Ice & Smoke

by Elizabeth Belyeu

  I tried to narrow my entire mind to the man before me, to how I might evade his weapon long enough to make use of my own. He pressed me almost lazily, forcing me to step back, and back, his expression more amused than alarmed. He stopped smiling, though, when Tristan lobbed a stone at his head, a distraction that allowed me to land a blow—though it was on his arm, and did me little good. Now goaded, he advanced on me more quickly, his sword forming chops and circles I could hardly follow with my eyes, much less my arm—and snaked the blade out of my grasp entirely, to clatter on the stone.

  Owain raised his sword, but suddenly Elaysius was in his eyes, circling his head with frantic speed, leaving thin trails of blood as he dashed at Owain's face with his tiny blade. Braith followed perforce, shoving Owain out of Elaysius's attack. I did not see whether it was Braith's arm or Owain's sword that knocked Elaysius out of the air, only that he hit the stony ground with a sound like bone snapping, and remained there unmoving.

  I scooped up my dropped weapon and ran at Owain. Braith stepped between us, and the three of us danced a peculiar dance, Owain and I struggling to get near each other, while Braith spun in the middle, kicking and snapping and shoving to keep us apart. Even taking advantage of his blind eye and bad arm, I could not get past him.

  I did, however, manage to make him stumble, so that his next warding motion was rough and off-center, and knocked me to the ground. My sword again fell from my hand.

  I felt more than saw the shift in his stance, the change in his breath. I was down, unarmed; there was no longer any threat to Owain.

  Which meant his previous order was back in force.

  I kicked him in the shin and ran for the nearest tree, a twisted thing with branches swooping low. Dizzy with lack of breath, I scrambled upward as far as the branches would hold me before turning to look down.

  Braith was making his way upward, as slowly as his oath would let him, one-armed and favoring the leg I had kicked.

  "Braith, what do I do?" I cried in desperation. He did not reply—of course, he did not hear me. "Wythil-wain! Braith, you have to tell me, what can I do?"

  He looked up at me, helpless. "Stay out of my reach."

  "Yes, but you see, there is only so much tree."

  "I may yet fall and break my neck," he said hopefully, hauling himself painfully up another branch.

  "That is not quite my favored outcome." My hands on the branches were shaking. I looked desperately for Elaysius—and found him, a weak and fluttering glimmer of blue in the hands of Tristan, who had apparently dragged himself to the fallen fairy's side. Elaysius could not help me.

  "Even were the fairy well," Braith said, grimacing as he rose another foot, "I doubt he could work any spell stronger than a rightful debt."

  "Then we must dispel the bloody debt!"

  "That cannot be done by force."

  "How can it be done?"

  "I have already—"

  "Just tell me the ways it can be done! All of them!"

  He paused a few moments, gathering breath and thought. "If I fulfill the hundred years' service—but decades still remain. If the oath-holder formally releases me—but I suspect the world will end first." Up another branch. He was but three or four feet below me now. "If my master dies without an heir. He is proving deucedly hard to kill. If he agrees to pass my debt to another. I would not hold my breath."

  I eased myself upward, though the branches were already thinner than was wise. "What if you swear to someone else? No, you said already, you can have but one master at a time—"

  "Unless..." He slowed, eyes gone distant with thought. "Unless there is one the master is himself indebted to. That person might then demand the dragon as fulfillment of that debt..."

  I felt my heartbeat quicken, though I would hardly have thought that possible. He was now but two feet below. "Indebted, as... as perhaps someone who saved his life?"

  "Yes, precisely."

  "Owain!" I shouted, so forcefully I nearly dislodged myself from my perch. "Owain, did I not save your life when we fought the ghouls?"

  "More fool you," he replied. Was it to his credit that he looked unsettled at the reminder? No matter; he had admitted the debt.

  "You owe me your life, Owain. In its place I will accept the service owed you by this dragon."

  "What? No! I will not in any way consent—"

  "Your consent," Braith said through gleeful bared teeth, "is not required. I, Braithandelgar Clan Deyontaer, son of Rindargeth, do offer my life and service to fulfill my master's debt."

  "No! You cannot do this! I forbid it!"

  Even as he spoke, Braith's body seemed still driven upwards. His hand closed around my ankle. "I do transfer my oath—"

  "Harsik, kill her now!"

  "—to Princess Ariana of Caibryn!" His face was level with mine now, his hand pulling back. "Ari, accept the oath!"

  Before I could speak, his hand slammed me back against the tree trunk with bruising force, fingertips tearing through my skin. My voice came out as a scream, but I forced it into words. "I accept your oath of service!"

  Braith froze in place, unbreathing. I watched the excruciating tension in his face and shoulders ease, shift, as if some immense weight had been, not entirely removed, but certainly made lighter and more comfortable. At last he breathed again, all air rushing out of him in a near-sob of relief, which flowed into giddy laughter. He pried red-tipped fingers from my flesh and tangled them in my hair as he kissed me, brief but powerful. "And what," he asked, "would you have me do, my mistress?"

  "I would have you do as you bloody well please, my love."

  This kiss was nearly fierce enough to be called a bite, and then he was gone, dropping from the tree as nimbly as if he'd never known hurt, and running for Owain.

  I followed more slowly, lowering myself branch to branch with shaky arms and legs. Blood poured from the torn place on my chest, but the worst part of the pain seemed to come from further inside, something grinding and shifting when I moved.

  From below I could hear a storm of snarls, shouts, and clashing metal. I reached the ground and turned to see Braith wrench Owain's sword from his hand and strike him across the face with its hilt. Owain stumbled back, swung a fist at Braith, received another hit for his trouble—it soon dissolved into a chaos of kicks and blows, with Owain mostly on the losing end.

  Owain fell at last, spitting blood into the dust, and Braith regarded him coolly a moment before kicking him in the belly.

  Tristan's face caught my eye, white and sick, tears shining on his cheeks.

  "For my father," Braith said. Another kick spilled Owain onto his back. "For Ariana." He drew back for another.

  I could not remember ever seeing Tristan cry before. But who would not, watching his brother be beaten to death?

  "Braith," I called. "Stop, Braith. Please stop."

  The nascent kick did not land. Braith glared down at his former master a moment, then glanced toward me. "I suppose you will say—"

  Owain flung a handful of dust into Braith's eyes, and shoved him down. I was already running toward them, but Owain made no further attack, instead taking the opportunity to run for the trees.

  He did not make it far. A white horse with two riders burst from the forest and caught him up within seconds. The horse extended a graceful neck and clamped its teeth on his shoulder; at almost the same moment, one of the riders, whom I was startled to recognize as Gareth, leaped from the saddle to tackle Owain to the ground. Long vines and handfuls of grass rose to grip Owain and, rather eerily, drag him back to where the rest of us stood, watching wide-eyed.

  "Caught him!" Gareth said proudly as they approached.

  "You did," I said. "Um... who is this?"

  The graceful white horse was no horse at all. No horse had ever been so delicate and beautiful, so brilliantly white... not to mention the tufted lion's tail, the cloven hooves, and the gleaming pearly horn.

  "This here's Winifred," Gareth said, grinning broadly. "Finally got
her real looks back. I helped."

  It was Winifred. I was close enough now to recognize her wise eyes—now brimming with unmistakable amusement as I gaped.

  Genevieve slid off Winifred's back, sparing me only a concerned glance, and rushed to Tristan's side. He carefully transferred Elaysius into her hands—his blue light, to my relief, rather stronger than it had been—and with her help and mine, got to his feet.

  Owain had been, all this time, struggling uselessly against his verdant bonds, under Braith's glowering eye. Now, at Tristan's approach, he stopped struggling, seeming to wilt and become smaller.

  "Brother," he began, but the rest of the sentence died unsaid.

  Tristan said nothing, for a long minute. Owain wilted further.

  "You deserve death," Tristan said at last. "You are a traitor to... everything. The law, the kingdom, your family, your friends... every rule of decency. You should die." His gaze moved to Braith. "Yet he is my brother. And though I am an utter fool to love him still, it is the same foolishness that made him spare my life these five years. For that, I would spare his in return—provided he never shows his face in Dewgent, Gwynhafod, or Caibryn again."

  Braith took a deep breath, looked from Owain, to Tristan, to me. "I am free of him, and have even had the pleasure of beating him bloody. I suppose I should not be greedy."

  I rewarded Braith's answer with as much of a smile as I could manage. Something sharp was happening inside my bleeding chest. Broken rib, I realized, as I ought to have earlier. Braith had broken a rib over my lung, or perhaps my heart, or both. It was growing steadily harder to breathe.

  Braith's gaze flicked back to me, sharp and concerned.

  "And what of the rest of you, whom my brother has harmed and held prisoner?" Tristan said. "Will you consent? It is a thin enough mercy, to let him live without family or home—with nothing in the world but what he carries away with him."

  Winifred only twitched an ear, as if she cared nothing either way, but Genevieve nodded solemnly; Gareth followed suit; even Elaysius pulled himself wincingly upright to speak.

  "My captivity being no particular intention of his, and mine injuries meted out in defense of his life, such punishment doth not seem too lenient on mine own behalf. If others, harmed more severely, give their consent, I shall not protest it."

  At Tristan's gesture, Gareth directed the vines to release Owain, who got to his feet with caution and diffidence.

  "What will you tell Mother?" he asked, looking more like a frightened boy than a defeated warrior. It was difficult to connect him to the man who had called for my death only minutes before.

  "Very likely the truth," Tristan answered. "I'll not lie to her for your sins. To the kingdom at large, you may be given an honorable death and burial. That will be Mother and Father's decision." His face seemed suddenly aged and grim, as any man grieving the death of his brother. "Genevieve, dear, pray you fetch Owain's sword and what rations may be to hand."

  She did, leaving Tristan to lean on me, which was more of a burden than it should have been. Braith came to my side, and took Tristan's weight from my shoulder, which startled Tristan into looking more closely at me.

  "Ariana, is all that blood your own?"

  I glanced down to see that much of the upper half of my dress was drenched scarlet. "I am well enough. It can wait." Surely if I only held still…

  Tristan looked unconvinced, but turned his attention back to his brother. Braith tried to twine his fingers into mine, but I had little strength to return the gesture.

  Genevieve brought Owain's sword and my pack, its shape and weight enough altered that I trusted she had removed all but the rations and water-skin. Owain took them with trembling hands.

  "Go," Tristan said. "If any of us ever see you again, you will die."

  Owain seemed to debate some reply, but in the end he only bowed his head, and walked away into the forest. We all watched in silence until he had disappeared into the shadows and trees.

  And my legs buckled beneath me.

  "Ari, Ari, open your eyes, Ari, please—"

  "Braith..." My eyelids seemed heavy and weak, but I dragged them open. Faces crowded around me, beneath a canopy of branches and sky. Braith's face was chief among them, and the distress in his eyes spurred me to greater awareness. For a moment I was not sure where I was, what had happened... Ah, yes, Owain. Owain was gone now. All was well. We could all go home.

  If only I could stand up.

  "Here! Do not let up the pressure." Tristan's voice was high with fear. A cloth passed over my vision, joined a layer already being pressed to my chest—which was making the pain immeasurably worse. "Ariana, stay awake!"

  "Hurts..." I took uneven breaths, aware that each beat of my heart was likewise uneven, struggling and straining—and, slowly, failing.

  "I know it hurts, Ariana, but if you sleep you'll not wake. Where is the fairy?" Tristan snapped. "Gareth, pray cease your bawling. Elaysius, there must be some magic of yours—"

  "Nay, prince, though I would give all..."

  The tumult of sound faded in and out, as though passing through veils of thick cotton. I could focus only on Braith's face, his eyes fixed on mine in an agony of guilt and terror. I could half-feel his warm hand clutching mine.

  "There is nothing I can do," said an unfamiliar feminine voice, bright and shimmering as starlight. "I might cleanse any impurity—poison, infection—but I cannot heal physical damage."

  "You have to do something! Do not tell me that there is a fairy, wizard and unicorn before me, and none can save her!"

  I'm dying, I realized. Oh, poor Braith. I would not see my family again after all. That was not fair at all. My family—one of them would inherit Braith's debt. That wouldn't do. "Braith," I croaked. "Can you hear me?"

  "Don't try to talk, Ari, you must lie still—"

  "Braithandelgar of C-Clan... Deyontaer... Harsik." I could say it correctly now. "I release you... from your debt. Is that s-sufficient?"

  "We can worry over that later—"

  "I, Ariana Miniver Maud Eurolwyn Caradoc, Princess of Caibryn, hold your debt fulfilled! Is that sufficient?" I demanded. The words exhausted me; I struggled to keep my eyes open.

  Braith was weeping openly now, stroking my face, my hair. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, that is sufficient."

  "Oh, good," I murmured.

  "No, no, Ari, open your eyes!"

  "Sorry." I opened them, with effort, and tried to raise a hand. Braith helped it, pressed it to his cheek. I more felt than saw the hot tears on his skin. "Sorry," I murmured again. "Love you."

  "I love you, Ari, I love you. Please, please..."

  Confusion wrinkled my already-hazy thoughts as I realized the hot drops against my fingers were not tears, but blood. "You're hurt?"

  "What?"

  I tried to show him my fingers. He stared a moment, then dabbed his own face, confirmed what I was beginning to understand—that he was weeping blood.

  Holy tears, the old tale had said. The Gods' Gift of Healing Blood, which is granted not once a generation.

  Hands trembling, he covered his fingertips in the blood, and drew the three signs of the dragon gods—a sun upon my forehead, curled flame upon my throat, and over my heart the egg, symbol of potentiality, birth, new life.

  He may have kissed me then. I could not tell, for the world seemed suddenly consumed in fire.

  I spent some time (minutes? hours?) in a state of... not pain, quite, but certainly profound discomfort, all my senses drowned by a rushing light and heat that seemed to simultaneously relax and exhaust me. At length it died away, and my surroundings began to make sense again.

  I was in my bedchamber in the tower. Frowning, I cautiously came upright, braced for any number of pains… but there were none. In fact, I felt perfectly aglow with health. I pulled at the neck of my shift—why did I wear only a shift?—and saw no blood, no trace of any wound, on the skin of my chest.

  Dear heavens, do not tell me I dreamed…
>
  "Ariana!" Braith, entering the room with a plate of bread and cheese, nearly dropped it in his haste to reach me, fumbled it aside to feel of my face and forehead. "How do you fare? Do you feel any pain?"

  "No, I feel perfectly well. You look considerably better, as well. Your eye is nearly clear, and your sling is gone… How long have I slept?"

  "An hour or two only. It seems that some of the power that healed you spilled over onto me as well." Staring at me hungrily, he took a seat by the bed. "Will you eat?"

  I did not reply, distracted by the discovery of the warm place just above my heart, a place that seemed to produce a heartbeat of its own. "What..."

  Braith took my other hand and pressed it to his chest, where a cool place in his skin had, likewise, a thudding beat of its own, not quite identical to his own pulse.

  "Heartmates," he said, softly—one might say, reverently. "No harm can come to you now while I live."

  I breathed carefully, walking my mind through this idea. "Three hundred years?" I said at last, in a voice rather closer to a squeak than I would have liked. The cooler heartbeat beneath my hand had sped considerably.

  "Closer to two hundred and fifty, considering my current age," Braith said. "But yes. Unless there is... intervention—which would kill us both—you will outlive... your family, Tristan, every human friend." He swallowed, twined his fingers shyly through mine. "But you will have me."

  Slowly, I nodded. "Perhaps, over the decades, I can learn to tolerate your presence."

  "And I might, perhaps, learn not to resent the burden of your care."

  "Burden, indeed! Lean this way but a little, I will show you a burden—"

  Our conversation dissolved, then, into a muddle of limbs and blankets and kisses and slightly-hysterical laughter, and muttered insults that grew progressively less coherent, and the thought that for once, my bed did not feel cold and empty.

  "Speaking of burdens," I said after some while, "the debt is dispelled, yes? You are free?"