Dragonshadow

by Elle Katharine White

  Cordelia pulled me back. “The child was not so clumsy. She would have had a lantern. She knew this path.”

  “Was there heavy fog the night she disappeared?”

  “Well—yes. I suppose there was.”

  “I don’t think she wandered off. Something would have driven her this way.” I saw no other breaks in the cliff wall. Even in the dark this was the only place she could have fallen. “Something must have frightened her enough to make her run. She just ran in the wrong direction.”

  “You think this creature knew she’d fall?”

  “Your husband is looking for a Tekari. That’s what Tekari do.” Flashes of Rina’s face crowded thick and fast into my mind’s eye. I shoved them away. “It would explain how she broke her neck, and why she was found in the water.”

  She nodded gravely. “I fear you may be right. But come.” She touched my shoulder, her eyes fixed on the ruins of the abbey. “We should return. Someone will have noticed we’re gone.”

  The climb back to the garden was harder. I wondered what Alastair had learned from Selwyn, if he learned anything at all. Selwyn had already lied to us once, or if not lied, he’d at least hidden the truth. I hoped there was no clause in Alastair’s contract that required us to trust him. I certainly didn’t.

  Cordelia slipped her arm through mine as we crossed the garden. “Aliza, will you be honest with me?”

  “Of course.”

  “I did not expect you to come. Is it a common thing for the wives of Daireds to accompany them on contracts like this?”

  There was no accusation in her tone, though I half expected it. Those enormous eyes turned on me with nothing but sincere curiosity and, to my surprise, admiration. “Well, since I’m the first nakla Daired in generations and I’m standing here, I suppose it is,” I said.

  “Were you not frightened?”

  “Yes. Often.”

  “Yet here you are.” She shook her head. “You must love your husband very much.”

  “With all my heart.”

  “Why?”

  The question, at once so unexpected and intimate, brought me to a standstill. “I’m sorry?”

  “Why do you love your Daired, Aliza?”

  “He’s . . .” I struggled for a word to contain all I felt for Alastair. “He’s a good man.”

  “Hm. Goodness. A strange word, that. What is goodness?” She plucked a pebble from the rim of the fountain. “This may be said to be a good stone simply for not being made of wood. It is what it is and gives no thought for what it is not.” The pebble slipped between her fingers and fell into the water with a dull plunk. “But a stone cannot warm you. A stone cannot give you light.” She shook her head. “The bards sing of you and your Daired, Aliza. Did you know?”

  “Aye, I’ve heard the ‘Charissong.’”

  “The Battle of North Fields changed him.”

  “It changed everybody,” I said quietly.

  She turned away. “Niall fought, you know. He and the Lake Meera Regiment rode away to Harborough Hatch when word came of the Great Worm. He must have been very brave. He must have protected people.” Her voice fell. “Should he not have a song?”

  “Maybe he will someday. The people of Hatch Ford remember.”

  “And in their memories they will make him a good man, will they?”

  The intensity of her question unnerved me. “I don’t think I’m the right person to answer that, Cordelia.”

  “No. You’re right, of course. Forgive my ramblings. Let it be enough that you have found your Daired.” She smiled. It was a sad smile, like the first rime of frost on the petals of a rose. “Your child will be born into a fortunate house.”

  “Yes, it . . .” I stopped and stared at her as the weight of her words began to register. “My what?”

  “You don’t know?” The smile turned at once to astonishment. “You don’t know! Oh! Aquouris gives life! Uoroura sustains!” She pressed the four fingers of her right hand to her lips, her heart, and then, without hesitation, to my navel. “Joy be yours, Aliza Daired. Yours and your child’s.”

  Twenty lindworms might’ve burst from beneath the mountains all around us and forty dragons might’ve fallen burning from the sky. I wouldn’t have noticed any of them.

  Yours and the child you bear . . . the child you bear . . . the child.

  Her words flitted like an unruly gale around me, their meaning swaying just out of reach.

  “It is very early yet, but surely you’ve noticed your body changing?” she asked.

  Dazed, I tried to remember the last time I’d bled. One, two, three, four . . . had it been more than six weeks? I couldn’t remember exactly but now that I thought of it, it had certainly been before the wedding. My heart beat faster. A child? Already?

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “You’ve not felt ill? Mòrag says it is common to feel ill in the beginning.” She frowned. “You’ve noticed nothing?”

  Maybe it wasn’t flying that upset me after all. “I guess I have.”

  “Let’s go inside. You need rest and food.” My stomach chose that moment to impersonate a tribe of galloping beoryns, and her eyes twinkled. “Didn’t you have breakfast?”

  “I . . . couldn’t get it down.”

  “Our kitchens are at your disposal. Our cook will see that you get whatever you need.”

  What I need? What do I need?

  I needed time. I needed space. I needed somewhere to sit quietly and allow this revelation to wash over me. I needed to breathe, to let terror and disbelief run their course, to reconcile myself to the weeks and months and years ahead. I needed Anjey at my side, and Gwyn squeezing my hand in delight, and Mama making an almighty fuss over how I was feeling and what to call the baby and when she and Papa could move into House Pendragon to look after their grandchild. I needed to see the look on Alastair’s face.

  But Cordelia was right. First I needed to eat. “Does your cook have any pickled cabbage?”

  He did. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have touched the stuff, but it conjured no thoughts of fish and stayed down, so I gave in, ate the bowlful, and felt better for it afterward. Cordelia sat with me in the alcove of the kitchen and watched with an abstracted smile. She did not eat. The ever-present Mòrag sidled over to clear away the empty dishes. When I asked after Alastair, she told us the men had left the castle shortly after we had, intending to make a full tour of the grounds with Akarra. She did not know when they’d return.

  Cordelia stayed with me throughout the afternoon. My pensive mood must’ve been contagious; for hours we wandered the castle library, flipping through tales of saints and Riders, browsing her collection of Noordish love poetry, speaking only about trivial things, and otherwise sharing a companionable silence. She did not talk of children; I did not talk of the dead maid, or the murdered Idar, or the warning on the stone. Often I found my hand straying to my belly, imagining a little life tucked inside. It can’t be. This was far too soon. I would’ve known. I’m sure I would’ve known.

  Yet even as I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t true, something assured me it was. My body had been ready for a child; it was the rest of me that rebelled. I don’t know how to be a mother! My pulse quickened again and I felt the pressure descending on my chest, squeezing my lungs and sending panic shooting like ice water through my veins. I can’t do this. I can’t—

  Alastair cradling a downy-haired bundle, his face alight with wonder as he looks down at our son or daughter, laughing, or crying, or both.

  The image was so clear, I could almost see him sitting across from me with our child in his arms. The panic and the pressure ebbed. Not entirely, but it slowed the tide of rising terror enough for me to find my feet and remember at the last second that I could swim.

  “Lady Cordelia?” Mòrag stood at the end of the table, hands clasped in front of her. I jumped and silently cursed her stealth. The old woman really was everywhere.

  “Yes?” Cordelia said, unruffled.

/>   “The head chambermaid needs a moment of your time in the Winter Parlor.”

  “Very well. Aliza, will you be all right?”

  “Aye. Thank you for lunch.”

  She left, a smile still playing on her lips. Mòrag didn’t follow.

  “You should not have come here, Lady Daired,” she said as the door closed after her mistress.

  I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “Lord Selwyn invited your husband and his dragon, not you.”

  So it was back to this. “Maybe so, but I am here, and I can’t leave now.”

  “You can and you should. Travelers’ caravans run from Morianton to Selkie’s Keep every week. The next sets out tomorrow at dawn. You should go before the snows come.”

  I frowned. “Madam Mòrag, I’m not leaving my husband.”

  “Then he should go too.”

  “You know he can’t.”

  She stuck out her chin, all bony angles and witch’s whiskers. “You must find a way to persuade him.”

  “Why?” I demanded. For once I had no stomach for mysteries. “What’s going on here?”

  “It is none of your business. You are not a northerner. You’re not even a Rider.”

  “No.” I shut my book and stood. “That doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

  “Care? Why should you care?”

  “Because I know what it’s like to lose someone to the Tekari.”

  Of all the things I’d said, that was the first that seemed to strike her with any kind of feeling. “Isolde was just a child,” she said. “Too kind for her own good. It was not even her turn to light the lantern that night. She should not have been out there. She did not deserve to die.”

  “Then you understand why we have to stay.”

  The flash of feeling disappeared. “Pursue this creature and you will ruin more lives than you think.” Footsteps and voices echoed in the hall outside and Mòrag dipped into a scathing curtsy. “I’ve spoken my piece, Lady Daired, and I’ll say no more. You cannot say I failed to warn you. Good evening.”

  The housekeeper’s words left my mind in a tumult. My stomach followed and I rushed back to our chambers, praying I’d be spared another glimpse of the pickled cabbage. I was, and when my stomach settled, I sat before the fire in an attempt to put my racing thoughts in order. First Cordelia, then Mòrag. We must leave, we can’t leave. Isolde running along the cliffside path alone, frightened, chased by something in the dark, something that had already killed and longed to kill again. The nightmare lurking inside me laughed. Always in the dark. Darkness and fire and old debts left unpaid. But whose? And why? Cordelia, Mòrag, Isolde. She was just a child . . . just a child . . .

  A child.

  The door opened behind me. “Aliza! There you are,” Alastair said. “Dinner’s ready.”

  His voice scattered the ghosts of the day like frost under the first light of dawn. I crossed the room and flung my arms around him, breathing in his comforting scent of smoke and sweat and dragons.

  He returned the embrace, albeit confusedly. “Is everything all right?”

  “I just missed you,” I said with a sigh.

  “Oh. Good. I, ah, missed you too.” He kissed my forehead as I released him. “The contracts are finalized. Selwyn agreed to pay us fifty gold dragonbacks when this Tekari is dead.”

  Somewhere in the back of my brain I tucked away my shock at the enormous sum. “Did you find anything on the grounds?”

  “Not so much as a blasted coney. We’re going to have to quarter the area and comb through every blade of grass. I’m sure you’ll hear more about it at dinner. Rhys wants to draw lots for the first patrol.”

  “Alastair, wait.” I gathered my thoughts and took a deep breath. “Before we go, I need to tell you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “You . . . may want to sit.”

  Alarm spread over his face. He did not sit. “What’s wrong?”

  “No, don’t worry,” I said quickly. “It’s just that we may have to take our time flying home.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Instead of answering, I took his arm, drew him closer, and placed his hand on my stomach.

  He looked at his hand, then at me, then back at his hand. The question hung in the air between us, asked in the sudden tension of his fingers as they brushed the curve of my belly and in the shock lighting in his eyes, which widened more and more as the truth dawned on him.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Well, I’d hate to be nauseated and not bleeding for some other reason. It’s still early, but yes, I think I am.”

  For a long time we stood there, his hand on my stomach, finding no end of wonder and terror and amazement in each other’s eyes.

  “You’re awfully calm,” he said at last.

  “Give me a few days. Right now I’m too scared to panic properly.”

  “Me too.”

  I smiled. “Some use we’ll be to Selwyn.”

  “At the moment, khera, I say Niall Selwyn can take his fifty gold dragonbacks and go hang. We’re going to have a child.” He knelt, pressing his lips to our hands clasped over my stomach. “Shai shurran’a Ah-Na-al Akhe’at, shai shurran’a Ahla-Na Lehal’i.”

  And standing like that, trembling under the weight of this thing we’d done and the weight of all we still had to do, I began to think that maybe—just maybe—it would be all right. We were scared, unprepared, and inexperienced, yes, but we were scared and unprepared and inexperienced together. It had to count for something.

  “You know, unless you want our child’s second language to be Low Gnomic you really should start teaching me Eth.”

  There were tears in his eyes when he stood, and he laughed as we embraced. “You’re not fluent already?”

  “You’re not the most attentive tutor. I’m guessing that was something to Odei and Janna.”

  “‘All honor to He-Who-Begins; all honor to She-Who-Sustains.’ What would your hobgoblin friends say?”

  “Ghep thgud gnomi.”

  “Meaning?”

  “‘Thanks for the sprouts.’”

  He laughed. “I’ll remember that.” He kissed my forehead again, then my lips. It was a long kiss, sweet and lingering. “We should go,” he said after a minute. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

  “Aye, we should,” I said, but he didn’t move. I leaned against his chest, enjoying the sound of his heartbeat, the warmth of his arms, and the simple joy of being loved. The ghost of a dead girl and the threats of an old woman and the shadow of a mysterious Tekari hovered outside our door, waiting to pounce as soon as we crossed the threshold; but in this little moment with nothing but each other, we were content. “Just not quite yet.”

  Chapter 18

  A Reckoning

  Alastair and I rose early, eager to share our news with Akarra. We found her perched on the garden wall on the lake side of the castle, surveying the dark water below. Her tail swung like a pendulum off the wall, and I sat as close to her as I could in an attempt to steal some of her warmth as Alastair began his morning exercises. For once he’d dressed sensibly, sacrificing freedom of movement for the freedom of not freezing to death. True to the Mermish king’s predictions we’d not yet seen a flake of snow, but today’s Martenmas celebration marked the official beginning of autumn and it was already growing cold. Or rather, colder. In the high mountain air even full sunlight had a hard time dispelling the white clouds that drifted out with every breath.

  “Find anything interesting last night?” I asked Akarra.

  She grunted.

  I looked over at Alastair. “Is that Eth for yes or no?”

  He grinned as she scratched beneath her chin with one wingtip. “I didn’t see, hear, or smell a thing,” she said. “And Selwyn didn’t think to save the Idar bodies, so we’ve nothing to go on there except what he tells us. Which so far has been precious little.”

  “He didn’t tell you about the carving?” I said.
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br />   Alastair looked up. Akarra turned from her study of the lake. “What carving?”

  I told them about the markings on the boulder near the cliff path.

  “No,” Alastair said. “He failed to mention that.”

  “You’re sure the word was repent?” Akarra asked.

  “That’s how Cordelia translated it.”

  “And where did you say it was?” Alastair asked.

  “There’s a gap in the cliff wall a few hundred yards down the path from the garden, near the ruins of the old abbey.” I felt Alastair’s eyes on me as his smile dimmed and knew all too well the question behind it, which I ignored. “Cordelia and I think that’s where Isolde was when this creature appeared. It must have frightened her off the cliff. The warning was left on the rock opposite the gap.”

  Akarra stretched her wings. “I’m going to take a look. Khela, you should come too.”

  “Wait!” I said. “Before you go, I need to ask—the road from Lake Meera to Selkie’s Keep. Do you think it’s still open this time of year?” The words tumbled out in a rush.

  Akarra gave me a curious look. “To Selkie’s Keep? Why on earth do you want to know?”

  I caught Alastair’s eye and winked. “Oh, just wondering.”

  “Well, there must be post carriages in Morianton that make the trip throughout the autumn,” she said, “but I don’t see why that matters.”

  “There’s a kingsroad out of Selkie’s Keep straight to Harborough Hatch, isn’t there?”

  “Last time I looked.”

  “There’s one from Hatch Ford to Pendragon too,” Alastair added, and while I felt confident we’d be having a discussion about wandering around the castle grounds sometime soon, for the moment his grin was back. “I’m sure they’d have room for a few extra passengers after we’re done here.”

  “How long will that take?” I asked, making a show of calculating it on my fingers. Akarra watched us both, her horned eyebrows drawing together.

  “Three weeks, if the weather holds,” he said.