Well, what did you expect? My inner voice did an excellent impression of Aunt Lissa at her sternest. Did you think the two of you would spend the rest of your lives lounging around House Pendragon, drinking wine and making love? He’s a Rider and you’re not. He couldn’t stay forever. And in any case, you told him to take this contract.
I pushed my breakfast plate aside. Of course I’d known it would end, but knowing our honeymoon would end and accepting it were not the same. It was one reason I’d avoided Barton for so long. Every reminder of our encroaching responsibilities had made me push away the inevitable.
My appetite gone, I left the silent breakfast room and headed back to our chambers. They too were empty. A wave of homesickness swept through me, and I dug out a sheaf of paper and bottle of ink from the writing desk in the corner. I wrote first to Gwyn, then to my family, then to Aunt Lissa and Uncle Gregory in Edonarle. Imagining my aunt’s response to my letter improved my mood considerably. Among other things I felt certain she’d be anxious to inquire whether her embarrassingly exhaustive advice before the wedding night had done any good, and I composed my reply in my head as I gave my letters to Madam Gretna to post. That, my dear aunt, is none of your business.
The afternoon sun slanted down through latticed skylights as I wandered back from delivering my letters. In the space between my study and the housekeeper’s rooms my dark mood had descended again. It fed off the silence of the house, its emptiness, and the weight of years that hung in its corridors like some solemn perfume. Pendragon breathed history. I was astonished I’d not yet seen any ghosts. Pillars rose on either side of the colonnade like tree trunks, their marble surfaces worn smooth by generations of passing hands. Hallways branched from the corridor at regular intervals, leading to chambers and passages and courtyards and balconies and gods knew what other secrets a thousand years of Daireds had tucked away in their family fortress.
Lost in the contemplation of the immensity around me, I almost missed the footsteps until it was too late. Just in time I pulled away from the corner as Barton’s familiar shuffle sounded from the adjacent hallway. Blast. I ducked down the corridor to my left and prayed he hadn’t heard me. This has got to stop, the rational side of me panted as I took refuge in the Mural Hall. It was a childish game, but the thought of sitting down to the real business of the thing, with all the sundries and inconveniences of the ancient house laid in my lap while Alastair was off being a Rider, made the sweat start on my forehead.
The footsteps from the adjoining hallway faded. I leaned back against the wall, feeling the disappointed gazes of Ellia, Marten, and Niaveth on my head. Someday I would face it, someday I must face it, but not today. Today my stoorcat-and-mouse game with Barton would continue. Just a little longer—
I straightened. Why shouldn’t I go with Alastair?
The thought shocked me into stillness. For a moment I stared at the mural without seeing it. Absurd! The idea was absurd. I put it out of my mind.
It snuck, Pan-like, back around the other side. Was it really?
Completely ridiculous. I hurried from the hall but the preposterous idea followed me like a bee, forcing me to strap on every buckler of argument I had against its stings. No matter how much I disliked it, a contract was Riders’ work. I was a nakla, and not only a nakla, but a nakla who hated flying and felt sick at the sight of blood. Never mind that I’d killed a gryphon in the Witherwood, or that I’d maimed a direwolf in the Battle of North Fields, or that I’d bargained with the Broodmother Crone of Cloven Cairn, or for that matter if I’d stood my ground before the Drakaina Herreki’s red-hot rage and lived to speak of it. The dangerous games of the guardians of Arle were none of my business anymore.
Weren’t they?
No, of course not. I was settled now. I had a title, and responsibilities, and a household to manage, and accounts to examine, and . . . and . . .
A minute later I was back in front of the mural.
Could I join Alastair and Akarra on a contract? Excitement and trepidation tumbled through my head, leaping and dancing in terrified what ifs? Once more I studied the painted figures of Marten and Ellia. They stood so proud, so heroic next to each other. Servant of Janna and sword of Mikla, lovers fighting together for something beyond either of them, their memory now preserved for all time in the hearts of every Arlean. It had been done before, hadn’t it? Logic came puffing along behind excitement to offer its grudging support. Fortified walls would stand between danger and me if I accompanied Alastair to Lake Meera, and Selwyn had not mentioned any monsters within his castle. What skills I lacked with weapons I could make up for in other ways, surely. Few people dealing with the ravages of roving Tekari would turn away a trained herbmaster. Warrior and healer together again, the red and the green.
And then I knew. The last bastion of resistance threw down its flag in the face of the simple truth: if I stayed behind this time, I would always stay behind. What we decided in the next few days would set the precedent for the rest of our lives, and if I knew nothing else, I knew I didn’t want to grow old and die within the walls of House Pendragon, buried in trivial household concerns while the people I loved fought the battles that truly mattered. I’d already lived long enough shut up behind closed doors and bolted windows, hiding from the dangers of the world and watching them creep through anyway. Nakla or not, I wouldn’t do it again. I couldn’t. One way or another I’d be going with Alastair on his next contract.
Now I just had to convince him of that.
I broached the subject that evening at dinner. “What did Akarra say?” I asked as we sat down.
“She agrees with you. We’ve decided to accept Selwyn’s offer.”
“When will you leave?”
“If we want to miss the first snows, it’ll have to be soon. Tomorrow, or the day after at the latest.”
Oh. “So quickly?”
“Selwyn wasn’t making light when he spoke of the dangers of northern winters. I’ve seen ice storms scour the skin from Riders’ faces, and that was only in Selkie’s Keep. In the mountains around Lake Meera it’ll be even worse. We need to leave while there’s still a chance to miss the snows. That said,” he added with a smile, “we won’t be going anywhere tonight. Our honeymoon doesn’t have to be over quite yet.”
“Alastair . . .” Red and the green, green and the red. I reached for the certainty I’d felt in the Mural Hall and found only fear, pacing around my convictions like a pack of hungry direwolves. Safety was here, and comfort was here, and quiet and peace and everything I should want. Except him. I raised my chin. “I want to come with you.”
His smile vanished. “What?”
“I want to come with you to Castle Selwyn.”
“Aliza, no. You know that’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“We live in Arle, love. Waking up is dangerous. Walking outside is dangerous. Everything is dangerous.”
“Not like this. It’ll be a long trip over wild country with a Tekari hunt at its end and a northern winter hanging over our heads. Anyway, don’t you hate flying?”
“Aye, but—”
“Then why do you want to come?”
Reason and logic, my once reluctant friends, turned traitor and ran. I took a deep breath. “Because I’m a nakla who married a Daired. If I’m to live the rest of my life between the two titles, then I need to determine what that looks like.”
“It’s not that I don’t admire your courage,” he said carefully, “but that doesn’t change anything. It’s still dangerous. I can’t promise I’ll always be able to protect you.”
“Then teach me how to protect myself.”
A shadow of a grin started again, not on his lips, but in the corners of his eyes. “Last time I brought that up you said you weren’t interested in killing things.”
“I wouldn’t mind mastering the basics of . . . incapacitation. As a last resort.” I folded my arms. “Look, Alastair, I’m not asking to
go hunt this creature by myself. I only want to come with you to Lake Meera. Once we’re there I’ll stay safe inside the castle walls. I promise.”
“No.”
“If you—”
“No, Aliza.” His expression hardened. “I will not take you with me on a contract.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?”
“Not when it’s life or death.”
“That’s quite gallant of you, but it’s my life we’re talking about. I’m not asking if Madam Gretna or one of the stableboys can tag along. I know the risks.”
“Aliza, we’ll be crossing the Old Wilds. There are things there even Akarra and I have never met before. And this monster killing Idar, who knows what kind of fight it will put up? I don’t want you caught in a war that’s not yours.”
“I’m not looking to fight anything. I said I’ll stay in the castle.”
“Lord Selwyn didn’t invite you. He may not want you in the castle.”
My cheeks burned. I opened my mouth, thought better of it, and said nothing.
“It’s not that I don’t want you with me,” he said after an uncomfortable pause. He reached for me across the table. “I always want you with me.”
I took his hand and held it. There were moments I wished he wasn’t so good. My fingers ran over the calluses on his palm as I weighed my words, turning them over, tasting them like bittersweet wine, choosing the ones that best captured how I felt. “Then let me come with you.” I hesitated. “Please.”
He drew back as if surprised, but it was not surprise in his face so much as pain. “Aliza, don’t make this difficult. There’s nothing I’d like more than to have you at my side on a contract—”
“Then it shouldn’t be difficult at all.”
“But this is about more than what either of us wants. Whether you’re willing or not, it’s wrong to put you in danger. I won’t do it.”
“You and Akarra put yourselves in danger every day.”
“Yes, but you’re not—” He broke off and looked away. “You shouldn’t come to Lake Meera, Aliza. Please don’t ask again.”
He stood and left the room before I could reply.
Our chambers felt emptier than usual the next morning. For a long while after waking I sat on the edge of the bed trying not to look at Alastair’s side of the mattress, but the more I tried, the longer I looked and the more cross I became. I knew he was only in his study putting away contract offers, or perhaps in the Sparring courtyard trying not to freeze, but for some reason no logic could explain, the folded blankets and neat stacks of pillows on his side of the bed seemed dreadfully final. I pulled down one corner of the coverlet, arranged the pillows in a haphazard manner across the bed, dressed, and went downstairs.
From a chambermaid I learned that Madam Gretna and Nettlebaum had moved Trennan to one of the guest rooms in the servants’ wing. I found the room without much difficulty. “No, you are not fit for traveling, young man. Sit down!” Nettlebaum’s voice came pinched and irritated through the door.
There was a crash from inside. “I’m fine, you pickled gimmelschang!”
I knocked. A moment of frantic silence resolved itself in the bearded, glowering face of the physician as he opened the door. “Yes, what do you—? Oh! Begging your pardon, my lady.”
“Master Nettlebaum, is everything all right?”
“Quite all right, quite all right.”
“In that case, I’d like a word with Master Trennan.”
Nettlebaum debated for a second before throwing his hands up. “Oh, as you wish. I’ll be just outside if you need me.” He glared at Trennan with a look that said mind your manners and bumbled out, leaving the door open.
Trennan stood by the fire, dressed for riding with his falcon on one gloved arm. Despite Nettlebaum’s protests he did look much improved. He bowed. “Milady.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Better, thank you. Ready to return once Lord Daired gives me his answer.”
“So soon? Master Trennan, didn’t you say something was following you?”
The color came blistering into his cheeks. “I said—I’m sorry, milady. I wasn’t entirely in control of myself when I arrived. I misspoke.”
I frowned. “So you weren’t followed?”
“No.” It came out a little too quickly. He bowed again. “As I said, only by my duty. My master gave strict orders to make haste. I wished to arrive before Lord Daired was summoned elsewhere.”
I considered. His account made sense and his words had the ring of sincerity, but there was still a shiftiness to his manner that made me wonder how much of the truth he was hiding. I set one line of inquiry aside and took up another. “Won’t it take you several weeks to make it back to Castle Selwyn? Lord Daired might arrive before you do.”
“That’s why I brought Tatterdemalion.” The bird on his arm let out a squawk. “She’ll take his message back to Lake Meera quick as you like. I’ll follow and—sorry, do you mean Lord Daired has accepted?”
“He has.”
Relief rolled off him in a wave so strong it was almost tangible. His expression cleared. “Thank you, Lady Daired, thank you!”
“And so have I,” I added.
Ever so slightly his grin faltered.
“Lord Selwyn won’t object, I hope?” I said, and dropped my eyelashes in a gesture I trusted looked more demure than desperate.
“Er, no,” he said. “Not at all. And, ah, Lady Selwyn will be delighted. Good morning, milord.”
I leapt to my feet. Alastair stood in the doorway, a letter in one hand. “Good morning, Master Trennan,” he said. The words came out clipped, elegant, and cold as ice. He handed the letter to Trennan without breaking my gaze. “As Lady Daired said. My official acceptance.”
“Thank you, milord! I’ll send Tatterdemalion off right away.” With that, he rushed out.
“Aliza, I thought we settled this,” Alastair said.
Lead bricks might’ve fallen less heavily than those syllables. I steeled myself for battle. “We just did.”
“Do you truly not understand how dangerous this contract might be?”
“I do understand, actually. Which is why I don’t want you to go alone,” I said. “Alastair, I’m a healer. I can help you.”
The vein above his temple ticked faster. “You still talk as if you know what it’s like.”
“Know what what’s like?”
“Flying cross-country over the Old Wilds. Hunting Tekari on the borders of the Northern Wastes. Being a Rider.”
Being a Rider. The words fell like a whip across my ears, and I replied like any wounded creature, with more anger than sense. “And you have no idea what it’s like being a nakla! When’s the last time you were afraid to go outside, not for someone else’s sake, but for your own? When’s the last time you wondered if you’d be killed going to the market, or that your little sister would have her throat torn out by gryphons while she was picking flowers? When’s the last time you felt truly helpless? You and your family have spent your lives learning how to face the dangers of the world. I’ve spent my life hiding from them. And I’m tired of it, Alastair. I’m tired of being afraid.”
Silence gaped between us like a wound, scabbing over in the seconds that passed with a thousand words unspoken, with ten thousand feelings we could not, dared not, or simply did not know how to share. He looked at me like he’d never seen me before.
“I know it’s dangerous,” I said. “Really, I do. You forget I’ve been in battles too. But if there must be danger, this time let me choose to face it. For once in my life let me pick my own battleground.” I took a breath. “A chance. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Aliza,” he said after a moment, “I need you to see something.”
I didn’t argue, didn’t fight him as he led me from the servants’ quarters. My anger was spent, years of frustration and the quiet despair I’d never realized I’d been holding back released in a single torrent of words. Its passing left me f
eeling empty inside, but clean too, and clearheaded enough to listen.
He led me to a long, vaulted gallery overlooking the Great Hall. Paintings of humans and dragons lined the walls. I recognized the style of the portrait he stopped in front of before I recognized the subject. It was a Tornay, done by the master of the Artists’ Guild of Edonarle and one of the finest painters in recent memory. She’d employed all her skill here. I felt the tension in the Rider’s muscles, felt the weight of his armor and the shimmer of heat over his dragon’s neck. One glance at the man’s face made the name plaque below unnecessary; his identity cried out in the slant of those imperious black eyebrows, those high cheekbones, and those eyes so like Alastair’s, dark and beautiful despite their severity. I read the inscription anyway.
Erran Daired
Lord of House Pendragon
Ah-Na-al Jeshke-Heshek’an-Kaheset
He-Whose-Breath-Ignites-the-Morningstar
“My father,” Alastair said. “I wish you could have met him. He was everything I wanted—everything I still want to be. He loved my mother very much.”
The Rider in the portrait beside Lord Erran’s wore an amused smile, as if she knew all the secrets of the world and had just decided not to share them. One hand rested on the hilt of her sword, the other on the neck of a gray wyvern. Beneath it was a second inscription.
Isobel Oranna-Daired
Lady of House Pendragon
Greythorn Grimspike
“You’ve never spoken of her before,” I said quietly.
“We weren’t close. She was never home long enough.”
I ventured carefully into the obvious question, hoping he’d intended to tell me anyway. We’d talked of life and death, shared pleasure and pain, but when it came to things like this, it struck me that we still knew so little about each other. “What happened to her?”
“She brought home a fever from the Fens near Cloven Cairn. Julienna was still a baby, so Father sent us away to stay with Aunt Catriona at Edan Rose until Mother recovered. Only she didn’t.” Beneath his parents’ painted gazes, his voice came faintly, as if from a distance that had nothing to do with proximity. “She died a month later. Losing her broke my father in so many ways.” He turned to me. “Ways I couldn’t understand until now. Aliza, I don’t fight you on this because I think you’re wrong. I know what you did at Cloven Cairn. I know I owe you my life, and I know you’ve seen enough of the battlefield to appreciate the danger.” He gave a faint smile. “And who knows? If you found yourself up against the Tekari of the Old Wilds, you might even manage to reason with them.”
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