The Dragon's Throne

by Emily L K

  “You need to eat,” he told her, breaking in half a loaf of fresh bread and offering her some.

  The familiar smell made her stomach churn, and she turned her face away. Mornings. They had always baked bread in the mornings. Saasha and Bel would mix the dough and Cori would roll in into little loaves. She couldn’t bear thinking about it. Rowan took her hand and placed the bread in it.

  “It’s been four days. Eat.”

  Cori automatically lifted the bread to her mouth and took a bite. Despite its warmth and softness, she had trouble chewing and when she swallowed, it travelled in a hard lump to her stomach. She took another bite though, and this time it went down easier.

  Rowan was lifting other things from the pack and placing them between them; cheese, which Cori immediately took and bit into, a handful of plums, a waterskin and a flask of rum.

  Cori hadn’t realised how ravenous she’d become. She finished the bread, then the cheese, and ate two of the plums. Without saying anything, Rowan offered her the other half loaf. She took that too but by the time she was halfway through that she was full and she set the rest on the grass between them. Rowan took it and put it back in the pack.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” She asked, feeling a little guilty that she had eaten most of the food. Rowan smiled a little as he pulled a stack of clothes out of the pack.

  “I ate in town.” He looked a little embarrassed. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get you to have anything yet.”

  She almost smiled. Almost. But the numbness that had held her anger, sadness and confusion at bay for the past few days was ebbing away and the sting of Quart’s betrayal, the anger at Rowan’s imprisonment of her and the grief of her mother’s death was pressing at her, demanding her attention.

  “Put these on,” Rowan was saying, “I think they’ll fit.” He pushed the clothes towards her - leather leggings and a shirt long enough to belt into a tunic - but she didn’t move. The indecision to either cry or yell was the only thing keeping her at bay.

  “Cori?” Rowan’s voice was soft and his eyes were pleading. It was too much. She wanted to get away from him. She wanted to find Saasha and make sure her sister was all right and she wanted Saasha to know she was all right too. She pressed a hand to her chest; a futile attempt to seal the hole in her heart that was her mother.

  “Please let me go home.” Her voice wavered but she couldn’t help it. Rowan rocked back a little, but the defensive look on his face told her everything she needed to know.

  “I can’t,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. I need to kill Cadmus.”

  Cori dropped her eyes and tried not to feel disappointed. She’d known he would say no, and it was another emotion she didn’t need to carry. So be it then, she thought. She collected the pile of clothes and hated him a little more.

  THE WORST PART OF THEIR journey north was not that she was getting farther from home each day, nor the nightmares that plagued her at night. It was that she had to ride double with Rowan.

  His chest against her back and his arm about her waist, coupled with the movement of the horse, drove her to distraction. His confession of love played through her mind over and over and it made her wonder. If he’d told her earlier would she have felt differently about him? Would she have still ended up with Quart? And what did he mean by “I would have waited”?

  She knew if she’d never gotten involved with Quart, then she wouldn’t have attacked him and started the riot. She would still be at the palace having lessons with Rowan, gossiping over coffee with Saasha, her mother would still be alive...

  When her thoughts went to her mother her inside would turn to ice and her throat would work to fight back the tears. She’d wind her fingers through the horse’s mane, take a deep breath and force her thoughts back to Rowan; of all the conflicts she had to think on, he was the safest.

  Contrary to her own mood, the further north they went, the more buoyant Rowan seemed to become. He tried to hide it from her, keeping his expression carefully neutral when they stopped riding for the day and maintaining his half of their stony silence, but his actions betrayed him. If they crested a hill in the wind he would inhale deeply, his chest expanding against her back. When they came across a bubbling creek, he dismounted and splashed through the water beside the horse, boots and all. At night he would practice his sword work with a renewed fervour and when he could no longer see in the failing light, he would lie on his back and stare at the stars, letting his Hum float as if on a breeze.

  She resented his carefree attitude. How was it that he could be happy when she was so miserable? She felt wretched; when she got off the horse each day her body ached in its entirety and she didn’t know where one bruise began and another finished. She also felt hollow inside, in the place where her mother and sister had been, and she was lonely - all the more because she couldn’t bring herself to forgive Rowan, even though he was her only friend left in the world. But mostly she hated it because she so desperately wanted to join him, to let herself be as carefree as he was. But she couldn’t. She held onto her anger and her vengeance and she let it simmer inside her like a pot of water about to boil over.

  FOR TWO WEEKS THEY travelled like this; barely saying a word to one another, only stopping at night to rest or outside towns and villages to get food. Cori assumed they were in Hearth somewhere but she wouldn’t be the one to break the silence and ask.

  After so much time, the riots in the palace had felt like a half-forgotten dream. Cori’s body developed a saddle fitness that allowed her to do more than stagger to bed exhausted each night. She became curious about their surrounds; never had she been so far inland, or in fact so far from the palace and Lautan. The cold bite of the northern weather chilled her as much as it invigorated her.

  She also noticed that when he wasn’t paying attention, Rowan’s fingers of the hand that held the reins would tap a small tune against the leather. Once, she hummed it under her breath, wondering what song it could be, but he heard her and his tapping stopped.

  One late afternoon found her sitting in an orchard with the horse while she waited for Rowan to return from a nearby village. He’d been gone for a few hours so to pass the time she walked up and down the rows of apple trees, dragging the chestnut behind her. He didn’t obey her the way he did Rowan, and she often found herself at an impasse with him when she wanted to go one way and he wanted to stop and pluck ripe fruit from the trees.

  Standing by the shoulder of the horse as he stretched his neck to reach a particularly large apple, she was contemplating apologising to Rowan when she heard voices. She froze, thinking perhaps the farmer had come to check his crops.

  “She’s around here somewhere.”

  “Well, hurry up and find her, I want to get out of here before the Karalis comes back.”

  Dread settled over her, but so did a calmness that kept her head clear. She’d known a party of Hiram had been hunting them, though she didn’t know how Rowan hadn’t realised they were so close. Their voices came from a few rows over from hers and she tugged gently on the reins, trying to pull the horse away.

  The chestnut resisted, intent on his prize. She let the reins drop and, hoping he would fend for himself, she left him and jogged down the row towards the spot she’d left the sword and some of their camping gear and away from the voices. She’d almost reached the end when three men pushed through the trees and blocked her path. She halted, heart hammering.

  “Down here, got her!” One of them called, but she barely heard him. Standing between them was the one person she’d never expected to follow them. The one person she never wanted to see again.

  “Hello Cori,” Quart said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cori only moved when the trees right beside her rustled and another man stepped through. She immediately recognised Daze, and she took a big step away from him.

  “Cori,” Quart drew her attention back to himself. His hazel eyes were wide and pleading. He extended a hand towards her. “Come back
with us. You belong in Lautan, not up here in the wild.”

  “The boy’s right,” Daze said beside her. She turned her head slightly to look at him and noticed a fifth man had come up behind her. She took a step away from him as well but Daze continued talking. “My sister may have been a bit, er, hasty when she married off my nephew. I don’t think she fully realised the prize he had in you.”

  Cori frowned, what were they trying to say? Were they suggesting Quart annul his marriage for her instead?

  “The Karalis is mad, completely out of his mind, but we know you’re not. Come back with us and we’ll give you a proper home. You are one of us after all.”

  One of them? Well, it was nice of them to decide that now. Her heartbeat drummed frantically, preparing her body to flee.

  “Cori,” this time Quart said her name with an urgency that shocked her. “Come back. Come back and be with me. I love you, I told you that.”

  “Do you mean that?” She asked, her escape momentarily forgotten. She took a step towards him, then stopped. There was fear in his eyes. Was he afraid for her? No, of her, she corrected herself. Her anger rose like fire and she lifted her hand. This time she would make sure she killed the bastard.

  Daze’s hand clamped down on her wrist. “None of that,” he growled. She tried to yank away from him but the other man grabbed her from behind, pinning her other arm to her side and lifting her bodily from the ground.

  “Let. Go.” She snarled, kicking back with her feet. She could feel panic blooming in her chest and she tried to quash it - it wouldn’t help her now. She could see Quart and the other two men coming closer.

  “Hold her still, I’ll get some rope,” Daze said. He turned and Rowan’s sword went through his middle. Cori didn‘t know how he’d crept up on them, but she was glad he was back.

  For a moment everyone was still as the two men locked eyes - Daze in shock and Rowan with a cold fury - then Rowan pulled the blade from Daze’s gut and the head of the Nomad Isles fell to the ground.

  Everyone moved at once; Cori squirmed from her captor’s arms as Rowan lunged forward and stabbed the man over her head and through his chest. He whirled away almost immediately and Cori felt blood splatter over her as the man keeled over beside her.

  Rowan had taken three running steps to slash at the man on Quart’s left. The man on Quart’s right tried to run but Cori flung out her arm and the force hit him in the legs, knocking him over. A moment later Rowan’s sword plunged into his back.

  Rowan’s sword swung wide once more, this time aimed for Quart. Cori couldn’t stop the strangled cry that escaped her lips but the blade stopped short of taking off the Hiram boy’s head.

  “I should kill you too, you little shit,” Rowan hissed. Quart whimpered but Rowan straightened and lowered the bloody sword. “Go.”

  Quart didn’t need telling twice; entire body shaking, he turned on his heels and fled. He stopped once more at the end of the row and looked. His expression was frightened but determined. Rowan snarled.

  “There is -“ Quart croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “There‘s a Hearthian army along the river, waiting to arrest you before you get to Resso... I-I just thought you should know.” He spared Cori one last glance, his eyes apologetic, and then he was gone, racing through the orchard and out of sight.

  It was all over in moments. Cori looked at the carnage around her as if seeing it for the first time. The smell of death was heavy in the air; the metallic tang of blood and the stench of opened bowels. She cupped a hand over her mouth and nose and moved hastily from the bodies of Daze and the man who’d held her down. Red blood splattered the grass around them and a darker colour pooled beneath their wounds, soaking into the earth.

  Rowan faced her. He was splattered in blood and gore. His expression was still cold and his eyes were glazed. She wondered if he knew who she was.

  “Why didn’t you use your Hum? You could have immobilised them and we could have gotten away!” She blurted. She tried not to look at the bodies but seeing them in her peripheral made them seem more contorted than they were.

  “Why didn’t you use yours?” He countered, his voice thunderous. Cori stopped. Why hadn’t she used her Hum?

  Rowan gave a sharp whistle and the horse came trotting down the row, dragging its reins along the ground. He snorted wearily at the bodies but didn’t check his stride until he was beside his master. Rowan took the reins and turned away.

  Cori hurried after him, pausing for an instant to look at the man who’d been stabbed in the back. She’d helped kill him. She could have let him go and he might have gotten away, but she’d brought him down. And he was just a nobleman too, not a soldier, not a fighter. He hadn’t stood a chance against Rowan. Guilt overwhelmed her, and she tried not to wonder if he’d had a family.

  “Shouldn’t we bury them?” She asked, watching as blood trickled from the wound and into his already sopping shirt.

  “Do you think they buried your mother?” His words floated back to her in an offhand sort of way but they pierced her like an arrow. She looked at the man again but she only saw her mother; broken and vacant on the floor of the kitchen, Saasha running in one direction and Rowan pulling Cori in the other. Was Bel still there, rotting on the floor with the other servants that had been killed? Or had they done something with the body?

  Cori pressed her hand to her chest, over her empty heart, and she hated the men on the ground before her. Without a second look she turned and followed Rowan.

  He was angry and the blood that splattered his face and front made him seem even more so. She watched him flinging their few possessions around as he prepared to leave and couldn’t tell if he was angry at their situation or angry at her. She knew she should speak up now, should try to salvage whatever friendship might remain between them, should try to calm him down at the least.

  “Sometimes I wish I’d never met you.” That was the wrong thing to say. She opened her mouth to try again.

  “Don’t worry,” he spat, “the feeling is mutual.”

  That stung. Cori reached down and picked up a rock that circled their unlit fireplace and, with the anger that still simmered inside her, she flung it at him. It fell woefully short.

  Rowan watched the rock roll through the grass and stop at his feet. He snorted derisively. “Get on the horse.”

  “No.”

  His eyebrows shot up and he dropped the reins. “Get on the bloody horse, Cori.”

  “You aren’t the Karalis anymore, Rowan. You can’t keep making demands of me and expecting me to blindly do everything you say.”

  “You’ll get on the horse,” he came towards her, “when I damn well tell you to get on the horse.”

  Cori took a few steps back. She suddenly felt a little giddy; here they were, covered in blood and having yet another silly argument while four men lay dead behind them. The seriousness of their situation wasn’t lost on her and yet she couldn’t keep a straight face. A smirk tugged at her lips as Rowan reached her and caught her around the waist. He lifted her from the ground.

  “Let go of me!” He flung her over his shoulder and she felt laughter escape her lips. They made an utterly ridiculous pair. Her hair fell across her face as he turned back to the horse and she could see where streaks of blood had matted it together in clumps.

  He lifted her to the horse’s back, and she caught hold of the chestnut’s mane to steady herself. He handed her the pack and then the unsheathed sword, still bloody. She placed the second gingerly across her lap and watched Rowan. He paused before mounting, his hand on the chestnut’s shoulder beside her knee. He smiled at her, all the anger gone from his eyes, though the dried blood on his face was still gruesome. She imagined she must look much the same.

  “If I’d known killing a few Islanders would make you smile, then I would have let them catch up a long time ago.”

  “Or maybe,” she replied, “I’m just ready to smile again.”

  THEY DIDN’T RIDE FOR long. It was per
haps only half hour before the sun set then another quarter hour until Rowan found a spot to camp. The nearby stream was shallow and rocky but Cori followed it around a bend and out of sight and found a spot deep enough to submerge to her waist.

  The water was freezing, but she stripped bare and got in. She quickly scrubbed her face, arms and chest then ducked her head under the water and came up shivering. The blood from her hair stained the water red and she watched it swirl away from her, imagining, not that it was a dead man’s life, but her grief and sadness leaving her skin.

  When she was certain she was clean, she reached over to the bank and pulled in her clothes. They were stiff with dried blood but she worked at them until she thought they were clean enough. It was hard to tell in the rising moonlight.

  She got out of the stream and dressed in her old robes; the only other clothes she had. She was hesitant at first because of the memories they brought back, but her chilled body won out over her distaste for them.

  When she returned to the camp, she found Rowan beside a small fire pulling their blankets from the pack. He was clean as well and Cori guessed that he had gone upstream to bathe. When he saw her he tossed a blanket to her, and she wrapped it gratefully around her shoulders.

  She laid her wet clothes out beside the fire and sat down next to it as close as she could. Rowan next tossed her an apple then sat down opposite her. His golden eyes glowed eerily in the firelight. He had an apple in his own hand but didn’t make a move to eat it. Neither did she.

  “Why didn’t you kill Quart?” She asked after a few minutes of thoughtful silence. Rowan’s eyes had been on the flames and when she spoke they rose to meet hers.

  “I don’t think you’d forgive me if I killed him.”

  “I hate him,” she whispered fiercely. Rowan shrugged.

  “That may be so now, but one day the anger will fade. Would you want his death on your conscious? Or on mine for that matter?”