Now at last his gaze flicked from Owain to me, and it seemed his eyes would speak volumes, if only I knew the language. He permitted me to ease the blade from his hand.
I then turned and smashed the hilt across Owain's skull as hard as the limited space allowed.
"Bloody earth!" Owain cried, and worse curses besides, as he went to his knees in the dirt, a hand to the back of his head. "Ariana, what has possessed you?"
"What has possessed me? When you are the one beating a child? I know not whether you were permitted such behavior in Dewgent—though I gravely doubt it—but this little kingdom is mine, and I assure you I will not tolerate it. If you touch Gareth again—if you so much as speak to him harshly—it will not be the hilt you next receive from my hand." I threw down the sword, spat at Owain's feet, and ran in the direction Gareth had gone, dragging Braith by the hand.
We found Gareth sniffling and shaking, curled up behind the chicken coop. A gray hen sat in his lap, clucking concernedly, while a half-grown rooster perched on his shoulder. As per usual, nature rallying to the aid of her dearest friend.
"Be at ease, little one," I murmured, gathering him, chickens and all, into an embrace.
"Not little," he muttered.
"Great long-legged stork of a one, then," I said with a snort. "There now, Prince Owain will not bully you more. Let me see your face. Are you bleeding?" I examined the place where Owain had struck him. "No, you will have only a great astonishment of a bruise. My poor boy. How were you to know how badly Owain would take someone's hands on his things, when that has been of so little concern in this place? I hope you will let the princes' belongings be from now on, will you not?"
"Yes, Ari." He sighed heavily against my shirt.
"Excellent lad. Go on inside, now, and Genevieve can make a poultice for that bruise, before your eye swells shut. Go on."
He started to go, then turned back and threw his arms around Braith, who stood stiff and wide-eyed.
"Nice dragon," Gareth said, then turned and scurried away toward the tower.
Braith and I stood silent as Gareth passed out of earshot. I shifted my feet, all my skin a-prickle with an awareness of his proximity that was both awkward and exhilarating. His hair was loose still, and he tucked it behind his ear, a movement that seemed more fascinating than the circling of the planets.
Irrelevant, Ariana! You have already decided this is irrelevant.
Curse it, my decision to ignore Braith seemed to be having rather the opposite effect.
"Gareth is right to be grateful to you," I said, with admirable steadiness. "Never have I seen Owain in such a temper! Certainly, as a boy, he could be sour and broody, but the King and Queen would never permit him to treat the servants—or anyone!—in such a fashion. I would not have thought him capable. And you—he might have killed you!"
"You may recall that of the pair of us, I alone was armed," Braith said dryly.
"Yet you did not seem very certain of the outcome, yourself." I waited for him to explain the odd thing he had said to Owain, about what he would be sacrificing.
"How royal of you to eavesdrop," he said instead.
"I was not eavesdropping! I was coming to Gareth's defense."
"And how would you have defended him? Kicked Owain in the shin? Pulled his hair?"
"You perhaps underestimate the pain a well-placed kick can cause. I would be happy to educate you."
"Yet a grown man trained to fight would have made short work of you."
"I hardly think it would have come to that. Owain was in a temper, not a fit of madness. What, he would beat me to the ground for giving him a scold?"
"He beat Gareth for little more."
"Well, but Gareth is a servant, while I—"
"Careful, Ari, you are in danger of proclaiming your own importance."
"I am explaining how Owain might view our relative importance, not my own opinion."
"Then you consider Gareth your equal?"
"Not in understanding, nor in social stature," I admitted, "but my equal in humanity, certainly."
"What of me, then? Am I your equal in humanity?" He gave the words a mocking edge.
"That is difficult to measure."
"Why? Because no dragon could be equal to a human?"
"Because a parsnip could not be equal to a horse-and-carriage! How does one compare them?"
"You are quite correct. The superiority is obvious." He turned and began walking—not to say storming—away.
"Braith, where are you going?"
"Hunting, unless you aim to surrender the milk cow."
"You have no weapon!"
He made no response.
"Bring back firewood!" I shouted, cupping my hands into a trumpet. Still no response. I threw up my hands and headed back to the tower.
Only when I reached the door did it occur to me that he had shifted the subject quite neatly away from his conversation with Owain.
Braith had not returned at dinner-time, which ought to have improved the mood of the gathering—except that Owain was sulky and snappish, Gareth subdued and blossoming purple over much of his face, and Tristan, who knew by now what had happened, wordlessly watched his brother with eyes as flat and cold as ice. Genevieve's countenance seemed as tranquil as ever, yet she kept herself at all times between Gareth and Owain, and Elaysius—who could not, of course, be silent—muttered frequently on the nature of the truly great man, whose power leads him to greater, not lesser, kindness.
"Oh, for pity's sake, all this for a simpleton's bruise!" Owain cried at last. "I acted over-harshly—there, will you be satisfied? I maintain my right to anger, for I'll permit no man—nor child nor servant—to treat my belongings as his own, but my manner had more violence than the occasion warranted. There. What more will you have of me?"
"Admitting one's wrong is a virtue," Tristan said. "Yet still I am distressed to hear my brother capable of this wrong in the first place."
"Oh, come, Tristan, you know many a lord who treats his servants as ill or worse, as a matter of daily business."
"Indeed I know them, and endeavor to avoid any further intimacy than that. I had thought you a better sort."
"How is it better to let a servant scatter and befoul my equipment with impunity? That is no true lord, either, to enforce no discipline on his subjects."
"Whose subjects?" I inquired.
Owain stood, nearly knocking his chair over. "It is clear I will get no peace at this table until tempers have cooled," he tossed back as he left the room.
"He speaks of tempers!" I exclaimed, but Tristan put a hand on my arm.
"Do not let him stir you, that is what he likes best in a quarrel—making out that all are as guilty as himself." He took a slow, calming breath, as if to remind himself of his own advice. "Let us speak of pleasanter things. I have observed a balcony on one of the upper floors of this tower—does it open onto your room?"
"It does."
"I think I would very much like to see the view, if you do not mind it. One does become restless, hobbling from one room to the garden and back. I had enough of such restriction in my years of illness, and since then have grown quickly accustomed to a life of action!"
"But the stairs, Tristan."
"You got me up them once before. I think we can manage it again."
It took many minutes, much wincing and lifting and pushing and stopping to rest, but between his efforts and my own, Tristan did at length make the third story, and my chamber.
"Rest a moment," I said, but he shook his head.
"I would see the view from the balcony before it grows entirely dark," he said. "It is only a few more steps."
At last we were on the balcony, Tristan leaning on the rail with his chest heaving. "An effort, to be sure," he said. "But the result is well worth it!"
I had to concur. Sunset now lit sky and sea with vivid shades of rose, gold, and fire, the waves seeming to glory in their warm bath.
"It is lovely," I said. "But you mi
ght watch the sun set from almost anywhere. Now you must lead another assault on the stairway when it is done."
"I will survive it." He waved a hand dismissively. "But I must confess a secret. The view was only my secondary goal in this venture. My first was simply to be some moments alone with my betrothed." He took my hand and kissed it.
Startled, but very pleased, I could offer only a blush in lieu of words.
"You do seem ever in motion, and seldom solitary, for all the limited company of this place," he continued. "It makes it difficult for a man to court."
Court? I had never been courted. It might be very nice, to be courted. Still blushing, I said, "There is hardly a need for that, Tristan, with our marriage already decided."
"Call it a sentimentality. I would come to know this new Ariana as well as I knew the old."
"In what way am I new?"
He raised his brows. "Where should I begin? You farm, you milk, you cook, you swim, you defend dragons. You have had a hard life here, and it has made you—quite reasonably—a harder woman than the girl I knew."
These were hardly romantic words.
"You were always too sensible to be much spoiled," he continued, running a playful fingertip down my cheek, "but certainly you were unfamiliar with the harshness of the world."
"I am still, truth be told. Life may not be easy here, by court standards, but it is quite isolated. I know little more than I did then of the complexities of rule and court."
"I think you may find yourself better prepared than you imagine. This is, as you said yourself, your own little kingdom, and you watch over it well."
"I try. But court—so much depends on the dance of saying one thing and meaning another, wearing the proper dress and speaking with the proper voice, endeavoring always to be three moves ahead of your enemies and scarcely less of your allies. Not to mention the decisions, every day the decisions that put others' lives and livelihoods at your whim." How was it that our talk had turned from courtship to politics? "As a girl I found it all most exciting. I believed I was born to it, thought only of the great good I could do. Now the great mistakes I could make weigh heavily on my mind."
He squeezed my hand. "All this but speaks of your worth as a princess, for only the criminally cruel or ignorant could confront the prospect without qualm. And I will be there to aid you, as will your parents."
I closed my eyes. "I do long to see my parents."
"And so you shall. We will not discuss particulars—I do not wish to quarrel, only to assure you that I will not rest until you are safely home. My word as a prince of Dewgent."
I returned his grasp of my hand. "Tristan, the years may have changed me, but you are just the same. Brave, faithful Tristan, stubborn and unreasonable and ever my truest friend."
He smiled to hear this, and in that smile I clearly saw the sweet, ungainly boy of five years before, the friend who had scoured his kingdom for the most beautiful horse to give his betrothed, the young knight who, seeing the dragon bearing down upon us, had sacrificed his own chance of safety that I might escape.
Because of this, despite the sudden terror that set my heart to hammering, I did not move away when he leaned forward to kiss me.
A kiss, I had always thought, was the dream of dreams, the pinnacle of romance. A maiden's first kiss was a moment to be anticipated with delight and remembered with joy.
It felt… peculiar. Which was not to say unpleasant. That is, there was surely no reason for it to be unpleasant. But I really very strongly wanted it to stop. Immediately.
Tristan pulled back. "Is something wrong?"
"N-no," I lied. "What could be wrong?" Perhaps it was simply nerves. Perhaps I could get used to it. Other people seemed to enjoy it, after all. Surely it couldn't always be that bad.
"Has it been too long since I used a tooth-stick?" Tristan asked, trying to joke and not feel hurt, and I wanted to cry.
Before I could say anything, however, I saw Tristan's face change entirely, from nervous laughter to deep concern, his gaze distracted.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Do you not smell that?"
I breathed deeply, stepping back from him to better address the air. The breeze had shifted, blowing not from the sea in the west but from the south, along the shoreline. It brought with it something strange, something… rotten and foul, like offal or the waste of the diseased. A faint stench, intermittent on the breeze, but powerfully repulsive still.
"Faugh!" I covered my nose and mouth. "What in the name of heaven could cause such a reek?"
The sun was nearly gone, gasping its last bits of light before it went under the lip of the sea, but even in that dimness I could see that all color had drained from Tristan's face.
"Tristan, tell me at once, what does that awful smell mean?"
He swallowed hard. "Ghouls."
"But we are too far north for ghouls," I said, not for the first time, some half-an-hour later. Tristan, moving with a recklessness that nearly broke his neck on the stairs, had demanded everyone be brought together in the dining hall immediately, and so we were, all but Elaysius who had flown in search of Braith. "When he buried Rindargeth, Braith said we were too far north for ghouls!"
"A ghoul or two, even a well-disciplined handful of them, can go most anywhere undetected," Owain said.
I knew that, of course. Anyone might catch sight of a ghoul haunting the edge of a graveyard or battlefield, even a sickroom—anywhere the dead and dying were left unattended. Disgusting they were, and attacked on sight, yet no threat to anyone strong enough to fight them off. I had seen one once, in Caibryn, lurking at the edges of a village funeral—a shadowy figure no taller than my child self, glistening with filth, pale and dirty and red-eyed, with uneven claws and an inhumanly long mouth of pointed teeth. My father had helped kill it, so it would not desecrate the graveyard.
"This is no handful, but a swarm," Tristan said.
"But swarms do, indeed, stay in the south," Owain said. Like Tristan, he seemed composed, though pale and taut. No trace remained between them of their quarrel. "Never have I heard of them coming so far from their land of origin—and along the shoreline! Water burns them worse than fire, they never venture near water."
"That is likely how this one evaded detection, then," Tristan said. "None would look for them so near the sea."
"What do you mean by 'swarm'?" I asked, keeping my fingers flat against the table so they would not shake. The painted pitcher sat before me, with all the smiling faces of my friends, and Rindargeth… "Are they like bees, then, seeking a new hive?"
"Essentially," Tristan said. "When the ghouls in the southern cave systems become too numerous, a young queen is cast out—along with dozens, maybe hundreds, of workers and drones. An immature queen with little control of her horde, loosed on the world to make a den or die."
"A solitary ghoul is a coward, attacking only the helpless," Owain said. "But a swarm has little thought and no fear. It knows only hunger, and it will eat or destroy everything in its path."
"But you said yourself swarms do not make it so far north," I said, and my own voice sounded an octave too high, though otherwise—almost—calm. "Braith said the same. We are too far north!"
The door opened on a burst of fire-and-ice scented air, and Braith came through—still trailing sparks, I realized, from transformation. The act did not seem to have harmed him; there was no visible blood, at least.
"Ghouls," he said. "Three dozen strong and moving fast. They will be here by dawn."
Elaysius alighted in my lap, trembling like a leaf, and I put out a hand to steady him. He took firm grip of my thumb and looked up at me grim-faced, other hand on his sword hilt.
"Then we must flee," Owain said. "How can we fight them? Two women, a child, a cripple—"
Braith shook his head, hollow-eyed. "You would not make fast enough time, even on horseback. These ghouls are desperate—starving, many injured. Once they catch your scent, they would overtake you before noon. H
ad I the freedom to leave, I could carry two… perhaps three." His voice sank to a pained whisper. "I could not carry you all."
"I will not leave without my brother," Owain murmured, looking quite pale, "and I know he will not leave any behind. If we cannot all escape together, we shall have to stand and fight."
"Leaving is no option at all, since Braith cannot go without his master's permission," I reminded them. "We must think instead of how to preserve ourselves against the ghouls' arrival."
"The sea is our greatest weapon," Elaysius said. "Ghouls abhor the water, for it is as fire to their skins—worse, for they have some resistance to fire. If we take to the water, they cannot pursue us."
"Yet we must come out again, eventually, or drown," Tristan said thoughtfully. "They have only to wait."
"Will they wait?" Owain said. "The dragon says they are desperate. Will they not rush onward, seeking easier prey?"
"Rush onward? Once they step within our boundary, sir knight, they cannot depart. Or do you forget why you yourself still tarry here?" Braith said. "As far as the sea… I rather think these might prove desperate enough to follow their prey into the water. It burns, true, but starvation is also painful, and this swarm has shown already an unusual willingness to approach the sea."
"Yet it cannot be discounted, surely," I said. "It might perhaps do for the livestock, at least—herd them into the water, rather than try to defend them on land."
"It would delay them, certainly," Tristan said. "Ghouls prefer human meat to all else, I cannot see them rushing the waves for horse when there is man-flesh still on land."
"Why do they come here?" I asked, more of the table than my fellows, but Braith answered.
"Because there is one meat they love better than man, and that is dragon," he said. "I daresay they turned their course this way the moment my father died—ghouls always know of such things, somehow. A dragon's corpse will feed them all to fullness, and provide tough hide and scales besides." He began pacing the length of the room, tearing absently at his hair. "This swarm is ragged and failing, and the queen must know she has days only before her followers scatter, starve, or turn on each other. This place, this grave, must come as a very gift from heaven—food, both living and dead, and a solid structure in which to establish a den. They will not be turned aside, they will not surrender, and they cannot retreat. We will have to fight them to the last ghoul."
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