Trysten flinched.
“And yet you insist on meeting with Paege in secret among the foothills.”
Trysten’s stomach twisted.
Mardoc gave a nod. “I know these dragons. You cannot meet in secret with Elevera without me knowing it as well. Consider that whatever the dragons know, I know as well.”
“By the wilds, then, how can you not know that Paege isn’t ready for this! I can…” She clamped her mouth.
Her father lifted an eyebrow. “You can what?”
“See it from a mile off. He’s not comfortable with her, and she knows it. He doesn’t fit. It’s not who he is.”
“That is for me to judge. Now, tell your mother thank you for—”
“You!” Trysten called and pointed a finger up at Elevera. The dragon looked at her, lowered her head slightly as if leaning in to give Trysten her undivided attention. “I am giving you an order. I am telling you to accept Paege. For the good of the horde. You have to accept him and keep the horde here.”
“That is enough!” Mardoc commanded.
“You owe it to Aeronwind. To my father. You owe it to the village. We cannot exist without you—” Trysten’s voice cracked and she clenched her eyes shut.
“Trysten!” Her father snapped.
She swallowed hard. “You have to listen to me,” Trysten said. When her father reached for her, she stepped out of his range. He teetered a step, then caught himself on the stall wall. She thundered around Aeronwind’s unconscious form and wagged her finger up at the large, gold dragon that towered over them. “You know you have to. You know it. I am telling you that you have to accept Paege! Do you understand?”
“Trysten!” her father yelled.
“Elevera?” Trysten asked, and the dragon blinked her large, brown eyes and the world filled with such a cataract of emotion that it threatened to sweep Trysten away, to throw her against all kinds of rocks and stones she had no idea existed up until that moment. A thousand different sensations and feelings whirled about her and left her heart feeling as if it were made of onion skin paper. Each beat threatened to crumple it up, to leave it knotted and wrinkled and bouncing down to the bottom of her chest. She swayed, then reached for the wall herself.
The world fell sideways as the dragons ruffled. They growled and murmured and straw crinkled. Wings snapped and shifted and sounded like wind looking for a place to rest in the swaying, sighing grass.
The avalanche of feelings knocked her feet from under her, rattled her bones, and left her lying still, clinging to her breath upon the floor of the stall, unconscious.
Chapter 19
Caron stepped into Trysten’s room. “How are you feeling, Little Heart?”
Trysten heaved a sigh into her lap. She peered out the window, to the gray sky and the cold rain that slicked the glass. “Fine.”
“Then you can receive a visitor?”
“Who is it?”
Her mother drew her head back. A second later, Paege stepped into the room, looking a bit sheepish and scraggly beneath his mop of hair and his patchy beard. He averted his gaze to the floor before the foot of Trysten’s bed.
She drew the cover over herself.
“How are you feeling?” Paege asked. He looked up at her, made eye contact as if he had been waiting for her to cover her nightgown all along.
“I’m fine. I don’t need to be here. I’m not sick or anything.”
Paege nodded. He moved to the window, then placed his fingertips to the glass before peering outside. Trysten watched as he stared as if he was looking for something, as if standing in her room while she was in bed in her nightgown was the most natural thing for him to be doing. And how dare her mother just leave him in here, alone with her.
Finally, his eyes fell away from the glass and landed upon the sill. “Your father has named me the Dragoneer.”
The statement didn’t quite register. It whirled around in Trysten’s head, looking for a place to fit. She gasped. “Aeronwind?”
“No,” Paege said and glanced up at her. “No, Aeronwind is fine. Well, no, she’s not fine. I mean, she’s alive.”
“Then how…”
Paege turned his attention out the window again. He squinted into the gray light, and his face looked pale, wan, as if he was ill along with Aeronwind. “It’s a formality thing. Your father said that I’m the one most qualified for the title, and since he cannot ride any more, that he should name me as the acting Dragoneer, in case Yahi’s prognostication comes true and the Western Kingdom breaks through the pass early.”
Trysten’s fists clutched the covers. Sweat tickled her palms and her heart fluttered in her throat as she struggled to breathe normally.
“So that’s it,” Paege said as he turned to her and spread his arms out at his sides. “I am the new Dragoneer. The Dragoneer of the Aerona weyr. There was even a ceremony. I wanted to invite you, but your father forbid it. He said you were ill.”
Breath leaked from Trysten. It bled from her. She might have to scramble, to clutch and claw to get it back.
“Elevera?” she said, and then closed her eyes as the room filled and swirled with the ghosts of hundreds of conflicting emotions.
“Are you all right?” Paege asked. “Shall I get your mother?”
“Elevera?” Trysten repeated.
Paege stood in silence for several heart beats. “She’s the same as always.”
A breath came to Trysten, thin and reedy. “She obeys you, then?”
Paege’s shoulders shifted back some. His chest came out in an act of bravado that betrayed the coming statement. “Your father assures me that the connection will come. Our relationship will deepen. But I am the Dragoneer. She will respect that.”
Trysten turned to the window. The light was too bright. If Paege weren’t in the room, she’d sink down under the quilts and covers and wrap herself up, tuck herself away from the world. Instead, she took in another breath. She closed her eyes and focused on drawing in a lungful, or at least enough to give her congratulations to him.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Paege asked.
“Congratulations,” Trysten said. “I’m quite proud of you.”
To Trysten’s surprise, Paege plopped down on the foot of the bed. He planted his elbows on his knees and stared out the window a few seconds before turning his attention back to her. “I want to thank you. For what you did. For what you tried to do.”
“And what was that?”
He looked back out the window. “You know. The training. The attention. I heard you commanded Elevera to obey me.”
Heat flushed over Trysten’s face. She stared down into her lap. “I didn’t mean…”
“It’s all right. One of the weyrmen heard you. He told me… He told me everything you said.”
Trysten shook her head. Heat baked off of her face. “Paege…”
“No, that’s all right. You don’t have to apologize for telling the truth. It’s true. All of it.” He looked back at her. “But what am I to do? What can I do? The horde is in danger. The village is in danger. Your father thinks that I’m the one. He thinks I’m the one who can save everyone else. I hope he is right.” He looked back to the window.
“He is the Dragoneer,” Trysten said, unsure of what to say, and so falling back on the old admiration that she had held when she was a girl.
“No. I am the Dragoneer, now. I’m supposed to go visit the armor guild and be fitted for new armor. It doesn’t seem real, does it? And the worst part is, that the one person, the one person who would be enjoying this, who would be bursting with pride, is my father, and he’s not here to see it.”
“I’m sure he’s here in spirit. I’m positive he’s proud of you.”
Trysten wrestled another cold, damp breath from the air around her. “My father knows what he’s doing. He wouldn’t have named you Dragoneer if he didn’t think you could do it. It is his job to preserve the horde. He doesn’t take his job lightly. He knows what he’s doing.”
>
Paege looked back at her. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” She pulled the cover up a little closer to her chin.
Paege sat up straight. A hint of a grin teased at the corners of his lips. “Because that would be a first for you is why.”
Trysten stared at Paege for a moment, long enough for the hint of his grin to fade away. He leaned forward, onto his elbows, and wove his fingers together. The bed creaked with his movement. For a split second, Trysten stifled the urge to kick him, to just draw her leg back and plant her heel in his ribs. Instead, she drew her legs up under her as she sat upright. She took a deep breath. This wasn’t his fault. He didn’t ask for any of this.
But he wasn’t refusing it, either.
“Well,” Paege said, then stood. “I was on my way to the armor guild. I just wanted to stop by and give you the news and check on you. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Paege’s face widened, startled. “What? No, that’s not necessary. They’re supposed to just be taking measurements. And it’s cold and wet—”
“I’m tired of being cooped up in here. I’m going with you. If you’ll step outside and wait, I’ll get dressed and be with you in a few seconds.”
Paege glanced back at the doorway as if Trysten was speaking to someone else.
“Really,” he said as he returned his attention to her. “It’s not necessary.”
“Out,” Trysten said and pointed to the door. “Wait for me.”
“What? Wait. You can’t give me orders. I’m the Dragoneer now.”
The look on Trysten’s face stopped his joking. He blushed, then turned away. “Right.” He pointed at the door. “I’ll just be out there. With your mother.”
He exited the room, and as the door shut behind him, Trysten fell back against the head of the bed and peered up at the ceiling. A hollowness opened up inside her, as if the ground she had walked on all her life was suddenly but a shell with nothing underneath. A hint of her fainting spell came upon her. She recalled briefly bits and flashes of what she felt, of the dragons, of their states and their thoughts and the power of their emotions pulsing through the weyr like thirty flocks of birds flying in every direction all at once, zipping around and through each other.
By the wilds, what had she done?
Chapter 20
Jalite opened the door to the armor guild and grinned when she saw Paege.
“Oh, get in here. Out of the rain!” She rolled her hand and motioned them in.
“Congratulations!” the woman continued as soon as they stepped inside. She caught Paege up in a great hug, and he appeared both lost and embarrassed. His eyes bulged slightly as he glanced back at Trysten.
“We’re all so proud of you!” Jalite said. She released Paege, then looked back at her children, Assina and Talon, both nearly the same age as Trysten and Paege.
“Congratulations,” Assina said.
Talon gave a slight grin and a nod.
Jalite ushered them through the cottage to a large room that had been added onto the back. She offered them each a cup of tea, and before they answered, she sent her daughter away and told Paege to remove his cloak and tunic.
“We need to measure you for your armor. Take off your outerwear. You can’t go into battle with armor that is too tight or too loose,” Jalite said with a shake of her finger as if ill-fitting armor were nothing more than a careless habit.
Paege blushed and glanced from Jalite to Trysten.
“Come now,” Jalite said. “No time to be modest. We must get your armor started. We’ve heard about the early fighting season. My! It’s as if the clouds themselves can’t wait to throw you at the Western Kingdom. Oh, how they will rue the day you took to the skies, won’t they?”
Paege gave a slight, limpid nod, then undid the clasp at his cloak. Talon, Jalite’s son, took the cloak, shook it once, then hung it from a row of pegs along the wall. Among the pegs were various pieces of the Dragoneer’s traditional uniform. Trysten stepped over and admired the work. There were cabled sweaters knit at a small gauge with a fine yarn. She plucked the corner of a shoulder and pulled it out to look at the back of the sweater. A cable formed of dragon tails twisted up the spine, then split off just before the shoulder blades. Over each shoulder blade, the cables formed sleek dragons with sprays of cable work for wings.
Trysten inhaled deeply and resisted the urge to bury her nose in the wool and search for the scent of her father. It struck her how she hadn’t seen him since she fainted in the weyr, and it seemed like he was gone now, as if he had died or gone away and left Paege in his place. A pang of loss rang through her like the peal of an old, sorrowful bell.
She peered over her shoulder. Paege stood in the middle of the room, stripped down to nothing more than a blush and his pants. Assina and Talon worked together measuring his arms, shoulders, chest and waist, Assina chattering the whole time.
“Arm’s up,” Assina said, then tapped Paege’s elbow. He lifted his arms, then after a peek at Trysten, turned away so that she couldn’t see his face.
Trysten lifted her hand to her mouth and realized she was grinning. She tried to imagine her father in such a situation, young and half-dressed and being fitted for his armor. She couldn’t imagine it. His armor seemed like something he had been born with, as if it had always been and always would be on him.
Trysten examined more of the room. She came across a leather helmet fitted atop a wooden ball. One of the colorful braids of the hordesmen hung down from the rear quarter of the helmet. The other braid was half-finished. A piece of twine tied off the end and kept it from unraveling before someone could pick it back up again. An urge passed through Trysten to continue it, to feel the wool slip through her hands like rough, coarse hair. She reached out and cupped the unfinished braid in her hand. What would she do with herself now?
She glanced back at Paege. It had never occurred to her that she would not be the Dragoneer one day. It was something that had always waited for her in the future, certain as the mountains on the horizon. And now here she was and the mountains were no longer in front of her.
“We’ll have to get one of Elevera’s scales in order to match that up,” Assina said. “The Dragoneer always has braids that match the scales of his mount. If you bring us in one of Elevera’s scales, discarded, of course, we can match up in color and dye the yarn for it. I can’t wait to see it! Elevera is such a beautiful dragon.”
Assina turned her attention to Trysten. “I imagine the tassels on the helmet and the shoulders will look a lot like your braids. Elevera is about that color. If you were the Dragoneer, we wouldn’t even have to put braids on the armor, would we?” She glanced at Talon, who paid no attention to her.
The statement cored Trysten. She reached up and touched her braids. Her hair certainly felt much softer, much smoother than the wool yarn used for the helmet and shoulders. She turned her attention back to the helmet, in part to hide her face from the siblings as well as Paege. She moved on. A hank of dark blue yarn hung from a peg on the wall. It was damp. She pretended to study it, her anxiety growing. What would she do now from day to day?
She drew in a deep breath, then let out a sigh. She would be like Galelin. She would pick up his calling, his studies, and learn all that she could about dragons and hordes. She would learn history and art and philosophy and anything and everything she could so that she might look back at these last few days across the onion skin stack of years and try to see where she had gone wrong, how she had managed to give everything away. Just give it away.
A flash of Elevera’s eyes intruded upon her, hit her hard like a chill, like cold feet crossing over her grave. She reached for the wall to keep from falling over, gathering a fistful of the damp yarn in the process.
“Careful!” Talon called. “It’s still wet.”
Trysten took a deep breath. She willed herself to stand upright, solid upon her feet as she release
d her hand and looked at her palm. A tint of blue dye colored her palm and fingers. “I see that.”
“Trysten?” Paege asked.
“I’m all right,” she said.
“Oh, fish and birds!” Assina gasped. “Get her something to wash that off with, Talon.”
Talon hurried from the room with a parting glance at Trysten.
“Here, have a seat,” Assina said as she rushed over to a table and snatched up a stool.
“No,” Trysten said and held out her blue palm. “I’m fine.”
“She’s been a little under the weather lately,” Paege said. He crossed his arms over his chest. Goose flesh prickled his arms.
“I can imagine,” Assina said. “You poor thing. With your father and Aeronwind and all. I bet it’s been hard.”
Trysten gritted her teeth. It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t anything like that. What was hard was giving everything up for the good of the horde, for the village, for the people in it, including Assina and her brother. She was not some quiver-legged lamb just dropped in the field. She was ready to be the Dragoneer. She was ready to ride Elevera into the face of the Western Kingdom. She was ready to be iron. To be flight. She was ready to be the dragon streaking across the sky, diving into the withering tail of the winter blizzards. She was not a frail blossom ready to wilt under the heat of misfortune.
Talon came back with a bucket that smelled of fermented fruit. He placed it on the table and gestured at it as if presenting something special. “Wash your hands in here. Scrub hard. Most of it will come off.”
Trysten peered into the bucket. The water sloshed back and forth. A shapeless form warped and slipped across the surface. The reflection of herself in the turbulent water struck closer to home than she ever would have imagined.
Chapter 21
On the way back to her cottage, Trysten watched the shadow of herself pass over the puddles in the lane. She imagined the reflection shimmering, rippling, distorted into nothing with each step of her boot as it sunk into the mud and squashed whoever it was that she was now; that faceless, dark figure.
The Dragoneer: Book 1: The Bonding Page 13