House of Blood and Bone

by Kimberley J. Ward

  There were three of them, joined together in a line by a tiny jump ring, a trio of deep-purple gems that seemed to have a soft inner light. They were framed in a decorative, silver bezel, the edges carefully rounded over to hold the smooth gems firmly in place. Rather than having a solid back, each of the settings had been embellished with an image carefully cut out to make a clear silhouette, the silver perfectly highlighted against the purple of the gems.

  Nessa stared at the necklace, at the charms, at a loss for words. They were so beautiful, so delicate and unique.

  “The castle is Ironguard,” Hunter murmured, one fingertip gently tapping the first of the three charms; the castle charm reminded Nessa of a dark crown, tall and jagged. “The place where everything changed for us. And the mountains,” the second charm, “are where the Hidden City is—was—and where we met up with Orm and Chaos. The dragon, of course, represents—”

  “Aoife,” Nessa breathed, running the pad of her thumb over the last of the trio of charms, the one that featured the silhouette of a dragon in flight.

  “Aoife,” Hunter confirmed with a shy smile. “I…ah…wanted to give you something with meaning. The more I thought about it, the more I felt that those three things, as of so far, hold the most… um…importance, I suppose. Significance.”

  Nessa’s eyes jumped from charm to charm, the meaning behind each little image, from the sweep of dainty mountains to the cruel shape that was Ironguard, slowly sinking in.

  “It’s the best the silversmith could do,” Hunter said, self-consciousness making him fill the void of awed silence with chitchat, “given how small the pieces are, and the timeframe I gave him. So they’re not exactly the most detailed. But, you know…”

  “Oh, Hunter,” Nessa turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close, “it’s beautiful. You really shouldn’t have. It must have cost a fortune.”

  “A small price to pay.” Hunter murmured, his breath softly brushing against the shell of her ear as he relaxed into her embrace, propping his chin on her shoulder. An arm curled around Nessa’s back, a hand resting lightly on the dip of her waist.

  “Mmm, for what?” Nessa’s eyes fluttered closed, her body melding against his. He was warmth and comfort, familiarity and friendship. He was her anchor, one of the few things that kept the coldness of loneliness at bay, a wall that blocked out the doubts and questions that would often plague her troubled mind.

  “To see you smile.”

  Nessa pulled back, just enough for her to see his face, to see the mixture of emotions in his amber eyes, making them shine bright.

  “There we go. My mission for today has been successful,” Hunter said quietly. “I do believe I’ve successfully cheered you up.”

  “What makes you think I needed cheering up?”

  Hunter’s lips twitched as he struggled to hold back a grin. “Just a hunch.”

  “A hunch?”

  “Yep. Pure guesswork.”

  “Impressive guessing.”

  “Thank you muchly.”

  Their eyes locked together, and there were so many things going through Nessa’s head, so many thoughts and feelings. He was there for her, had been all along, no matter what obstacle stood in the way. Nessa’s memories didn’t extend back more than a month and a half, and yet she knew, without a doubt, that there was a deep understanding between them, a connection, something that was indistinguishable from friendship, and yet was so much more than just that…

  A look that was akin to sadness, to longing, skittered across Hunter’s face. Seemingly forcing himself to, Hunter sat back, retreating. His hand lingered on Nessa’s side a moment or two before withdrawing, slipping down onto the mattress beside him, a divider keeping a small gap between them. Hunter’s gaze ran over Nessa’s face and then focused on the velvet square on her lap.

  “So, the necklace is a keeper,” he coughed. “But what about the bracelet?”

  Nessa frowned, dismayed to find herself already missing his proximity and warmth, even though he hadn’t moved all that far away. She plucked up the bracelet in distraction.

  Something about the design made a shiver run up her spine. She ran her fingers reverently over the fine silver wire that formed the rigid body of the torc bangle. It had been woven somehow, the pattern looking like it had been knitted. The candlelight made the threads twinkle and gleam in a mesmerising manner as Nessa held it up. A terminal featuring a small, dark-purple gem that perfectly matched those of the necklace finished off each end of the bangle.

  Nessa brushed a thumb over the smooth dome of a cabochon, murmuring, “These are beautiful.” She couldn’t help but notice that their colour was the exact shade of Aoife’s scales. “The style…hope you don’t mind me saying this, but it reminds me of the neck torc’s worn by the Dragon Riders.”

  Hunter grinned. “That’s what I was aiming for.”

  “Really?” Nessa was stunned. “Why?”

  “Well, you are a Dragon Rider. It’s your right to wear a torc. It’s a tradition. After a dragon hatches, some of the eggshell is saved and incorporated into the piece.”

  Nessa’s eyes widened. “So these aren’t just any gemstones, they’re actually from Aoife’s egg?”

  “You saved a couple of pieces after she’d hatched,” Hunter explained. “After you had been taken, I found them in your bag.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ve been keeping them safe. You can’t have a neck torc at the moment because, you know, it may draw a bit of unwanted attention, what with the laws and the penalties.”

  “Ah, yes,” Nessa murmured. “The laws and penalties. And what delightful laws and penalties they are.”

  “Yeah, those pesky rules.” Hunter laughed. “I mean, why can’t people from outside the Houses wear neck torcs? I think they make for a fine fashion statement.”

  “A fine fashion statement that could lead to a beheading.”

  Hunter grimaced. “I still feel like that’s a bit of a harsh punishment for wearing a bit of jewellery.”

  “It’s not the jewellery per se, but what it symbolises.”

  Nessa’s eyes went to her makeshift desk, to the piles of books and notes that sat there. They were old books, their spines cracked and broken, their pages creased and stained. On those pages were hundreds of years’ worth of history, bits and pieces that had been collected by a small group of people who had been forgotten by most.

  It was from those books that Nessa learned much of what she knew about the Twelve Houses, their family histories and their past Dragon Riders. The information was, of course, supplemented by Hunter and Orm’s knowledge. Which, if you asked Nessa, was often a little biased and over-exaggerated. The books, however, were more impartial, factual, a simple retelling of the history of the Twelve Houses up until a few decades ago.

  Impartial to a certain degree.

  It was a subtle thing, how the scholars slowly but steadily put forth the notion that those belonging to the Houses were somehow better than the general populous, a step above everyone else. They never said it outright, and Nessa got a sense that it was grudgingly admitted, but it was there if you read between the lines.

  “They’re another way for the Dragon Riders to differentiate themselves from everyone else, a clear display that the Riders are more elite, more special.”

  “Considering they have dragons mystically bound to them,” Hunter said, “I would have to agree with that, as much as I hate to.”

  “But it means so much more than that,” Nessa insisted. “Because of the spell used to bind dragons and humans together, only a handful of people can ever dream of becoming a Dragon Rider. Instead, they fantasise about moving up in the world, finding their fortune and joining the upper class. They might even have aspirations of marrying into nobility. These are all achievable things, albeit incredibly hard. However, there is something, no matter how well they do in life, which they can never have.”

  “A torc?”

  “Exactly. Not even other members
of the Houses can wear them. They used to, back before King Kaenar came into power. But he swiftly changed that. The torcs, even though they are a piece of jewellery, are a clear display of how the Dragon Riders are a step above everyone else, even within the Twelve Houses. They’re kind of like a crown.”

  “But they’re not a crown.”

  “No, they’re not,” Nessa agreed. “And that’s because only the king is allowed to wear a crown.”

  “Because he wants to show everyone else that he’s a tier above them, even his own Dragon Riders.”

  “You should read the books.” She nodded to her makeshift desk. “You might become enlightened.”

  “I’m enlightened enough as it is,” Hunter said, eyeing the books with a certain amount of distrust. “If I were to read all those many, many, really, really thick books, I fear I might become over enlightened. And trust me, we don’t want that to happen.”

  “Don’t we?”

  Hunter shook his head. “No, we don’t. I wouldn’t be able to pull off the whole glowing thing.”

  “Glowing thing?” Nessa laughed. “That’s not what enlightened means.”

  “I know that. Can’t believe you actually thought I didn’t, though. How foolish do you think I am?”

  “Quite foolish.”

  Hunter shook his head, grinning like the fool he surely was. “Silly girl.”

  “Hey, I’m an enlightened, silly girl. Get your insults right. I’ve read those books through and through. I’ve even made notes.”

  Hunter grimaced. “You have far too much time on your hands. You need to get a better hobby. Perhaps you should take up knitting, or maybe watercolour painting?”

  “I think I’ll pass on those two options, thank you very much. I’m not a sixty-year-old widow.”

  “Hey, my mother paints and knits, I’ll have you know. And she’s nowhere close to being sixty.” Hunter snapped his fingers, his eyes going bright. “I know. I know just what we need.”

  Nessa murmured a quiet, “Oh dear.” This can’t be good.

  “We need to pick up on your combat lessons,” Hunter continued, pretending not to hear her. “Start teaching you how to use weapons as well as your fists. That’s a far better use of your time than just sitting in here reading boring, old books. If you ask me.”

  “No one had.” Nessa blinked, then frowned in thought. “Pick up my combat lessons? As in continue from where we left off? Like we had actually started such a thing to begin with?”

  Hunter waved a hand. “Of course we did, although you didn’t appreciate it much. Nor were you particularly good at it.”

  Nessa scowled.

  “Thinking about it,” Hunter looked at her in a considering way, “we did only have a couple of lessons. It wasn’t like you had much of a chance to improve.”

  “Combat lessons,” Nessa muttered, a little fearful of what that might entail.

  “Yeah,” Hunter said, enthused. “We’ll cover punching and kicking, and let’s not forget about throws. Then we’ll get you used to handling small blades before we move onto a bit of sword fighting.”

  “Sword fighting? You’re not serious, are you?”

  “I’m deadly serious.” Hunter nudged her with his elbow. “This is going to happen whether you like it or not. Prepare yourself for bruises and aching muscles.”

  “But the bruises from Arncraft have only just gone,” Nessa said morosely. “I rather like being unbruised.”

  “I’m sure you’re a fast learner and will pick up the blocking techniques in no time. Besides, you’re a Dragon Rider. Fighting and causing grievous bodily harm is in your blood.”

  Nessa thumped him on the arm.

  “Ow.” Hunter rubbed the throbbing spot. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. You’re already fulfilling your dark Dragon Rider destiny.”

  Nessa gazed down at the pieces of jewellery in her hand, her thumb rubbing gently over the smooth dome of one of the torc bangle’s gems. A gem, Nessa had to remind herself, which was actually a fragment of dragon eggshell, an eggshell that had been shattered when her very own dragon had hatched for her. A dragon who, at that very moment in time, was angry at her.

  Shoulder’s slumping, Nessa sighed. She didn’t feel like a strong and capable Dragon Rider right then.

  Hunter misread the direction of Nessa’s thoughts. “Aww, don’t get all upset,” he murmured hastily, his eyes going wide. “I was only playing around. I know you’d never go around maiming people willy-nilly. You are, without doubt, my favouritest Dragon Rider.”

  “I know you’re only joking,” Nessa said reassuringly, offering Hunter a small half-smile. “I’m not upset. Not at all.”

  “Really?” Hunter was dubious. “Because you’re starting to look all depressed again.”

  Nessa played with the jewellery, her fingers toying with the gems and silver. “All this talk of Dragon Riders made me abruptly remember that Aoife and I had a falling out earlier. We don’t seem to be on speaking terms at the moment.”

  “Ah, yes,” Hunter nodded. “She did sound a bit flustered when she chatted with me and Orm at lunchtime. I do believe the words ‘stubborn’ and ‘pigheaded’ were used.”

  Nessa groaned.

  “Plus a few other less-than-flattering terms.”

  “So I can imagine.”

  “You wanna tell me what the two of you were bickering about? Aoife failed to give specifics.”

  “I don’t want to discuss it,” Nessa muttered, earlier hurt resurfacing. “However, I fear I’m going to have to if I want to put it behind us.”

  Hunter clapped her on the shoulder and rose unsteadily to his feet. The brandy was starting to take effect. “Build those bridges, little Dragon Rider. We can’t have a Rider without a dragon, now, can we?”

  Wordlessly, Nessa shook her head and watched as Hunter retreated from her room, shutting the door softly behind him. She gazed after him for a second, instantly missing the company. Without him, her room seemed to take on a sudden chill, feeling big and empty. Her gaze lowered and came to rest on the necklace that Hunter had commissioned specially for her. More accurately, her gaze came to rest on the silver silhouette of a dragon on one of the pendants.

  Nessa tapped it thoughtfully with a thumb, resigning herself to the headache she was to receive once she lowered her mental shield. No one said that being bound to a dragon was an easy or pain-free experience.

  Clutching the necklace and bangle tight, Nessa reached out to Aoife.

  Chapter 29

  Perhaps divine intervention saw to Nessa being at the right place at just the right time. Perhaps it was mere chance. But in Nessa’s opinion, that seemed less poetic, and certainly a lot less mystical.

  She stood at the side of the street, staring at the shop front with mild disbelief, feeling like her eyes were playing tricks on her even as she watched Sissy push open the shop’s door and step inside.

  Out of all the places in the city, out of the one million people who lived there, and from the long list of shops that Nessa had been instructed to visit, what was the likelihood of her happening upon someone she knew?

  Fancying the notion that fate was having a small role to play in what would otherwise be viewed as a coincidence, Nessa looked down at the small scrap of paper in her hand, eyes running over the messy lines of hastily scribbled names.

  Orm had written them down that morning, bleary-eyed and hungover, and with a lot more enthusiasm and determination than he had any right to have. Over breakfast, he had compiled three lists of names, one for each of them to slowly work their way through. Orm had been a man on a mission, and he had been dead set on getting Nessa and Hunter to join him on it.

  As they’d finished breakfast, Orm thrusted a list at Nessa and Hunter, tucking his own into the pocket of his woollen coat. They had stared at Orm with shared bemusement as he rattled off questions he wanted them to remember. They were to work through their lists, going to each place and seeking the answers to Orm’s questions. Hunter ha
d grumbled as they’d gone their separate ways, but Nessa hadn’t minded, eager to enjoy her newfound freedoms. She saw it as an opportunity to explore parts of the city she had yet to discover.

  So there Nessa was, a little after mid-afternoon, standing in the lazy sunlight, trying to absorb the meagre amount of warmth it offered. In her hand was her list, half the names crossed out, the paper creased and tattered from the number of times she’d folded and unfolded it over the last couple of hours. She peered at the next uncrossed name, checking and double-checking that she had the right place.

  She did.

  Working down her list, zigzagging through the city to each location, to each person, had somehow led to Nessa being in the Barrel.

  The Barrel was an older part of the city, located on the opposite side of the city from the Stickworks, tucked between the High Quarter and Lake Nyma, backed up against the base of The Three Sisters. The honey-coloured, stone buildings were tall and narrow, the architecture an echo to that of the castle. Nessa guessed that it made sense, seeing as they had been built at roughly the same time centuries ago. Everything else in the city had come after King Kaenar’s rise to power. The High Quarter, the Stickworks, even the docks as they were now, stood on the foundations of the old city. The Barrel and the castle were the only things to have survived the bloody siege that had devoured Ellor near on five hundred years ago, a siege that had ended in Dragon Fire and with a king who claimed the city for himself. Back then, the buildings had been homes, apartments for the middle class. Since the High Quarter had been built, they had been converted into boutique shops and cafes. Highborn ladies frequented them, enjoying the eclectic mix of things that were on offer, buying everything from little knickknacks to lavish ball gowns, from jewellery to fine furniture for their grand homes.

  Surrounded by shops which sold things that were well beyond Nessa’s means and by noblewomen who wore exquisite dresses of silk and satin, coats and capes made from the lushest velvets, Nessa felt a little out of place. Not that she was the only person of the lower class. There was a mixture of other people with different backgrounds. It was a small mixture to be sure, but a mixture nonetheless. At least she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb.