She wiped her eyes, nodding, then hugged me. I patted her back, racking my brain to think if I missed anything. “Thoma has hair like yours. Fair. If they don’t understand my clues, cry. He’s a sap and likes to take in strays.”
She smiled at that.
“You need a cloak.” I used the smallest blanket on a chair near the fireplace, and tore a hole in the middle, then yanked it over her head. “Not my best work, but you won’t freeze.”
She squeezed me again.
“This is my fault, Petal. I’m so sorry to have brought this on you, but you’ll be safe there. Now go.”
The hallway empty, I watched as she jogged in the shadowed corners at first, then slipped behind a tapestry I hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps she too knew the ways through the secret passages.
I closed and locked the door.
Pacing, I went over my entire conversation with the prince, all the simple clues I’d left him. He could trace my explanation of the sale to the market. With a little interrogation of the vendors, he would find the pregnant woman, and his mother’s ring. Petal should be safe then. But if I was in the Middle, he would wonder why.
He would think I was going to the Oughtnoch to see the draignoch he captured because I had foolishly told him I wanted her released. There he would learn there had been a struggle. When interrogated, my opponent would describe what we looked like. And that would lead them back to me, but also, to Griffin. The prince would know there was more between us than a kiss. My stomach knotted until I wanted to vomit.
I was coming between Griffin and the crown.
I would be his undoing.
Music and conversation drifted out of the Great Hall as I came down the stairs in another new dress from the prince. Green this time. Xavier waited for me outside the Great Hall, beside the cheetah, draped in red robes. His gems and bones in place. He reeked of so much rose oil I held my nose as I approached him.
“Maggie.” He sounded so relieved it broke my heart. “You’re here. When I didn’t see you on the balcony, I worried that . . .” He let out a long sad breath, shaking his head dismissively. “Well, at least you don’t plan on leaving me to the king’s hounds.”
“What do you mean?”
His lips pressed into a thin line. His glare floated, searching for guards and their distance from them. It was sufficient.
“Do you want to do the same show as last time?” I pressed, running my fingers up and over the rough fur on the back of the poor stuffed animal. “Shall there be a cheetah chasing after Sir Griffin, or perhaps the king? I’m told it hurts.”
“No. Not the king. Never!” Xavier’s head cocked like a curious owl. “Tell me, Maggie, why is it I can do nothing on my own, and yet with you beside me, there is something?” His face dipped into a deep angry frown. “Has this been the truth of you all these years? Are you a snake beneath a rock, waiting for a time to strike?”
“You killed the snake and drank its blood. I don’t want to strike at anyone. I only want to leave and—”
“No!” He slapped me then, hard. He grabbed my arms by the wrists, pinning them at my sides, speaking in hush tones. “I could have left you to die, but I didn’t. I stayed by your side. You will stay by mine. You will never leave. You will make this magic look as though it comes from me tonight, and every night. And you will do all that the king asks. You will manifest a cheetah and send it after Sir Cornwall of the North. That is what the king has asked and that is what will be done.”
I twisted my wrists, trying to break his grip.
“Xavier, stop!”
Prince Jori stepped out of the Great Hall. “Xavier, Maggie, what’s taking so long? The guests are waiting.”
Sir Raleigh trailed after him, a sardonic smile curling his lips at my reddening cheek.
Xavier let go and my hands went to cover the pain. “I’m not feeling well. I . . . I think I should go back to my room.”
“But Xavier needs you, Maggie,” the prince said in a sickeningly sweet tone. “Come. Perform and I’ll make sure your meal is brought to your room after.”
“No.”
Jori walked behind me and leaned over my shoulder. “This is what I want, Maggie. Can you please do this, for me? You want Griffin, you want your dragon. You want. You want. I want you go into that hall and help put on a magnificent show—for Xavier’s benefit.”
Did he know? Did he know for certain now that I was the source of Xavier’s magic? I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised. Word was spreading throughout the Middle. The prince didn’t threaten Griffin or Rendicryss in words, but the implication was there, nonetheless. It changed nothing. I wanted my dragon. I didn’t want Griffin hurt because of me. I would have to figure another way out of all of this.
Perhaps using the moon’s gift.
I nodded.
“Good. You see, Xavier? She can do as she’s told.”
When I returned, dinner was in my room as promised, but I wasn’t hungry. I vacillated between telling Griffin about the incident with the prince, or guarding that information. The only way I was getting out of this place was by using my power. I didn’t necessarily need Griffin for that, but I cared for him, more than I wanted to let on to him. He was becoming . . . important to me. For those reasons, I decided to keep the incident from him. If he turned on the crown completely, it would likely be the end of him.
I shifted the bed to better glimpse the moon, then stared at it until my eyes glossed over. Step one was for it to be there when I called. I held my hand up. With little thought, the moon reached out to greet me.
I smiled greedily. “That was easy.” It was as if we were two halves of a whole. Bathed in the cool white beam, I felt its power coursing through my veins.
A large hand grabbed my ankle. I yelped, startled, and whipped my hand down. A beam cut across the legs of the bedside table. It collapsed. A bowl of floating rose petals toppled all over Griffin’s head.
“Ow.”
“I’m so sorry!” Concentration fled through the window with the fleeting moonlight.
He climbed the rest of the way out from beneath the bed, and immediately examined the table’s cut legs. “How did you do this?”
Griffin was wearing the same thing he had at dinner: a red linen shirt, a fur-lined brown leather vest, and similar-colored trousers.
“I don’t know.”
“That, Maggie of the Hinterlands, will not be good enough anymore.” His expression serious and brooding, he showed me the wood, the edges steaming, the cold of my moon touch fighting a losing battle against the warmth in the room. “From now on you have to dissect every motion you make, every sensation you feel, and every action the moonlight takes in response. I have been thinking about this since we left the Oughtnoch.”
“Clearly.” My resolve waned. I had to tell Griffin at least part of what I knew. “Griffin, Jori saw us in the barn.”
His fallen expression told me all I needed to know.
“You should go. I’m putting you in danger.”
He laughed much harder than necessary.
“How is that funny?”
He picked up my hand and ran my fingers across the scars on his face. “I put me in danger all the time. You let me worry about me. We have two days. Tomorrow, Cornwall fights. And then I’m in the arena with Rendicryss. I’m sure of it. That is when you will free her.”
“In the arena? Are you mad?”
“Entirely. But all that will be holding her are three Phantombronze chains. If I can get you into the ring, you can cut them, and she can fly away.”
“Fly? Over the wall?” It sounded ridiculous.
“Crazy, I know. But there is no other way out of the city.”
“What about you?” Fear lodged in my throat, making it difficult to breathe. “The king’s anger would be extreme.” I was afraid to whisper what was in my heart. And yet, I felt compelled to. “Would you come with me?”
“I would.” He didn’t hesitate. Not in the slightest.
> “Just like that. You would leave all of this behind . . . for me.”
He pondered that for a minute. “Not just for you. I don’t think I’ll ever look on a draignoch the same way again after what Rendicryss showed me. I cannot fight for the prince and king. I cannot slaughter these creatures anymore.”
“And all the people you’ve been fighting for—”
“Would understand if I wanted to leave a place full of pomp, where I am always balanced on a razor’s edge.” He rubbed my cheek with his hand. “It’s red and a little purple here.”
I blinked back tears of relief. It was a good answer. A right answer. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Two days wasn’t much time. “What do I do first?”
He lifted my hand, placing it on the broken chair leg in his other hand. “Step one, technique. Step two, grow the powers. You must use your weapon like an extension of your arm. The same way I use my sword. Show me how you capture the moonlight.”
I thrust out my arm, opening my palm. The moon fell, greeting me.
Griffin smiled, chuckling. His fingers clasped my elbow. The light dimmed. “Concentrate.”
I closed my eyes, pushing away the intense draw of Griffin’s touch for the moon’s.
“Better. Hold it. Don’t let it go.” He shifted my arm, turning my palm up. “Take hold of it, Maggie. Like gripping a sword.”
I did, and opened my eyes. The beam had straightened.
“Astounding,” he said. “Pull it toward you.”
I drew it downward, bringing it to me.
“How does it feel? Move it back and forth. Feel the weight.” He moved my arm by the elbow, swinging it. The beam danced along, whipping ever so slightly beyond.
On the next pass, momentum carried it too far. The beam struck his forearm.
Griffin yelped.
I lost concentration, and connection. The moonlight retreated.
“I’m so sorry!”
A spot on his forearm was now sleeveless and blistering red. I reached out, wanting to heal it, but he caught my hand. “No. Leave it. Tell me what you learned.”
“I . . . um . . . its weight is lighter than I expected.”
“Good. What else?”
His thumb brushed the back of my hand, making it very difficult to think about moonlight. “It’s drawn to me. As I am to it.”
“What does it feel like in here?” He tapped my palm.
“It wakes up every nerve, every hair stands on end. Thrumming.”
“Like a heartbeat.” He stepped closer.
I shook my head. “Like a running water. A stream in a drought when I’m so far out of its sight, and a raging river when I’m beneath it.”
He smiled down at me with infectious excitement. He released my hand, the aftermath of which left me much more confused than when the moon let go.
“Very good. Work with that. Have another go, only change up your motion. Grow accustomed to the light’s range of movement.” Griffin moved the chair into the middle of the room. “And when you’re ready, attempt to strike the chair.”
I nodded, already raising my hand. The grip happened faster, the moon encircling my hand in a glowing ribbon. With a hard snap, it struck the floor. Stone cracked, steaming cold, leaving a straight scar.
Griffin leaned on the chair. “The chair is over here, Maggie.”
“Why don’t you sit in it and I’ll try that again?” I smirked at him.
He settled in, wearing his own ridiculous smirk. “You’ll never hit me.”
“Want to bet?”
“Aha . . . what’s your wager?”
What did I want from Griffin? Not monies. He’d lost too much for me already. “Another kiss.”
“That’s unfortunate.” He sighed, my heart breaking ever so slightly. He winced. “That would’ve been my wager too. How about we cannot share another kiss until you hit the target?”
My cheeks burned. “You better get up, then.”
I spent the next few hours trying, adjusting stances, holds, finger positions. Black lines scarred the floor in a repeating pattern. The temperature in the room fell to frigid, a wintry tundra, making our breath visible. Griffin had wrapped a blanket from the bed over his shoulders at some point.
“Again,” he ordered, his teeth chattering.
My arm ached. Another try and it would fall off, but I wasn’t giving up. The last missed by less than a knuckle’s width.
And I had another idea.
I gripped the moon, then pulled, whipping it from the side rather than over my shoulders. The beam sliced through the wooden back like a freshly sharpened knife on brisket.
“I did it!”
Griffin moved across the room, sweeping me off my feet. Then we were kissing. Like in the barn, but less hurried. I could think of nothing, except never wanting to stop.
Except . . . “I should do that again.”
“Until your arm falls off.”
By the time the dark skies faded to purple, and Griffin left through the passageway under the bed, I had cut the chair to kindling. One move. A sideway whip. With one more day to rehearse this performance, I prayed it would be enough.
Griffin’s scent lingered as I went about stacking broken furniture bits beside the fireplace. I climbed into bed, thinking of Petal and how I missed knowing she was behind the screen. I turned on my side to gaze out the window at the moon, taking comfort that perhaps, just maybe, another was watching over me.
Sixteen
Griffin
The next day came too quickly. Griffin walked with Malcolm to the tunnel, listening to him worry over his brother having to fight a draignoch for the first time.
“I know you don’t like him, Griffin. Hell, I think he’s little better than a runny-nosed brat. But he’s my brother,” Malcolm mused. “It’s my job to protect him. I need him to drop out, and I need you to help.”
When Griffin said nothing, Malcolm played his last card.
“Family is everything,” he said.
“I wouldn’t know,” Griffin answered, because he had none.
“I know. And I know how they died,” Malcolm said, nodding an apology. “I’ve tried speaking with him. But I might as well be talking sense into a pile of rocks. He doesn’t act like it, but he respects you, Griffin. More than most. If you tell him—”
“Tell him what? That he won’t be disgraced in dropping out? He will be. I would be lying.”
Malcolm turned as crimson as his hair. “What matter is that? At least he would be alive.”
Griffin sighed. “Would you drop out, Malcolm? After so much boast. It would take more courage to endure that than facing the beast.”
Malcolm’s jaw worked as he wrestled with Griffin’s words all the way to the tunnel’s entrance. “He won’t live through the match.”
“More likely, he will. And we’ll have to hear about it for years to come.” Griffin smiled, trying to lighten the mood, but Malcolm didn’t rise to the occasion. He nodded as if accepting this was out of his control, because it was, and no amount of conversation with Cornwall would change a thing.
There was no melee today. Zac exited after his brother Silas’s death. Others followed in support of the noble family. Wallison and Bradyn were the only two who showed up this morning. The event was cut altogether. All that was left was the opening dramatics. Dressed in bright colors, acrobats flipped, jumped, and bent, entertaining the restless crowd.
As soon as it was over, Duncan called for the challenge event. In the tunnel and on the lift down into the ring, Griffin examined his staff with great care, as he had every weapon since the accident. The spectators quieted as two rectangles were drawn. The goal was to knock your opponent out of the space, eliminating, until the last man stood in the center.
With three left in the competition, Malcolm and Cornwall fought each other first. The winner moved on to battle Griffin. Being champion had its privileges after all.
The two stepped inside the first rectangle, Malcolm wearing black, and Cornw
all in brown, both paying tribute to the North with blue-and-green tartan sashes. That would surely anger the king.
For the first minute Malcolm toyed with Cornwall. Faking jabs, goading his younger brother.
“What’s wrong?” Malcolm taunted. “Afraid of what comes next?”
“Excited.” Cornwall raised his staff above his head and swung down, hitting Malcolm’s hand.
“Ow!” Malcolm backstepped. “Full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Will you shut up already and hit him! Pathetic! I could do so much better. They should let me in the tournament,” Sybil cried, howling with laughter from the balcony. Three days ago, Griffin had seen Sybil on the practice fields. He was glad she wasn’t a competitor. She was as accomplished as Malcolm—and wilier.
Malcolm rained down heavy strokes, jabbing between, all of which Cornwall blocked. Cornwall knocked Malcolm back with a hard cross-body lunge. Malcolm countered, and the two stood in a grunting stalemate, until Malcolm used his chest, throwing his weight on the staff in a sharp jerk. Cornwall stumbled sideways, cursing, stepping out of bounds.
The crowd gave a round of applause but held back; there was another match before the delivery of the final victor.
Malcolm helped his brother up. “Go get ready for what comes next. I expect to be toasting your victory tonight, little brother.”
Cornwall seemed surprised by Malcolm’s words. He half smiled, slapping Malcolm on the chest, then jogged into the side, slower than he usually moved.
Griffin rubbed dirt on his staff and stepped into the center rectangle. He rolled his neck, cracking it, trying to wake up. He was in Maggie’s room far too late, but it had been worth it.
Malcolm held his staff in both hands, across the length of his body, but his stare was on his brother.
Marshal Duncan walked the perimeter with his hand in the air, and the crowd’s full attention—then dropped it, starting the match.
Malcolm jabbed, a hard cross-body check Griffin blocked, pushing him back and almost out of bounds.
“Stop worrying over your brother and fight me,” Griffin said.
The Color of Dragons Page 25