The Color of Dragons

by R. A. Salvatore

  “Memories?”

  I nodded. “Griffin, I saw her memories of us.”

  He pursed his lips, bemused.

  “Not you and me. Me and Rendicryss!”

  He leaned against the wall, his face a mask of skepticism. “What did you see?”

  “How we came to be separated. My mother cursed me. And she had a son, Armel. Wicked boy. Jealous.” Griffin looked as confused as I felt. “Yes. Unbelievable, I know. But it was real. I know what I saw was real.” I traced the mark on my arm. “I don’t know what that curse did to me, but when I found Rendicryss a few days ago, it broke some part of it. Because that very night, I healed a squirrel.”

  “A squirrel?” he chided.

  “Don’t mock me.”

  “Never.” He raised his hands, surrendering.

  “Then, I helped a boy on the road. And now you!” I squeezed his hand.

  He smiled. “But . . . how does it work?”

  I looked at my palms, then at Griffin, shrugging. “I have no idea. Rendicryss knows. I know she does. I have to . . .” The look on Griffin’s face stopped me. There was no going back. Not tonight.

  “Well, it’s miraculous, Maggie. However you do it.” Griffin flexed his mended fingers, grinning. “But what of Xavier?”

  I shook my head. “His tricks have always been that. Nothing more. I daresay if he knew what I was capable of, what I knew, my life with him would’ve been very different.” Xavier was both a father figure and crazed with the pursuit of magic. When the two aspects were pitted against one another, the truth would win. He wasn’t my father. Not really. And even if he were, he would care most about the magic. “No one can know, Griffin. The king believes it is Xavier, and Xavier believes it is Xavier, and I don’t want them to know it’s me—at least, not until I’m gone.”

  We started climbing the stairs.

  “But why leave? Think of the wealth and status the king would grant you, Maggie. You would want for nothing.”

  “Riches? I don’t want riches, especially from the king! You saw what he did to those two men today? His men do the same every day in the Hinterlands. Starving men strung up for not being able to afford ridiculous, high taxes. Soldiers raping women as payment for outstanding sums. Or worse. Kidnapping them for brothels here in the Walled City.” I clutched the train of the blue dress I had on beneath the cloak. “I could never have worn a dress on the road. It was too dangerous. The king’s men are the danger.”

  Griffin didn’t argue, and his expression was more than enough for me to know he knew some of what I said was true.

  “You idolize an evil man, Griffin.”

  “I don’t idolize anyone. I’m a survivor, like you.” He sounded hurt and a little angry. “All I have is because of what the king and Jori have given me.”

  “A room? Food? Weapons and clothes? Please. I saw how the people cheered for you, from Top to Bottom. You’re more to them than a sword. So much so that when you stand beside the prince, the people cheer for him too. You’ve earned everything the king has given you and more.”

  He wrestled with that while we continued up the steep stairs. My legs ached. My heels felt raw with blisters. I was looking forward to the tavern, and my horse.

  “All of this must be our secret. You cannot tell the prince or the king!” I poked him the chest. “Promise!”

  “I promise. It’s the least I can do. You saved my life.” He held his hands up. “Now I’ll be more than ready for my next turn in the ring.”

  It occurred to me that I was missing a vital piece of information. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “What do you mean? You asked me to,” he blurted, but I could tell by the look in his eyes he knew exactly what I meant.

  “You wanted to see her. To get a leg up on battling her, didn’t you?”

  Griffin stared, mouth hanging open. I was right. “Maggie, you said it yourself. I earn my place with the king and Jori with my sword. If I don’t win in the arena, if I lose favor with the people, then I have no value to them. I could lose everything.”

  “And if you kill her, I lose everything.” My legs cramping, I pressed on, hurrying as quickly as I could up the stairs, refusing to look at him.

  His footsteps were constant, never waning, but the silence spoke volumes.

  Night was almost over. It would be morning in a few short hours. Thankfully, the horses stood where we’d left them at the tavern. Riding uphill would be hard on them, but my legs would go no farther.

  Griffin made sure I was tucked into the cloak before knocking on the fortress gate. The guard chuckled, shaking his head, and opened it just enough for us to slip through.

  We entered the castle through an alley door this time. The delicious aroma of baking bread met us in the kitchens, as well a heavyset balding man covered in flour and smelling of a long night of ale.

  “Griffin?” His eyes fell on me. “Bradyn thought you already back. Moldark’s just come for her tray. He’s on his way to her room now.”

  Griffin grabbed my hand and ran. Up a spiral staircase, through a door that entered the Great Hall, which was unnervingly silent. Through three more stretches of hallways until we reached the one with the grate.

  Griffin went first.

  Crawling quickly bruised my knees and palms. He rolled the stone to the secret entrance into my room as quietly as possible. The only noise was a slight tap when he leaned it against the wall.

  The room was still dark. Griffin tugged the edge of the cloak, reminding me I wasn’t wearing it when I left. I pulled it over my head and gave it back to him. His hand brushed mine and squeezed. There was no time to ask him why he did it, or what it meant. No time to understand why it made my heartbeat quicken. I wasn’t sure I liked him any more than I did when the day started, especially if he was planning to try to kill Rendicryss.

  I scooted around him and slid out the hole beneath the bed.

  Someone knocked.

  Petal’s feet emerged from behind the screen. I could see her bare heels. Her back to me, I exited on the far side and threw the covers back as if the knock had woken us both.

  “Who is it, Petal?”

  Holding a tray, she glanced over her shoulder, first at the chair where I had fallen asleep earlier, then at the bed. The door cracked, and I could see Moldark’s toothless scowl leering in.

  “Good morning, sunshine.”

  Xavier shuffled around him and slammed the door shut. His eyes sunken and bruised, he took one look at Petal and opened the door again.

  “Get out!” he yelled at her. “Now, before I box your ears!”

  Petal set the tray on the table by the fireplace and ran out the door.

  Once alone, he paced. “Maggie, we’re in trouble. I’ve been trying all night. All night! And nothing . . .” He held his bony long-fingered hands up, showing them empty. “There is no magic. The king is angry. I saw it in his eyes.” He was near tears.

  “I don’t understand. What happened?” I sat down in the chair before my legs gave out.

  “After dinner, the king bade me to perform, and I did. Everything the same. Gems. Bones. Staff. I called to the moonlight, and it wouldn’t bless me! I tried to heal our squirrel, but he died on the table between the roasted pheasant and baked apples.”

  “What did I say about hurting the animals, Xavier?”

  “It would’ve been a real crowd-pleaser, lass, if I had been able to save the little bugger! That evil northern boy Cornwall, and Lady Esmera, they laughed—at me! I went back to my old tricks, which displeased King Umbert. He called me all manner of names and threw me out of the Great Hall!” He dropped his head into his hands. “Why? Why is this happening?” His neck craned, his eyes on the ceiling. “One day, I’m blessed by the gods, and the next they take it all away!”

  He burst into tears that mixed with the thick layer of black kohl, turning his deep wrinkles into muddy rivers. “Prince Jori spoke on my behalf. Said that I was tired, and without my assistant. That I deserved anothe
r chance.” He sighed, regaining slight control. “And so tonight I perform in the king’s chambers. And you . . . you must be by my side. Understand?”

  The king was cruel but nowhere near as stupid as Xavier. If I went with him, in what I expected would be a small private room, and helped him, King Umbert would know—he would deduce the magic was in me.

  After all my snapping at Griffin, I couldn’t help thinking that perhaps he was right. Perhaps I should tell King Umbert the truth. Maybe the king would give me everything I asked for, including Rendicryss. . . .

  I would’ve laughed at myself if Xavier wasn’t in the room. King Umbert never did anything for anyone without it benefiting him. He would try to use me and Rendicryss one way or another. Whatever the outcome of this performance, nothing good would come of it.

  I poured Xavier a cup of water from the pitcher on the table near the fireplace and handed it to him. “I understand, Xavier. I understand everything.”

  Ten

  Griffin

  Griffin delighted in his ability to use both hands to crawl out of the passage. He had no way of knowing what lay on the other side of the wall for Maggie, but her room was dark and silent. A good sign their secret outing would remain a secret—once he paid off Perig.

  Twenty pieces of gold coin. His entire life’s savings. He stretched his fingers, feeling no pain. It was more than worth it.

  Maggie’s touch lingered in his healed hand as he padded softly through the dimly lit hallways. Dread swept through him at the thought of her anger when it came to her draignoch’s death. But wait. Not a draignoch. She called Rendicryss a dragon.

  It was impossible to see much in the darkness of the cell, but one thing was for certain: Rendicryss was a different kind of a beast. Bigger wings. Longer, thinner body. She would be a fierce match for any knight in the tournament.

  Maggie would never forgive him if he killed Rendicryss, but she didn’t understand what Griffin did. His mother’s screams as draignochs dragged her into the woods. His father calling out for help as they tore him limb from limb. Griffin was alone in the world because of these kinds of monsters. And if it came to a choice between his own life in the arena or the dragon’s, Griffin would choose himself every time.

  Maggie had to understand that, didn’t she? No. Of course not. She only thought of herself and what was right for her. He’d risked everything for her tonight, and was she even grateful? She accused him of going to the Oughtnoch for himself! And while that was partially true, he never would’ve gone if she hadn’t asked him to help her. What was wrong with him? Why did he go to such great expense for her? But he knew. Deep down. Because as much as he wanted to yell at her, he, to the same extent, wanted to kiss her.

  He groaned.

  The castle wakened. Hustling boots scraped against the stone-cold floors. Servants raced to bring food and clean clothing to the many visitors for the tournament. Patrolling guards nodded to Griffin as he jogged the rest of the way, exhausted, confused, starving, and in desperate need of a change of clothes.

  Griffin found Bradyn waiting for him in his room.

  “I was so worried.” Bradyn set Griffin’s breakfast on the table beneath the window. “Father said you only just returned. Did the horses get back?”

  “The horses are near the stables. I didn’t have time to take their saddles off.”

  Bradyn cursed. “You didn’t unsaddle them? What took you so long?” He threw up his hands. “Gah! I’ll take care of it. I’ll go now and meet you in the tunnel with your axe before the melee.”

  Bradyn started to leave but Griffin called him back. “Wait. Have another bring me my axe. I need you to do a different favor for me.”

  Griffin pulled out his money box from the wardrobe and handed it to Bradyn. The boy’s knees buckled at the weight. “Hide this in something and take it to Perig at the keep.”

  “All the way to the Bottom? I’ll miss the melee,” he griped, shuffling toward the full laundry basket.

  “You said it yourself yesterday. You have no chance of winning. And I really need you to do this for me. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t very important. Life-or-death important.”

  Bradyn groaned, dropping the box on the dirty shirts. “Is this about last night?”

  Bradyn asked too many questions. “Never mind what it’s about. It’s better if you can honestly answer that you don’t know.”

  Bradyn buried the box beneath the clothes. “You go for a walk with a beautiful woman that the prince swoons for, and come back with secrets?” He was too close to the truth. “Let me guess. Perig caught you two. Were you kissing?” He hugged himself and kissed the air with closed eyes, making irritating mewing sounds.

  Griffin popped him on the back of the head. “Get a move on!”

  Bradyn heaved the basket up. “All right. But that’s sure a long way to go to kiss.”

  Griffin shoved him toward the door.

  Bradyn’s sarcastic laugh was irritating. “She’s very pretty. Probably worth the prince’s anger.”

  “Yes, well . . .” It was wrong to mislead Bradyn, but a romantic stroll was the excuse that got them out of the fortress. If Bradyn was questioned, the answers would align. “The prince swoons for every pretty face.”

  Unable to stand any longer, Griffin sat down on the edge of his bed.

  “I dunno. I heard he sent dresses to her room. Fancy ones . . . before she even arrived.”

  Griffin’s stomach twisted into an irritating knot. “I’m sure Prince Jori has sent dresses to many women.”

  “Maybe, but this morning I heard he went to the treasure room . . . for jewels.” Bradyn hefted the basket higher, waggling his eyebrows.

  Griffin yanked off his boots. “Jewels for Esmera, Bradyn.”

  Bradyn wrestled with opening the door, nearly dropping the heavy laundry basket. “I guess we’ll see soon enough.”

  Griffin hurled the boots at him, chasing him out.

  The morning went by in a mechanical blur: food, washing, dressing, all in an exhausted fog from lack of sleep. Worst of all, Griffin lost track of time. He was forced to sprint the road from the Top to the arena, almost missing the turnoff for the tunnel because of his sour mood.

  The jewels were for Esmera. But what if they weren’t? It wasn’t as if Jori’s intentions were to make Maggie, a common-born woman, his queen. But his consort? Perhaps. What kind of life would that be? Griffin wondered. One like his, where he performed at the prince’s whim.

  Only for Maggie it would be a very different kind of performance. . . .

  The thought made him boil. Maggie would reject the prince if he made an advance, wouldn’t she? But if she did, what would happen then?

  What was worse, Griffin couldn’t figure out why he cared. Maggie was stubborn, and angry at everything he said or did. He had to coax a compliment from her, and even that was coupled with criticism. She would choose that dragon over me!

  So then, why was he still thinking about her? It was infuriating!

  By the time Griffin arrived at the tunnel, the melee was long since over. Griffin didn’t know who’d won, and honestly it didn’t matter—not like it did yesterday. A spark of sadness ran through him as he stared at the back of his hand, seeing the bones move in perfect unity. For better or worse, Maggie’s touch had . . . changed him.

  The other knights stood ready with axes in hand. Oak wore a red tunic, while Cornwall and Malcolm were in brown today. Silas, in his armor branded with a U for the king, prepared to take his turn against a draignoch afterward.

  “Sir Griffin . . .” A twitchy boy Griffin didn’t recognize held out his axe to him with hands trembling.

  Griffin took it with his left hand. He would throw with his right, but wanted to play a surprise on the people, show off how he had miraculously healed. Prove he was set apart from the other knights—because with Maggie’s help, he was.

  “You new to the armory?” Griffin asked the boy.

  “I, uh—” He shook his head and ran off
.

  “He is starstruck, Sir Griffin,” Jori said, entering the tunnel with Maggie on his arm.

  Swallowing did nothing to alleviate the bitter taste in Griffin’s mouth from seeing them together. “As he should be,” he jested, giving a slight bow. “Maggie, you look well this morning.”

  She wore another new dress, red this time, and a necklace of shimmering rubies. Griffin’s breath caught. Jori may as well have draped her in his family’s sigil.

  “Well? She looks well. Is that all you can say, man? She looks beautiful,” Jori boasted. He kissed her hand, surprising Griffin and, by the look on her face, Maggie too.

  Maggie still hadn’t said a word. Her regard ventured past him. She craned her neck, trying to see beyond Griffin, beyond the other competitors, beyond the tunnel. She was looking for Rendicryss, worrying it was her turn in the arena, but there was no way to know until the gate rolled up.

  Malcolm and his brother stared at Jori, their expressions dimming by the second.

  “Where’s my sister?” Cornwall barked.

  “My dear brother. She’s on the dais. As is Lady Sybil,” Jori responded with extreme politeness that turned Cornwall beet red. The prince turned to Griffin. “Come up when you’re finished so we can toast another win.” He extended an elbow to Maggie. “Shall we?”

  “Good luck, Sir Griffin,” Maggie said, meeting his gaze. From her tone, she could’ve been cursing at him.

  After they were gone, Griffin tested the weight of his axe. He tossed it from one hand to the other but was plagued by the image of Jori kissing Maggie’s hand. He fumbled the handle, and the axe rattled to the floor. He scrambled to pick it up, mortified.

  “She makes you nervous,” Silas said, chuckling. He tucked his long blond mane into the back of his tunic.

  “I understand, Griffin. She is . . . disarming,” Malcolm admitted.

  “You’re a fool, Malcolm,” Cornwall growled at his brother. “She’s a trollop. Her father’s probably put a spell on Jori, all so she can swive a prince and bring a bastard into the world. A claimant for the throne.”