The Moonflower Dance

by Lea Doué

  Why had she told him that?

  Curiosity entered his eyes. He fetched his pincushion and pinned the fabric along her left side. “Searching for something?”

  She couldn’t explain without giving away Keir’s secret. “Oh, you know, always thirsty for knowledge. Seems the king was a collector of sorts.”

  She bit her tongue, lest she bring to mind the king’s controversial use of spelled items. She wasn’t looking for them herself, but Zared might jump to the wrong conclusions.

  He nodded and fastened another pin. “My former master is a collector.”

  She latched onto the new subject. “The one who trained you in Maglyn?”

  “Yes. Much like you, his interests lie more in knowledge than objects. With a few exceptions.” He touched the silver pendant at his neck, which looked like a coin stamped with the image of a dragon. “He gave me this as a token of his admiration for my work with dragon-wing leather. I wouldn’t be the man I am now without him. He opened my eyes to my own talents and taught me things I never dreamed possible.”

  “If you learned so much from him, why did you leave?”

  He pressed his lips together in a small smile, as if recalling a fond moment. “It was time to move on, to try my new skills on my own. Face new challenges. Besides, I needed fresh inspiration for my masterpiece.” He tossed the pincushion onto the table.

  That sounded reasonable.

  “When my work is done here, I’ll return to him. He’s setting up a new enterprise soon, and I’m excited about the possibilities. Perhaps, someday, I could introduce you to him.” He took her hand and kissed her fingers, his lips sending icy shivers down her arm. “He would appreciate your intelligence and your eye for beauty, as I do.”

  “Oh, um… .” At a loss for words, she muttered, “You’re too kind.” Gathering her skirts, she retreated to the dressing room, where she changed as quickly as possible once Euna freed her from the laces. She then bid Zared a hasty goodbye and dashed out.

  Just outside the door of the shop, she stopped short. Mel crouched at the far side of the window, peeking inside.

  Euna’s chair bumped into Neylan’s legs. “Sorry.” She turned and wheeled down the ramp at the side of the porch.

  “Mel… what are you doing here?”

  Without moving her face from the window, Mel waved to shush her and whispered, “Keep walking like you don’t see me.”

  “What?” she said, but she obeyed and strolled down the street, waiting for her sister to finish spying or whatever she was up to. Neylan twisted the cuff on her wrist. They both had packing to do.

  Wist sunned himself on Euna’s lap as she followed.

  Finally, Mel caught up with them on a connecting street. “Are you all right?” she asked breathlessly, studying Neylan’s face.

  “What? Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re as red as that gown you tried on.”

  “Am I?” She put a hand to her cheek. Mel had obviously been able to see enough through the workroom door to know what color the gown had been. What else had she seen? “It’s a warm day. And… and I could say the same thing about you.”

  “Do you like him?”

  She looked sharply at her.

  Mel stared back without flinching. “He kept on staring at you through the window until you turned the corner. He seems to like you an awful lot.”

  “I suppose he does.” There was no doubt of it. And no admirer had ever rattled her the way Zared did. “I do like him, but… not romantically.”

  “You don’t sound sure of that.”

  “I barely know him.” She’d never blushed so much around anyone. Although she’d come to Mazereon for Keir, what if she wasn’t the one? After all, there she was making her feelings plain to him, and yet he was still transforming each night.

  Was she doubting her own feelings now? Or his? She shook her head. Mel was putting silly notions into her head.

  “I want to be sure you don’t offer yourself to the wrong person,” Mel said. “Remember why you’re here.”

  “Mel! I know very well why I’m here.”

  Mel held her hands up in surrender. “All right. Just making sure.”

  “Did you come all the way out here just to spy on me?”

  “Pfft. No.” She kicked a rock. “I wanted to spend some time with you before you leave tonight.”

  Neylan took her sister’s hand. “Is Mara getting on your nerves already?”

  She chuckled. “She won’t admit it, but she’s as nervous as I am about this trip. For different reasons.”

  Mara navigated court life better than Mel, but she didn’t like to travel.

  “She’ll be fine. You both will.” She squeezed Mel’s hand. “I can’t believe you’re married.”

  “That makes two of us.” She pulled Neylan’s wrist closer to study the embroidered cuff. She twisted it around to see all the flowers, tracing them with her free hand. Her fingers lingered on Ivy’s moonflower before moving on to the new ribbon. “The flowers don’t match.”

  Neylan pulled her hand away and studied them close up. “That’s because Ivy didn’t make the ribbon. Keir sent it to me before I left Ituria.”

  “Looks like something your dressmaker would craft. I bet Keir got it from him.”

  “Well, of course Keir didn’t make it himself. And Zared is not my anything.”

  Mel looked at her sideways. “Mmm, hmm.”

  The road began sloping upwards, so Neylan stepped behind Euna to push her chair. “Look, a street vendor.” That should distract her sister. “Let’s get something to eat before we return to the palace.”

  Mel sniffed the air and bounded a few steps ahead, her gaze locked on a small cart tucked in the recess between two buildings. “Stuffed pancakes! Buy me one, and I’ll pretend you’re not trying to change the subject.”

  Neylan laughed. “Deal.” She would put Zared, and any interest he might have in her, out of her head. For the time being, she needed to focus on finding what she could at the black tower with Keir.

  Chapter Seven

  An hour after sundown, Neylan and Keir soared through a cloudless night on their journey to the black tower. The ground blurred beneath them, but the crystal stars glittered in an ink black sky.

  After saying her farewells, Neylan had made Vanda promise to begin reading one of her books so they could discuss it when she returned. On Keir’s advice, she’d dressed in winter clothes for the longer flight, but Euna had packed a bag with more appropriate seaside attire, which was strapped behind the saddle.

  Wist’s feet nudged her hip as he stretched in the belt pouch and worked his way into a different position.

  Long after her fingers and knees had begun to ache, the Burnt River announced itself, a glowing orange lava flow cutting through the shadowy landscape like a burning tear. Keir began his descent.

  Located in a gap that cut through the Burnt River Mountains and led down to the sea, the black tower had been built after the Dragon Wars to house captured sorcerers, one of the few places where their powers would be neutralized. It had been the obvious spot for Baz’s father to imprison Gram when he’d learned of her past, but how many people knew he’d also hidden away a collection of scrolls and artifacts, some of which might be spelled?

  Keir circled high over the tower, a black spire in the center of a large circular meadow, bordered on one side by scruffy woods with a path leading to the nearest village. On the other, the grassy ground alternately gave way to sand and sloped down to the water or else dropped off in dramatic cliffs.

  She shifted to keep the Burnt River in sight, following its length until it met the ocean in a cloud of steam. It was too far away to hear.

  As if reading her thoughts, Keir swerved closer and approached the beach in a gentle dive. He flew low over the waves and then plunged through the cloud. An odor of hot metal, like that in the heart of a blacksmith’s forge, washed over her, along with the faint smell of rotting eggs and saltwater.
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  He banked and headed for the tower, which loomed closer and closer. After a breathless circle around its base, he landed in front of a wooden door.

  Before she had a chance to unbuckle the leg straps, a man and a woman with matching grey at their temples stepped out of the shadows. The man climbed up Keir’s outstretched leg, unfastened her saddle pack, and slung it over his shoulder.

  He offered a hand to steady her as she climbed down. “Oswald, Your Highness.” He nodded to the woman on the ground. “And my wife, Ysmay. We’re pleased to have you.”

  Ysmay nodded and took the pack from her husband. Neylan limped after her while Oswald unsaddled Keir.

  When Ysmay reached the door, she set the pack on the ground and then turned the handle while pushing against the wood with her shoulder. “It sticks sometimes. Humidity.”

  After three mighty shoves, the door creaked inward with a reluctant groan, and they entered a dim, curved hallway that led to a bathing room on the right and a kitchen on the left.

  “If you’d like to clean up now, you can borrow my dressing gown hanging on the door. Your room is at the top. I’ll bring up a light snackshortly.”

  “Thank you.”

  The bathing room appeared to take up no more than a quarter of the tower’s base. Neylan locked the door behind her and stared at the cross-hatched window above the deep washbasin, wondering why it struck her as odd. She rubbed her dry eyes. Rustic soaps and towels lay stacked on a floor-to-ceiling shelf built along a wooden wall separating the bathing room from another quarter of the bottom floor. Beyond that, a curtain sectioned off the privy. Across from them, an oval bath barrel sat beside the washbasin.

  Then she remembered Mel’s stories. When Gram had been imprisoned, only the top floor had windows. Baz had obviously ordered upgrades.

  She opened the belt pouch for Wist. His snout twitched into view, and then he shot out and made a beeline for the window. He landed on the sill and looked at her expectantly.

  “I’m not tall enough to open it. I’ll let you out the front door in a moment.”

  He put a paw to the glass.

  “I’m too short. I can’t reach.”

  He flew to the latch and pulled while sitting on it.

  Chuckling, she climbed into the overlarge washbasin, which put her shoulder at the windowsill, and reached overhead to flip the latch. The hinges squealed in protest, but it opened enough for an aconite dragon to fit through.

  After scrabbling out of the basin, she pumped water into it, eyeing the bath barrel longingly but too tired to spend time soaking. As she slipped into Ysmay’s frilly purple dressing gown, Wist returned and began tasting soaps.

  “You’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow.” She patted her shoulder in invitation.

  He flew over, wafting lilac-scented air in his wake. She trudged up five flights of winding stairs to the top of the tower, wondering which of the doors she passed held the trove of documents and artifacts. After polishing off the tea and fruit Ysmay left, she slid under the blankets and slept soundly the rest of the night.

  At daybreak, Ysmay slipped in quietly and left breakfast on the desk.

  Neylan wiped sleep crust from her eyes, pushing aside leftover dreams filled with violin music, where she and Keir had flown through clouds made from moonflowers. She squinted against the bright daylight flooding through two cross-hatched windows, the same windows that had provided Gram her only glimpse of freedom months before.

  Wist flitted across the room and landed on her head. He leaned down, balancing himself on her ear, and peered into her face.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  He chirped and then flew to the desk, where a potted yellow geranium brightened the space. She and her sisters had shared a tower room back home with similar curved walls, but this room was much smaller and furnished with only one bed hung with green curtains. A matching armchair sat between a boarded-up fireplace and a shiny walnut wardrobe that looked newer than anything else in the room.

  She unlatched the nearest window and pushed. Although the hinges creaked, it opened more easily than the one downstairs. Fresh sea air tickled her cheeks.

  Wist joined her and paced on the sill, his nose and wings twitching in delight.

  From the base of the tower stretched the meadow, ending at the woods. A rock dragon stable nestled at its edge, and a dirt road disappeared through the trees.

  She threw open the opposite window. There, instead of woods, the meadow rolled away into the distance, gradually sloping down to meet the ocean. On the horizon, along one of the cliffs, a plume of steam rose where the Burnt River fell into the water.

  After donning a honey-yellow tunic and brown dragon-wing leggings, she ate quickly and then pulled out a brush and ribbon from her pack. Wist supervised from the top of her head, his talons prickly against her scalp. After removing the tangles, she picked up the ribbon.

  Wist reached for it.

  “You want to tie it?”

  He chirped and mimed tying a bow.

  She grinned. “It’s far too long for you, but you can try.”

  She’d taught him the skill during their travels, a completely useless thing for an aconite to learn, but he’d enjoyed practicing with strings and vines. After tying the ribbon around the hair at the nape of her neck, she handed him the ends.

  He struggled with the length, hopping from shoulder to shoulder and climbing up and down her hair, but in the end he had a lopsided bow. Satisfied with his work, he flew to the geranium, stuffed a petal in his mouth, and returned to perch on her shoulder.

  She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and then stroked under his chin. “Let’s go find Keir.”

  One floor down, she found a library filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that followed the curve of the room, every inch of space crammed with dusty crates and stacks of scrolls and leather-bound books. The king’s collection. A round table occupied the middle of the room, and a stack of ledgers lay on a smaller table between two squashy armchairs. Another yellow geranium perched next to them. She thumbed through one, and it turned out to be a detailed list of book contents in Keir’s handwriting. Nothing of interest.

  She sat and sniffed the flower absently, certain Keir would show up shortly.

  Wist fluttered from her shoulder and curled up at the base of the plant for a nap.

  She ran a finger under her wrist cuff and then traced the flowers, stopping at the apple blossoms. Mel and the others would be well on their way by now to meet Orin’s parents. She checked the knot on the green moonflower ribbon. How fitting that Keir had chosen the same flowers Ivy had used to represent herself.

  Neylan missed all of her sisters, but she worried most about Ivy. A sensitive girl, quiet and watchful, Ivy regularly suffered headaches that many attributed to anxiety, so they treated her almost as an invalid. But there was steel in her that lay unseen. Azure saw it, too, and more often than not dragged Ivy into her own escapades. Ivy was the only sister who would consistently practice swords and archery with Azure, being too kindhearted to say no, and she was also the only one who could get Azure to slow down from time to time.

  But there were things that couldn’t be explained about Ivy’s behavior. Often when she winced or gasped in pain, her actions didn’t seem to indicate a headache. She would limp a step or two as if she’d sprained an ankle, or flinch as if her arm were touched, or double over as if she’d received a blow to her stomach… then recover and put her hands to her head. Neylan had gone to her parents for answers, but they didn’t seem to understand her questions. So she’d turned to Yarrow, Ivy’s bodyguard since her birth, but he’d been as tight-lipped as ever. Neylan also found it odd that none of her other sisters had special bodyguards, but her parents seemed to think Ivy’s sometimes debilitating condition warranted one.

  Despite Yarrow’s background, Neylan had come to trust him over the years. She’d also become frustrated at his non-answers to her many questions, although she couldn’t blame him.
Inquiring into sorcery was a much bigger no-no than carrying potentially dangerous dragons around. Schools and tutors taught the basics of how to keep yourself from getting cursed, such as never taking anything from the hand of a sorcerer, but beyond that, there was nothing. No books, no ancient scrolls, no information at all—unless you became a sorcerer’s apprentice, and that was out of the question.

  But she needed to understand more about sorcery if she had any hope of keeping her sisters safe from falling victim ever again. There had to be a way to break curses other than following the dictates of those who set them. She’d searched and searched, but books had failed her. Yarrow had failed her.

  And, for the moment, Gram had failed her.

  But now she had the unexpected possibility of actually finding something useful in the king’s collection.

  Someone cleared their throat.

  She opened her eyes and blinked. Keir sat in the other armchair looking as well rested as a shepherd during lambing season.

  “Yellow suits you,” he said.

  “Thanks. When did you get here?”

  “A few minutes ago. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I’ve been thinking about my sisters.”

  He spoke while looking at Wist. “I’m sure you’re eager to return to them.”

  She would always be eager to see her sisters, but their paths were diverging. “I would hardly know which direction to return, but they’ll always be a part of me.”

  The answer seemed to please him.

  She tapped one of the ledgers. “Where should I start?”

  “Take your pick.” He waved at the shelves. “Once you’ve read through and cataloged something, label it and I’ll move it down to the storage room on the third floor.”

  She nodded, appreciating his organized approach, and walked to a particularly dusty bundle of scrolls near the window. Keir fetched a quill and ink set from a shelf and took it and a ledger to the center table. He dragged the armchairs over, and they worked for several hours, breaking at mid-morning when Ysmay brought tea. In the midst of mostly dry historical accounts, Keir found a long-lost folk tale about a healer and her pet dragon, which he read aloud to their mutual delight, but they found no information to aid in their current situation.