Talon the Black

by Melissa Mitchell

  “Whose is it?”

  “It belongs to Grand Mage Marcel now. But the journal was once the property of Grand Mage Orin’s.”

  “And who was he?” She wasn’t sure what this had to do with blocking Drengr voices, but Reyr quickly satisfied her curiosity. Grand Mage Orin was the first Grand Mage. His fascination with the Drengr, a newly created race, led him into extensive research about their existence. He specifically focused on their telepathic abilities because the idea of telepathy during the early years of the Drengr was all but foreign to anyone of non-draconic descent. Even new Riders found it utterly perplexing that they could converse with their mates.

  “Many in the Society were envious of our propensity for telepathic communication and still are. Rightfully so, as it is a useful capability.” Perhaps that was the case for some, unless it meant hearing all the Drengr voices, in which case it was more of a curse. “It is said,” Reyr added, “that many of the Asarlaí sorcerers possessed the ability, as did some of the Sprites.”

  “Like Queen Isabella?” She remembered the story about the woman responsible for creating the race of Drengr. The mysterious Sprite queen was someone she was eager to learn more about.

  “Ah, yes. Queen Isabella could communicate with those of draconic blood, but not like you. You are unique.”

  “Because I can hear all of them even when they don’t intend for it?”

  “Exactly.” Reyr took a seat and watched her with curious eyes. He was still trying to figure her out—something he’d been doing since their first meeting. No doubt her newfound gift only complicated the task. Before this she was merely a woman with a unique ability. Knowing what Cyrus had done, and that Cyrus did everything with intention, indicated that she was meant for some unique purpose. Reyr was desperate to find out what, which was evident by his curious scrutiny.

  “So do you think there is a chance I might block them out? Will this journal help us?”

  His shoulders fell and he sighed. “I hoped it would. The explanations are vague. I imagine Grand Mage Orin never succeeded in his quest for telepathy.”

  It quickly became clear that the journal explained as much as Reyr could—which was very little and mostly unhelpful. All of Mage Orin’s interviews with various Drengr quoted explanations similar to what Reyr gave. They combed through its pages looking for ideas. Each time she thought she might have found a way to succeed, the result was the same: she heard Reyr’s voice. If she focused intently on something, like the color of the table or the honey pot, his voice was there. If she pretended not to hear him, imagining her mind to be one of rock, solid and unyielding, his voice was there. If she used frustration to block him out, allowing herself to get angry over the difficulty of the task, his voice was still there. It was exhausting and fruitless.

  “Maybe we are going about this wrong,” she cried long after darkness had fallen, when the candles burned lower in their holders.

  “How so?”

  Her forehead scrunched up in thought. “Well, when you try to explain how to block the Drengr out, you can’t. Why? Because it’s instinctual.”

  Instinct requires no thought. You must believe you can do it...

  Her eyes widened. “That’s it!” she shrieked, silently thanking Cyrus for the clue she needed. Reyr scowled, obviously confused by her sudden excitement. “Cyrus is right! Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

  “Cyrus is right about what?”

  “Maybe this is something that I shouldn’t overthink.” The wheels of her mind were spinning. “I’ve tried so hard to block the voices in my mind.” She was no longer looking at Reyr but instead, gazing unseeingly at the dishes on the table. “I grit my teeth. I strain to ignore them. I curse with frustration that they are still there. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut hoping that if I stare into blackness I can forget about them. Maybe it’s just something that—I don’t know—needs to happen without me thinking about it. Cyrus says, ‘Instinct requires no thought. You must believe you can do it.’”

  “I admit that I am envious of your ability to converse with him.” Reyr slumped back in his chair. She hadn’t the heart to tell him that sometimes Cyrus’s asides were frustrating and impossible to understand. “Anyway, his advice does not really explain how to do it.”

  “Because it’s instinctual.” She threw her hands up to stress the obvious. How was one supposed to explain the mechanisms behind instinct? Even she struggled to wrap her head around the concept. “What Cyrus meant—I think—is that I must believe I can do it. It’s confidence, don’t you see? You already know you can do it. You take it for granted.” She fell silent for a moment. There were plenty of things innate in nature—reactions to stimuli that happened outside of thoughtful control. “For you, Reyr, you simply choose to ignore the voices and your body knows how to do it. You don’t try to think about it. You don’t force it. You just do it because you know you can.” Her heart beat faster the more she thought about it. The voices assaulted her so often. Had she ever simply relaxed and accepted them? No, she fought them every time. The Aegean helped her to relax, and that dialed down the noise to an ebb. Was that it? Reyr watched her but said nothing.

  Preparing for another attempt, she rolled her shoulders out and rotated her head, easing the tense muscles in her neck. Cyrus, I’m going to need your help on this one, she said, hoping he listened. Taking several deep breaths, she focused on her breathing as if she were meditating. Closing her eyes, she let the darkness comfort her. She could do this because Cyrus was there. He was a Drengr, and all Drengr knew how to block the voices. If he could do it, and his soul was truly with her, then she could do it too. He was the missing variable in the equation. She simply needed to pull him from depths and call upon his abilities.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” she whispered. She kept her eyes sealed tight. Keeping her mind relaxed, she waited. She could do this….she could do this. In the darkness, she confidently anticipated Reyr’s voice while simultaneously desiring to block it out, and knowing she would hear nothing as a result. After waiting for the span of several deep breaths, she opened an eye to see what held him up. He gazed at her. “I’m waiting,” she said.

  “You did not hear that?” His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “You did not hear the thought I sent?”

  “I heard that one.”

  “But the first?” he asked.

  “What first? What did you say?” Her eyes grew wide. “Wait, it worked?!”

  A grin stole across Reyr’s face. “I hardly believe it,” he whispered. “It must have. You did not hear my comment about the time—about it getting late?”

  She firmly shook her head. Eager to prove that it wasn’t a fluke, she insisted Reyr try again. So they did several more times. Just like before, she didn’t force it. She accepted that her desire to block voices was intrinsic, that if she wanted it, it would happen. Each time Reyr failed to say something in her mind, a little brightness, a little more hope, seeped back into her. “It’s working!” she gasped after their fourth success. It was hard to tell how much of her victory came from Cyrus and how much came from herself. But did it matter? The fragments of his existence were with her now, and she had better get used to it.

  At last, Reyr called it quits. It was well past midnight. “I think we have made good progress for tonight,” he said, pleased by the quick improvement. “I admit I had not expected such rapid results. Then again, you never cease to surprise me.”

  “Do you think it was Cyrus who helped me block the voices?” she asked.

  “Who can say?” The side of his mouth twitched. “I like to think Cyrus is in there helping you.” He stood and pushed his chair in. She was still too pumped to relax, let alone sleep.

  “Reyr?” She stopped him before he could leave the table. “Do you think you could stay a little longer.”

  “You ought to get some sleep. So should I. Tomorrow we execute Stefan Rosen and Euen Doyle. It will be a long day—one I should be rested for.” His statement
earned a look from her that made words unnecessary. There was no way she could sleep just yet and he knew it. “Very well.” He finally gave in. Refilling his goblet, he left her for the balcony. She followed after him, inhaling the sea breeze. The darkness below was lit by tiny dots from the ships anchored in the Bay of Bandu. Reyr gazed out into the blackness. She followed suit.

  Knowing that the king’s betrayers were near death, it was difficult to put into words the way she felt. She loved Cyrus. He’d been taken from the world way too early. Those involved in the madness responsible for his death deserved the punishment they earned. Yet she never liked killing. Knowing that she was responsible for what was to come was a strange responsibility to bear. Tonight it was too much to think about, so she gazed out, inhaling the salty smell of the ocean, letting it calm her. The only sounds were the breeze, whispering over the cliffs below, warning her of the lurking danger just beyond.

  The world before her was dark, its nothingness was deceiving. The empty void hid the complexity of Dragonwall’s world, disguising the inevitable future that awaited it, a future she was now bound to through Cyrus and his actions. The subtle sounds and smells, deceitfully calming, were a façade for the chaos that was sure to come.

  “Considering what awaits us,” she said, voicing her fearful thoughts, “sometimes I feel like running away.” Reyr turned to her. Even in the dark she could see his surprise. “Sometimes I am tempted to slip away in secret, cowardly as it is; it tempts me now more than ever. Going back home is easier than what we must confront.”

  “You are not alone, Claire. You have us. You have Cyrus. Nor are you to believe that the future’s burdens are yours to bear. We are all in this together.”

  She shrugged, desperate to play devil’s advocate. “What if I’m not supposed to be involved at all? Dragonwall isn’t my home.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  She opened her mouth to respond then stopped, taking a moment to think about his question. Was home really home? Despite all the challenges she had faced, something about this place felt right. At home she didn’t know her place. At home, she struggled to plot her future. She battled to find her footing. Here, she finally knew where she stood. “Maybe you’re correct,” she admitted at last. “Maybe this is more my home than I realized.” That both scared and thrilled her.

  “From the moment I met you, Claire, I have noticed strange things about you, a few of them easily explained by the Gift. But what about your ability to hear the Drengr? That was no result of Cyrus. You heard my voice before he breathed his last. That alone means the gods have given you a purpose. Did Cyrus know of your destiny? Did he see your importance? I like to think that he did. And then,” he said, “what about the Gable Forest?”

  Her mind was suddenly filled with longing as it swept back to Esterpine. “I miss it,” she admitted. “I want to go back. I never wanted to leave.”

  “See? Is that not strange? You alone located the Sprite stronghold. Perhaps Jovari and Koldis did not question it, but I did.”

  “What are you saying?” She feared his answer.

  Reyr shrugged. “Cyrus knew something we did not. All I can say is, the bonds of this world are tied tightly to you, perhaps tighter than any of us realize.” After that, he fell silent.

  She placed her forearms against the parapet protecting her from the sea below. Then she leaned over it until her hair hung down, stretching towards the white foam created by the collision of salt-water against rock. The wind caressed her skin; it tried to calm her nerves; she wished it could but too much uncertainty waged war on her psyche.

  Knowing her position in society, in Dragonwall, did nothing to explain her purpose. What did Cyrus know that she didn’t? What had he seen in Saffra’s mind? Saffra believed she was meant to defeat Kane based on a mere vision. The training necessary to get to that level of magic seemed impossible. Not to mention the fear of Kane. He was the only person who scared her more than Talon did.

  “It isn’t going to be easy, is it?” she said at last.

  “Life is always difficult before it is easy, Claire.” Reyr took her hand and kissed her knuckles before dropping it. “It is life’s challenges that allow us to grow.” At that, he retreated back into her chambers. She snorted before following after him. He stood near the door.

  “You’re starting to sound like Cyrus you know.”

  The side of his mouth twitched. “I am afraid I must leave you now.” His hand was on the doorknob. Still, she was reluctant for him to leave.

  “Reyr?”

  She paused, thinking of what to say. At last, she sighed. “Thank you for staying with me today, and for keeping my secret. I know it goes against what you are, your honor and all that. I hope you know I appreciate it, and your willingness to help me.” She didn’t want to tell him, but Reyr was her rock. His allegiance was important and she was glad to have it.

  He nodded. “You’re welcome, Claire. Good night.” And with that, he disappeared out into the corridor, quietly closing the door behind him.

  58

  Kastali Dun

  Claire greeted the day with a groggy groan. The morning was already half over when she rose. Last night’s conversation with Reyr was still fresh in her mind, but she was resigned to not let it bother her.

  After sleepily stumbling through her apartments, she found breakfast waiting on her dining table. Out of curiosity she checked her bedroom door—it was locked. Reyr must have been by, and this his way of ensuring she did not disobey orders. He knew her too well. Were it unlocked, she might have slipped out for spite. Instead she shrugged it off and went about eating and bathing, all the while deep in thought.

  It was the morning of the execution, and the world looked as it should: overcast and gloomy. Maybe it was good she wasn’t allowed out of her chambers. Had the king locked her up for more than one reason? He claimed that he wanted her to lay low until her new status was announced. But surely it was more than that. Was he against her attending the execution? Part of her wanted to see the traitors die gruesome deaths. Their contributions to Kane’s cause disgusted her. She thought back to the moments in the dungeon and shuddered. No, she hadn’t the heart to see them die. It wasn’t her thing. Maybe in the movies, but not in real life, no matter how much they deserved it.

  After wandering around her apartments, studying her accommodations in detail, picking up and examining the trinkets on the fireplace mantle, reading the titles of books in her bookshelves, and exploring the views of the sea outside on her balcony, she went to her bed, sitting down upon it with her legs crossed. She needed to think. She needed to better understand what she was supposed to do with herself, with her new life, and with the Gift Cyrus had given her. There was only one person who could help.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep, steadying breath. Cyrus, I need to speak with you, she said. Most times the extent of his presence was a word of advice here, or an informative thought there. During her fearful moments, like her desperation before the trial, he’d shown himself with potency. But that was different. Now the world around her was seemingly peaceful.

  If she called, would he come? Cyrus, you said you would always be with me. I need you now. I really, really need you. She tried to call him without crying, because she was overwhelmed beyond belief. She’d done well to hold herself together since yesterday’s discovery of magic. But now that she was alone, she wanted to burst into tears.

  Ever since coming to Dragonwall, she felt more and more like a stranger. Some days it seemed like the person within her was unrecognizable, like she’d lost everything that made her Claire. Sure, she was still stubborn, spunky, and headstrong, but those were surface traits. What about deeper?

  When Cyrus dropped into her life she was bored with the norm, she was desperate to find her place in the world, to start her career, to get out from underneath her parent’s wings. Now she was fearful of stepping out into the open, and more so afraid of her uncontrollable power. Was the accident with Caterina the first of
many to come? What would happen each time she lost control? The magic was there; she’d felt it for a while now, not knowing what it was. It lurked inside her waiting to burst forth like a caged animal. Cyrus was the only one who could help her better understand herself.

  Suddenly and without permission, her mind swept back to the porch swing, back to the day she and Cyrus sat sipping sweet tea watching the corn fields together. Yes, that was a special moment. Cyrus was showing her something. A small smile crept to her lips. She watched the memory, her eyes open but unseeing.

  Who were you then? Cyrus asked.

  That was easy because she knew that person, only, that person had changed. It was her current self she couldn’t figure out. “I was naive,” she whispered. “A silly overwhelmed woman with wanderlust for a place conceivably impossible—a place you called Dragonwall.”

  But you were also brave and noble. Why else did you choose to rescue the beast falling from the sky? Why else did you choose to save my life?

  No matter how often he told her, she never felt brave. The scene continued to unfold. She watched Cyrus as he spoke to her, the pain in his face, the fear in his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t live long. She recognized his sorrow now. Why hadn’t she seen it then? “You tried to stress the importance of what was coming.” She shook her head, angry with her past self. “All I could do was daydream about running away while denying my own importance in the story. I was certain you were going to live. I wasn’t ready for real danger.” That real danger she referred to met her all the same. “You needed me to step into your shoes and become the new protector, but I was too scared to acknowledge that responsibility.”

  Yes, responsibility is difficult for everyone…

  There was understanding in his voice, and regret too. If saving her from this path were possible, he would have done it, he would have allowed her to lead a normal life, the kind of life every twenty-two-year-old woman was entitled to.