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Dragonoak: The Complete History of Kastelir

Page 40

by Sam Farren


  “I've got to—” someone from the back of the room mumbled, rushing out without another word.

  Maethos arched her brow, looked around the shrine and fixed her eyes on me. It shouldn't have made my heart clench as it did. Only a few of us remained; it wasn't as though she'd picked me out by anything other than chance.

  “Tell me: what do you know of Isjin?” Maethos asked.

  “Um—”

  What did I know of Isjin that wouldn't offend her was the real question. I could tell her plenty about Isjin's initial desertion of Bosma, and the way she abandoned Myros to the will of the Bloodless Lands, but I knew how ignorant I'd sound.

  “I know about the Forest Within?” I ventured, and Maethos nodded, gesturing for me to continue. “When we die, we end up in the Forest Within the Forest. It's, um. A giant forest, that you wander and wander, and anyone you want to see – if they're dead, I mean – you just happen to come across them. The people who've seen it say that it's... peaceful, relaxing. Except for the ones who go to hell. Which is the same as the Forest Within, except you keep wandering, and never find who or what you're looking for.”

  “Indeed. Although I should not separate the two concepts quite so radically. The Forest Within only becomes hell when the person you seek has no desire to meet with you; it may still be paradise, in all other aspects,” Maethos said. “But what do you know of Isjin herself?”

  I wanted to say something, if only not much, honestly, but Katja patted me on the arm and took it upon herself to answer.

  “Not quite as much as I should like to. There is, of course, the creation story. I believe that most know of the way Isjin dreamt the world into existence, from within the void,” Katja began, and Maethos nodded, ready to take over. Katja continued speaking. “When she awoke, the goddess discovered that a fearsome beast had fallen asleep on the edge of the void, stopping her creation from flowing out into the emptiness that existed before all else.

  “And so Isjin seized the beast, allowing her dreams to breathe life into the world, and tore the creature in two. These two parts didn't wither, as she had thought they might. Instead, they became two distinct halves: the dragons and the pane. They took their place on Bosma while humanity was still young.”

  “Quite. Very well spoken,” Maethos said, bowing her head. Katja's face reddened a touch, but she did what she could to remain modest. “This story is rather telling, today more so than ever. Think of what Isjin did with the beast, with the dragons and pane. She could have cast them back into the void, obliterated them wholly, and yet she chose to let them live amongst her creation. In her infinite compassion, do you truly believe that Isjin would allow the phoenixes, beings of pure beauty, to raze themselves from Bosma?

  “The phoenixes did not die fighting, and we ought not to celebrate a sacrifice they never made. Simply put, the phoenixes were taken from us.”

  Most in the room remained unconvinced, but Maethos was engaging enough to hold their attention. She paced as she walked, pointing to the murals, voice low and clear, as though she held some ancient wisdom.

  “Taken from us?” I dared to ask.

  “Taken by a time of war,” she clarified. “Taken by politics—not by necromancers.”

  I curled my fingers towards my palms, hands clammy. It was just as Claire had said. I could only hope that my heart wouldn't beat so loudly that it deafened me to what Maethos said next. The other people flinched at the mentioned of necromancy and one person left, but Katja remained by my side, listening as intently as I was.

  “Isjin shall not look kindly on us burning one of her Children,” Maethos said, slowly shaking her head.

  “I—I heard that necromancers used to be Priests of Isjin. Back in Myros. Is that true?” I asked, doing all I could to ignore the way Katja had turned to face me.

  “It is, indeed it is,” Maethos said, drawing closer. She was interested in me more than the others who remained, now that she knew I clung to some shard of forgotten knowledge. “The necromancers were held in the highest regard by Isjin, but without her guidance, they could only stray. They wandered down a path of darkness, though darkness was not in the hearts of them all, and now live in the shadows of what they once were. We can but pray for them.”

  It'd been too good to be true. For a moment, I'd believed that within the House of Light, I'd find people who dared to see me for what I truly was. But even the most devoted, even those who drew scorn and mockery alike for daring to have faith, found ways to twist necromancy. Just because Maethos and those aligned with the shrine didn't wish to see me burn didn't mean that they were willing to see me as a whole person, either; they warped necromancers in their own way, to their own ends.

  I'd come to the shrine to listen, to understand. I hadn't come to have pity forced upon me.

  For once, I took Katja's arm.

  “Rowan, what are you—” she began, eyes wide as she looked to Maethos, mortified by my lack of manners, but I was leaving, and I wasn't leaving without her. I pushed the door open, not waiting for the man who'd shown us in to scramble to his feet, and once we were awash in sunlight, Katja said, “... Goodness, Rowan. What's come over you, dear? If you were uncomfortable, you ought to have told me. I hate to think that I was responsible for subjecting you to things you didn't wish to hear.”

  “No—no, it's...” I began, running my fingers through my hair, desperately trying to get a grip on myself, on my surroundings. “Katja, I just wanted to...”

  No sooner were the words out of my mouth than Katja's hands were on my shoulders. That familiar sickness swirled in the pit of my stomach, and she met my gaze, eyes wide, pleading.

  “Rowan, dear. Is there... what is it?” she asked softly.

  I can't say whether I would've answered her or not. The words were on the tip of my tongue and I knew the tightness in my chest would never ease until I spoke them, but all I could think was that I'd promised Claire to keep myself safe.

  In the end, I didn't have to look out for myself. Kouris and Akela had taken a seat on somebody's step across the road, and were barely through their first stein of ale. The moment they saw us, they rose to their feet, and Akela said, “Hah, I am winning, Kouris. I am knowing they are not lasting fifteen whole minutes! You are owing me another drink, and I am expecting it to be much better than this.”

  Katja pulled away, but she didn't take her eyes off me. I could see her thoughts churning behind them, and I knew that I'd given away more in how I'd acted than I ever could by voicing my thoughts and fears out loud.

  “Alright, alright,” Kouris said, slapping Akela on the back with a thud, “It's almost time for the lanterns. Reckon there'll be more than enough to drink over there.”

  Kouris and Akela led the way through the gathering bustle of the streets, and as we headed back to Asos, Katja said nothing, did nothing; she didn't take my arm, didn't look at me. She only stared thoughtfully into the middle distance, two steps ahead of me all the while.

  CHAPTER XXII

  No place on Bosma was ever so busy as Asos Square, that night.

  The first lanterns rose from the castle itself, and once faint, orange lights hung above us like fleeting stars, the people of Isin sent the rest up into the night sky. Street lamps and torches around the marquees were doused for the ceremony, and Kouris and I lit a lantern together, watching it float up and become lost amongst the lights.

  Katja allowed Akela to send a lantern up for her, and we moved into the marquee. A band played at one end, far more upbeat than anything I'd heard the day before, and barrels of ale and wine ran the length of the dance floor. People flocked to the centre, some already drunk, others working their way towards that point, and Kouris, Akela and I sat on the benches strewn around the edges, while Katja accepted a red-haired woman's invitation to dance.

  Akela kept an eye on her, but didn't watch too closely, and as I fetched us drinks, I was hardly surprised to learn that Katja possessed more grace than anyone else under the marquee. I made my way b
ack across the dance floor without spilling a drop of from any of the steins, and when I returned, Akela and Kouris were chatting away like old friends. Akela roared with laughter, but I couldn't say why; the band and the dancers and those sat drinking around the sides contributed to such a cheerful clamour that we had to huddle close to properly hear one another.

  “In the castle, we are only drinking wine that is older than I am, and we are all expected to take the time to appreciate it,” Akela said, holding up her second stein of ale, already half-empty. “But here, in the city, we are drinking properly! I am glad I am escaping all the formalities.”

  “I guess babysitting isn't all that bad,” I said, still on my first drink. I downed the ale in small sips, not possessing half the tolerance Akela did.

  Katja took a break from dancing and sat by my side, not treating me any differently than she had a week ago. It was all in my head, just like always; I'd overreacted, assuming whatever I thought and felt was written all over me, for anyone to pick apart.

  “Just a few months until the wedding, now!” she said. “Goodness, I can scarcely believe it. It would've been sooner, if not for all that has happened of late... Oh, but you will come to the ceremony, won't you?”

  “I... if you really want me there,” I said, trying to smile. Katja knew nothing of what Felheim was truly doing, or the moves Kastelir would eventually make against it. I gulped down a great mouthful of ale, doing what I could to disguise how sorry I felt for her. “How did you meet the Prince? I didn't think Kastelir and Felheim had much contact.”

  “They don't, which is something I very much intend to change,” Katja said, far more eager to speak on this matter than the wedding itself. “Prince Alexander actually set things into motion. He's always been overshadowed by his siblings, and felt it was about time he did something for his Kingdom. And so he reached out to us, writing to the Kings and Queen—the letter was not deemed of great importance, and eventually came into my care. As for the rest... well, here we are.”

  I wondered if we could use that, if Katja's link to Prince Alexander would be enough to entice Felheim into giving up control of the dragons. Their union would give the Kingdoms the opportunity to understand one another, and surely Felheim could set fear of invasion aside. It was a thought I quickly shrugged off. If it would've worked, someone else would've brought it up already.

  “Heads up,” Kouris said, tilting her horns towards the crowd gathered under the marquee.

  I swivelled on the bench and stared out at the masses, not knowing what I was searching for; not seeing Claire, though she was right in front of me. I was so used to seeing her in armour, leather and bone alike, that I skimmed straight past the woman in the dress, still searching through the crowd for a handful of seconds.

  Akela was right: Claire certainly looked the part. Queen Kidira must've ordered her to dress like that for the festivities within the castle, but Claire looked as comfortable in what she was wearing as I'd ever known her to be. Her white dress reached all the way down to her ankles, fading into greys and blacks towards the bottom, and her hair was pinned up simply but neatly, neck and shoulders bare, save for the thin straps holding her dress up.

  Claire lifted her brow and I realised I was staring. I hopped off the bench, caught my foot on the edge, and almost tripped over in an effort to greet her.

  She was more amused than alarmed, and I managed a “Hi—!”, immediately regretting how little I'd had to drink. I held out my hands, not sure what I was trying to do with them, and brought them back to my sides, well aware of how much I was smiling. I bit the inside of my cheek, but it was of no use; out of the hundreds of people gathered, and amidst all the attention she'd garnered, Claire was looking at me.

  “Hi,” I said. Again. “You look—your hair, it's, uh. You look nice!”

  Maybe I'd had too much to drink.

  Claire was mercifully kind and didn't laugh at me. Her cheeks were red from the brisk walk into Asos, and when she leant over to kiss my cheek, I managed to stop rocking on the balls of my feet.

  “I wasn't certain you'd still be here,” she said, “I came straight from the castle, once my presence was no longer required.”

  Spending the day with Kouris had been perfect, and I was grateful to have someone whose company I could enjoy while we were doing nothing but nap. I wouldn't have changed it for the world, but I lit up so much with Claire in front of me that I forgot I was supposed to speak. I was caught up in looking at her look at me, no longer aware of anyone around us.

  Until one of the dancers bumped into my shoulder and span off without realising they'd collided into me.

  “Shall we?” Claire asked, gesturing towards the others.

  “Right—” I said, and didn't move. Out of nowhere, I decided it was now or never. My fingers dipped into my pocket, brushing against the scrap of cloth, and Claire stood there patiently as I sucked in a breath and said, “I got you something. For the Phoenix Festival. It's what they do here. That's what I was told, anyway.”

  The corners of Claire's mouth flickered into a hint of a smile, and my stomach sunk to my soles when I noticed the thin, silver chain she was already wearing around her neck. Of course she already had something of the sort, something that hadn't been bought from a merchant's cart. Still, now that the words were out of my mouth, I didn't have much of a choice. I held out the handful of cloth to Claire and she carefully peeled it back, taking hold of the chain between her thumb and first finger.

  She held it up, silver feather twisting, and I looked down at the floor, at my feet. Anywhere but at Claire.

  “Rowan...”

  “It was just, I saw it and I thought you'd like it. It's fine if you don't want to wear it, though. I know you probably—”

  “Rowan.” Claire tapped a finger beneath my chin, urging me to look back up. “It's beautiful. Thank you.”

  She took my hand, placed the necklace against my palm, and reached to the back of her neck, unhooking the one she was already wearing. The end of the chain dipped into her dress, and when she pulled it off, I saw the small silver key from Praxis hanging from it. Claire kept it in her hand as she turned around, crouching just enough for me to be able to put the necklace on for her.

  With her hair up, there was nothing to hold out of the way, but loose strands brushed against my knuckles and my fingers weren't as steady as they could've been. My heart clenched like a fist with the fear that she wouldn't like the gift, and it was only then that I began to understand that it wasn't just a gift; I was trying to show her that I cared, and more than I could rightly say.

  The chain was shorter than the one she'd been wearing, and when she turned around, the feather rested just beneath her collarbone. My heart released, pounding freely once more, and Claire hummed thoughtfully, before putting the chain in her hand around my neck, key hanging from it.

  “I'm afraid I wasn't aware of this particular Kastelirian tradition until the ball, and had no time to get anything on the way here,” she explained. “Look after this for me—I don't have any pockets.”

  I laughed softly, because no amount of smiling was enough, pressing my fingers to the metal as I tried to meet her gaze without my face burning.

  “We should...” I said, spinning on my heels, meaning to head over to the others, but Claire caught hold of my wrist, turning me back around.

  “What?” I asked, when she didn't say anything.

  Claire didn't move from the spot, but a playful smile crossed her face, and it was the most ominous thing I'd ever seen. With her fingers tight around my wrist, she pulled me a step closer, and all at once, it dawned on me where we were, and what everyone around us was doing.

  “You want to...” I got half a sentence out, and Claire nodded. “Um. I don't think I can.”

  Claire swept her arm out around the marquee, making her point without words. Knowing how to dance didn't seem to be a requirement. Everyone was moving out of time with one another, some people entirely unaware of what the b
and was playing, and though shoulders were being bumped and feet were being stepped on, there wasn't a single person who wasn't enjoying themselves.

  “I have spent the entire day watching nobles dance. Despite my current attire, I didn't once leave my station. Unlike Akela, I do not possess the courage necessary to ask Queen Kidira for a dance,” Claire explained. “Please?”

  She held out a hand and I instinctively took it. There was her answer.

  “Did you used to dance a lot?” I asked, focusing so hard on where to put my hands that I forgot how to move them. Claire took hold of my wrists, placed my hands on her shoulders, then put her own hands on my hips.

  “Indeed. There is always something to celebrate within the capital, if only to have an excuse to bring people together,” she said, and then did the thing that'd been terrifying me. She stepped to the side, moving me along with her. “Balls and feasts are the battlegrounds of the high-born. Dance poorly and you lose the favour of three noble houses with a single step.”

  I made no reply, too busy thinking that I mustn't step on her foot, I mustn't step on her foot, on the verge of cringing every time I took a step and didn't know if there'd only be soil beneath my soles. The music was hardly fitting, I thought: it was too fast, too upbeat, for the way we held each other close.

  “And...” I started, daring to speak, since my feet had yet to betray me. “What's in those bags you locked away?”

  “Things I couldn't bring myself to leave behind in Felheim,” Claire said, having enough faith in me to begin moving more quickly. “Belongings of sentimental value, for the most part. I thought them safer in Praxis than dragged all the way across Kastelir.”

  The song changed, but we remained as we were. I knitted my fingers together against the nape of Claire's neck, content to lose myself amongst a sea of dancers and a cacophony of noises, people laughing, glasses clinking together, instruments coming to life. And though it wasn't the sort of celebration Claire had grown up attending, I knew the lack of tiled floors and ornate chandeliers didn't mean a thing to her.

 

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