

  “Jiara!”

  I combed through the worst of the tangles, my hands already reaching for the cloak as I exited the washroom. We rushed from the suite and out of the house. The rear of the home opened onto a large lawn that stretched down to the shoreline. Now that the chilly air hit my cheeks, and the scent of the lake tantalized my nose, my skin began to buzz. I pulled Raffar’s hand toward the water.

  He grinned and asked, “Run?”

  Despite my tired limbs, the water drew me. I nodded, and we jogged to the crowd waiting at the shore. My gaze flew over the mass of bodies—what if Aldar or Beng had followed us to Gluwfyall? There were so many people. He could be three paces from me and I might not notice.

  As I craned my neck, citizens surged forward, all wanting to see the new queen up close. Over and over, Raffar repeated that they would get a chance for a proper greeting later. Finally, the crowd parted, allowing us to stand right next to the water. All along the lakeshore, as far as I could see, people waited, their gazes looking out over the silver-blue water.

  “What kind of festival is it?” I asked. Lanterns? Boats with torches, maybe?

  “Mmm,” Raffar said. “Watch.”

  The smooth surface of the lake reflected the last light of the evening sky. Occasionally, a duck flew overhead, then one landed on the water close to us.

  A flash of blue light—in the water itself, where the bird had landed.

  I leaned forward, squinting to see what it was.

  Raffar’s hand grasped mine. Another flash a few feet to the left. Then, as if someone had lit dry grass, the lake exploded in blue light.

  The entire crowd gasped and oohed as one. The light seemed to move in waves, randomly, lake inward on the left, lake outward on the right. When the waves met each other, it formed a ribbon of brightness, wiggling, becoming thinner. And then the waves began again somewhere else. In between the waves and ribbons were specks of light, and they moved toward each other as if seeking their own kind.

  The bright blue specks and ribbons were so beautiful, so ethereal, tears sprang to my eyes as the crowd of hundreds stood, hushed in awe.

  I tugged on Raffar’s tunic and whispered, “What is it?”

  He leaned down, and his breath tickled my ear in a way that made me wish he’d kiss it. “I don’t know exactly. Some kind of tiny animal, that’s what the scholars think. Every year around the end of summer, they do this. It starts slowly with patches of light—I saw them the last two nights. And then, like today, it bursts across the entire lake.”

  “And tomorrow?” I asked.

  “By the end of tonight, it will be over. Until next year.”

  The swirling light captivated me in a way I’d never thought possible. In my mind, I called to Azzoro, to show him, or to thank him. Just because we weren’t in Azzaria didn’t mean his reach didn’t extend this far.

  The glorious blue glow undulated in the water. Raffar nudged me to stand in front of him. His arms encircled me, and for hours, the lake danced with light before us.

  The next sensation I had was my legs being swept out from underneath me.

  “What?” I asked, my eyes barely open.

  I’d been sure I would stay awake all night watching the beauty in the water, but eventually, with Raffar’s warm chest against my back and his arms holding me up, I must have fallen asleep.

  “Time for bed,” Raffar murmured.

  I closed my eyes and nestled my face against his chest, and my husband carried me across the lawn to the house.

  __________

  The next morning, my first movement confirmed it. I lived too soft a life. Every stretch of every muscle burned with the memory of bending and carrying and dragging and tossing branches. Raffar was asleep when I forced myself up and went to the window. I still wore my tunic and pants from last night. In the morning light, diaphanous mist rose from the lake. Just the sight of it made my shoulders, sore as they were, relax.

  Why couldn’t Baaldarstad have a lake like this?

  “Was I right?” Raffar asked from bed.

  I turned around. “The lights in the water last night?”

  He nodded and scooted into a sitting position.

  I couldn’t help but smile at the gorgeous, glowing lake in my mind. “You were right.”

  He
grinned.

  “And it’s only once a year?”

  “Yes.”

  I never wanted to miss it again. “Can we come every year?”

  The grin evaporated from his face. “I’d like to say yes, but it depends on the state of the country. It could be that we’re needed elsewhere during the festival.”

  Of course. I crawled onto the bed next to him like a normal wife with a normal husband. I wanted to keep right on crawling into his arms. For a second, when our eyes met, I saw nothing but heat in them, but he blinked his desire away, and I ignored my emotions too. Between the festival and my exhaustion, we hadn’t talked about the future. We were so much closer to finding Scilla’s killer, but we weren’t done yet. “What happens next?”

  His eyes focused on something only he could see. “Freyad said once the guards find Aldar, a messenger will be sent to inform us, but now that we’ve changed our plans, we’ll probably make it home to Baaldarstad first.”

  I nodded, gesturing him to go on.

  “Then there will be interrogations, trials.” He sighed then shook himself. “Until we leave, we’re representing the monarchy. Today, we have to go on an outing planned by the governor.”

  Chills ran up my arms as I imagined us doing something as frivolous as sightseeing despite being so close to finding my sister’s killer. I crawled under the blanket. “Isn’t there anything we can do here? To help find Aldar?”

  Raffar started to shrug, and I realized that he understood the importance of identifying Scilla’s killer, but not the urgency. I’d avoided telling him about Azzaria’s earthwalkers as long as my language skills were so poor, and if I were honest, as long as we didn’t know each other well, because he might not believe me. But now he needed to hear the entire story. Haltingly, I explained about the threads to our loved ones, and the Azzarian hunger for justice. Finally, I admitted how far an earthwalker’s rage could go—how Scilla had killed me in the clearing.