“Are you all right?” Alastair asked.
I examined the tear. One side of my left pocket flapped free, not more than a few stitches’ worth but now noticeably uneven as the pocket’s contents tugged it down. Wonderful. “Aye.”
He chuckled. “You should call her Vheeke.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, reaching for whatever I’d stuffed inside. My fingers closed on something cold, hard, and angular.
“It’s Eth for ‘trouble.’”
“That’s odd.”
“I think it suits,” he said.
“No, not that,” I said, pulling the cold shape from the torn pocket. It was the silver box from Barton’s study. “This.”
“Something of yours?”
“Yes. Well, no. Ours, I suppose.” Briefly I told him about Pan’s strange behavior and the note that had come with the wedding gift. “Only I could’ve sworn I left it in our room when I changed.”
He shook the box. Whatever was inside made no noise. “It didn’t say who it was from?”
“I must’ve looked through the wrappings a dozen times. There was no name and no maker’s mark. The maids I spoke with don’t remember if it arrived with anything else.”
“It’s light for solid silver.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
He tried to pry off the lid. After several attempts he gave up and tossed the box back to me, sidestepping the newly christened Vheeke’s attempt to follow it with her teeth. She shook her mane at both of us and wandered to the back of her stall.
“Maybe there’s an apple inside,” Alastair said. “I’ll have my smith look at it. He might be able to get it open.”
“Yes, do,” I said, and tucked it into my right pocket, “but never mind that now. You didn’t answer my question.”
“Which one?”
“Will you take Selwyn’s contract?”
“Do you think we should?”
“No one else sent their messenger racing halfway across the kingdom to deliver it. Whatever’s happening at Lake Meera scared Master Trennan. It’s still scaring him.”
He looked at me seriously. “Is it scaring you?”
I folded my arms and moved to the door. Clouds were gathering along the northern horizon, bringing on an early dusk. The vultures had moved on. “Selwyn’s letter said a girl is missing.”
“Khera, that doesn’t mean for certain she’s dead.”
I closed my eyes. All the battles, all the bloodshed I’d seen in the past year had stained my memories red beyond cleansing, and still it was my little sister’s face at the bottom of all my nightmares. The gryphons had left her body in the open for us to find, a gruesome taunt to continue the battle that had been raging between human and Tekari for centuries. Now it was happening again to another family in another part of Arle. Would it ever end?
“Yes, she is,” I said quietly. “I know too much about this world to think otherwise, but that doesn’t mean you can’t avenge her.”
Alastair drew me close and kissed my forehead. “Then we’ll take it.”
I wrapped my arms around him. For a while we stood there together silently, listening to the shuffling of the horses and feeling the weight of the decision we’d made: heavy at first, then oppressive, then suffocating. I had just sent my husband away for gods knew how long, to face dangers neither of us fully understood, in a cold and barren corner of Arle hundreds of miles from Pendragon. What ifs crowded into my mind thick and fast. What if this monster was too much for him? What if there was more than one? What if Akarra got lost? What if . . . ?
I looked up at him. “Shouldn’t you talk to Akarra first?”
“Of course, but she won’t disagree. And that reminds me.” He turned for the door. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you before it gets dark.”
We stopped by our chambers before he would tell me where we were going, advising me only to wear something warm. “I’d rather not climb a mountain before bed if that’s all right with you,” I said, snatching up the old winter cloak I’d brought from Hart’s Run.
“We’re not going up, not yet. We’re going down.” He led me down the hallway to the kitchens and entered Barton’s study. I shied back at first when I realized where we were going. It was empty; Madam Gretna had cleared away the last of the gifts, and with the floor bare of parcels I noticed a trapdoor in the corner, bound in iron and fastened with a padlock. Alastair unlocked it with a key hanging from a chain on his belt. The trapdoor swung up on oiled hinges, revealing a staircase leading into darkness. “We’ll need a lantern,” he said.
I took the lamp from Barton’s desk and handed it to him. “What’s down here?”
“Wine cellars.”
“Any particular reason the entrance is in Barton’s study?”
“He’s very protective. Have you spoken with him, by the way? He’s been eager to review the household accounts with you.”
It was suddenly vital that I inspect the quality of my boots. Like my cloak they were tokens from home, worn but well made and, while quite capable of protecting my feet, they remained unable to deflect my shame. “Yes, we’ve spoken,” I lied.
“Good. Mind your head.”
I followed him down the stairs, trailing my fingers along the walls as we descended. Moisture beaded on the stone where I touched it, cool at first, then cold. By the time we reached the bottom of the steps I was glad of the cloak. The smell of fermented drink hung in the air along with the white clouds of our breath. Alastair held up the lamp, its light flickering over rows and rows of wine casks, kegs of beer, ale, and honey-sweet mead.
“Through here.”
“Alastair, wait.” I paused at the newest cask of ale, its wood untouched by the patina of years. Emblazoned on its lid was the Garhadi dolphin crest, branded over with the roaring sphinx of Els. “Have you got a knife on you?”
“Of course. Why?”
“Give it here a moment. There’s something I need to do.” He handed me his dagger. I dug the tip of the blade into the cask’s seal and pried it free. He leapt back as the ale poured out.
“Aliza! What in Thell’s name are you doing?”
“Protecting us.” As succinctly as I could I explained my past interactions with the Shadow Minister as we stared at the dark stain sinking into the earth. It may have been my imagination, but I fancied I could hear a faint sizzle as the dust drank the minister’s gift. Alastair’s expression grew grave as I told him about the Merybourne steward’s debt to the Silent King, and the sacrifice his daughter Gwyn had made to buy more time for both of them.
“Has this Master Carlyle repaid this minister yet?” he asked when I finished.
“Gwyn didn’t say anything about it at the wedding. If he hadn’t, she would’ve told me,” I said, yet even as I said it, doubt tangled through my words like a stray thread and pulled my voice taut. She would, wouldn’t she?
“Your friend is your business, Aliza,” Alastair said, “but let me suggest you find out, and soon. How much does Carlyle owe?”
“Gwyn never told me.”
“If money is an issue, I’ll have my people send whatever she needs.”
An instinctive, Hart’s Run–bred answer started to my lips. I reeled it in. The Gwyn I knew at Merybourne Manor would never accept such charity for her father’s sake even if it came from a friend—but we weren’t in Hart’s Run anymore, and the Gwyn I knew might no longer have a choice. After her marriage into a magistrate’s house, the minister had named her Carlyle’s surety and promised new terms when he returned from his master in Els, but of those terms she had told me nothing. “I’ll write to her tomorrow,” I said as the last drops fell from the cask. “Now, what did you want to show me?”
He scanned the barrels lining the far wall and crouched beside an old one near the bottom of the stack. Dirt and grease tinged the wood deep brown, obscuring all but the faint outline of the dragon crest branded on the lid.
“Something Julienna and I found whe
n we were children. Hold this.” I took the lamp. He seized the rim of the cask and turned it to the left. With a groan of ancient timbers the nearest section of shelves swung out, barrels and all, sending me backward with a little yelp. Alastair grinned. “My family has been building here for a thousand years. Did you really think no one would add a secret passage?”
“I was actually wondering what you and Julienna were doing poking through casks of wine in the first place.”
“We were looking for it, of course.”
Lantern light danced on the rough-hewn walls as we ducked into the passageway. The air was even colder here, and stale, though the roof of the tunnel rose high enough above us to turn the lamplight into a muddy twilight. Not a breath of wind stirred the carpet of dust covering the stone beneath our feet. The ground sloped downward.
“How far underground are we?” I asked. “And how old is it?”
“Below the foundations. Akarra thinks they must’ve dug these tunnels when Edan Daired settled here.”
He raised the lamp, throwing a circle of light onto the walls. Carved in bas-relief in the rock face was a depiction of the Fourfold God, robed and crowned with the gods’ sigils: Odei-Creator with his lightning-pierced diadem, Janna-Provider and her beech leaf, the shield of Mikla-Protector, and the empty circle of Thell-Unmaker. Gingerly I touched the wall beneath the feet of Janna, master of earth and growing things. Stone dust caked under my finger.
“Look behind you,” he said.
More carvings filled the opposite wall, the familiar figures of the Oldkind, from valkyries, centaurs, and trolls to forge-wights, wyverns, and even a few hobgoblins, all dancing together around the contours of a great stone dragon. Flames flickered along its spine. Whoever had labored in the darkness to create the frieze had great skill. Even from below I could see the veins pulsing through the membrane of the dragon’s stone wings, the individual scales on its horned head, and the—
“Has anyone else been down here recently?” I asked.
“No. Why?”
I reached up as far as I could and ran my finger along the dragon’s claw. It came away clean.
“That’s odd.” He moved closer and peered up at the carving. “Barton, Madam Gretna, Julienna, and I are the only ones with the keys to the cellar, and I don’t think the servants know about these tunnels.”
I looked down. No footprints but ours showed in the pressed earth. “Does anyone else know about them?”
His hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second, but it was long enough. A shiver danced across my skin, like the ghost of every spider I’d ever killed.
“No,” he said, and then added in a low voice, “no one living.”
The cold, still air seemed suddenly stifling, weighted down with memories of the long dead. “Let’s keep going.”
After a minute the ground began to slope upward again. The ceiling dropped and the carvings gave way to rough rock that snagged our sleeves and forced us to mind our heads. Moss grew in patches on the surface, flooding the tunnel with a damp, rich, rotten smell. In another minute I noticed the darkness lessening until, with a sigh of relief I hadn’t realized I’d been suppressing, we stepped into the open air. Juniper branches shielded the mouth of the tunnel. Alastair pushed them aside and helped me climb out.
We stood on a circle of pavement tucked into the slopes of the mountain. High above us rose the Dragonsmoor peaks, their summits dyed scarlet by the approaching sunset. Pillars cracked and crumbling with age surrounded the pavement, and a stone hut stood at the north side of the circle, its walls covered in lichen and ivy, its chimney blackened from long-ago fires. House Pendragon spread out below us. My hand crept toward my sketchbook in my pocket, itching to capture the scene, dank tunnels and misplaced dust forgotten.
“Alastair, it’s beautiful.”
“This was my favorite place as a child.” He scanned the horizon with eyes I sensed saw less of the landscape as it was and more of what it had been. “My father taught me swordplay here.”
“How could you concentrate on fighting with a view like that?”
“A few flats to the shin teach you to pay attention.”
I had to turn around a few times to take it all in. Swallows darted above us against the darkening roof of the sky. There were no other living creatures in sight.
“Alastair?”
“Yes?”
I moved closer and wrapped my arms around his neck. He looked surprised but made no move to draw back. I smiled. “If this is our last night together before you have to be a Rider again, then gods help me, I’m going to make sure it’s a memorable one.”
“Here?” he said between kisses. “Now?”
I pulled him closer until our bodies were flush. “Here. Now.”
“Aliza, there’s no . . . it’s not exactly . . . comfortable.”
With the hand I could spare I unclasped my cloak and let it billow to the pavement. “There,” I said, and drew him to the ground with me, “we’ll make do.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
Chapter 4
The Red and the Green
Never before had I so severely overestimated a cloak. I woke cold and stiff with a runny nose, a crick in my neck, and the promise to myself to never, ever do that again. We’d lit a fire on the hearth after retiring to the comparative comfort of the hut, but it’d long since burned out, and I stirred the embers in the vain attempt to draw out some warmth. Alastair shifted onto his back next to me, his fur-lined cloak draped over his chest. Sunlight crept over him with the rosy-gold tint of just after dawn. His tunic, hauberk, and sword-belt lay scattered across the hut floor. I smiled. It hadn’t all been unpleasant.
I tugged my dress over my chemise and, after tucking my cloak around my shoulders, I slipped outside. If I had to be awake at this hour, I’d at least make the best of it. Outside, mist wandered in fleecy shreds down the mountain slope. High overhead a pair of choughs chased each other, crying out their chirruping screeches as they rode the updrafts.
“Up early again, khera?”
I turned just in time to see Alastair stumble out of the hut, one foot halfway through his trouser leg, which quite ruined the impact of his sultry “good morning.”
“I didn’t actually plan on us spending the night,” I said.
“Do you regret it?” His gaze locked on mine and I blushed.
“Not in the least.”
“Good.” He smiled and pulled on his tunic. “Because while we’re here there’s one more thing I want to show you.”
After dressing he led me up a narrow path behind the hut, well disguised by a rambunctious growth of juniper. The path twisted back on itself twice before depositing us, breathless, at a second stone circle, this one a third the size of the Sparring place below. The pavement here was rougher and weeds grew up through the cracks in the stone. The only other thing of interest was a series of shallow steps carved into the slope on the west side of the circle, terminating at a flat stone the height of a troll and several strides across. A ram’s horn curled out from the stone a few feet above the ground as if it had grown there.
“What’s this?” I asked.
In answer, Alastair stepped up to the horn and blew. No sound came out. He continued blowing. Only when his face was red and the veins were standing out on his forehead did he stop. “Lysandra’s Horn,” he said, stepping away and wiping his mouth. “Lysandra Daired built it three generations after Edan Daired settled here. It sounds in the eyries.” Grimacing, he spat into the overgrowth at the edge of the circle. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s used it to summon their dragon.”
I shielded my eyes against the sting of morning sun on the snowy slopes above. “How long will it take Akarra to get here?”
“If I know her, she’s already on her way, but it’ll take some time to navigate the summit winds.”
I gave him a sideways glance. “How much time exactly?”
The dimpled smile slipped out when he saw my expression.
“Long enough to help you get warm again, khera.”
“Now that you mention it, I do have some ideas.”
He came closer. I held his gaze, relishing the heat in it. It no longer astonished me why Pan adored him so. Alastair may have had dragonfire in his blood, but he moved like one of the great cats. The rapidly decreasing sliver of me unaffected by his presence watched with a sculptor’s appreciation for the long, lean lines of his body, graceful despite its strength, capable of bearing all the righteous rage of a warrior and the tenderness of a lover. My very own Fireborn.
“Do you?” he said softly.
“I do.” I rested my cheek against his, breathing in the warm, smoky scent that was uniquely his, and whispered, “Breakfast.”
Akarra returned just as Alastair had said, her welcoming trumpet and column of dragonfire igniting the sky outside our breakfast room just minutes after we’d sat down. Alastair leapt up before he’d taken a bite. “She’ll want to know about Trennan right away.” He stooped to kiss my cheek. “I’ll let you know what she says.”
“You—aren’t you going to eat?”
He stopped at the end of the table and snatched up a roll before hurrying out.
The click of the door as it closed after him hung in the air, echoing with ominous finality. I set down my fork. The chair creaked beneath me. On the other side of the room a grandfather clock scythed away slivers of time with each swing of its polished brass pendulum. Sunlight fell in bright bars over the table, gilding the flatware with lines of gold. Everything was quiet, sunny, and peaceful.
He’s really leaving.
I felt like a sleepwalker shaken awake in the dark halls of my own home, dropping me scared and disoriented into a world I knew yet didn’t understand. Alastair was leaving.
But then, why shouldn’t he? He was heir of House Daired and I was a nakla nobody from the hills of Hart’s Run. Against all odds we’d found each other, faced our enemies, won our heartstones, and earned the bliss of the last few weeks together. But now the morning had come. The heady dream would end, was ending, and I was left with the closed door, the empty room, and the viper’s sting of loneliness.
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