I leaned forward. “To serve at my side.”
He leaned forward as well. “For the North. However you parse it.”
“I was afraid you’d be difficult,” I said with a smile.
Anvil chuckled, giving me a glimpse of the rare softness behind the giant of a man. I had known him since I was a child. Duty and honor were what drove him. He would not accept a gift for something he thought his responsibility.
“Time off, perhaps? Maybe a little journey into the wilds?”
His gaze narrowed on me “You thinking of capturing more beasties?”
I laughed and leaned back into my chair. “Anvil,” I said, my tone quite plainly changing the subject, “I am grateful to have you, and the North owes you a debt. Call upon either when you see fit to claim your reward. Until then”—I slid the parchment from my table, handing it over to the most imposing of my Seven—“I entrust you with seeing out these tasks.”
He took the document, glancing briefly at the list. “Aye,” he said. “It would be my pleasure.”
As he headed for the door, I called to him, “One more thing.” When he glanced over his shoulder, I smiled. “Meet us in the stable when you’re done.”
I walked the familiar corridors, a path I’d known for as long as I could remember, and resisted the urge to trail my fingers down the cool, dark stone walls. I was no longer a child running with Chevelle, chasing after him in play or as we attempted to evade my grandfather’s guards, no longer the wild halfbreed girl who frightened the elders unreasonably. Those days were gone—lost, like so many other things, to the past. I was head of the castle, Lord of the North. And in my blood ran the magic of both the dark and light elves.
I had not wanted the responsibility of leading a kingdom, but my choices had been taken from me. I was grateful, for the first time in my life, that such had been done. I had the power to change things. I was going to right so many wrongs.
At the entrance to the throne room, my Second waited, striking in his official garb. I gave him a private smile, and he inclined his head, never taking his eyes off me. “Has everyone arrived?” I asked.
“As you requested.”
“Excellent,” I told him. “You know I love a good summit with the locals.”
Chevelle barely held back a smile, as he plainly knew I loved nothing of the sort. He gestured toward the passageway, allowing me to enter first.
I came into the throne room to find a dozen leaders from Camber and other Northern towns, as well as a few clan leaders and a half dozen representatives from the rogues. I did not sit but stood at the edge of the dais, looking down on the men and women whom Anvil and Chevelle had chosen. “I call you here today to bestow upon you a great responsibility.”
The men and women before the dais shifted, duty and honor ideas they had more respect for than me, a half-human girl who’d been a catalyst for the massacre that had nearly destroyed their home.
“You have been chosen not for your fealty but for your worthiness of the post.” I let my gaze trail the line, meeting with elves who’d known me since I was a child, who’d shown allegiance to my grandfather because they’d had no other choice. “I will not rule by games and by blood, but there are those who will challenge us—challenge my rule—with such.” My palm was empty of its staff, the stiff bandages Ruby had placed over my wounds replaced with soft woven fabric and coated in salve. But my fingers were not curled into a fist. My anger was gone, acceptance in its place. Difficulties were what it was to rule. As Chevelle had once promised, we would face whatever came together.
“Now that things with the fey and with Council are settled, we shall put into place protections against future trials that may arise. A commission of leaders who are made aware of the workings of this kingdom and may react when—if—their lord is in peril.” Taken, I meant. Killed. Any of the things the previous Council of light elves or my grandfather had tried to do.
“As such, I will not name my successor. In the event of my death, a new lord will be elected by my Seven from a pool of candidates designated by you.”
The gathered leaders fell still, their wary gazes frozen on me. I could see when their comprehension registered, when they realized that Asher’s only remaining heir was the half-human girl who resided past the fey forests, the girl who they understood—now that rumor had spread—held no elven magic at all.
“Aye,” said Dagan. At his word, the others startled, but Dagan’s dark eyes never left mine. He nodded. “I accept your task as my duty and swear to fulfill it with all faithfulness, and should need be, my life.” The rogue beside him scratched his beard, but Dagan took a knee. “I swear my fealty not merely to the North, but to you, Lord Freya and daughter of our blood. By my honor.”
Beside him, Emiline also took a knee. “I, too, swear my fealty and pledge to serve with honor and—should it come to that—my life.”
Bayrd was next, then Alianna. The rogues did not take a knee but pressed their hammers to their chests. “Aye. For the North.”
And as the final present made his vow, the line of them echoed the chorus. “For the North.”
We stood in the courtyard in the waning light, Steed in his black guard-issue uniform, Chevelle and I across from him, still in our formal attire from our day’s business in the throne room. I’d had the courtyard cleared to meet with Steed, and it was evident he understood the import of that. Or possibly, he’d heard of the gifts I’d bestowed upon the others.
“We do not perform our duties to be rewarded.” Steed’s tone was earnest, his shoulders straight, his hands crossed behind his back. He looked good in the uniform, despite all the years he’d spent in battered leather and well-worn cloth.
“It does not lessen their impact,” I told him. Then I smiled. “And it is not the last I will ask of you.”
Steed chuckled, though I wondered if he’d any true idea. But that could wait.
“You were the hardest,” I said. “Fortunately, I had help from your sister on that front.”
Steed’s smile fell, his dark eyes suddenly wary. At the change, Chevelle chuckled beside me.
“I suppose we’ve chaffed you enough.” I glanced toward the shadows beneath the stone ledge at the edge of the courtyard and called, “Anvil.” There was a shifting in the shadows, and then three dark shapes moved out of the darkness, the soft landing of hooves on forgiving soil and the shift of fabric the only sounds. I felt the fluttering brush of my heart against my ribs, the strangeness of animals who lived off the fey energy. I looked back to Steed. “There were so many creatures lost to the deadening. Before we knew anything of it, the fey and those who subsisted on that energy were falling prey to the darkness. Veil and the others did try to save what they could, but many were nearly wiped out.”
Steed did not seem less confused by my explanation, but as Anvil and the others moved forward, their dark shapes became the clear outlines of two mares and a massive stallion. The animals wore long blankets draped over their backs, their manes falling over their eyes to taper off near fine-boned knees. Anvil held the stallion by rope and halter, but I had given the beast direction. He would not fight or run for the time being, at least. Behind Anvil and that stallion stood Barris with a mare, and beside them, Willa held another. There would be more soon, as they were brought carefully over the boundaries in the cover of night.
“I’ve made an arrangement with the fey lord, Veil,” I said. “In exchange for helping him bring back the creatures’ numbers, the fey will provide a steady supply of fey energy, delivered within dragonstones.”
Steed took his eyes from the horses, as if he was still not certain what the formality was about or why he would need such a supply of energy for horses.
I grinned full-out at him then gestured toward Anvil.
With a quick snap of his wrist, Anvil jerked the stallion’s blanket free, and the beast leapt forward to shake his head and throw his massive storm-gray wings wide. The creature made Anvil look small, and when the winged breast
whinnied, it cut through the courtyard in an absolutely chilling pitch. The flutter in my chest rose, but so did my grin.
Steed could not seem to look away. He stood slack-jawed and speechless at a creature the likes of which he would have never seen—never so much as expected to see.
Chevelle, watching the scene play out with a smirk, slid his hand across the small of my back. I leaned into his warmth, letting the comfort of our bond swell through me. It demanded nothing. I couldn’t say that about much in my life.
I sighed deeply, overwhelmed with rightness and the feeling of home. But I had one more task to attend, and the light of day was nearly gone.
I straightened, drawing away from Chevelle and again into the posture of a proper lord. “We will leave you to it, Mr. Summit.”
Steed turned to me, still apparently staggered by the shock of horses bearing wings, and blinked.
It took my best efforts not to laugh at him. “Should you need assistance, Willa here has experience riding the creatures.”
As I turned to go, I inclined my head toward the girl. It was the first time I’d seen her so pleased—she wore a bit of a feral grin. When we passed through the next courtyard, I could still hear the rumbling timbre of Anvil’s laugh.
29
Frey
Anvil delivered Thea, the last to be rewarded for her part in procuring a dragon, to the doorway of my study with a curt knock and an announcement that was far too official for the smile playing across his lips. He’d witnessed enough that day to know what I was about, and the idea apparently delighted him. I bit my own smile back but acknowledged my guard with the tip of my head. “Thank you, Anvil. That is all I’ll need for now.”
As he turned, he gave Thea a little bump with his elbow, forcing her either to lurch awkwardly or come fully into the room. She chose the latter.
I stood to face her, still in full regalia, the length of my cape nearly sweeping the floor but coming instead against the blackened leather of my tall boots. “I’ve trusted you with a great many things, Thea.”
She stared at me with something like terror building behind her deep mahogany eyes.
I did not let myself smile at her. Not yet. I stepped forward, crossing the room to take her hand in mine. Her braid appeared hastily done, but her uniform was intact. She wore three short blades at her hip, and one more graced her thigh. The last was carved wood, lightly etched with an intricate horse-head design.
I was not the only person who trusted the rugged girl from Camber who’d made good on becoming a guard. “You have not let me down,” I continued. “Not once.”
Thea swallowed hard, her mouth trembling with the apparent need to respond and what I guessed was the utter lack of any idea what to say. She couldn’t know what was coming, only that I’d called her into my private study to discuss something of significant import. And she’d been delivered by one of the Seven before being abandoned to no one but me.
I released Thea’s hand, crossing my own behind my back like a proper Lord of the North. “Thea of Camber, servant to the North, skilled healer, and trusted member of the castle guard, I hereby award you with a crucial charge, the first and sole of your order: Lord’s Caretaker.” She stared at me, obviously at a loss until I said, “It is your duty to oversee the care and protection of the first dragon of our great stable.”
Her chin dug back before her words fell free. “I-I… Caretaker… for the dragon?”
After a moment in which she seemed to consider all that it might entail, and possibly running from the room, she glanced back at me, a dozen questions in her eyes.
I waited.
“I’ve no experience with dragons. I’ve no command of something that size. I can’t imagine how—” She shook her head. “I am grateful for the honor, but I would much prefer something I can actually do. Like to care for the horses.”
I bit back a grin at her tone. “I can appreciate that, truly, Thea. But this charge will require someone with skill. And not necessarily patience. I can think of no one else with the determination and fortitude required for a duty such as this.” I did let myself smile then, gently, and could see that the gesture made it hard for her to argue.
“I’m destined to fail,” she said quietly. “To let everyone down.”
“It will be a learning endeavor for both you and the animal, but you will have a band of guards at your command and—should you need it—my assistance with the beasts. And Ruby, of course. She is fireproof, after all.”
Thea stared at me, clearly overwhelmed, and I gave her a curt nod to indicate that I considered the matter resolved. She stared on as I walked past her, but just as I reached the open door, I heard her turn.
“Wait,” she said, “what do you mean beasts?”
I glanced over my shoulder, giving her my best parting smile. “Perhaps you should meet with Rhys and Rider when they return. Study up a bit on how to manage a trove of dragons.”
I slept fitfully that night, despite the feelings of warmth and rightness I’d experienced during the light of day. When I woke the next morning, I knew there was one last task before me, one final piece to settle my concerns.
Junnie had given me and my Seven the most precious gift—she’d offered unrestricted access to the Council libraries and her own personal cache. She’d given us the knowledge of the entirety of the light elves’ collection. Rhys and Rider had left the same day I’d told them, only delaying long enough that they might arrive bearing fitting gifts for the gesture the new Council head had bestowed. But I understood it was not only to benefit the North. It was a gift that would help save us both.
It was a gift she feared we needed. Junnie had concerns of Isa, the girl who, despite never having known her mother or Asher, had been conceived with plans to be a great king. Asher had been wrong that the child would be male, but he had not been mistaken in the potential of the gift he’d cast upon her. Isa had the capacity to move countless humans, to bend them to her will. And any power so great could be a dangerous, deadly thing.
If we could not trust Isa, we would have to control her.
So at dawn, before the entirety of the castle had risen and before Thea had taken to caring for her new charge, I felt for the mind of my dragon. Isa was far from the castle, far from the eyes of any of her father’s blood, and farther still from the reach of the light elves. She understood that the rule neither of Council, who would kill her, nor the North, who would count her as nothing despite that her father had been lord, could actually hold her there. The settlement and beyond was the only place she could truly be free. And beneath her, under her direction, were the countless humans and her guard of elves as well.
From the comfort of my room, I urged the dragon to flight, to abandon the warmth of its nest in the keep. It rose to stand, twisting its spiked neck in a lengthy stretch before shifting to the platform’s edge. It wanted to roar into the hazy air but only rumbled out a groan at my behest to please not wake the entire kingdom. Then the beast shook free what little dew had settled on its scales and drew in a deep breath through its nose.
It leapt into the haze, diving past the castle walls, down the mountain, and into the warmth of a rising sun. The earth called to it in a slow, persistent way, a steady beat that was not the thrum of fey energy Ruby had described. There was nothing urgent about the dragon’s connection to its magic, no desire to fill its stores.
At the boundary between lands, we swung north, skirting fey territory to soar high above the trees. From that height, it was easy to see the demarcation—not from the wall of vines created by Junnie and the fey, but from the lush, verdant flora against the nearly barren ground. The trees beyond fey lands were sparse and thin by comparison, the land open in patches of trodden grass. In the mind of the dragon, I did not feel the press of the humans, but it wasn’t long before I could see the damage their presence had done.
Encampments dotted the landscape in an ugly brown rash, scarred with dark smears of cinder and ash. There were fire pits, gar
dens, and shelters constructed of chopped-down trees. So many humans. So much barren ground. My stomach turned at Veil’s remembered words. A plague, he’d called it. An infestation.
The humans had been driven from lands farther out by the changelings. Asher’s motives might have been lost to his death, but they were not incalculable. My grandfather had intended to rule all the lands, to reign over every kingdom within his reach through his children. I could only be grateful we’d stopped him, and I understood that we’d only done so by working as one. Our kingdoms had united to save us all. It was not a lesson any of us would soon forget.
The dragon soared closer to the settlement that was Isa’s own small kingdom, the land she’d managed to turn into a village with herself at its head. The sun had risen fully, but the dragon had made good time. We would be able to beat even the spread of rumor at that rate, and my connection to the beast had not dwindled in the least. Back in my bed, my chest eased in a sigh at the realization, and I pressed the dragon toward the edge of the settlement, over the creek from which Junnie had diverted water toward the new boundary.
Our shadow rolled over turned earth, and I urged the dragon faster as I recognized the dark hair of my grandfather’s child. She only looked up for a moment before we slammed to the earth, the dragon’s talons tearing into the trodden soil of a well-used path as the villagers nearby started to scream. The girl looked up at us from where she stood alone on the path, her hair flipping back in the wind, her green eyes wide. She wore no cloak, but a sleeveless gilt-trimmed robe laced high up her neck, and her feet were bare. She stood very, very still.
The dragon purred out a breath, puffs of sulfurous smoke piping from its nostrils into the warm morning air. Behind her, Isa’s sentries rushed forward, bows and staffs in hand. The humans ran for cover, apparently not under her direction to heed other commands. I let the dragon lean forward menacingly, eyes on Isa’s own. The girl was no fool, and she would have heard the rumors. She would have known the beast was under my command. She held up a hand, and the sentries froze in their tracks, waiting.
The Frey Saga Book VI Page 14
