Ice & Smoke

by Elizabeth Belyeu

  For several seconds I could not think beyond the joy and relief of his presence, warm and solid, arms tight around me, heart beating steady in my ear. I was incapable of any thought but Braith Braith Braith Braith.

  Finally I pulled back to survey his injuries, and gasped to see the damage to his face. Where the ghoul had spent its last moments clawing and biting, the right side of Braith's face was a mass of bloody damage, and the worst was his eye. The skin was hideously torn and swollen, and what little I could see of the eye itself was solid red.

  "Can you see at all?" I asked.

  "From the other eye, certainly," he said hoarsely. "What of you? How badly hurt?" He turned my face to better see the blood-spatter burns dotting it, visibly stopped himself from touching the bandage on my arm.

  "Nothing to speak of," I said. "Come, we must get that tended to."

  While Genevieve looked to Tristan and Gareth's ills—our little wizard was hardly scratched—I got Braith inside, cleaned his face, put a stitch or two in the worst cuts, and covered his eye in a poultice against swelling and bleeding. One arm was injured as well—the translation, apparently, of his mangled wing—but it was not near so worrisome as the eye, which I almost felt throbbing with my own nerves. By the time I helped Braith lie back against the lounge-chair, he was pale and shaking.

  "Would that we had some ice," I muttered. "It would lessen the pain."

  "What is pain to a dragon?" he said through gritted teeth. "Besides, ice would only melt."

  "True enough." I paused to consider the heat that radiated from his chest to my hand. In his current state he had not thought to include a tunic in the shape-changing spell—had barely, he said, remembered trousers. "I am more glad than ever that the heat of your blood discourages infection. Such a thing now would cost your eye for certain." Both of us knew, but did not say, that the eye's survival was by no means assured even now.

  We said nothing, in fact, for several moments, while I tried to think if I should in some way address the... blessing he had given me earlier, or the grip he now held on my hand.

  "You saved my life," I said at last. "None other could have aided me in that place. If you had not come, I would even now be making my way to the next world."

  "I am charged with your protection, recall."

  "And is that why you came?"

  After a long moment he whispered, "No."

  I swallowed, fiddled with the hem of my tunic. "Are we friends, then, finally?"

  "...Friends. Yes."

  "Good."

  "Yes, excellent. I would sleep now." He shifted his face away from me, released my hand. I wanted his hand back, wanted to touch his face, his hair, smooth away whatever prick of hurt my words had somehow inflicted.

  No, I wanted to kiss him. Wanted it very badly.

  The realization sent a chill of terror through all my limbs, more frightening than any swarm of ghouls.

  "Yes, sleep," I said, half-leaping to my feet. "I m-must help Genevieve see to the others. I must go."

  Before I went, I laid a blanket over him, carefully, without touching him at all.

  It was the work of hours to see to all the wounded, both human and equine. Gareth, though clumsy and nervous of himself, persuaded the earth to produce a great store of aloe and three-stars for our burns, as well as some slender vines that he used in binding the worst of the horses' wounds. Winifred and Star would both have battle-scars to show for this day, Winnie bearing the worst, but nothing they could not recover from.

  "Dearest Winifred, a most excellent companion," I murmured to her, holding her head in the stable while Gareth cleaned and tended the wound on her back leg. "It is no mystery to me now why Sir Marcus kept such a little shaggy thing for his squire. You saved my life today many times over."

  Winifred gave me a dark look, as if she cared more for the insult than the gratitude, and nipped half-heartedly at my arm.

  "Oh, stop that, Winnie. Drawing my blood will make you no taller." I stroked her nose thoughtfully. "Gareth is a wizard, of all unexpected things—though it should not have been so unexpected. He showed all the signs, if I had ever thought to wonder at them. You, too, have shown every sign of being... not the usual sort of horse. I swear it is not my own fancy that you understand us when we speak."

  "Aye," Gareth said, from somewhere near the floor. "Winnie knows lots."

  "Ariana, Gareth." Tristan hobbled into the stable, looking bleak. "Owain's poor Lightning has turned up at last. If Winifred can spare you a moment..."

  Winifred nudged me toward the door.

  I had seen fairly little of Owain's warhorse, had not known his name even, only that he was white, like Winifred, but taller, sleeker and grander. He did not look grand now, but weak and desperate, his head hanging low as he stumbled and listed across the dooryard, with Owain stroking his neck and urging him on. I felt a sick lurch in my belly as I drew closer and saw the extent of his wounds. Great gashes across his throat and chest and belly, deep enough to show muscle and bone. Blood soaked his coat and runneled down his legs. Every breath was a rasping, heaving labor.

  I glanced at Tristan, then at Gareth. Both returned identical looks of sad, reluctant certainty.

  "I say again, brother," Tristan said softly, "it would be kinder to—"

  "No! I'll not hear of it," Owain snapped, not looking up from his horse. "Lightning is strong and healthy. He only needs time to heal. I will not give him up on such a trifle! Am I right, lad? Come, my lad, show them the Lightning spirit!"

  And to my surprise, the horse pricked up his ears and made an effort to nuzzle his master's hand.

  "Very well," I murmured. "We shall let him try. Gareth, attend me."

  Even with all three of us assisting, the sun was lowering by the time we had the horse's bleeding stopped and his wounds well bandaged. Standing quietly allowed Lightning's breath to come easier, but I still did not like the sound of it, nor the foggy look in his eyes. He would not be tempted by food or water, though we ourselves did eat at last, when Genevieve brought us bread and onion stew.

  Outside the stable, the air roiled with smoke that combined the worst of ghoul-smell with a further stench of charred meat; the funeral pyre of the ghouls, whom Tristan had the uninjured horses drag onto the hillside near the graveyard. If he perhaps took one of the bed linens to wrap the little queen, I took no notice.

  Nightfall came, and despite my best efforts, I fell asleep, propped against a stall door, to the sound of Owain murmuring endearment and encouragement to his dying horse.

  When I woke, an open window showed stars and a glimpse of the waxing moon. The stable was cold, and lit only by the blue glimmer of Elaysius, guiding Gareth's hand through some fairy healing spell. Judging from Elaysius's disheartened expression, it did not seem to be accomplishing much. Owain lay sleeping only steps away, in the makeshift bed that had seen so much use recently. Most of the horse blankets had been appropriated to Lightning's benefit, and Owain shivered as he slept.

  "I will fetch more blankets," I murmured, and received a nod of acknowledgement from Elaysius.

  Outside was colder still, the ghouls' pyre a sullen red glow on the hillside. I hurried to the tower.

  A fire burned bright at the sitting room hearth, flicking light and shadow over the sleeping forms of Braith, on the lounge-chair, and Tristan, on a pile of blankets and cushions on the floor. Of course; he could not manage the stairs on his own. I watched them, taking a moment to savor their both being alive, and, for a true wonder, making no attempt to kill each other.

  Moving as quietly as I could, I approached Braith, anxious about his eye. The poultice over it was warm and moist still; ah, dear wise reliable Genevieve. Braith stirred minutely, and I slipped away before I could wake him.

  Upstairs, blankets proved hard to come by, as much of our store now formed Tristan's floor-pallet. At length I pulled the covers directly from my own bed, and Gareth's, to take to the stable. Navigating the spiral staircase with such a load, in the dark, ne
arly resulted in my pitching down them head-first. I tried to muffle my instinctive yelp, but when my descent brought me within sight of the hearth, I saw Tristan awake and somewhat upright, blinking confused before relaxing again. He reached for the bread someone (doubtless Genevieve) had left within reach.

  "Would you like some?" Tristan murmured, and I realized Braith was awake as well, though motionless.

  "Yes, thank you," he said after a moment, and took a hunk of bread from Tristan's hand.

  A princess does not eavesdrop, I reminded myself, and would have continued down the stairs but that Braith spoke again.

  "This courtesy is... unusual between us."

  "I suppose it is," Tristan replied. "Yet, dragon or not, we have now fought together. Rather well, in fact. That makes us brothers in arms. Understand, I may still find it necessary to kill you. But I will not find it necessary to deny you bread."

  "You are most gracious," Braith said dryly.

  "Yes, I have that princely gift," Tristan returned. After a pause, he said, "Although, as successful as our battle partnership was, I am aware it was not at all your first priority."

  "My father's grave—"

  "No, not that either. You abandoned that, and me, and all, the moment you saw the danger Ariana was in."

  Silence.

  "For which I thank you," Tristan added, soft-voiced. "I could have done nothing but watch her fall."

  "I am charged with her protection."

  "And did your master likewise charge you with such looks and touches as... I am not blind, Braith."

  "I am, then, for I have no notion of your meaning."

  Tristan rubbed his face, looking weary. "Perhaps that is best."

  "I have no doubt that it is."

  There was another long silence, during which I did not move, nor pretend to consider it. Even princesses are human.

  "You seem to harbor great affection for Ariana, despite her not being your choice of mate," Braith said.

  "Yes, we have been great friends all our lives."

  "Friends."

  "Yes."

  "Mates should always be friends foremost, I think. Yet a dragon, at least, looks for something more... extraordinary. Someone who excites one's interest in a way a mere friend cannot, who provokes a reaction of tenderness and... and need."

  "Yet it is the friendship that is most important," Tristan said. "Trust, respect, and comfort—these are more valuable in a life's companion, in the long term, than the... more earthly considerations you speak of."

  "Indeed, you mistake me, I do not speak of that only. What I mean to convey is, a personality that complements one's own, that one needs in the sense of being incomplete without it. Not a companion only, but a partner. Truly, do you not agree that this is superior to friendship?"

  "I... Yes. I do agree."

  "Do you feel this is the relationship you share with Ariana?"

  After a long pause, Tristan said, "No."

  The world seemed to tilt itself off-center.

  "But friendship can grow," Tristan added, almost frantically. "With as good a foundation as Ariana and I share, our friendship may grow into the sort of partnership you speak of."

  "Indeed, it might," Braith said, his voice so low I could hardly hear it. "For her sake, I might bring myself to hope it does."

  They did not speak more, and after a long, long time, when I felt quite certain they both slept, I made my quick, quiet way outside.

  Chapter 14

  At dawn, the air was finally beginning to clear. The pyre had burned down to a low blackened mound that I elected not to examine closely, and I could breathe without tasting the stink of ghoul for the first time in what felt like a hundred years.

  I had slept long and deep, my body too exhausted to pay heed to worries or the distressing events of the day, and woke sore and aching in every part. Not only did my wounds pain me, but all my muscles and joints protested their recent hard use, and it was an effort of will to uncurl from my nest of blankets and see to our equine patient.

  He was not faring well. Over his skin, minuscule blue-green lights twinkled, forming a sort of web that helped hold his wounds together—doubtless a result of Elaysius and Gareth's work in the night. Despite this, his breathing was not improved, nor his look overall. Most alarmingly, he was no longer standing, but lying in the hay. Owain was curled beside him, one hand on Lightning's long nose.

  Gareth, seated on a stool with his back propped on the wall, met my eyes silently. He knew. But, being strong-hearted Gareth, he did not aim to give up yet.

  I continued to the door, telling myself that other horses needed care, as did Bessie and the chickens, and the garden, and Genevieve could no doubt use some aid in the kitchen. The household could not stop because a horse was injured. And in any case, I would soon have a fit of madness if I could not wash and get out of these confounded trousers.

  The garden had taken some hurt in the fighting and would take time to put right. The chickens had all fled in terror; I found few hardy enough to return so soon, but fed those brave souls liberally. The horses were grazing tranquilly enough, and Star's comparatively minor lacerations seemed to be doing well. Bessie came eagerly to my hand for some feed, but clearly had no need to be milked. Well, if a ghoul-swarm was enough to put her off production, I could hardly blame her for it.

  That left only the washing and changing clothes. And that required venturing inside. Where Tristan and Braith awaited.

  I stood at the door, shifting from foot to foot. I had had little time to consider, before I fell back to sleep, the things I had heard. That my betrothed did not love me. No, that was not true. I was confident that he cared for me as much as I for him. But not... not as either of us might wish to be loved. Whereas Braith...

  "I am charged with her protection."

  "And did your master likewise charge you with such looks and touches as... I am not blind, Braith."

  Do not leap to conclusions, Ariana, I schooled myself sternly. He has done nothing outright to encourage... My own thoughts trailed off, then, struck by the realization that I wanted my conclusions encouraged.

  Oh, what mess have I tangled myself in?

  I took a deep breath, dried clammy hands on my filthy trousers, and pulled open the door.

  Tristan and Genevieve stood startled on the other side, their own hands raised to open it.

  "Oh. Good morning," I said. "Is all well within?"

  "Yes, perfectly," Tristan said. "Genevieve and I were just on our way to the kitchen. I aim to assist her with breakfast, by which I mean, to interfere with her tasks in as amusing a way as possible."

  Genevieve's expression of wry patience provoked a smile from me. "Excellent," I said. "I have looked in on the livestock and now aspire to a thorough bath in the stream. How is Braith?"

  "Sleeping. His wound is no worse, I think, if little better."

  "I will see to it when I am less besmeared with blood, dirt and heavens know what else." I passed them and took to the stairs.

  Something drew my gaze back to them again as they proceeded out the doorway, Tristan leaning on Genevieve's arm as much as his crutch.

  "Friendship can grow! With as good a foundation as Ariana and I share, our friendship may grow into the sort of partnership you speak of."

  Whatever might become of me and Tristan—and at this moment I could not bear to consider the possibilities, or which of them might be best—whatever happened, I was glad to know that he had wanted that for us.

  I took longer at the stream than I anticipated, laboring to remove all traces of yesterday's events from my skin, while being gentle with those traces that only time would remove. The scores across my ribs, in particular, made bending painful and cracked open to bleed at the slightest incautious movement. By the time my bath was done, I was panting and shaky, and had to rest some little time in the water before gathering the strength to rise.

  As I rested, my gaze wandered to the tower, rising strong against the brightening
sky. I thought of how it had felt to stand atop those battlements, with what seemed the barest slip of stone under my feet, and certain death on either side. In that moment my two options had been equally terrifying—the slavering teeth and tearing claws, the long drop through nothing at all.

  Some measure of that feeling persisted still, the same fluttering breathless terror of the precipice.

  What if I did not marry Tristan?

  I had always been betrothed to Tristan. Marriage to him had defined every thought of my future. But then, so had inheriting my father's kingdom, and that was now lost to me—a concept that brought a most confusing rush of dismay and anger and fear and… relief. That weight of responsibility was removed from me. Was it possible that the breaking of my betrothal could likewise bring relief? But I had never wanted to marry anyone else.

  Until…

  I had given this matter as much thought as I could bear at the moment. Suddenly in a hurry, I worked my poor body to its feet, dressed (back in skirts at last!), and began making my way back to the tower, hoping to find breakfast waiting.

  Entering the tower brought the scents of bread and fried eggs, and the sweet sound of Tristan's pipe. All the tower's inhabitants were sitting around the table and listening. Elaysius was attempting to harmonize and failing badly; Genevieve gently closed her hands around him, muffling the sound.

  "Ah, here she is," Tristan said, pulling the pipe away from his lips. "Ariana, you find me here entertaining the hungry masses so they did not revolt in your absence."

  "Goodness, there was no need to wait on me," I said, my cheeks coloring. I should not have taken so long at the stream. "Eat, before the food grows cold!"

  For some minutes there was no conversation, only the passing and helping and emptying of plates. Owain and Elaysius played tug-of-war over a sausage, the conflict resolved by Owain surrendering a cut end as big as the fairy's head; I myself took a second fried egg before I had finished my first, for fear of missing the chance. Gareth tried to sneak a slice of buttered bread from the edge of Genevieve's plate, and took her spoon across his knuckles with a laugh.