Dragonshadow

by Elle Katharine White

  “You did the right thing,” I managed, and wondered why the words felt so hollow.

  “I only wish I’d done it sooner.”

  “You did it, though, and that’s all that matters.”

  Trennan groaned and rolled in his sleep. His lips moved but no words came out, intelligible or otherwise. Sweat still shone on his forehead. I felt his pulse. Strong and steady, if faster than usual. I checked the remains of the draught in his cup, adjusted his blankets, and sat again. This malady, whatever it was, would have to run its course.

  A sudden thought struck me. “The thing out there,” I asked Alastair, “it can’t hurt Akarra, can it?”

  The crackling fire and the sound of Trennan’s steadied breathing filled the silence that stretched just a few seconds beyond what was comforting. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t think so.”

  But he didn’t sound as sure as he once had.

  Chapter 20

  Ghosts of the Abbey

  Sunlight streamed through the high library windows, falling in dusty beams across the bookshelves and onto the figure on the opposite sofa. I sat up and nudged Alastair awake. “Good morning, Master Trennan,” I said. The young man blinked and looked around. A touch of color came into his cheeks when his eyes landed on us. “How do you feel?” I asked gently.

  “I’m, uh, not sure, milady. Why am I in the library?”

  Between the two of us we explained what’d happened. “What did you see last night?” Alastair asked.

  Trennan stared at the ground.

  “Master Trennan—Jen, listen to me,” I said. “As long as this monster is out there, no one’s safe. Lord Alastair and the others can defeat it, but first they have to know what they’re facing, and you’re the only one who’s seen it. Please. We need your help.”

  “You can really defeat her?” Trennan said, looking at Alastair.

  “We can, and we will.”

  “Why do you call it her?” I asked.

  “That’s what it was.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “At least, that’s what it looked like. A lady in the mists.”

  “What were you doing outside the castle so late?”

  “You don’t understand. I had to.” He covered his face. “That message on the wall yesterday, I thought it was about Isolde. I thought it was for me! So I went to the old abbey to ask forgiveness. I figured if your gods were angry, maybe they’d listen to me there.”

  “What did Isolde have to do with this?” I asked.

  “Nothing! She wasn’t supposed to be out there!” He looked up, his cheeks shiny with tears. “It was my job to light the lantern that night. It should’ve been me out on the rocks! Isolde only did it because she owed Bretta a favor, and Bretta and me . . . we . . . it should’ve been me.”

  “What did you see when you went to the abbey?” Alastair asked.

  Trennan pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “It was dark, but I took a lantern. I thought if I left a few copper trills by the old statue of the Fourfold God, this creature would leave us all alone, so I dropped the coins and said I was sorry. That’s when a woman came out of the mists. Only it—it looked like Isolde. She was wearing a green dress though. Isolde didn’t own a dress like that.”

  “Did she say anything to you?” I asked.

  “S-she asked me what I was doing there. I told her. She laughed at me and said I was little and petty and she wasn’t here for my sins. Then she—” His throat worked up and down. “Then she turned into something else. No, no, I don’t remember! Please don’t make me, milord!”

  Again he covered his face, and this time no amount of coaxing would bring him out of his little ball of misery. I drew Alastair aside to give the boy a moment of privacy.

  “A Tekari that can change its face?” I whispered. “Have you ever met one like that?”

  “No,” Alastair said. “And there’s nothing like that spoken of in the Chronicle either. This is something new.”

  Or something very old. The centaur Cyrsha’s words came back to me. Voices rose and fell in the hallway outside, followed by a thump and the patter of footsteps. Maybe something that’s never gone beyond the borders of the Old Wilds before.

  “Akarra and I need to visit Morianton today,” he said. “I’ll see if the cantor knows any Tekari lore from these parts. In the meantime—”

  The door burst open and Bretta ran inside, chased by Rhys. Trennan bolted upright. “Is he all right?” she cried. “Is he going to live?”

  “Yes, he’ll live, little miss. No need to rouse the castle.” Rhys rolled his eyes over Bretta’s shoulder as she flung her arms around Trennan, who reddened considerably at the attention. “Oh, and your dragon is in the front courtyard, Lord Daired,” Rhys added. “She wants to see you.”

  “Tell her I’ll be there in a moment. Aliza, listen,” Alastair said as Rhys went out. “I know you’re going to go looking for answers as soon as I leave. No, don’t argue. I won’t try to stop you. Just promise me you won’t go alone, and promise you’ll take your dagger.”

  “I don’t think a dagger will do much good.”

  He looked at me seriously. “Please, khera.”

  “Yes, all right. I’ll take it.”

  He caught my hand and squeezed it gently before releasing me. “Thank you.”

  We parted in the hall. I returned to our room and dug out my knife from the bottom of the panniers, strapped the sheath to my calf, and went in search of Cordelia. She wasn’t in the Lake Hall, or with Mòrag in the kitchens. After almost an hour of searching I found her in the garden, half hidden by the clump of leafless bushes that enclosed the fountain.

  “Good morning, Aliza,” she said without raising her head. A film of ice crackled under her touch as she trailed her fingers over the water. “It’s strange, isn’t it? A reflection. You see, and yet you don’t see.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The water. It shows so many facets, but never the full truth of the thing. It hides as much as it reveals. Curious, isn’t it?” She looked up. “How is Master Jen?”

  “He had a bad fright, but he’ll be fine. Bretta’s taking care of him now.”

  “He thought we didn’t know,” she said with a sad smile. “He thought none of us knew about the two of them.” I told her what Trennan had said about seeing Isolde’s ghost. “Brave, foolish boy. He shouldn’t have been outside after dark.”

  “Cordelia, I want you to take me to the abbey.”

  She looked up sharply. “Why?”

  “If you won’t—or can’t—tell me what’s going on, then perhaps you can show me. Trennan said he saw the creature near the abbey. I want to have a look.”

  “No! Aliza, no. It’s . . . too dangerous.”

  “It’ll be more dangerous the longer we sit here without answers. Besides, it’s the middle of the morning. You said it yourself, Trennan was attacked because he was out at night.” I drew up the edge of my skirt and showed her the dagger. “If something is there and wants to make itself unpleasant, we’ll be ready.”

  Cordelia tilted her head at the sight of the knife. “You mean to go anyway, do you not?”

  I lifted my chin. “Aye.”

  She closed her eyes and exhaled a long, silent breath. When she opened her eyes, her expression was troubled. “I’ll take you to the abbey. But we must be careful.”

  My breath frosted in white clouds as we started down the cliffside path and I was glad of my fur cloak. The sky arched a hard, icy blue above us, but fog drifted in pools close to the ground and limited our visibility. I thought it strange to see so much mist so high in the mountains so late in the year, but Cordelia said such things were common around the lakes. Stones slippery with dew and lichen made the path along the cliff treacherous even in daylight. A few minutes later we passed the pile of pine boughs covering the carving and Cordelia veered away from the cliff, deeper into the fog. The blue of the sky faded to a pearly white. Shadows loomed in the distance.

  “What are you hoping to
find?” Cordelia asked. The mist deadened her voice.

  I inspected the heap of stones that’d once formed the entryway into the abbey garden. Moss carpeted the courtyard. “I don’t know,” I admitted. Footprints? More warnings? Something the men might’ve missed? The empty arches of the abbey rose a few yards ahead. Inside I could just make out the shape of benches, most broken or toppled, surrounding the dark figure of the four-faced statue in the center of the abbey. It listed a little on its dais. Gulls croaked from the roofless walls. “We’ll know it when we see it, I’m sure.”

  “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

  I paused beneath the entry arch. “If you want to tell me what you know, I’m ready to listen.”

  She bit her lip and didn’t answer.

  “Thought so. Then I’ll keep looking.”

  Moss muffled her steps as she ran across the courtyard. “Aliza, please! Think of your child!”

  “I won’t be—” The word brought me up short. My hand drifted to my belly. The signs had been obvious, or should have been obvious—to me. But to a stranger? To someone who I’d just met? “How did you know?”

  “What?”

  “How did you know I was pregnant? You never saw me sick, and even I know my body hasn’t changed that much yet.”

  “I just knew.”

  “Cordelia. I need the truth.”

  She came forward and touched four fingers to my navel. “Water . . . speaks to me. All waters, even those of the womb.” Her other hand rested on her own stomach. “There are so many things I wish I could tell you, Aliza, and so many more that I can’t, but you must believe me when I say I would never wish you or your child harm. Please, come back with me. We can’t stay—”

  She froze, staring at something beyond me.

  “Cordelia?”

  “No. You cannot be here. Not now!”

  “Who?”

  She pointed over my shoulder. I spun and stared into the fog swirling around the shadows in the abbey, around the benches and fallen pillars and the four-faced statue—

  The statue moved.

  Cordelia shrieked and ran. The statue-shape moved with a soft slither, stirring the fog into swirls and eddies as it made its way toward the place I stood.

  “Who are you?” I cried. “Show yourself!”

  “Don’t worry, Aliza,” the dark shape said. It had a woman’s voice, rough, purring, and familiar. “I intend to,” she said, and Charis Brysney stepped out of the mists.

  That’s impossible. “You can’t . . . you’re not . . . Charis, I saw you die.”

  Bloodred lips curled in a smile that made me feel cold all over. Her hair hung in a lank, reddish-gold curtain around her face, which was sterner and prouder and more beautiful than I’d remembered. She wore a gown the color of pond scum, damp at the hem and stained with dirt. “So you did,” she said. “Yet here I stand.”

  “What are you?”

  “I am whatever I need to be.”

  “You’re dead.”

  “Not to you. Not to your husband. Not to a hundred thousand hearts that now hold my name in high honor. As long as I’m remembered I will always live.”

  “What—what are you doing here?” My voice shook.

  “I’m here for the same reason you are. I was invited.” With the same careless grace Charis once had the creature sank onto a toppled column. Her feet were bare. A breeze ruffled her gown. I smelled rotting peat and the damp, clinging scent of gravemold. “But come. I’ve missed a great deal since the Battle of North Fields. You must tell me all.”

  “You’re not Charis.”

  “I’m as much Charis Brysney as you are a true Daired, Aliza Bentaine. Perhaps neither of us are who we pretend to be.”

  I bent and drew my dagger. Without breaking eye contact with the creature, I edged toward the abbey gate. She watched me with an impassive gaze.

  “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Aliza. I never did,” she said. “I’ve always admired your courage, and Alastair would not love a woman whom he could not respect. Still, I must say I’m surprised he went all the way and married you.”

  “Why does that surprise you?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “I forget you’ve known him for such a short time. You never met his father. Lord Erran was a good man, but strict. He would’ve never allowed his son to marry a nakla.” Long, ragged nails tapped the stone beneath her. “If he’d only taken you for his lover, I might understand. Men are weak that way. But as his wife? As the mother of his children? I wonder.”

  “You shouldn’t,” I said firmly. But her words had found their mark.

  “And perhaps you should.”

  “He loves me; I love him. We chose each other,” I said, or tried to. My voice came as if from a great distance, weighed down by this new, nameless terror. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “It’s never as simple as that.” She stood and came toward me. I took one step back for every step she took forward. “Has Alastair never spoken of Selkie’s Keep? Or the stand we took against the feral gargoyles of the Isle of Dean? Or our last, desperate charge against the centaurs of the South Fens?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then you can never know the love of the battlefield. You can never understand what it means to trust someone so completely that he becomes a part of you, just as you become a part of him. Two swords, but one heart, one soul.” She held out her hands. “There are many kinds of love, Aliza, but ours was the truest.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  Her laughter was as brittle as the crust of snow over a frozen battlefield. “Believe what you wish; it doesn’t change the truth. You are not the first woman Alastair Daired has ever loved, and I do not think you will be the last. For all your kindness, all your courage, you can never be what that man truly needs. You’re not strong enough. You’re not brave enough. You’re not . . . enough.”

  I couldn’t look away from those dead gray eyes. There was a rushing in my ears, and I felt again the scorch of dragonfire as I stood before Lady Catriona’s dragon in the courtyard of the North Fields lodge. She’d said the same thing. A nakla, now and forever. A stain on House Daired, diluting the Fireborn’s bloodline with your weakness and neediness. A secret shame to the man you love . . .

  “No!” I shook my head, dispelling the voice that I realized, with a feeling akin to plunging headfirst into the icy waters of the lake, wasn’t mine. “What are you? How do you know all this?”

  The creature laughed. “You bear these words on your heart, Aliza Bentaine, and you always will. Your fears and doubts are written on your face. I just know how to read them.”

  “You’re wrong!”

  “I’m not. This compromise you have with Alastair, this balance you think you’ve struck—it can’t last. You know it can’t. He is wind and fire and you are mere earth. Either by smothering or scorching, one must destroy the other. Which will it be?” Again she smiled. “I think the choice will fall to you in the end.”

  “What choice?”

  “How long are you willing to watch him burn?”

  And suddenly the rushing in my ears was the sound of waves, and I smelled crushed moorflowers, and the pebbles crunching beneath my feet weren’t part of the abbey garden at all, and we’d gone a lot farther from the ruins than I’d realized . . .

  “NO! Aliza, stop!”

  A hand seized my wrist at the same moment my foot found empty air. Cordelia yanked me back from the cliff’s edge. I fell hard, stones and gravel digging into my palms and belly. The Charis-creature hissed.

  “Back! Leave her alone!” Cordelia shouted. “You cannot be here!”

  “I can,” the lady in green said, in a voice that no longer sounded like Charis Brysney. It wavered and crackled, spitting venom. “I was invited.”

  “Return to the Wastes where you belong!”

  “Not before I claim what is rightfully mine.”

  “Nothing here is yours, creature.”

  “Ah, but it is.
I was drawn here, Lady of the Keep, drawn by a deep and dreadful wrong, and I will not leave these shores until I have seen vengeance.”

  “You will. I command you!”

  I peered up at the shape in the thinning fog. Charis was gone. The thing that replaced her had a gray face, featureless but for a wide, lipless mouth, now open to show fangs stained with darkness. Its gaunt form was still wrapped in the putrid green robe.

  “My quarrel is not with you, Lady of the Keep,” it said, “but do not dare command me again.”

  Cordelia’s eyes blazed. “Your quarrel is not with this woman either.”

  “Her? Why should you care what happens to her?”

  “She is a guest in my house and under my protection. You will leave her alone.”

  The creature threw back its head and laughed. “Your protection? Your protection? Oh, my lady, you have no idea what has come to your shores,” she said, looking up. Dark bird-shapes moved in the fog above us and I heard the rasp of crows. Crows? Are those crows? My mind felt slow, my wits thick. A knot tightened deep in my gut. My palms throbbed. “No, I will not interfere,” the creature said after a pause. “I’ve made my bargain. She is not the one I came for.” She pointed at me, grinning to show every glistening midnight fang. “In any case, this one’s fate is beyond even me now.”

  The mist swirled over her like a damp cocoon before melting into the air, leaving nothing but swaying grasses and the distant ruins of the abbey.

  Chapter 21

  Old Wives’ Tales

  Cordelia helped me back to the castle without a word. I didn’t ask why she’d abandoned me in the abbey, or how she knew what the creature wanted. Silence, or at least an opportunity to explain, was all I could offer her in return for saving my life. With the thrill of horror when my foot lost the cliff’s edge still singing through every nerve, I couldn’t think of much else.

  “Aliza, I’m so sorry,” she said as we crossed the garden. “Your hands.”

  I looked down. My palms were scraped and bleeding from my fall. Tears welled up as I picked bits of gravel and lichen from the torn skin.