Dragonshadow

by Elle Katharine White

  The rest of the Vesh made a hasty retreat, Rhian backing out last. Alastair followed her every step with his sword, her dagger in his other hand. I shoved Rookwood in the same direction. “Get out.”

  “For your sake, woman, pray we don’t meet again,” he rasped, and he disappeared into the darkness outside.

  My knife clattered to the floor as I barred and bolted the door behind him. Alastair slumped against the doorjamb. I grasped his shoulder. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Help me—room.”

  Somehow I managed to half carry, half drag him up the stairs. Fear of the Vesh still held the rest of the inn in its grip; we didn’t see the innkeeper, or the servants, or any other guests as we made our way to our room. Alastair collapsed on the bed as I locked and barricaded the door with the chest of drawers, fear giving me strength I didn’t expect.

  “’liza—”

  “Shh. It’ll wear off in a little while. Just sleep.”

  “Dangerous . . .” His eyes closed before he could finish. His breathing steadied.

  I looked at the front of my shirt, now splattered with Rookwood’s blood, and the green heartstone clutched in my lap. “I know,” I whispered, and this time it was true.

  I vomited twice into the chamber pot while Alastair slept off the effects of the draught. Never before had I felt like this, not even when I’d killed the gryphon in the Witherwood. My arm ached with the memory of the contact, when blade met bone and blade won. Knowing it had probably spared us both from a worse alternative didn’t save the remains of my breakfast, or my lunch. Exhausted but unable to sleep, I paced the room as I waited for Alastair to wake. I scrubbed the blood from my clothes, my hands, and my face, and paced. I set our luggage by the door, and paced. One pannier tipped forward as I passed, spilling Alastair’s spare shirt onto the floor. I bent to pick it up, then, when it refused to stay, kicked it upright again. My toe connected with something hard. I tugged aside his shirt and froze.

  That’s not possible. Fresh horror seized me, cold and clammy like marsh water, and yet for some reason surprise eluded me.

  It was the silver box.

  I retched again, stuffed the cursed thing back into the pannier, gulped down water to cool my burning throat, and continued pacing.

  “Aliza?”

  I stopped midstride and rushed to the bed. “Oh, thank Janna. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m all right.” His voice was thick and his eyes took a moment to focus on my face. “What happened?”

  “The Vesh tried to steal—”

  “No, I remember that.” He pushed himself upright and traced the dried tear tracks on my cheeks. “I mean what happened to you?”

  “Nothing. We’re safe, and so is this.” I held out my heartstone on its broken chain. His fist tightened around it briefly before he tucked it into a pouch at his belt.

  “Rookwood didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “He didn’t get a chance.”

  He glanced at the spatters of blood on my shirtfront. “Then I didn’t imagine that part.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I said. “Please, let’s not talk about it. Alastair, we need to get out of here.”

  “Agreed.” He looked out the window. Clouds covered the moon. “It’s dark enough. We’ll go out the back and circle around to the north. That’ll be the quickest way to get to Akarra.”

  “Can you call for her?”

  “It’s too far and the city’s too noisy. We have to risk it.”

  “What if the Vesh are watching the inn?”

  “It’ll be more dangerous to stay. Keep your knife ready.”

  A trail of blood led away from the Selkie’s Stoop, dark against the pale pavement. Rookwood will need more than honey and hush to stanch that wound, I thought with a twinge, first of pride, then of disgust as I remembered what we’d left inside on the floor of the common room: a finger in a puddle of congealing blood, payment in kind for Madam Knagg’s drugged supper.

  We crept out a side door into an alley next to the inn, weapons drawn, tensing at each nighttime sound and expecting to find Vesh hidden in every shadow. A stray cat narrowly missed a beheading as it ran in front of Alastair, but the alley hid neither Rookwood nor his associates. My heart nearly burst with relief when we reached the docks, and beyond them the comforting shape of Akarra in the dark.

  After hearing what had happened it was all Alastair could do to prevent her from descending on the town in a rage, following the scent of Rookwood’s blood to the place he hid, and showing him what it meant to underestimate a Daired and his dragon. Part of me even wanted her to. It was Alastair who stopped us both.

  “No. We leave them,” he said. “We leave right now and get to Castle Selwyn as quickly as possible.”

  “But khela, they almost—”

  “I know what they tried to do, Akarra!” He took a deep breath. “I know. They deserve it. But we can’t. Not now.”

  She snorted a short burst of dragonfire and looked away.

  “We could at least get answers,” I tried. “Rookwood said someone wanted our heartstones. We could . . .” I shifted, tasting the awfulness of the words I was about to say. “We could . . . make him tell us.”

  He shot me a sharp glance. I studied the ground. “That would take too much time,” he said after a moment.

  “If we found out who’s behind this, it would be worth it.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “We need answers, Alastair.”

  “We need to make sure you’re safe.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You think I don’t want to hunt these Vesh down? You think I don’t want to take the rest of Rookwood’s fingers for what he tried to do? Well, I do, Aliza, but I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I won’t put you in harm’s way again. I can’t—don’t you understand that? You wanted to come. This is the cost. I won’t start this hunt until you’re safe in Castle Selwyn, not for the Vesh, not for this monster, not even for answers.” I opened my mouth, but he fixed me with a look of such frozen fury the words died on my tongue. “You knew the terms, Aliza. Don’t fight me on this.”

  He mounted without another word. I climbed up after him, still too stunned to speak, and Akarra set off from the shore with a fiery sigh, leaving Langdred untouched behind us.

  The moon had set behind the clouds by the time we reached the northern shore. Faced with the possibility of flying in starless darkness, we all agreed to spend the rest of the night in the nearby woods. Stupid with exhaustion, and fear, and the lingering sickness in the pit of my stomach, I wrapped my cloak around me and curled up at Akarra’s side. Her wing blocked out the sight of the lights on the far side of the lake, yet even in the dark, with miles of water and an angry dragon and an even angrier Daired standing between Rookwood and vengeance, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching us.

  “Aliza.”

  I opened my eyes. Akarra leaned over me, her eyebrows drawn together in dragonish concern. “What’s wrong?” I muttered.

  “It’s Alastair. You need to speak with him. He’s been doing that since dawn.”

  I looked where she pointed. Alastair sat on a boulder near the shore staring at the lake, his sword lying naked across his knees. Every few seconds he ran the stone in his hand against the blade, eking from the steel a cold, silvery song.

  “He won’t talk to me,” she said.

  I stood with a grimace, my limbs stiff and cold from sleeping on the stones. It took effort to walk without hobbling, but I picked my way across the shore to where he sat. His only acknowledgment of my presence was the slow ring of stone on steel.

  “I thought forge-wight swords didn’t need sharpening,” I said at last.

  He stopped and looked at the stone in his hand as if he was seeing it for the first time. “They don’t.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We should go,” he said, but he didn’t move, and neither did I.


  “Alastair, what is it?”

  “I’m sorry about last night,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

  Aye, you shouldn’t have, a voice inside me crowed, but I smothered it. Because in the end, no matter his manner, no matter his tone, he was right. This was what I’d agreed to. But I couldn’t bring myself to say that either.

  “I was wrong about the Vesh,” he continued. “Rookwood won’t be the last to come after our heartstones.”

  “Maybe not. Probably not.” I sat on a boulder beside him. “That’s not why you’re here though, and I’m not flying again until you tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “And if I choose not to?”

  “Then I suppose we’ll be sitting here for a long time.”

  He said nothing, studying the place where the blue of the lake met the icy white of the mountains. I waited.

  “It’s not getting any better.”

  I looked at his right hand resting against the flat of his sword. In the morning light his skin looked pale, a sickly pinkish-gray instead of the normal golden-brown. Old scars crisscrossing his fingers stood out against the unnatural pallor, threads of white and purple weaving the reminder of battles long past.

  “Your poultices help—a little. Hot water helps—a little. But it always comes back.”

  “The pain?”

  “The weakness. The Worm’s poison made me weak. It’s making me weak. Rookwood was right.” His voice fell. “Without Akarra I’m nothing but a fool.”

  My heart ached at his resigned tone. “You’re not a fool.”

  “Aren’t I? Even you thought so once.”

  It was a jab I didn’t expect. Time and love had softened the memory of those angry words we’d poured out on that hill overlooking Edan Rose, but I hadn’t forgotten, and apparently he hadn’t either. “I never called you a fool.”

  “Only a hypocrite.”

  “And I was wrong, Alastair.”

  “How? How were you wrong?” He stood and touched the crest on his hauberk. “When people see me they’re not supposed to see a man; they’re supposed to see Edan Daired’s heir and Mikla’s Shield-bearer and the defender of the kingdom. It’s what I am. It’s all I am.” He let his hand fall. “Except I’m not. I can’t protect you. I can’t even protect myself anymore.”

  “What happened back there wasn’t your fault.”

  “I could have stopped it.”

  “Alastair, don’t.”

  “I should have stopped it. I should’ve suspected something.”

  “Why, because it’s been two full days since someone’s tried to kill us? Those Vesh knew their work. They’ve probably had lots of practice drugging travelers who come through carrying valuable heartstones.”

  “They didn’t fool you.”

  “They very nearly did.” I frowned. “But what does it matter? We got away.”

  His lips curled as if in a smile, though there was no humor in it. He did not look at me. “Rookwood will remember.”

  “He’ll remember that he failed.”

  “He’ll remember the heir to House Daired sprawled on the floor of some half-trill tavern, too stupid and weak to keep ahold of his sword.”

  Understanding dawned slowly. I pressed my lips together. “Is that what this is about?”

  “I don’t lose battles, Aliza.”

  “You mean you don’t know how to lose.”

  “No, and I don’t want to. We win, or we die. My father taught me that. It’s our way. It’s always been our way.”

  “Perhaps it shouldn’t be.” There was a time for a gentle hand, for sympathy and soothing words. Now was not that time. “Listen, Alastair. How many Daireds have there been since the Fireborn?”

  “What?”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Thousands. I don’t know.”

  “Do you honestly think not one of them ever lost a battle?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And lived?”

  He frowned.

  “You told me Edan lost three times before he earned Aur’eth’s loyalty.” I thought of the mural at Pendragon. “And what about Niaveth? She couldn’t save her friends. She failed, she lived, and the saints’ story survived because of her. The Shani are the Shani because of her. You don’t think she shamed your family, do you?”

  He let the stone fall. “Is this your attempt at encouragement?”

  “Is it working?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I touched his scarred hand and wove my fingers with his. “You are more than your name, Alastair.”

  For a minute the only sound was the gentle lapping of waves, the wind spiraling leaves away from the trees behind us, and the soft rhythm of Akarra’s bellows’ breath at our backs.

  “We should go,” he said at last, sheathing his sword.

  The selfish corner of my heart wished he’d say something to assure me that my words had gotten through, that something I’d said had made sense, but he gave me nothing. I wondered as we set off if perhaps it was because I had nothing to give.

  We flew in silence. What had happened at Langloch weighed heavily on all three of us, the ghost of the Vesh and the silver box adding unwanted members to our traveling party. Alastair had paled when I told him about the box, and even Akarra had looked shocked. We debated for a minute whether we ought to try leaving it once more, but in the end there was no argument. It had found us twice before; undoubtedly it would find us a third time. So Alastair had wrapped it up again and stowed it at the bottom of our luggage, muttering something that sounded like a prayer.

  In the end it was another nosebleed that helped lift the shadow of Langdred from us. The wind swallowed Akarra’s apology, but Alastair chuckled as he helped me stanch the blood with my crumpled handkerchief.

  “You really are earth-born, aren’t you? I’ve never met anyone with less talent for flying,” he said in my ear.

  Yes, and I’d like to see you mix a bellboil draught sometime, I thought, but hampered by the handkerchief, I settled on a sharp jab with my elbow. It only made him laugh harder.

  “Look!” Akarra called. “Aliza, Alastair, look.”

  We crested the last snow-capped mountain pass. Before us spread the blue-black waters of Lake Meera and there, glimmering with a thousand lights at the northernmost tip of the lake, sat the splendid edifice of Castle Selwyn. We had arrived.

  Chapter 15

  The House of Snow and Stone

  The first stars were appearing over the mountain peaks as Akarra started her descent toward the castle, which rose like a buttressed and turreted icicle from the brow of a cliff overlooking the lake. To the east, an inlet curved around the castle’s promontory and a long quay divided the waters as they flowed inland. The torches of a town glimmered along both eastern and western shores, but Castle Selwyn sat apart at the mouth of the lake, a lonely fortress of light in the gathering sea of night.

  We landed in an empty courtyard. No grooms loitered by the gate leading to the stables; no guards stood at the door. Though lanterns burned in almost every window the castle was strangely quiet.

  “Where is everyone?” Akarra asked as we dismounted.

  “Do you think they knew we were coming?” I asked. If Master Trennan’s gyrfalcon had somehow been waylaid, Lord Selwyn wouldn’t have known to expect us. Trennan was probably still on the road.

  Alastair shrugged and knocked. The door swallowed the sound with a hundred mahogany mouths, the carved faces of merfolk and sirens grimacing at us from their places on the lintel.

  “Maybe they’re all in bed,” I said.

  “It’s too early for that.” He reached for the doorknob, a great silver merman’s head crowned in waterweeds.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m not standing out here all night,” he said, and twisted the knob. It was open.

  “Let me know when you find someone, khela,” Akarra said. She peered east over the courtyard wall. “This place doesn’t fee
l right.”

  Like the courtyard, the foyer was empty. I turned around a few times in the middle of the floor to take it in. Everything about the interior of Castle Selwyn was elongated: tall but narrow, with staircases and balconies and pillared galleries stacked one on top of the other, branching into towers like needles at the very summit.

  “Hello?” Alastair called. “Lord Selwyn?”

  No one answered. I looked around. A half-dozen doorways led from the foyer, some paneled in wood or carved like the front door, some hung with tapestries, some showing glimpses of firelight or long corridors beyond. One was plainer than the rest, a simple stone arch leading into an unadorned hallway. I started down it.

  “Where are you going?” Alastair asked, hurrying after me.

  “Kitchens.”

  “Aliza, we should wait for Selwyn—”

  “Oh come on, Alastair. Not to eat. If no one’s there, then we’ll know to start worrying.”

  He hesitated beneath the arch. “Are you sure this goes to the kitchens?”

  “Not at all, but if I’m wrong, you can choose the next place we look,” I said.

  I was wrong. The corridor twisted around the outside of the castle, the windows on our left throwing shards of moonlight on the floor in the dim space between torches. The hall ended in an alcove with neither doors nor windows, merely a wooden bench against the wall. A single painting hung above the bench—but what a painting it was! It was a portrait of a man and woman, undoubtedly Lord and Lady Selwyn, nearly as tall as me and done in the same masterful style as the portraits at House Pendragon. The gaudiness of its gilt frame seemed almost a pity. A Tornay deserved something less distracting. I found myself staring at the depiction of Lady Selwyn. If Tornay had painted faithfully, the mistress of the castle was an unusually beautiful woman.

  Alastair took my arm. “My turn?”

  “Aye, your turn.”

  He smiled, but tension wreathed his eyes and his hand on my arm suddenly seemed protective rather than conciliatory. “I don’t like this.”

  “Who are you?” came a voice from behind us.