Talon the Black

by Melissa Mitchell

  “It is so very complicated,” she said.

  “Indeed. Complicated and unpredictable. It is important to remember: the beast and the man are two different beings. The man may feel one thing, the beast another, and interpretation becomes difficult. In the end, the beast chooses the mate. That is why skin must touch scale.”

  She recalled Sophie’s words, the phrase she used, and the strange language when she spoke it. “Sophie told me that. She chanted something. I could never remember if I wanted to. But something about skin touching scale and two minds becoming one.”

  “Ah. I do not know this Sophie, but she must have been speaking of A Bond Unveiled. It is an old poem, but it was once a song whose tune has been lost.”

  “Oh.”

  “I would be happy to share it with you.” Without waiting for her invitation, Byron broke into a chant.

  A Drengr’s mate, a thing of fate,

  Is destined since creation.

  To recognize, one must be wise,

  Respect this song’s advice.

  Heed thy heart and tune thy mind,

  Prepare thy way and follow.

  When skin touches scale, two minds become one,

  The sacred bond is unveiled.

  Do not falter, one must go further,

  Guarantee what is foreordained for thee.

  When flesh becomes one, the mind also follows,

  Sealed is the bond that should be.

  She listened with eager fascination. Each new phrase brought new questions. Before she could ask any, Byron continued his explanation. “Every story is different. My father told me that when he saw my mother for the first time, his heart warmed from the inside out, fierce like a fire, burning straight through him. Although we do not feel the true heat of flames.”

  Together they entered the portcullis of Fort Squall. Cool air from the stones washed over her as the summer’s heat attempted to stifle the world. As they ascended a set of stairs, she breathed deeply, refreshed. The dark stairway spat them out along the battlements. There, they stood to watch the remaining Ceremony attendees gathered upon the field.

  A new thought struck her. “Byron, earlier today when we met, did you know before the Ceremony that I was your mate?” She looked up at him. His nostrils flared. She could tell that he was holding back laughter.

  “Will you be terribly angry with me if I admit that I did?”

  She turned her attention back to the field. She could never be mad at him, not after what she felt when their minds touched. She pretended to be upset, pulling her hand from his. “That is why you tricked me. The kiss…” She placed her fingers against her lips, remembering the tingles as if they were still there.

  Byron laughed in earnest. “Yes, a grand kiss it was. I would never ask such a favor from you unless I was certain you were mine.”

  “But how—how did you know with certainty? If what you felt for the last fifteen years left you unsure, what changed your mind? And—and why did you not tell me then?” All the nervous jitters, all the unnecessary anxiety, he could have saved her from it, he could have told her what he knew.

  “I knew the moment I touched your skin. I realized in that instant as I moved the hair from your face that everything I felt, the mounting feelings of recognition growing over time, were entirely due to you. I knew. My heart knew…”

  She looked up at him. He gazed out over the field, watching as everyone trickled back into the fort.

  “I did not tell you because I can, at times, be selfish. I wanted to see what you were made of. I wanted to see how far I could push you.”

  She snorted. How ridiculous! She was made of sterner stuff than most ladies. Otherwise she would have never survived the road to the fort. “Did your father know? When he saw your mother? When his heart warmed him like fire.”

  Byron turned to her, taking her hand. He did not like to be without it for long. “My father traveled halfway across Dragonwall to find my mother. Like me, he felt something strange. That feeling pulled him in the direction he needed to go. I am sure he had a hunch. But he did not truly discover the meaning of what he felt until he laid eyes upon her.”

  She pictured Davi and Emmy in their first meeting.

  “Father was not as fortunate as me. His mate did not merely stumble into the fort like mine did.” There was a certain smugness in his voice. There was pride too. He admired her undertaking, her ability to break free of the bonds that held her to Redport.

  “I did not realize that he went in search of her,” she said, “that he had to find her.”

  “That is a common occurrence. Like I said, it is different for every Drengr. Fate has a way of uniting us. You happened to find your way here. Had you not, I would have come looking for you eventually. Though I fear it would have been too late.” He pulled her from their vantage point so that they could walk along the wall.

  “But I thought the Touching Ceremony was…”

  He finished her thought. “The Touching Ceremony is nothing more than a formality. Most Drengr do as my father did. Fate smiles upon me.” They stopped again to look out over Squall’s End.

  “It is not too late, you know. Lord Rhal is a good man. To be the lady of Squall’s End is a worthy charge. Stealing you away from him, which is how he may see it, will create tension between the fort and the governors. My father is right about the difficulty you have created.”

  “I would never go to Lord Rhal!” she cried, surprised by his suggestion. “Besides, if Lord Rhal is a good man, he will understand the importance of our bond.”

  Byron turned his tender gaze upon her, happy with her refusal. Perhaps he merely needed the affirmation. “I am sure you are right. Besides, he will have no choice in the matter. You are mine.”

  They walked a little further in silence. She had countless questions, but she was also ashamed of how little she knew. To retain her dignity, some questions could wait. There was one that was burning her through like a hot knife. “Byron?”

  “Hmm?”

  “How come I cannot see into your mind anymore? When I pulled my hand away, our minds separated. And the poem, it said…” She tried to make sense of the last few lines of the poem.

  “Only when our bond is sealed, will we be permanently of one mind, permanently mated.”

  “I had thought that was why I touched your scales.” She could feel the scowl emerging upon her face.

  He shook his head. “Skin touching scale merely allowed us to realize the bond, to unveil it. To seal it, we must…”

  “We must, what?” She was eager to complete their bond, eager to take up the destiny that was foreordained for them.

  He sighed. “I am going to take a wild guess that your womanhood is not yet upon you.”

  Her face burned. That was a private thing. She did not want to speak of it. Besides, what did it have to do with anything?

  “Well?”

  Afraid to withhold, for her desire to please him was powerful, she shook her head. The embarrassment she felt brought her gaze to the ground. The cobblestones along the ramparts were symmetrically placed with varying shades of gray.

  “Tamara, look at me.” When he squeezed her hand, she lifted her eyes to his, feeling the heat under her skin. “You need not feel discomfort around me, Tamara. Not if you are to be my mate.” Several painfully long moments passed quietly as he watched her. At last he spoke, “When you have reached womanhood, we will seal the bond.”

  “That could take ages! Why should it matter?” She did not mean to sound impatient.

  He chuckled. “Believe me. It matters.”

  “But why?!” She took her hand from his and crossed her arms. Why wouldn’t he just explain it?

  “I am going to assume you press me on the matter because you are ignorant of the process.” She watched him, waiting patiently. “To seal the bond, to become mates, we must mate.”

  “Mate? Like…” Her eyes widened and the blood drained from her face. Realization dawned on her without the need for
him to elaborate. But he did, and that made it worse.

  “We will make love, Tamara. And I will not…” He sighed before continuing. “I will not engage in that until you are ready, until you are a woman. You are far too young. Remember, I may look a few years your senior, but we Drengr age extremely slowly. I am thirty-two and you, fifteen.”

  “Oh…” The words died on her lips. How silly she was! How ignorant! Mortifyingly embarrassed by her stupidity, she turned from him and walked away.

  47

  Kastali Dun

  Claire crinkled her nose before stripping away a set of linens. The feather mattress fell back into place with a poof, sending up clouds of dust. She tossed the bedding onto the floor then moved away to straighten the furniture in the room. Fresh flowers from her cart replaced dried bouquets, which she threw into a cloth bag for disposal.

  She and Desaree were assigned to the third-floor apartments on the west wing. These were some of the best in the keep, with stunning views of the Dragonfire Sea. She glanced out the open window to watch several ships.

  “Phew,” Desaree uttered with disgust. “Some of these nobles need to bathe more.”

  She turned to Desaree and smiled. “Then perhaps they might go sparingly on the perfume.”

  Desaree laughed and tossed away the smelly chemise. She was a godsend, if Dragonwall’s gods were indeed real. The two had become the best of friends, spending most of their waking moments together. Much of it was done cleaning, but to her surprise, she enjoyed the work. It was exhausting, yes, but she was drawn to the busyness of it. The tasks were mindless enough to keep her occupied while allowing plenty of time to think. Although, thinking was increasingly difficult as her headaches worsened.

  Twice she was confined to bed-rest when the migraines became unbearable. Whenever that happened, Tess was there, fawning over her the way her mother would. “Just keep them eyes closed, dearie,” she would say, sponging a damp cloth over her forehead and feeding her broth.

  Reyr visited too, but he never stayed very long. It was difficult to converse when her head pounded and words brought stars to her eyes. “I worry about you, Claire,” he often said. “Are you sure you will be all right?”

  “You frown too much, Reyr. You’re going to get wrinkles,” she often joked, trying to lighten his mood. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Despite her reassurances, he always left with a grim expression of apprehension.

  Sometimes, when her misery overwhelmed her, Cyrus showed himself.

  You must learn to block the voices out, he often advised. If you choose which to hear and which to ignore, you will feel better.

  The problem was, she didn’t know how to do that. Worse still, any amount of intermittent coaching only increased the pain.

  It was during her darkest days that her conscience whispered to her, telling her to run away, to leave Dragonwall forever, coaxing her to find her way back home, back to a world where dragons were found in storybooks and not skies. Cyrus hated the idea. It was cowardly. The kingdom needed her. He never bothered explaining why.

  Despite her struggles, there were good days too. Some days the voices came less frequently, giving her mind a small break. She saw these time-outs as small islands of mercy amidst a treacherous sea, a sea she was forced to traverse daily.

  Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she stood to survey her work. Desaree was finishing up. She watched her place fresh candles into their holders before declaring the room finished. The two of them moved to the next, and the day flew by like all the others.

  That night, much to her relief, Saffra came to see her. Three weeks had passed since their first visit in the dungeons. She had just gotten into bed when Saffra’s knock came.

  “Tess told me about your headaches,” she said, entering the room. “What is the reason for the chair?” Saffra eyed the security device suspiciously while she replaced it under the doorknob. They both plopped down on the bed.

  After she detailed her paranoia and the use of the chair, Saffra said, “You are right to be careful. I have witnessed firsthand what Kane is capable of. To think he manipulated my vision…it makes me sick.”

  Taking advantage of their limited time together, she divulged everything she told King Talon, describing her rescue of Cyrus and their time together before he died. Saffra was crying by the end. “He was like a brother to me,” she whispered. “He trained me to interpret my visions, to control them. We spent countless hours together. He was the only person to see into my mind.”

  “He—he looked into your mind?” This caught her off guard.

  “Well of course,” Saffra said as if the knowledge shouldn’t have come as a surprise. “He was a Mind Bender, the only one of his kind. He knew my mind almost as well as I know it myself. It was necessary so that he could help me interpret my visions.”

  “Saffra, is there—” Her breath caught in her chest before she could continue. The realization struck powerfully. “Is there a possibility he saw me there?”

  Saffra’s brow scrunched together.

  “Think about it. If he saw your mind, he saw me.”

  “Claire, ever since I was a young girl, your face frequented my dreams and my visions. You have always been a part of me.” Saffra’s confirmation was all she needed.

  “Everything makes sense now.” She slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. It was almost too simple. Yet she wouldn’t have seen it without the last piece of the puzzle. Thanks to Saffra, she finally had it.

  Saffra was confused. The Seer didn’t understand yet, so she explained her theory. “I always wondered why Cyrus trusted me enough to give me the Stones. It was all because of you.”

  The Seer scowled, trying to contradict her. “He trusted you because he had no choice, Claire. It was a life or death situation.”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t buy it.” She shook her head. “There were some things he said to me, strange things. I thought it was the poison...” It was too coincidental, knowing that Cyrus had seen her in Saffra’s head long before she rescued him, long before he dropped into her corn field.

  “What strange things do you speak of, Claire? What do you mean?”

  “Cyrus insisted I was the new protector of the Stones. That I was an integral part in the story to come.”

  “What story?”

  “The story of the Stones.” She thought about their time together, dissecting everything Cyrus told her, making sure she didn’t miss anything. Cyrus’s journey was ending—hers was just beginning. He was so eager for her to take the Stones. Too eager. Moreover, Cyrus knew about his death with too much clarity. She got so mad at him for that—for insisting upon his death when the future was not yet determined. But the future was determined. He’d seen it in Saffra’s visions. And since he was the one who helped the Seer interpret them, he knew more than Saffra did about what he saw. Whatever he did see convinced him that he wasn’t meant to be a part of the final picture.

  “He knew all along,” she whispered, more to herself than to Saffra. “He knew all along and he didn’t tell me. Why didn’t he tell me?”

  Some things are better learned through discovery. You needed to find the answers for yourself…

  Cyrus sounded sad as he spoke. She was left to wonder what other information he withheld. What other things had he left for her to discover?

  Saffra was incredulous, but she admitted that there could be no other explanation. They moved on to other things, such as Kane’s Nasks. “To think,” Saffra cried, “all those times I sat in the Lower Council meetings, and Kane’s puppets were there all along.” A deep frown pulled at Saffra’s lips.

  “Cyrus said the same thing,” she said. “He felt pretty guilty about it.”

  “All the ways they must have tried to manipulate King Talon. I would never have guessed it.” Saffra’s eyes grew wide. “But wait…” she gasped, then she frowned.

  “What is it?”

  “Well…of course! It makes sense now.”

  “What does?”
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  “The poison! In my wine there was poison. I never got the chance…now I know.”

  “You mean to say—”

  “I’m almost certain that Kane’s Nasks must have been responsible for trying to poison me. Right before you arrived in the capital, I got a new bottle of wine. I was eager to try it until I smelled the poison. Kane must have wanted me dead and told them to do it.” Saffra lifted a hand to her forehead. Worry lines appeared on her face.

  “Well, looks like I’m not the only one he wants dead,” Claire said, attempting to lighten the mood.

  Saffra nodded then let out a long sigh. “I suppose not. We had better be careful.”

  They speculated a bit more until Saffra finally recalled her purpose in coming. “Oh, silly me!” She grabbed Claire’s arm. “All this talking when you foster an achy head. That is why I came—to give you this.”

  Saffra procured a large velvet drawstring pouch from a hidden pocket within her gown. The contents smelled of flowers and peppermint. “Our ancestors called it Aegan. It translates to bliss-flower. To create the medicinal solution, a very special process exists: a combination of Aegan flower petals, several pure oils like peppermint, and quite a bit of complicated magic. The contents of the brew must be dried over the course of a year, starting on the summer solstice and ending there as well. Only then can it be used. This is all that remains of last year’s batch.”

  She inhaled again, this time more deeply. How wonderful it smelled!

  “Besides myself, there is one other Mage in Kastali Dun capable of making it, and mine is the best, the most potent.” Saffra’s grin widened. “I also add a few tricks of my own.” There was a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Most do not know it, but I often provide Aegan to the king when he has trouble sleeping—which is often. Although I do not believe he utilizes it enough.” Saffra scowled briefly before smiling again.

  “But what does it do?” she asked, already beginning to infer the substance’s purpose.