She turned to see a young man, about her age, staring back at her. A rat sat on his shoulder. Even though she knew she had never seen him before, she was drawn to him. There was something whispering that she knew him. Her blood vibrated in her veins, telling her it was obvious if she just looked. She had a flash of a hulking dragon towering over him, its mouth big enough to eat him in one bite. Bronwyn shuddered. It was the same dragon from her nightmares—the ones that left her screaming out for Avruellen. She blinked, and it was gone.
A raspy voice, barely louder than a whisper, spoke. “Ah, Bronwyn, meet Blayke. He’s my apprentice. And the little fellow is Fang.” He paused for a breath. “Do you recognize me, child?”
Brownyn turned to see Agmunsten’s hands relaxed in his lap. The other man, the one who had spoken, leaned back into his pillows, but his eyes shone with the brilliance of the symbols of the Second Realm.
Her mouth made an O, and she thrust her chin forward. “You’re Arcon! I remember now … from the meeting of The Circle.” For the first time in many days, her forehead was crease-free, her worries forgotten for a short while.
He chuckled, “Indeed I am. Your aunt’s not here?”
“No.” She looked down at her boots.
“Is she all right? Do you know where she is?”
“No, sir, I don’t. The last I saw of her was when Sinjenasta took me away.”
Arcon sat up and leaned towards her.
Agmunsten stilled Arcon’s question with a shake of his head and a hand on his arm. “That’s enough for now, Arcon. You and I have things to discuss. I need to tell you what’s been going on. The apprentices should be receiving some lessons, I think. And I know just the person, or dragon, to do it.” He turned to Bronwyn and Blayke. “Okay, come with me.”
“Um, Agmunsten?”
“Yes, Blayke.”
“Can we have dinner first? I'm starving.”
“Mmm, me too.” It was the first time Bronwyn had felt hungry since entering Vellonia.
Arcon laughed until a coughing spasm overtook his mirth. “See what I have to put up with?”
“Hmm, that reminds me,” said Agmunsten, “I should introduce Bronwyn to Arie. You can all have dinner and lessons together. Get some rest, Arcon, and I’ll be back soon to finish our chat.” He sent a mind message to Arie to meet him in the smaller dining hall.
As they walked, Bronwyn asked Blayke, “Have we met before? You seem kind of familiar.” Bronwyn smiled. “That’s right! You’re Arcon’s apprentice. Zim ate you at the meeting.”
Blayke looked at her, his cheeks red. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh. At least I didn’t murder someone.”
It was Bronwyn’s turn to blush. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m always talking before I think. Auntie says it will get me into trouble one day.”
Blayke smiled. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up here and, well, you know? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”
“It’s okay.” Bronwyn shivered as she remembered Symbothial’s screams. “I was on the way here with my aunt, Avruellen, and Sinjenasta took me away. We came here and bonded; then he had to kill the dragon. I said I didn’t want to do it, so he tried by himself. The dragon was drowning him, and I couldn’t let him die, so I jumped in and killed the dragon.”
“Wow, you make it sound so simple. Don’t you feel guilty?”
Bronwyn stopped walking and looked at Blayke. “Of course I feel guilty. What do you want me to say? That I’ve hardly slept since, that I can’t get the image of blood or screaming out of my head, that I wish the dragons would just kill me?” Bronwyn almost screamed the last; pressed by her sides, her hands formed hard fists at the end of stiff arms. She wanted to be back in the cell, alone with her misery and self-pity.
Blayke and Agmunsten stopped. Blayke stared at her with his mouth open, and Fang peeked out of his pocket. Agmunsten walked back to Bronwyn and placed his hands on her upper arms, his voice low and soothing. “Bronwyn, look at me. I know you feel guilty—and so you should—but you can’t let it smother your spirit. Killing is part of the realmist’s job, probably the worst part. I don’t know why, but what you did was something that had to be done in order for Talia to survive. Don’t blame Sinjenasta either; he does what he’s told. You have my permission to wallow for another day, but then I want you to stop obsessing and focus on what we need to do. You need to build your strength as a realmist. The Circle needs you and Blayke to be ready when we face the gormons. If you’re not, we will all die. Self-pity will weaken you.”
“I don’t know if I can.” She searched his eyes for strength she could borrow. She wished Avruellen was there. The occasional dragon that walked past ignored the humans, preferring not to get involved with their trifling problems.
“You’re not the only one who’s had to kill, I’m sorry to say. How many people do you think I’ve killed—or your aunt? Do you think she’s guilt-free? Look at Blayke. What do you think he’s endured to get here? Do you suppose he’s made his own mistakes? Had his own guilt to contend with? We all carry burdens, and we all have to endure. Better a few of us feel some guilt than the gormons consume all of Talia. You did what you had to, and those that matter understand. Come on; it’s time for dinner.” He gently squeezed her arm and led the way.
Agmunsten took them to the smallest dining room of the three in the dragon castle. Two long timber tables sat parallel to each other. Carved into both ends of the rectangular room were hearths Bronwyn could have stood up in. The rough-textured walls had been painted a deep ochre. A row of windows looked out to the valley where the moonlight silvered the trees, and small squares of honey-colored light peeked back at them from scattered dwellings. The ceiling was lower than in many of the other rooms, and Bronwyn estimated that the tallest dragons would have to stoop in order to fit.
Candles in wall sconces bathed the room in a warm glow. At the far end of the room, a boy with shoulder-length hair the color of caramel, and with simple, gray clothes hanging off his reedy frame, sat opposite a green dragon whose scales reflected the cheery flames in the hearth. Bronwyn almost clapped her hands when she saw Sinjenasta lying in front of a crackling blaze; head resting on massive paws, midnight-dark fur shining in the fiery radiance. The panther looked up.
The dragon spoke. “Hello, Agmunsten. I see you’ve brought some youngsters with you.”
Agmunsten’s laugh was short. “I haven’t just brought them with me. I’m leaving them with you. I was hoping you could take them to see Arcese after dinner. I’d like them to learn about Talia’s lifeblood magic you dragons use. I don’t know much about it, and we can always use another perspective.”
“Of course, Agmunsten. It would be my pleasure.” Bertholimous nodded, his giant head moving with a measured grace Bronwyn never would have suspected dragons possessed.
Agmunsten turned to Arie. “I trust you’ve been behaving yourself?”
“I can’t believe you’re asking me that. I behave better than you, most of the time.”
“Ha! Well, so you do. I’ll see you later. I’m going back to talk to Arcon. Thanks again, Bertholimous.”
Agmunsten departed, and Blayke climbed onto a bench seat next to the dragon, while Bronwyn sat down next to Arie, both apprentices’ feet dangling inches off the floor. “Hi. I’m Bronwyn.” She forced herself to look Bertholimous in the eye. The desire to apologize about Symbothial’s murder was outweighed by her fear and shame. Bronwyn thought every dragon must hate her—the girl who was a constant reminder of the dragon’s death. She wanted to be anywhere but Vellonia.
It seemed he had read her mind. “I know, Bronwyn.” The dragon’s deep voice held no malice. Its melodic timbre felt like the soothing caress of a cool stream on a hot day. “I’ve had a good talk with Sinjenasta, and he explained everything. I would just avoid the queen for a while if I were you, although, she will likely call to see you soon.”
Arie patted her back. “Don’t worry;
we’ll make sure she doesn’t eat you.”
Bronwyn saw Blayke’s smile and thought they must be joking—but what if they weren’t? The need to vomit became imminent.
Sinjenasta spoke in her mind, Little cub, fear not. No one will be eating anyone. Take a deep breath. It’s okay. The panther’s eyes partly closed in the semblance of a smile.
Blayke spoke, “I’m hungry. How long till dinner?”
“Don’t look at me when you say that!” Bronwyn laughed for the first time in weeks, and everyone joined in. Bronwyn felt, unexpectedly, that she was amongst friends.
A dragon appeared at the door, and Bronwyn’s heart missed a beat. This dragon was smaller than she remembered Symbothial being (and certainly smaller than Bertholimous), with pale yellow scales that shimmered in the candlelight. Appetizing aromas drifted from the tray she carried, and Bronwyn realized it couldn’t be the queen—not serving dinner. She relaxed.
“Ah, Guildelea, thank you.” Bertholimous stood and bowed.
She set the tray on the table and placed full plates in front of everyone, including Sinjenasta, who ate in front of the fire. “Eat up, young humans. If you wish for more, let Master Bertholimous know.” They thanked her, and she retreated.
Bronwyn again opened her mouth, looked at Bertholimous and closed it, interrupted by Arie who shoved a forkful of meat stew into his mouth and started talking. “Do any of the lady dragonth have hornsth?” A small piece of carrot flew across the table and landed on Blayke’s hand.
“Oh yuck! Jeez, Arie. Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Blayke wiped the back of his hand on his tunic.
“Good observation, Arie,” said Bertholimous. “The male dragons have stubs of horns until they reach fifty; then they start growing. We only get one set, so we have to be careful with them. In war times, it’s common for many of the males to lose one or both of their horns in battle. It’s a testament to the peaceful times of the past few years that most of the male dragons have both horns. Females don’t grow them.”
“Do dragonesses fight when there’s a war?” Bronwyn hoped she wasn’t overstepping any boundaries. She wasn’t sure what would, or wouldn’t, offend a dragon, and seeing as how she had managed to get on the wrong side of one of the most important dragons—the queen—she was mindful not to add other dragons to the list of Dragons who want to kill Bronwyn. Gods, I hope that list doesn’t exist.
“No. They’re too valuable to risk. Things would have to be pretty desperate for us to involve them. Their job is to hatch eggs and keep Vellonia running smoothly.”
Bronwyn didn’t answer. She looked around as the boys ate, oblivious to what the dragon had said. Typical. The topic didn’t concern them: they could do what they wanted, when they wanted. Contemplating a life of hanging around the house, doing nothing but hatching eggs and serving dinner was not Bronwyn’s idea of fun. Since starting this journey with Avruellen, her eyes had been opened to a life of possibility and adventure. Although there were some moments she would rather forget, she had experienced some of the best times of her life. She wondered if the dragonesses were happy with their situation: who knows; maybe they were.
After some boisterous chitchat, they finished dinner, and Bertholimous rose. “Okay, humans, it’s time to go to work. I’m taking you to see one of our realmists—Arcese, Princess Arcese.”
Bronwyn was almost happy—for just one minute—that she wasn’t going directly to the queen, until she realized one thing. “You mean she’s the queen’s daughter?” Bronwyn paled.
“Yes, she most certainly is. Let’s go.”
As they walked out, Bronwyn dawdled at the rear. Sinjenasta caught up and nuzzled her hand. It’ll be all right. I promise.
She looked at him and spoke aloud, “I might feel better if it didn’t sound like you were trying to convince yourself.”
The nausea returned, and Bronwyn wondered if she would survive her first lesson with the dragon princess.
Chapter 4
Verity rode Puddles, her mud-coloured horse, and Boy rode beside her on a pony. He had never ridden prior to coming to the castle, and he didn’t trust animals. Verity had taken him out riding a few times since Prince Leon had departed, but Boy refused to ride a large beast, only agreeing to go when Verity picked out Chalk—a small, docile pony that Boy was actually beginning to like.
The sun shone, warming the day. Security had increased around Bayerlon since the king had left, and Queen Gabrielle had reluctantly agreed to let Verity ride outside the protective city walls. Verity’s nagging had won out, and the queen sent four of the more experienced castle guards with her daughter and Boy.
Verity breathed deep of the fresh air outside the city, shut her eyes and turned her face to the sun. The warmth made her content, and she thought of her tabby cat who loved to sit on her bed in the morning sun.
Boy interrupted her basking. “There’s a good place for our picnic over there.” He pointed to some well-spaced trees that marked the entry to the forest. “Remember the place you showed me the day Leon left?”
“Oh, yes. That’s a great idea. I was thinking of that myself. Okay, last one to the trees is a pile of horse dung.” Verity kicked her horse into a gallop, her laughter and fair hair streaming out behind her. Boy kicked his pony, but they both knew he would never win. Winning this race wasn’t his objective anyway. Perculus had sent Boy a message a few days ago, followed by one last night. Today was the day Leon had warned him to watch for.
He reached the trees and slowed his horse to a walk, relaxing his hands from their vice-like grip on the reins. Verity’s brown eyes were bright, her smile broad—Boy couldn’t help but smile back. He enjoyed spending time with her, and found himself staring more than he would’ve liked. She had taken to teaching him the alphabet and numbers—knowledge he never would have gained in his old life. On the occasions she’d caught him staring, she’d giggled and tousled his hair before saying how she would have loved to have a little brother.
They negotiated the narrowing track until they came to the clearing. A circle of lush grass stretched from tree to tree. Verity and Boy dismounted. One of the guards had the picnic hamper strapped to his horse. “Is this spot all right, Princess Verity?”
“That’s perfect. Thank you, Reglan.”
The gray-haired soldier spread a rug on the ground and placed the picnic basket down before returning to his horse, and protective duty. The princess took the food out of the basket, scooping out freshly-picked strawberries; a loaf of bread that contained dark pieces of salty olives and sprinklings of herbs in its doughy embrace; tomatoes; and a chunk of a fragrant, orange cheese—a delicacy made from the milk of the plack, a long-haired, larger relative of the goat. Placks originated from mountains in the north but couldn’t survive the warmer climes of Veresia. The cheese had to endure at least a week of travelling before it reached Bayerlon.
Boy’s mouth watered. He sat. Verity sliced the bread into thick pieces and did the same with the cheese and tomato. They chewed in silence and listened to the chirping of fat, round blue jays. The princess spoke, “Do you miss Prince Leon?”
“Um, not really, Princess. It’s fun to hang out with you and learn stuff. Sorry you got stuck with me though.” He let his fringe fall over his eyes, not wanting to see if she really felt “stuck” with minding him.
“Don’t be silly, Boy! It’s been fun having company that’s not so much older than me. I’m not allowed to spend time with normal people—by that I mean people who aren’t trying to teach me, protect me, or get something out of me. It’s nice to just chat with someone who has no ulterior motives, other than having fun.” She smiled the smile that set off butterflies in his stomach.
He peered through his hair. “Do you ever wish you weren’t a princess?”
She thought for a minute. “Hmm, sometimes. It’s a lot of work, and having to be nice to everyone all the time can be tiring too. But you know, when I see the beggars at the bottom end of the city, I know I’m lucky. Other girls
dream of having what I have. How could I not be happy? Being lonely is a small price to pay. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll make a difference to people’s lives, a real difference.”
“I hope you do, Princess Verity.”
They finished lunch, and as they packed their things away, the birds stopped singing. Heavy silence settled. The two guards who’d stayed in the clearing looked at each other before Reglan spoke, “Princess Verity and Boy, get on your horses.”
He was already untethering Puddles. Verity ran towards him and mounted. She was not used to panicking but knew to listen when she was told.
Screams penetrated the clearing. Regnus and Brooklyn drew swords and mounted. Regnus slapped the rump of Verity’s horse with the flat of his blade. “Brooklyn, ride with her. Go.” Before Regnus rode in the opposite direction, he turned to Boy who stood, confused, next to Chalk. “Boy! Ride to the castle. Make sure Princess Verity gets there, and tell Captain Gaston to reinforce the garrison and shut the city gates. I have a bad feeling about this. Go, Boy. Go!” Regnus rode the opposite way, the hairs on his arms standing up from unseen energy.
***
Queen Gabrielle paced the throne room, too agitated to sit. Why did everything have to go wrong when Edmund was gone? She supposed things probably went wrong when he was here too, but he was experienced at dealing with the complexities and politics of everyday life—he possessed more patience than she.
“So Perculus, tell me again why I can’t tell Duke Fortescue to pay the back-taxes he owes. The money will go a hell of a way to paying the food bill for the orphanage for the next two years.” She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at the rotund advisor.
He smiled his oily smile, the patronizing one where his lips remained closed and his head tilted to the left. The queen wished she were a dragon. She so wanted to breathe fire and watch Perculus disintegrate. Gabrielle opened her mouth and, disappointed when no fire materialized, closed it again.
A Time of Darkness (The Circle of Talia) Page 2