Jakl nudged at Meg for attention periodically, but otherwise seemed content just to have her nearby. Calen kept stealing glances at the dragon, still trying to accept what he was seeing. A dragon, by the gods! If someone had told him yesterday that today he’d be sitting in a secret cave with a princess and a dragon, he never would have believed it. And here it was, really happening.
Eventually they got up to leave, saying good-bye to Jakl — Meg with another belly rub, Calen with a more reserved pat on the neck. Those yellow eyes still made him more than a little nervous.
As they made their way back through the tunnel, Calen spoke into the quiet blackness. “Thank you for bringing me here, Meg,” he said. “I’m honored that you shared your secret with me.”
He couldn’t see her face, but somehow he knew she was smiling again. “You’re welcome,” she said softly. “And thank you, too.”
THEY PARTED ON THE ROAD, OUT of sight of the gate. Calen went back toward the castle, and Meg waited, not wanting anyone to notice the two of them too long together. She was probably being overly cautious, but all it would take was one person asking awkward questions and she would be in big trouble. She and Calen both, now. She hadn’t done him any favors, taking him to see Jakl like that. She still couldn’t really believe that she’d done it.
She also couldn’t really imagine how this situation could ever turn out well. Did she honestly expect to be able to hide Jakl forever? Someday, the truth was going to come out. And then — what? There was no way Mother and Father would ever just allow her to raise a dragon. Dragons had been systematically driven away from the castle environs for years and years for a reason, after all. They were dangerous! They flew around and breathed fire and were big enough to eat cows and horses and people and anything else they chose. Any guard or soldier who saw a dragon would attempt to kill it on sight. No one would be able to understand how attached she’d become — even now, she could feel Jakl’s warm, comforting presence back in the cave, like a small and distant sun.
The thought of losing that was awful. And there was no doubt that if the wrong people found out, they’d try to take him away from her.
Lately, though, she’d begun to realize that Jakl might not . . . allow that to happen. Which gave her another good reason to keep him a secret. She knew he wouldn’t just go off and attack the castle, or her family, but if anyone tried to come between them . . .
Squinting into the distance, she decided enough time had passed since Calen had gone ahead through the gate. She began walking, slipping into her Mellie persona as she went — head down, shoulders slumped, focused on nothing but getting back to her mistress, errands complete. The gate guard barely glanced at her as she went back through. How nice it must be, she thought wistfully, to have such freedom! To be beneath notice, free to come and go as you please.
Once past the gate, she took off running across the ward. Gods, she loved to run. Loved the feel of her legs pumping, stretching out, propelling her forward, her loose hair flying behind her. Running down the long, dark hallways of the castle just wasn’t the same, especially not while wearing a dress and balancing a golden circlet on her head. Nan Vera invariably caught her at it and made her stop, anyway. Princesses walk, Meglynne! Ugh.
She took a roundabout way back to her rooms, checking the hallway to make sure it was empty and then slipping quickly and quietly past her sisters’ doors and down to her own. She opened the door and darted inside, closing it behind her. Safe at last.
Then she turned around and saw Maerlie and Morgan sitting side by side like disapproving bookends in the deep, rose-colored chairs Mother had had made for all the girls’ rooms several years ago. Her sisters were staring at her expectantly, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.
Meg froze, torn between trying to explain her way out of this and turning and running right back out the door. What were they doing here?
Several seconds of unpleasant silence passed. Finally, Morgan leaned forward in her chair.
“Hello, sister,” she said calmly. “Did you have a good afternoon?”
Meg swallowed. “Yes, thank you,” she said. “And you?”
“Yes, lovely, thanks. Maerlie and I met with the seamstress about our dresses for the wedding, and then we had a pleasant lunch with Mother and Queen Carlinda.”
“How nice,” said Meg, still standing with her back pressed against the door. “Queen Carlinda seems very kind. Do you find her so?”
“Yes, quite,” Morgan answered. “You really must take some time to chat with her soon.”
Meg nodded politely and stole a glance at Maerlie. She was sitting back in her chair with an amused smile on her face. When she caught Meg looking, she gave a quick shake of her head: Sorry, you’re on your own.
“Maerlie,” said Morgan, after watching their silent exchange, “why don’t you tell our dear sister who came calling for her this afternoon?”
“Oh, do you mean that handsome young man with the prince’s party? What was his name? Winston? Wilhelm?”
“Wilem?” Meg blurted, stepping away from the door. “Wilem came calling for me?”
Both sisters turned slowly back to look at her with predatory smiles.
“Yes, Wilem, that was his name. Quite the charmer, wasn’t he, Morgan?”
“He certainly was,” Morgan said. “He seemed so disappointed to find you not at home, Meg.”
Meg looked back and forth between them. “What — what did you tell him? Where did you say I’d gone?”
Morgan’s eyes went round and innocent. “Well, that was quite a quandary, since we had no idea where you were. We had to come up with something, of course, so we told him you were out riding with your favorite suitor — what name did we give him, Maerlie?”
“Micah.”
“Yes, right, we said you were out with dear Micah and that we didn’t expect you back anytime soon, because out of all the eager young men pursuing you, this one was especially handsome and intelligent —”
“And muscular,” Maerlie put in.
“Right, and muscular, and so we were certain you’d want to spend as much time as possible in his company. . . .”
Meg stared, unable to think of anything to say. Surely they were only teasing; surely they would never —
When both of them burst into helpless peals of laughter, she had her answer. Maerlie was practically crying, she was laughing so hard. Meg felt her face go red with mingled anger and embarrassment.
“That wasn’t funny,” she said softly.
“Oh, Meg,” Maerlie said, wiping at her eyes. “You had it coming, for the position you put us in today.”
“Then — did he really come calling for me? Or was that a joke, too?”
“Yes, he really came calling,” said Morgan. “But we told him you were off seeing to some wedding details for Maerlie and that we didn’t know when you’d be back. Of course, it was harder to convince Mother —”
“Mother was looking for me, too?” This was awful.
“You were gone for hours, Meg!” said Maerlie. “Did you think no one would notice?”
Morgan shook her head. “If Maerlie hadn’t argued so passionately on your behalf, I would have told Mother the truth. But instead we told her we’d had an argument and that you went out to take a walk and cool off.”
“So we’ve covered for you with everyone else,” Maerlie said, “but I’m afraid you’re going to have to tell us where you really were. And to save you some time, I’ll say straight out that we will not believe you were merely out for a walk somewhere. Not dressed like that, you weren’t.”
Meg stood silently, head down, trying to think. What could she say that they’d believe? Maybe it was all right to mention Calen, but that still wouldn’t explain her clothing. . . .
At a loss, she looked up to find them staring at her again. Morgan looked angry. Maerlie looked hurt.
“You’ve always been able to tell us the truth before, Meg,” Maerlie said quietly. “It’s obvious you’re stan
ding there trying to make something up. Why won’t you just tell us? Do you really trust us so little?”
“Don’t, Maerlie. Don’t say it like that. I do trust you.” She hoped Morgan wouldn’t notice that her last sentence wasn’t exactly directed at both of them.
“But?” asked Morgan.
Meg bit her lip. “But I can’t tell you this. I’m sorry.”
Morgan and Maerlie looked at each other. Something passed wordlessly between them, and Morgan rose. She touched Meg’s hand on the way to the door, and left.
“Can you tell me, Meg?” Maerlie asked once she was gone. “Just me? You know I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to. Not even to Morgan, although you must know you’re hurting her with this secrecy.” Hurting me, too, Meg could hear her saying beneath the words.
Meg walked over and sank into the chair Morgan had left empty. She closed her eyes to shut out Maerlie’s unhappy face and rested her head back against the rich, soft fabric. She wanted to tell. She wanted to throw herself down on the floor with her head in Maerlie’s lap and confess everything, to feel her sister’s strong hands stroking her hair and hear her calm, wise words making sense of it all. She had always gone to Maerlie with every problem, every pain, every bit of news she’d been bursting to tell, every fear and worry. But this time she knew she couldn’t. She held Jakl’s life in her hands. She had already risked one friend’s life today — that was true, no matter how many times she told herself Jakl would never have hurt Calen — and the instincts that had guided her then, that had convinced her that bringing Calen to the cave was the right thing, those instincts were screaming at her now to be strong, keep silent. Don’t let her in.
“Gods, what is it, Meg?” Maerlie whispered. “Why can’t you trust me?”
I can’t. I’m sorry. Meg opened her eyes. She suddenly felt very tired. “Please stop. Just stop asking. I can’t tell you.”
“Meg, please —”
“Can’t you please just leave it alone? Why do you need to know so badly?”
Maerlie seemed taken aback. “Because . . . because we’re worried about you. I’m worried about you. You disappear without a word to anyone, and not for the first time, I might add, and then you show up in those clothes —”
“Why do you have to worry?” Meg leaned over the arm of the chair. “Why must you assume it’s something to worry about?”
“Meg —”
“Why can’t you trust me, Maerlie? Why can’t you trust me to have this to myself, to take care of it by myself?”
Maerlie didn’t say anything. She sat back in the chair and watched Meg’s face unhappily.
“All right,” she said finally. “I’ll stop asking. I do trust you, Meg. And I love you.” She folded her hands in her lap and paused, then went on. “But please be careful. Secrets . . . secrets can be dangerous. If you keep them too long, too close, they get bigger. They breed. They come between people, push them apart. And I don’t want anything to come between us, Meg. Ever.”
But it has, Meg realized sadly. It’s come between us already. She reached over toward her sister, and Maerlie grasped her hand. “I’ll be careful, I promise,” Meg said.
Maerlie nodded, releasing Meg’s hand, and with visible effort set aside all the other things she clearly still wanted to say. Meg loved her intensely in that moment.
“Well,” Maerlie said, a weak but genuine smile tugging at her expression, “I hope you’ll at least agree to tell me about Wilem. There must be something to tell — you should see what your face looks like when you hear his name. You go all red and dreamy.”
Meg could feel herself blushing even now. It made Maerlie laugh, though — a real laugh — and that made it all right.
“He is very handsome, isn’t he?” Meg asked. She could see him clearly in her mind, the way he had looked last night in the garden, somehow managing to smile and look serious at the same time.
“So you do fancy him, then,” Maerlie said. “I saw the two of you walking together after dinner, and I had to wonder.”
“I’ve never met anyone like him before,” Meg admitted. “He makes it hard to think. Did anyone ever make you feel like that? Before your darling prince, I mean.”
Maerlie chuckled. “Well, almost — do you remember Cousin Frystan?”
“Oh, no!”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I don’t know what I was thinking. In my defense, this was before he grew the unfortunate beard. It was right after he did so well at the trials, and I was temporarily smitten. All the other girls were so jealous, and he danced with me for every dance at the feast . . . it was absolutely magical, until he tried to kiss me.”
“He tried to kiss you?”
“Well, I guess he did kiss me. For a second, I kind of wanted him to, but then . . . ugh. I had to wash my face afterward. He was so — slobbery.” She shuddered theatrically. Meg laughed.
“But let’s not dwell on such unpleasant memories. Tell me more about Wilem! I want to hear everything. Start from the beginning.”
“Well, there was no kissing, I’ll just say that straight away. Not yet, anyway,” Meg said, winking rakishly. Oh, the thought of Wilem kissing her . . . it was almost too exciting to even imagine. Almost.
At her sister’s continued prodding, Meg drifted delightfully back to the previous night, reliving each moment of their conversation and relaying it faithfully to Maerlie, who was the best audience imaginable. Her heart felt heavy and light at the same time, remembering, the effect of Wilem’s face and charm — and gods, that smile — temporarily overshadowing even Jakl’s faint warm presence. For a while she was free of thoughts of Calen and spirit cards and dragons and caves and secrets, entirely consumed by the memory of Wilem’s beautiful face, his sweet, sad eyes looking deep into her own.
THE STUDY WAS DIM AND SILENT, but Calen wasn’t fooled. He stood in the doorway, squinting nervously into the confines of the room. Lyrimon was in there somewhere. Calen could feel the gyrcat’s fiery little eyes staring at him — the familiar malicious weight of them was unmistakable. Calen was not in the mood to be mauled by nearly invisible claws, but he needed to get through the study to reach the library. If he could just figure out where the little beast was hiding, he could probably stay far enough away to be safe. Lyrimon never attacked him openly; even Serek would draw the line at that. He merely waited for Calen to unknowingly wander too close, or sit down on him, or something, and used that as an excuse to lash out in “self-defense.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Calen muttered. He took a step into the room, wincing in anticipation, but nothing happened. He could still feel Lyrimon’s glaring eyes upon him, though. He took another step, waited, took another. The hall leading to the library still seemed very far away.
“What exactly are you doing?” Serek’s deep voice spoke suddenly from the doorway behind him.
Calen jumped with surprise, but at least managed to stay on his feet this time. Why did everyone insist on sneaking up on him like that? He turned around. Serek was leaning against the door frame, a small pile of books and papers tucked under one arm.
“I am looking for that stupid — uh, for Lyrimon,” Calen said. “I know he’s in here. I can feel him watching me.”
One corner of Serek’s mouth turned up slightly. “Oh, he’s watching you, all right.” He jerked his chin toward the window. Calen whipped his head around to look. Lyrimon was sunning himself idly on the stone wall that ran through the yard. He was watching, though. Even from this distance, Calen could see the evil glint in the gyrcat’s eyes.
“How do you do that?” Calen asked plaintively.
“Do what?”
“Find him like that. You always know where he is. You can see him even when he’s practically invisible. Why won’t you teach me how to do it?”
“Now, what fun would that be?” Serek strode forward into the room and dropped his pile carefully onto his desk.
Calen sighed. Serek was infuriating, but at least he didn’t seem ang
ry anymore. The library would have to wait, now, obviously. Lyrimon had probably done him a service by slowing him down; he wouldn’t have wanted to try to explain what he was doing in the library if Serek had caught him nosing around in there.
Serek had perched on the edge of his desk and was now favoring Calen with a most disturbingly penetrative stare. Calen shifted but said nothing. Serek was hard to read, and this look could mean anything. Or nothing. He had learned early on that it was usually best to wait at times like these. He just wished he had a wall to lean against or something. He felt horribly exposed and vulnerable, standing in the middle of the room as he was.
“We have some things to discuss, I think,” Serek said finally.
“Oh?” Calen asked. He kept waiting.
Serek narrowed his eyes. Then, to Calen’s shock, he laughed — a short, harsh bark, but undeniably genuine. “I don’t know what it is you’re trying so hard to hide from me,” he said, “but let me put you at your ease: I don’t care. I imagine it has something to do with your friend the princess”— he chuckled —“which your face has just confirmed. But that’s not what I want to talk about.”
Calen struggled to control his features. How did Serek know about Meg? And on the heels of that, an even more alarming thought — what else did he know? Serek’s face gave away nothing. As usual.
“What — what do you want to talk about?” Calen asked.
“An excellent question. Come over here and sit down.” Serek indicated the chair on the far side of his desk. Calen walked around to the chair and sat. Serek continued to stare at him. Calen stared back defiantly. Or at least suspiciously. What was the man looking at?
“Do you feel it?” Serek asked finally. “The change?”
The Dragon of Trelian Page 7