“Sounds like an interesting fellow. Never met him.”
A chorus of agreement followed this.
“I have.”
We all looked at Uncle Don, who was staring off into the woods as if searching for someone. “Linley's grandfather. He went on patrol on day and never came back.”
There was a soft change in the party as they became intrigued.
“But he couldn't be out there, could he?”
“Who is to say?”
“You don't believe this?”
“It is rather strange,” one of them said. “I have never met this young woman before, so I cannot say if she is or is not who she says she is. Magnus, this is your call.”
Father's face had turned red, a noticeable shade darker than it had been earlier. “Why didn't you write and tell me?”
My own cheeks burned with reciprocal anger. Had he paid so little attention the he could not remember? I said, “To start with, I never could burn letters properly, and that hasn't improved since my revival. Then, because I spent all of my time asleep or running ragged on Merlyn's Market Council business. Next thing I know, I have that summons, so I came.”
Father didn't look happy with the answer, but he didn't argue. He nodded at Mordon. “Who is this with you?”
“He owned the antiquities shop I broke into with that key you gave me last Christmas or whenever it was, and I talked him into being my guardian. It seemed like a brilliant idea before I realized you were a drake, too.”
“And now that you know?”
It surprised me that he'd ask. Wasn't it obvious?
“Now I'm with him.”
The meaning suspended between my father and me, and then the appropriate time for congratulations passed. Then the time for a disappointed comment passed.
“We can fight later,” I said, my cheeks aflame. “Am I your daughter or do you want to see how wicked I've become since I stopped hunting with you?”
“It is you.” Father's lips pursed together. “Isn't it?”
It was as if he didn't know how to feel—I did understand his confusion given the series of emotional bombs I'd already dropped on him, but that didn't mean that I liked his aloof behavior. I turned my back on him so I wouldn't have to see him any longer.
“Then come.” A woman opened her arms, and the people surrounding her faded into trees with high limbs and bark with the remnant of eyes and a mouth. One blink later, and the woman was motioning to a mulched path lined with luminescent lanterns.
I darted my eyes to Mordon. He cocked an eyebrow at me and shrugged, then offered his elbow. “Shall we, love?”
A little too gratefully, I threaded my hand through his arm and tried not to cling to him. I had to appear confident, but at the same time, I needed to make absolute certain that people, namely my parents, saw that I chose to have Mordon by my side. Many drakes outside of the colony preferred to bridenap their mates, and that would be a foremost concern for those who saw my fey heritage. My mother had been raised with the sense that even arranged marriages were an evil against the natural order of life. Yet she'd been more than happy to set me up on blind dates with suitable young men.
We followed the woman down the path. She did not introduce herself, nor did she allow me to get a very good look at her features. I saw that in the dark, her hair gleamed with each wave of moonlight as the leaves rustled back and forth; I imagined it was a shade of brown, and it fell down to her waist, hiding and peeking out from the billows of her dress as she led the way.
Chapter Eighteen
She stopped in front of a weeping willow tree, very similar to the ones that had been a favorite of Railey's, and pulled aside a curtain of branches thick with flowers like cotton on toothpicks. Inside was a blue lantern, burning low, but bright enough to cast light on a bed of clover. Climbing the tree trunk was a vine hosting a series of leaves cupping water for us.
“You may rest here,” the woman said.
I started in, but stopped when my father approached. The woman frowned and opened her mouth. Father cut her off.
“I will speak to my daughter in private. Wait out here, fire drake.”
Mordon chuckled, his eyes creased with a barely-contained smile as he bobbed his head for me to go ahead without him. I had almost hoped that he would object and employ some of his possessive qualities in this matter, but it seemed he thought I needed to talk to Father by myself. Sighing, I followed the bulk of my parent inside the willow room.
Father stood with his back to me.
Weary, I sank onto a protruding root and rested against the trunk. I took a tentative sip from the water held in the vine leaves. It tasted like rain and alfalfa.
“Who is he?” Father did not turn around, and he was using his perfectly level voice so I could not gather any information about his mood. Concerned and alarmed, if I had to guess. And I did.
I wiped my mouth on my shirt.
“Mordon Meadows.”
“From the cliff side colony?” Father's back was a very dull sight, but I wouldn't be the first to move.
“If you mean the Kragdomen Colony, then yes,” I said, then added, “They're good to me there. Or at least, they have been so far.”
“Do the other females accept you as…his?” Father seemed to have a hard time choking out the word 'mate'. “It can be a difficult role for even the most fitting of women.”
“So far all is well.”
“Is he gentle with you?”
My eyebrows met my hairline. “What do you mean?”
“Is he gentle with you intimately?”
A hot flush hit my cheeks as the meaning was confirmed. “We haven't…it's more like an engagement than an actual mating. I want to get better on my wings before trying anything—”
And I clapped my hand over my mouth, realizing that in my panicked blabbing I had likely just given my own father too much detail into my private life. I should have said 'yes' and left it at that.
Father spun around. “What do you mean, 'get better on your wings'?”
I was grateful he had latched onto those words instead of others.
“I'm a drake. I can shift. Not much good on the wings, but—well, I just got my magic back, like a month ago, and I found this ring,” I held up the hand with a sapphire dragon ring clinging to the pinky, “while looking for potion ingredients, and it turned out to be Mordon's brood ring, and there was a whole bunch of stuff going on, and I sort of killed Gregor Cole who had become a wendigo, and then Leif suggested that I needed to go see the feys and you and Mother, before I ended up on the Hunter's List for misusing fey magic, and—here I am.”
Father buried his face in his hand and took a deep breath. “First, congratulations on your magic. I don't know how you did it, but I'm glad.”
It was likely for the best that I kept a secret about how I had died and was now tasked with wandering around the world and trying to keep the basic laws of the universe in order without knowing what they were in the first place, so I just nodded.
Father's eyes searched mine, eyes with less blue and green in them than mine, but still the same basic gray color I saw in the mirror. He said, “Second, you do understand that a brood ring is a test of compatibility and not an indicator that you must…mate him.”
“Yes,” I said, drawing the word out with a nod. “You know I'm too cautious to plunge into something without understanding my options first.”
Father dragged his hand down his shirt. “If it would make you more comfortable, I can find him other housing.”
“I trust him. The current accommodations are fine.”
“I would rather you have your own place.”
I decided not to argue this point, knowing that when Father made up his mind, that was that. So long as I did not promise to remain in my quarters, I would be good. Provided I could find Mordon on my own. The thought of sleeping by myself after being haunted by those husks made me shudder inside, and I knew there would be no rest if I were left without comfort.
I'd grown too accustomed to having a perpetual companion in the form of a ghost.
“Father? Why are you so welcomed here, when Mordon isn't? You're a drake.”
“An earth drake. We're drawn to the forest, and the forest is drawn to us, and as such the feys embrace our presence. There aren't many of us. Your mother met me while she was searching for truffles.” Father's eyes came back to me from staring at the place where he had left Mordon standing. “Do you know? What element are you? Is it too soon?”
I put my chin in the cup of my hand, let out a long breath, and reached out to my magic. The wind stirred, waving branches as it entered the hut, and I held out my fingers, letting the wind run between them. White petals appeared on the breeze, dancing this way and that as I twisted my hand, then reached out to stir them as one would stir marshmallows into hot cocoa. When they spiraled, I flicked the center and each petal burst into white moths which fluttered away, disappearing the instant they touched a leaf or a piece of clothing.
Father reached out a finger for a moth to land on, and it stayed for a brief second until it dispersed into nothing. Wonder touched his eyes. “You have fey illusions and a dragon form?”
I nodded and yawned, even though I tried not to. “The wind is my element. I can't control it a great deal. It sort of does its own thing a lot. But, yes, I have a great talent for illusions, though they've got to be simple. I can't seem to make anything permanent. Six or seven hours is as good as it gets, and that's with Mordon's help. I get tired fast with any sort of spell casting. Can't figure out even some of the easiest verbal spells, but I'm not too bad with rituals and structured spells. Also can't really fly yet, at best I beat my wings around and manage to not break anything when I crash.”
Father rubbed his brow. “Your brother said that you had something to tell me, but I wasn't willing to play his games. I thought it was an interesting case or to say that you had done improvements to that barn of yours. Then I saw you with that fire drake, and I assumed—well, I will say I am relieved that I do not need to worry about you being in a situation you did not want. But this…I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight. You've given me all to much to think about….drink up of the nectar. It'll help you to sleep. I will see you tomorrow. I am glad you are doing well, but I do wish you would have kept me informed along the way. Burn me a letter as things happened, you know.”
Irritated, I snapped my fingers and showed him that nothing was happening. “No control over fire. I still can't send letters, sorry.”
He shook his head, told me to rest, and left through the branches.
As soon as Father left my hut, I sagged in relief. It could have gone so much worse. Yelling or tears or something. But I would give a toe to never have to endure that conversation again. My cheeks were still hot from his questions.
“Hey, Mordon?”
He didn't answer, so I got up. I did not see Mordon outside, nor did I feel his presence when I sent the wind looking for him. Our hostess must have already given him another place to sleep.
For a second, I considered letting things be as Father arranged, but I couldn't even look into the tree guarding me without envisioning empty eye sockets staring down at me. I sent my magic to find Mordon's scent. When it came back with nutmeg and black pepper, I slipped on my invisibility ring, crouched through the branches, and hoped no one could see me as I followed the scent on the wind like a hound trailing a rabbit.
I loved the way this felt, to be out in the Wildwoods, in the tame parts, with my mind and magic running thick through my body as I ran through thick woods. It felt so whole, so sweet and sad, so lonely and full of companionship. It felt like a bowl of chicken noodle soup after the flu. Even as I thought this, I wasn't sure if it made sense, but it's how it was.
Instinct stopped me at a gigantic pile of blackberry bushes which twitched with blackbirds nestled among the white flowers and green thorns. It was the trampled path through fuzzy grass which first caught my eye, then I saw the doorway under arched branches laden with glossy berries. I stepped through the opening and stood in the doorway.
By the light of a lamp made of oil held in a bull's horn, Mordon unbuttoned his shirt. His muscles rippled beneath scars crosshatched on his back as he slipped the silk off his shoulders and balled the shirt in his fists. Folding laundry nice and neat must be something he did just to impress me. I smiled at my discovery.
A wad of black silk hit me in the face. I jumped and tripped on a three-legged stool.
“Unless you've got reason to hide your body, take that ring off and come cuddle,” Mordon said, already stretched out on a simple mattress flush with the floor. He grinned as I righted the stool, still invisible. His arms flexed as he put both hands behind his head and waited.
I stuffed his shirt against my lips to cut off what would be a shrill giggle, and obeyed without further invitation.
Chapter Nineteen
The courtroom wobbled before my Veridad-addled mind. I ran my fingers over the podium before the witness booth. I tried to keep myself rooted in reality.
There were the members of the jury to my left and the judge on his podium to my right. My coven sat in their own waiting room lest they be tempted to give me cues. A burly man in a wig sipped a glass of water then approached. He was the guy who would be asking the questions I had to doge.
As it was explained to me, no one would believe Gregor Cole—a member of the elite class—had been a wendigo unless there was a body to prove it.
So far, we had carefully avoided the topic. But it had been hinted at, drawing too near to the truth.
“Miss Swift, you say you cast an illusion over the edge of a pit which tempted Cole to leap to his death, is that correct?”
For an instant, the image of a boney, tight-skinned monster crept into my vision, filling the seat the lawyer had vacated. I knew the wendigo in court today wasn't real, but I shivered nonetheless. The Veridad wasn't settling well with me the time I needed it to cooperate the most.
Focus. He asked a question.
“No. I made an illusion, yes, but I did not coerce him at all.”
The lawyer picked up a paper and read from it. “The Constable Report claims that he attacked a monster in the pit.”
“I do not have a copy of the report. If that's what it says, then it must be correct.”
Someone in the half full courtroom laughed. The judge scowled. He glared at me. “The witness will answer the question.”
There wasn't a question, it had been a statement. I bit my tongue on that particular reply. “I am afraid I misunderstood. Will you rephrase the question?”
“Did you create a monster?”
“I created an illusion of a giant tentacle creature.”
He waited for a longer explanation.
I didn't embellish, not even when my lawyer coughed quietly into his hand.
The bloodied, drooling fictional wendigo was staring at me, daring me to tell it all.
“And why did Cole pursue the illusion?”
Oh, boy. This was going to go bad fast. “He said he wanted to eat it.”
The crowd began murmuring, soon silenced by the banging of a gavel.
“Why would he jump into an arcane chasm to eat a giant squid?”
“He said he wanted to be powerful.”
The lawyer was unimpressed. “You are telling the court that Gregor Cole killed himself in pursuit of eating an arcane chasm monster with the intent of becoming powerful.”
It sounded dumb. “That is what he told me. He may have had reasons he didn't share.”
“Did you know this would happen?”
“No.”
“You must have had a reason for making that particular illusion in a dangerous location. If you did not know that Cole would do this, did you think he would do?”
I thought that he would probably want to eat what he thought was some freakishly powerful monster that emerged from the gaping fire brimmed hole in the earth. That's what I thought would happen.
>
Unfortunately that was not an acceptable answer.
“I thought it would distract him.”
I mentally praised myself for skirting the Veridad influence.
“Why did he need distracting?”
“So that I didn't become his next meal.”
I managed to not slap my mouth. The Veridad had won that round.
Victorious, the lawyer said, “Now why were you worried about being eaten?”
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