Dragonoak: The Complete History of Kastelir

by Sam Farren

  It was enough for her to catch her breath, leaning back to look up at me with tear-streaked cheeks. I brushed my thumbs across her face, jaw trembling beneath my fingertips.

  “Leave? We cannot leave, Rowan. Not now,” she said, falling back against me, energy spent in a handful of words.

  If I tensed, Claire thought nothing of it.

  “Why... ?”

  “Felheim will not stop now. There will be more dragons, and Kastelir is not prepared,” she said, strength returning to her voice when she spoke of dragons. “Akela is... passable, but unrefined. It is up to me to teach them how to deal with dragons.”

  It didn't matter. Whether King Jonas returned to the castle within a minute or a week, it didn't matter. The last sliver of hope I'd been clinging to in a desperate attempt to keep myself calm was gone; but with Claire in my arms, it almost didn't matter. This wasn't about me. No matter the consequences, I could face them, so long as I'd ensured Claire was alright.

  I could leave on my own. It didn't have to be the end of the world. I could head to Kyrindval and send word from there, doing all I could to help from afar.

  “Is it always like this?” I asked, moving beyond fear.

  “Always,” Claire said, tears no longer flowing so freely. “In Thule, a Knight's return is celebrated days later for this very reason. It is said that there are only thirteen Knights, but that is not true. Knights come and go. There are hundreds, thousands, eager to be trained; dozens ready to take our place, when we fall. We are expendable; healers are not.

  “We are sent out to face dragons. If we survive, we are brought back to the capital, and...”

  She drew in a heavy breath, shoulders rising. I remained silent, giving her the time she needed to find the words, and ran my fingers through her hair, uneven along the edges, singed ends cut away.

  “They cut me out of my armour,” she eventually said, looking away from me. “There were healers, and so it did not hurt, naturally, yet...”

  “It doesn't matter if it didn't hurt,” I said, not daring to blink, “You still had to go through that all. You still saw it, felt it. I'm so sorry, Claire.”

  Grimacing, she bit on her lower lip. While her gaze was fixed on the wall, I quickly wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, desperate to be strong so that she didn't have to. What she said next came out so quietly that I knew the words were not meant for me, not entirely; they slipped out of her like a confession, all the dark things she had ever thought about herself hidden amongst something far grimmer.

  “Every time I seek out a dragon, I do so as though I am to die. I do not want to face them, Rowan, but I must. I must. I consider fleeing, saving myself, but then, once I am at its jaws – once I am burning – I want nothing more than for it to be over,” she said, huffing a dry, bitter laugh. “Bitterwillow only diminishes reaction times. I feel how I am changed so deeply that I cannot believe I can ever be rid of it. And yet I am, every time—until I look in a mirror, and my eyes do not quite focus.”

  Claire had taken me away from a world that sought to turn me against myself, once they'd got all the use out of me they could, and I wanted nothing more than to take her away from this. The dragons, the politics. All of it. I wanted to take her as far away as I could, down to Canth, where she could fish in the ocean and no one would ever ask her to offer her life in exchange for theirs.

  But I knew she'd never leave. Not even if I asked her to.

  “I understand,” was all I said, in the end.

  “Do you?” she asked, not unkindly, but without missing a beat.

  I hadn't meant to make any of this about myself, but while she'd sounded sceptical, there was a dull sense of hope grating against her words.

  “I'm a necromancer. I should be able to wash away any wound, and yet... I have scars, Claire. Scars that don't look like scars should look, or feel as they should feel. Because of mistakes I made, they'll never go away. And every time I need to use my powers, every time I'm almost hurt, I'm terrified that I'll do something wrong again. That there'll only be—these.”

  Without giving her the chance to reply, or myself the chance to falter, I took hold of her wrist and pulled her hand towards my stomach, under my shirt. Claire's fingertips were warm, but I sucked in a breath, muscles pulling taut beneath her palm.

  Claire kept her eyes on mine as her fingers grazed the web of scars laid out across my stomach, brow furrowing, lips parting. I stared back, trying not to shake, but she didn't see me. She was trying to picture the hard, raised ridges that rose and fell beneath her fingertips, and I found myself nodding shallowly before she'd asked anything of me.

  Tentatively, she took hold of the hem of my shirt, hitching it up enough to see my stomach. I didn't breathe, didn't tremble. For years I'd hidden myself away, and now Claire's eyes were flickering across every inch of me. It would've been too much, had she not pulled me into her lap, bowing her head to kiss my scars.

  The fear was gone, anger and resentment along with it. Claire saw the mess I'd made of my body, and she drew me closer.

  Her hands ghosted across my sides, nose nudging the hem of my shirt up, and I held up my arms, fabric soon forgotten. Claire kissed across my ribs, tracing the shape of scars, and all the heat in the world pooled in the pit of my stomach.

  “Rowan,” she said, bringing herself to look up, “You're beautiful.”

  My knees sunk against the seat of the armchair, between its arms and Claire's hips, and I cupped her face with both hands, leaning down to kiss her. Her parted lips met mine, hands resting on my hips, and I kissed her as though I never intended to stop; as though there was no other way for her to know what she meant to me.

  She returned the kiss in kind, lifting her hips to meet mine, hands smoothing across my back. Her nails ran lightly between my shoulder blades, drifting down to the scars spread across my spine. I rolled my hips as she kissed my neck, the line of my jaw and the shell of my ear, and when I grasped at her shirt, she only stopped me to stand, lifting me clean into the air.

  I wrapped my legs around her waist and she kissed me still, taking a few steps we could've made easier and falling gratefully against the bed. The curtains dimmed our surroundings, but not so much that I couldn't see her face when she knelt over me, her body when she let me tug her shirt off.

  Her hair fell about my face and she kissed me slowly, pressing herself closer with every breath. She tried to move but I caught her by the shoulders, nails digging in, and she murmured, “Rowan... ?” as my head sunk back into the pillow. I gave the slightest nod, body tensing and relaxing until I couldn't keep still, and she kissed her way across my chest, back down across scars she was already familiar with, until she reached my hipbones.

  I wasn't leaving, come the morning. Dragons weren't outside the castle, weren't crossing over from Felheim, clinging to the wall and clawing their way over. The room beyond the bed didn't exist, much less the castle enveloping it. There was nothing but Claire, nothing but her warmth; her fingers, her mouth; her name leaving my lips in a whisper, a murmur, a gasp.

  *

  It was dark when I opened my eyes. I hadn't drifted off for more than a few minutes, hadn't succumbed to sleep completely, and Claire pressed herself against my back, knees tucked against mine. With her arms around my waist and her nose pressed to my nape, I nestled against her, telling myself that I wouldn't sleep. I'd stay up until dawn broke and head out with the first hint of light. If I slept, I wouldn't be able to take in the feel of her skin against my own, her breath skidding across my neck, body aching pleasantly.

  I only closed my eyes for a moment, but they grew heavy, resistant to the idea of opening. The next thing I knew, I was blinking them open, faint yellow light spilling in through the gaps in the curtains. Claire had turned in the night, and I pushed myself up with my palms, fingers gently brushing between her shoulder blades. The last few hours had been stolen from me, and as the light cut across my fingers, highlighting her freckles, I knew I couldn't leave. Not withou
t saying anything.

  What I could do, however, was go to Katja. Morning found me clear-headed, and I knew King Jonas hadn't returned to the castle. Being an outsider was enough to cast suspicion on me when he'd died, and I'd no doubt they'd break down the door and pull me from under the bedsheets, not going so far as to bother with an interrogation, this time. But if Katja was still with her uncle, surely she'd be able to tell me what I ought to do. She might even be able to convince him to overlook what I'd done, in exchange for his life.

  Nobody would take kindly to tales of a grave-robbing necromancer, but Kyrindval was still a last resort, and I had to try. Kissing Claire on the shoulder, I quietly slipped out of the bed and tracked down my clothes with no small amount of difficulty. Plans almost ruined by a stray shirt, I stepped into my clothes as quietly as I could, but kept pausing, hoping to hear Claire stir. Hoping that she wouldn't let me leave until she got the truth out of me.

  “I'll be back soon,” I whispered, legs not as steady as they could be. I closed the door silently behind me and waited on the other side, ear pressed against it, but no sound made its way through.

  I slipped out with the servants attending errands, and though the castle wasn't anywhere close to running normally, the wheels were still turning. It was another gorgeous day outside, clear skies signalling the arrival of a summer that was bound to be hotter than any in years, but the city itself was a mess. Remnants of the Phoenix Festival lingered. Makeshift stages and stalls hadn't been cleared away, thanks to the commotion, and banners and flags hung from windows, ripped when they were lucky enough not to have been trampled in the street.

  The Kastelirians had expected to deal with a hangover, not a dragon. People wandered the streets, hands on the back of their heads, unable to settle down in their homes, and barely felt much safer within the walls of the city. More damage had been dealt to people's spirits than the buildings around, though I had to wind around a few upturned carts and what remained of broken windows. Some were still intent on getting out of Isin, thinking themselves safe if they moved, while others had turned fear to giddy adrenaline, and were running through the streets, gathering up what they could from battered shop fronts.

  Guards and soldiers patrolled the city, shepherding citizens away from the areas that had taken the brunt of the damage, Asos Square in particular. For all the trouble there was to be found, no one looked my way twice.

  How apathetic they made the Felheimish look, when it came to dragons.

  The former Autíra hadn't gone unscathed, but any shattered glass was being swept up as the residents tried to go about their day as usual. It wasn't until I was stood at the end of the street, Katja's apartment in sight, that it struck me that I was going to have to leave. No matter how good her intentions were, Katja couldn't be expected to protect me over a King; especially not when that King was family.

  I'd have to go to Kyrindval. Kyrindval was hardly a bad place to have to go, but Claire wouldn't be there, and neither would Kouris.

  But it wouldn't be forever, I told myself, tearing my feet from the spot and heading down the street. It would take weeks, months. A year, perhaps; no longer, not now that King Jonas was back. I could do that. Kravt or one of the other pane could help me send letters, and I'd accept responsibility for how rashly I'd acted.

  The sun rose above Isin's wall. I lifted a hand to block out the glare, but something beat me to it.

  My vision flashed in the sudden absence of light, colours blotting out the darkness, and a thud like a mountain falling sent the wall shaking to its foundations. Throughout Isin, the buildings and trees and streets themselves trembled, but the people remained still, failing to comprehend what they were seeing, needing to find some way to react.

  The bright-dark haze cleared and purple scales gleamed, but I couldn't believe what was in front of me. A dragon swallowed the sun whole, claws sinking into stone, causing the wall to crumble. With a roar that made my head ring, the fhord leant forward, fire flooding the edges of Isin. A wave of heat struck me, and all at once, everyone was screaming, “Dragon! Dragon!”

  The spell was broken; I couldn't wish it away.

  Turning on my heels, I ran as the Isiners did, as if there was any escaping it. The people charged every which way, streets becoming rivers raging into one another, and I had to fight the urge to wrap my arms around my head and duck every time debris made craters of the street. The guards atop the shattered wall served as the first invitation death was extended, that morning.

  I charged towards the castle, but shadows beat me there.

  Dark shapes swarmed the street, and I looked up to find the sky full of orange and red. Six kraau flew in from the east, barrelling towards Isin's highest point. They crashed into the castle, claws hooked against window ledges, winged arms wrapped around high towers, using their tails to beat in the buildings before resorting to fire.

  I ground to a halt as everyone swarmed around me. Thick plumes of black smoke rose from the wreckage the fhord left behind, and I saw everything we'd come so far to protect in ashes. I wanted to fall to my knees, giving up there and then.

  Half a dozen more dragons swooped across the city, leaving torrents of fire in their wake, each finding their own district to settle down in. The sound of towers shattering, buildings being uprooted and thrown across the city, was the only thing louder than the screams rising above the smoke. There was such a cacophony of fear rattling through the trembling bones of Isin that the clear blue sky drew in all of the clamour.

  For a moment, I could think clearly. Claire and Kouris would be able to get out of the castle, and if I kept charging towards it, I'd be greeted by walls of rubble and smoke, guards trying to evacuate people; I'd be one more person in the way, when there were those around me that needed help.

  I ran towards the streets that were already in ruin, and knelt down by those who had been forced to stop.

  “It's fine—I'm a healer,” I told them, no longer content to hold my powers back. I fixed legs crushed by falling rafters, burns sustained in burning buildings, and ran off to the next person in need before anyone could respond to what I was doing.

  The flames rose and the dragons roared, and I kept moving towards the fire. As far as I could see, it was the end of the world; there was no escaping it, only giving others a chance to make it out of Isin. Some chose to stay back and help. Not many, but enough to help me pull people from under crumbled walls and misplaced chunks of roof. Through everything unfurling around me, I felt numbed to it all, even as the wounds wore away and ran up the lengths of my arms, into my chest.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” people said, tears streaming down their faces as they made ready to run. “I owe you my life.”

  I wondered how many of them had crowded round to watch the necromancer burn, two short days ago.

  There was no shortage of dead and dying. I felt myself tugged in every direction, and ran where the pull was strongest and the smoke thickest. Smoke faded to nothing the moment it flooded into my lungs, but I choked on it regardless, covering my mouth and holding my breath for as long as I could.

  A dragon's tail swung overhead, and I pressed my back to a building, as though they were tracking down targets, rather than destroying all that laid in their path, living or otherwise. An orange wing spread out and the creature took off, leaving behind the sound of wood cracking with heat, buildings falling in on themselves. Those who could had already made it out of that part of the city, but bodies lined the street, slumped against walls.

  I grabbed a corpse under the arms, dragged it away from the smoke, and knocked the death out of it. The corpse became a woman once more. She stood, and not wanting to believe that she'd been dead, continued running, as though she'd tripped and hit her head and I'd simply brought her back to her senses.

  I wanted to make the bodies rise and march themselves to safety, until I could bring them back, but I knew that if anyone saw me, that would be the end of it all. People hated necromancers at t
he best of times, and there wasn't a thing that could stop them going for my throat and throwing me into the fires now.

  I pulled two more bodies down the street, wiped away the burns and brought them back, and ran after the last one I could see, through the smoke. The old woman didn't have a single burn or broken bone, but the smoke had got into her lungs and still coiled within. I wrapped my arms around hers, trying to pull her away from the collapsing building behind, but it was coming down too quickly, and my arms were already aching.

  I had to chance bringing her back there. Hands on her shoulders, I forced the smoke out of her, and her eyes opened as she let out a splutter, choking on nothing. “I... I'm alive?” she asked as I urged her onto her feet, pointing towards the end of the street with less smoke spiralling around it.

  She stared at me, eyes wide, slowly piecing together what had happened, and only the deafening thud of part of the castle falling from the open sky spurred her into action. She started running without taking her eyes off me, without thanking me, gone within moments. I remained where I was, crouched amidst the smoke, uncertain whether I was doing these people a kindness. I was giving them another chance, but who was to say that chance wouldn't end in fire?

  I needed a moment. The heat was stifling, making my head spin, and with my hair and clothes stuck to my skin, I didn't notice the man standing over me until he called out, “Hey—! I saw what you just did.”

  My gaze shot up and my hand inched across the ground, fingers wrapping around the edges of a dislodged brick.

  I recognised him. He was the soldier who'd implored King Atthis to let him take their forces outside of the city, only now, his armour was torn to shreds and his face was burnt, fingers bloody.

  “You're a necromancer...” he said, dirt and soot mixing with sweat and staining his face.

  The brick scraped across the ground as I pulled it closer, eyes fixed fast on his, but the sound was lost to the turmoil overtaking the city.

  I waited for what would come next, what he meant to do, but his eyes welled up, and all he said was, “You have to help me. Please. My husband, he's—he's...”