Dragonshadow

by Elle Katharine White

  I gave him a small smile in return. “Aye, I just might.”

  “You’ve been lucky. Extraordinarily so. Thell take me if I ever doubt your courage, but even the best luck can’t last forever.”

  I hung my head. He was right. Of course he was right; I’d known that from the beginning. Gryphons and direwolves and lamias notwithstanding, I was still a nakla. Now and forever.

  Alastair sighed. “Listen, khera. I’m no bard. I’ve no head for poetry. The only songs I know are those that can be sung with steel”—he tilted my chin up—“but when I call you my beloved, I need you to know that I mean it. What my mother was to Father so you are to me, and I can’t—” He drew in a shuddering breath. “Call me a coward, but I can’t lose you.”

  The shield-wall around my heart trembled and retreated. With my eyes I traced the scars along his brow, his ear, his left hand, spelling out his rank and title and calling in letters that could never be unwritten. Nakla, I knew, came from the Eth word for “defenseless,” but looking at my husband now, seeing the weight of responsibility not only on his shoulders but also on his heart, I wondered if “untroubled” was a better translation. He had taken on the burden of the kingdom and asked so little in return. How could I not offer to share it?

  “Alastair Daired, I would never call you a coward.”

  There was a pause. “But you still want to come, don’t you?” he said.

  “I do.”

  “Mikla grant I never meet an enemy as stubborn as my wife. Fine. I’ll think about it.”

  “Tha—”

  His kiss left my thank you unfinished in a very satisfactory way.

  Hssssst.

  Lamias curled through my sleep, hissing, scratching, reaching for me with their war-scythes. I saw the split skull crown, heard the Broodmother’s cackling laughter, felt the licking flames of dragonfire. My shoulder burned. Khera? The flames moved to my cheek. I rolled, batting them away with a whimper of terror. Cloven Cairn spread before me in a pit of writhing darkness, but this time Alastair was there too. The Broodmother had him in her coils. Her scythe blade rasped along his armor as she raised it to his neck. I tried to run, to help him, but something dragged me backward. Alastair! I screamed, but my voice made no noise. He looked at me sadly as the blood began to flow.

  Goodbye, my love, he whispered. I’m sorry.

  Hssst!

  I jolted awake to find Pan’s face inches from mine. I swore and freed my arms from sweat-drenched sheets, pressing a hand to my chest as if it could somehow slow my pounding heart. Just a dream. I slumped back onto the mattress and buried my face in the pillows. You’re safe. He’s safe. We’re all safe.

  Pan pawed at my shoulder.

  “For gods’ sakes, Alastair, call off your bloody cat,” I muttered. There was no answer. I rolled over. Moonlight streamed in through the cracks in the curtains and across his side of the bed. It was made, the blankets folded and pillows tucked against the headboard. There was a sheet of paper on the topmost pillow. The gnawing dread from my nightmare leapt to life again as I sidled into the nearest moonbeam to read it.

  Aliza,

  I thought it over. As much as I want you to come with me, I will not, I cannot put you in danger. Forgive me for not telling you sooner, but it may be better this way. Mikla willing, I’ll see you in a few weeks.

  I love you always,

  Alastair

  No. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. I looked across the room. His armor was missing from the manikin, as were the leather panniers he’d packed the night before. My heart plummeted. He’d left without me.

  Chapter 5

  Broken Things

  Alastair, no! Angry tears blurred my vision. Pan meowed and nipped the edge of the note, his whiskers smearing ink across the paper. How could—?

  I blinked. Wet ink?

  I sprang out of bed and kissed Pan’s head, forgiving him every annoyance he’d ever inflicted on me. Please gods, say they haven’t left yet!

  There was no dragon in the Sparring courtyard or in the garden beyond. At the gate I stopped as sense overtook panic. I’d never find them in time, running around in the dark without direction. I forced myself to breathe quietly and ignore the feeling of betrayal that settled deeper in my gut with each heartbeat. Think! Where would he be? When he wasn’t exercising or spending time with me, Alastair had spent most of our honeymoon in his private study poring over something he’d called his family’s Chronicle of Foes, or taking weather readings in the southern tower. Neither of those helped me now. I would’ve passed him in his study and a glance at the darkened upper windows ruled out the tower. I turned toward the mountains. The hut on the slope? If Akarra had met him there, they could leave without waking anyone in the house. I started for the western gate, but just then I caught the rise and fall of voices from the front portico. One was hushed and hurried; the other was accented in fire. I ran.

  Golden torchlight spilled over the porch. Akarra sat across the front steps, ready for flight with her war-saddle secure between her shoulder spikes. Alastair worked with his back to me, head bent, fastening his pannier to the saddle. He wore his armor and his sword strapped in its harness at his back.

  “Ah, Aliza!” Akarra said. “Come to wish us off?”

  Alastair whirled around. Our eyes met. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I. At last he set the pannier aside. “I can explain,” he said.

  “Were you not even going to say goodbye?” The words came out hard, flat, and calm, not in the angry torrent I expected.

  “Aliza—”

  “You didn’t tell her we were leaving this morning?” Akarra cut in, looking at me, then at him.

  “I did!” he said. “And, Aliza, I did say goodbye.”

  The dream replayed itself in my head, giving new shape to the words I thought I’d imagined. My face grew warm. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “I tried. You pushed me away.”

  “You could have tried harder!”

  “I thought this might be . . . simpler.”

  “Simpler? Simpler than what? Telling me the truth?”

  “Alastair, what’s going on?” Akarra asked.

  “Would you give us a moment?” he said.

  “No, khela, this is important. Why wouldn’t you tell her we were leaving this morning?”

  “Because he knew I wanted to come with you to Lake Meera,” I said.

  “And I said no.”

  “You said you’d think about it!”

  “I have thought about it, Aliza, and I can’t—”

  “Why shouldn’t she come?” Akarra said.

  We both turned to her: Alastair aghast, me hopeful. “Akarra, it’s dangerous,” he said.

  “Do you accept the risks?” she asked me, and I nodded. “Then it’s her choice.”

  Alastair growled something in Eth.

  “No, Alastair,” she said in Arlean. “I won’t play this game. Aliza is your wife, not your servant. You can’t dismiss her and you certainly can’t slip away in the night without telling her. Frankly, I’m a little ashamed to see you try.”

  “Are you?” he asked with a fierce frown. “And what happens when we meet the Tekari of the Old Wilds? What happens when the swords are drawn, hm? The battlefield is no place for a nakla and you know it.”

  “If Aliza had held to that custom at Cloven Cairn, you’d be dead and Arle would be overrun with Tekari, so don’t try that argument now.”

  “This time it’s different.”

  “How?” Akarra and I asked together.

  “We . . . we don’t know everything we’re up against.”

  “You think leaving me behind will make things clearer?” I said.

  “It’s easier to face an enemy when I don’t have to look after someone else.”

  “What do you imagine I’ll be doing while you’re fighting?” Akarra said. “Chasing marshlights? I’m not going to leave Aliza to fend for herself.”

  “We both know you can’t protect everyone on the
battlefield,” he snarled.

  Akarra drew back. Her wings twitched up, then fluttered tight against her body, her eyes wide. Insects chirped. A night bird cooed from the eaves of the portico. The wind rustled the leaves of a nearby bush.

  “I’m sorry, Akarra,” Alastair said in a quite different voice. “That’s not what I meant.”

  She didn’t look at him, raising her eyes instead to the mountains beyond the walls of the house. “Isn’t it?”

  “What happened at North Fields was not your fault.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “‘Shurran kes-ahla ahla-na set khera,’” she said at last, and for once I needed no translation. The bridegroom’s vow had been repeated in some variation at Arlean weddings for hundreds of years. Honor her who is your beloved. “You made a promise,” Akarra continued. “Honor Aliza with your trust, my khela. She certainly deserves it.”

  “And if I don’t deserve hers?” he asked.

  “Then now is the time to earn it.”

  Defeat settled over him like a visible thing. His shoulders slumped as he undid the buckles that bound the saddle to Akarra’s back. It slid sideways onto the tiles with the thud of tired leather.

  “Fine. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

  “All three of us?” she asked.

  Alastair looked at me. Even the wind and the insects held their breath.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Akarra stretched her wings. “Now I’ll give you two a moment. I expect you’ll need it.”

  It was not a moment we needed. It was a week, a month, a year, a small lifetime to sort through all the little rules and sundry inconveniences that came with learning not only to love but also to live with someone else. Unfortunately, we only had a day.

  Neither of us said much as we went inside. Pan greeted us at the door to our rooms, or rather, he hissed at me and followed Alastair with kitten-like devotion. Whatever goodwill had inspired him to wake me early had run out, and we were back to comfortably hating each other. Alastair sat on the edge of the bed and Pan leapt up next to him, purring with enough force to set the canopy trembling. He stroked the stoorcat’s head. “You’re angry with me,” he said as I shut the door.

  “No. Not angry.”

  “You’re not happy.”

  I lit a lamp. The dam holding back the torrent inside me still held, but I felt it flagging. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think you’d be so—”

  “Weak?”

  “Manipulative. All those things you said last night in the gallery. Was that only to put me off while you prepared to leave?”

  “I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I said I’d think about it and I did.”

  The lamp came down hard on the bedside table. “But you were going to leave this morning anyway. Without telling me.”

  “I did try to tell you.”

  “That doesn’t count and you know it!”

  “Fine, all right?” He passed a hand over his forehead. “Fine. I was going to leave without telling you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you asked me again, I knew I wouldn’t be able to say no.” His voice was taut.

  “Is that really so terrible? I’ve told you I’m ready, and Akarra agrees—”

  “It’s not you. Aliza, it was never you.” He stood, spilling Pan onto the floor. In one motion he released his scabbard from its harness and drew his sword, both hands clasping the hilt. I tried not to stare. The three fingers remaining on his left hand had regained some dexterity under Nettlebaum’s ruthless care, but they were still stiff and uncooperative. He swung the sword in an arc in front of him. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as he brought it back to guard position. “That’s why.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not as quick as I was before North Fields,” he said. “Maybe you can’t see it, but I can. My whole sword arm feels different.”

  “Sore?”

  “Pain I could handle. This is something else.” He held out his right arm and sighted along the blade. The point wavered in the air. “It feels heavier. Slower. Like it’s unlearned everything my father ever taught it.”

  “You’re still healing. It’ll come back.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  I looked at him. It might’ve been a trick of the light or my own weary eyes, but he seemed smaller, shrunken somehow, even under his armor. His shoulders stayed stooped and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. The angry waters receded a little.

  “It will.”

  “How do you know?” he asked. “Have you treated many injuries like this before?”

  “No,” I said truthfully, “but I’ve also never heard of anyone surviving a lindworm’s sting. Give it time.”

  He sheathed his sword. It took two tries. “I don’t know if we have the time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because in a few days you’ll be deep in Tekari territory with a Daired who can hardly hold his sword for five minutes without shaking. You’re putting your trust in a man whose mistake at North Fields could have killed him, that should have killed him, and he’s not—” He faced the wall, one fist pressed to his lips. “He’s not sure he can do this.”

  It was as if he’d driven a battering ram straight through the base of the dam, but instead of anger, understanding poured out. “Alastair. Look at me, please.”

  He turned back. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed. “I’m not the Rider you met a year ago.” And that wasn’t the man I fell in love with, I longed to say, but he continued. “If I misstep in the Old Wilds, or if I can’t be fast enough, or strong enough, you’ll be the one to suffer for it, and gods help me, khera, I won’t make you pay for my mistakes. Not again.”

  A lump settled in my throat. “Let me see.”

  “What?”

  “Your shoulder. Let me see the scar.”

  He looked reluctant but didn’t argue. One by one he shed pieces of his armor: scabbard and harness, hauberk and bracers, sword-belt and chain mail shirt. I grunted as I helped him pull off the mail shirt. It fell at our feet with the clatter of a dozen iron-shod horse hooves. I wondered it didn’t rouse the whole house.

  “How on earth do you move in that?” I said, trying for a light tone I didn’t feel. “It must weigh as much as you.”

  He didn’t smile. “Better than a knife through the heart.”

  Beneath the mail shirt were two tunics: a heavy, woolen one for warmth on long flights, and a lighter linen one because, given the evidence, I assumed Riders had an aversion to wearing any less than four layers. I brushed aside my heartstone on its chain around his neck and folded back the collar of the tunic. Just above his collarbone was the circular scar, large as my palm and veined with white. I traced the cold, dead skin, a jarring absence against the warmth of his chest, and felt him shiver. “Does that hurt?”

  “No. Aliza . . .”

  “Can you feel this?” Gently I pressed down.

  “A little.”

  “Hallowsweed is good for scar tissue. Madam Gretna has some in the larder, I think. I could make a compress.”

  He covered my hand with his. “Later.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Because right now it doesn’t bother me.”

  “But you just—”

  “Aliza.”

  “What?”

  “I’m trying to say I’m sorry,” he said, and leaned close, and kissed me.

  It was true what they said about the Daireds. The blood of the Fireborn flowed in their veins, a quiet power rarely seen but always felt, like the first crackle of lightning from a thunderstorm still many miles away. Alastair practically sang with it. I tasted dragonfire on his lips, breathed in the scent of it, spicy and wild and intoxicating.

  “Am I forgiven?” he asked softly when we separated.

  I tried for a stern look but only made it halfway to annoyed before his uncertain expression stopped me. We still had many things to learn about each other, but there wa
s one thing I’d never let him doubt. I entwined my fingers with his. “Always,” I said and claimed his lips again.

  News traveled fast through House Pendragon. It seemed everyone in the house knew of my plans to join Alastair almost as soon as we’d made our decision. Madam Gretna offered to help me pack and Barton deposited a second pannier in our rooms after breakfast with his best wishes for a safe journey and a tacit nod in my direction, conceding defeat.

  I sat on our bed and examined the leather article. It would hold about the same as a small carpetbag. Less, if you didn’t count the three front pockets. Since they were inconveniently narrow and dagger-shaped, I didn’t. “Er, what am I supposed to fit in there again?”

  “Everything,” he said. “Clothes, weapons, anything you think you’ll need.”

  “Oh.”

  “Which is why you’ll want to wear most of it.”

  I looked down at the only pair of trousers I owned. They were thin linen, worn at the knees and the thighs, and eminently unsuitable for a cross-country flight. “I don’t have many riding clothes.”

  “Don’t worry about those. Pack what you think you’ll need and I’ll see to the rest.”

  Speaking of which . . . “Before we go, I want to read that book you’re always talking about. What do you call it, the Chronicle of—”

  “—Foes?” He looked puzzled but not displeased. “Whatever for?”

  “You said it’s a record of your family’s encounters with Tekari, right?”