by ML Spencer
Chapter Seventy-Two
Aram barely noticed as the crowd turned and departed, filing out the door toward the hall where the Wing took their meals together. He stood blinking in confusion as his friends laughed and congratulated each other and Vandra came to shake each of their hands. When Vandra took his own hand, Aram thought her grip seemed weaker than it should, though he wasn’t sure.
“Let’s go change and get some food!” erupted Markus, urging him forward with a hand on his back.
Aram nodded, the smell of the banquet making his mouth water. He followed Markus back to Esmir’s eyrie, where they exchanged their armor for tunics, then hurried back down to the dining hall, which was filled with cloth-covered tables arranged in long rows, with a wide space at the front where people could gather. There were tapestries on the whitewashed walls that depicted battle scenes, dragons and their riders engaged in glorious combat. The room was well-lit by foul-scented candles impaled on tall iron candlesticks. Vandra and her officers sat on a dais at the upper end of the hall, goblets and heaping plates arranged before them.
Aram sat next to Markus at the end of one of the tables, his stomach rumbling, anxious for the cupbearers to serve the wine and for the food to be brought out. As he waited, his mind worried on the problem of the applause dying at the mention of his name. He almost asked Markus what he thought was the cause, but then he decided against it. His friend would probably just tell him what he always told him whenever Aram confided his insecurities—that it was all in his mind.
But, this time, Aram didn’t think it was.
When the food was brought out, each person shared a dish with the person next to them, one breaking the bread and cutting the meat for the other. The wine was soured and smacked of pitch from the barrel, and the pheasant that was brought out was so overcooked that it was nearly unrecognizable. Still, it was one of the best meals Aram had ever seen. The sweets were made with real sugar, and the spoons, cups, and salt dishes were all polished silver.
When he reached for the knife to carve the pheasant, Markus plucked it out of his hand with an amused smile, saying, “I’m going to be your Warden, remember? I’m the one who’s supposed to be breaking your bread!”
Aram was startled, for he really hadn’t thought about it like that. He had never imagined being put in a position to be served by another—especially not by his best friend. He hesitated, staring down at Markus’s hands as he carved the pheasant, a cold feeling creeping over him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be treated differently by him. Uncomfortable, he muttered his thanks, avoiding Markus’s eyes.
As he ate, he watched the servants swarming the hall, carrying basins and ewers.
He also noticed a few of the men and women around them watching him curiously as he ate. At first, he ignored the stares, thinking it was all just him. But they persisted, until there came a point that he wondered if he wasn’t doing something wrong. But Markus was tearing into his pheasant like a wolf ravaging a kill, and he wasn’t getting any stares—which made Aram feel even more uncomfortable.
After the last course was served, Vandra stood and led the toast. Then, from a gallery above the dining hall, a group of minstrels started playing. Cheers went up, and people rose from their seats and rushed to the front of the hall, where there was a space cleared for dancing.
Aram watched them with unabashed curiosity. People from his village danced all the time at celebrations, but this dancing was altogether different than any he had ever seen before. Instead of everyone standing in a ring and holding hands, couples danced together in each other’s arms.
His attention went to Markus, who had picked up a conversation with Kye.
“I’m still dying to know who got which egg,” Markus was saying.
“I got the little green one and Corley got—”
Corley rose half out of his seat. “Wait! Let me tell it!” Leaning over the table, he spoke quickly over Kye, “So Eugan’s egg hatched first and out popped the ugliest little—”
“Shut up, Corley!” Eugan cried from across the table. “There’s nothing wrong with Nanneth!”
“Anyway,” Corley said with an eyeroll, “out popped this little dragon still covered in membrane, and you’ve never seen a slimier—”
“I said shut the hell up!” Eugan slapped his hand on the table, jolting the servingware. “It’s not like yours is any prettier!”
Aram looked away and caught the glances of two more men who seemed to be staring at him. Suddenly uncomfortable, he set his napkin down and leaned over, muttering to Markus, “I’m going to go find some better wine.”
He took his cup and rose, wanting to get away from the stares more than anything. He glanced around, looking for a quiet place he could retreat to. His eyes fell on Calise, who sat across the room at a table of young women. Her hair was done up, which gave her a very different look than what he was used to, and he couldn’t help but stare.
She glanced up from her conversation and, for a moment, their eyes met, and she smiled. Embarrassed, Aram jerked his gaze away and hastened toward one of the screens on the wall that the servants kept disappearing behind. Ducking behind the screen, he found himself in a buttery full of jugs and bottles. A startled servant holding an ewer frowned at him. He realized he probably wasn’t supposed to be there and ducked back out again.
Turning, he practically ran into Markus, who took his arm with a grin.
“I saw that,” he said.
“Saw what?”
“Saw her smiling at you right before you turned and ran.” Markus’s wide grin made Aram’s face flush.
“I wasn’t running.”
“Yes, you were.” Markus glanced back over his shoulder in the direction of Calise. “Why don’t you ask her to dance?”
Aram’s jaw dropped. He said in a frantic whisper, “No! I couldn’t!”
“Why not?”
“Why don’t you go ask someone?” he asked, parrying the question. “I’m going to sit down. My feet hurt from all the running I did today.”
But Markus shot his hand out and caught him before Aram could move. “Oh, no, you don’t! I’m not letting you off that easy. Why can’t you ask her?”
Aram squirmed, floundering. “I’m just not the kind of person girls like.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know how to talk to girls.”
Aram thought of pretty Mora Haseleu and the lanyard he had knotted for her all those years ago. Mora had been the only girl in his village who had ever said more than two words to him. The rest had either ignored him completely or scrunched their noses whenever he came near.
“You know how to talk to girls,” Markus insisted. “You talk to Calise all the time!”
“That’s different.”
“How’s it different? We’re talking about the same person!”
Aram licked his lips, having to think hard about it. “Talking to her like a friend is one thing. Asking her to dance—it’s not the same!”
The music had changed to a slow ballad. Not wanting to look at Markus, Aram let his gaze drift upward toward the gallery where the minstrels were playing.
Markus took him by the shoulders, forcing Aram to focus on him. “Look. There’s nothing wrong with you—there never has been! And if anybody thinks there is, then there’s something wrong with them. You’re different from the rest of us, but that’s your strength, don’t you get it? I can’t do what you do, and neither can anyone else in this room. Not even close. The only one here who looks at you and doesn’t see someone extraordinary is you. Now stop standing here acting like a toad and go ask the girl to dance!”
“Ask which girl to dance?”
Aram closed his eyes.
Calise was behind him.
Her voice struck a mortal wound to his courage, and he groaned as all the blood poured from his head and pooled in his gut. His vision swam, and the world tilted dangerously. He opened his eyes to find Markus’s face red and twisted from
the strain of containing a fit of laughter.
Calise took hold of Aram’s arm. “Who do you want to dance with? Maybe I can introduce you.”
Aram threw a hard glare at Markus, then turned slowly to face his worst fear.
As he looked at Calise, all he could think of was Mora Haseleu and the humiliation he had suffered when Jory had caught him speaking with her. He’d been a bundle of nerves then, but that was nothing compared to now, and he didn’t think he could stand being humiliated like that again.
Markus cleared his throat conspicuously. He patted Aram’s arm then walked away, leaving him alone with a beautiful girl who surely wanted nothing to do with him.
Calise looked at him sideways and raised her eyebrows.
He was done for.
Drawing a deep breath, Aram decided then that if he ever had to mount the gallows, he would do so with a smile on his face and a spring in his step—for surely that would take far less courage than this.
“Who do you want to dance with?” Calise asked again.
There was nothing else to do, so he gave her a slight, defeated grin. “You.”
To his amazement, the word came out right.
Calise blinked, a shocked look flitting across her face. “Really?”
That wasn’t the reaction he’d hoped for, and he couldn’t tell if her surprise was the good kind or the bad kind. But he was already committed, so he had no choice but to follow through.
He extended his hand, willing it not to tremble. “Will you dance with me?”
This time, she flashed him a smile that was genuine, even gracious, and accepted his hand. “Of course.”
Hearing those glorious words made his knees nearly buckle. Dizzy, Aram led her by the hand toward the front of the room, passing rows of tables and staring eyes. He floated the whole way on a sea of bliss, though the hall around him listed like it was ready to capsize. When they arrived on the dance floor, Calise turned to face him, smiling into his eyes as he stood panicked, not knowing what to do next.
“Put your hand on my back,” she whispered.
Giddy with terrified euphoria, he did as she asked, and she leaned into him, taking his other hand. The song faded from his hearing, and the entire world was reduced to the feel of her touch and the smile in her eyes.
He let her lead, following as best as he could, struggling to keep his feet moving to the tempo of the music instead of the race of his heartbeat. He stumbled once, which made her smile and laugh. For the rest of the song, all he could do was grin and blush, and by the time the music ended, he was breathless.
Seeing his condition, she giggled and asked, “Want to step out for a rest?”
He didn’t remember saying yes, but suddenly she was leading him away, weaving through clumps of people toward the door to the hall. Aram shot a panicked glance at Markus, who grinned back and waved at him smugly. He followed Calise through the eyrie to its cavernous entrance and out onto the wide terrace that was usually brimming with dragons. Now it was empty, for all the dragons and their riders had gathered inside.
Still holding his hand, Calise led him almost to the edge of the cliff, where she stopped and turned away from him, looking out across the dark gorge. A slight breeze tossed the loose strands of her hair that fringed her face. She gave him a quiet smile, then inclined her head toward the looming canyon walls that soared around them taller than the sky.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Yes. She was.
Calise frowned. “Is something wrong?”
Aram looked away. He didn’t know how to tell her what he felt. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” he finally admitted, smiling shyly.
She raised her eyebrows. “So, what’s been stopping you?”
Fear was stopping him—that singular emotion he was supposed to be conquering at all cost. But one look in her eyes made him quiver with trepidation, and every ridicule he’d suffered as a child came rushing back to conquer him.
Dropping his gaze, Aram licked his lips. “I guess I’m afraid you’ll laugh at me.”
“Why would I laugh at you?”
“Girls always used to laugh at me.”
She made a disbelieving face. “Did you ever try laughing at them?”
He stared at her, speechless, for her statement was absurd. His mind had to grapple with it for a moment before he finally realized she was joking. And it was a really funny joke, now that he thought about it.
He grinned. “No. I never laughed at them.”
“Maybe you should have.” Her face grew serious. “So, what is it you want to tell me? I promise I won’t laugh.”
He hoped with every bit of his heart she didn’t. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, deep breath. “I want to tell you that … that…” He swallowed. “I really like your freckles.”
Aram opened his eyes. For long moments, he stood holding her hand and quivering in fear, waiting for his hopes to be dashed.
“Thank you,” Calise said simply.
She wasn’t smiling anymore. He didn’t understand the look on her face. He started to draw back, thinking that maybe he’d made a mistake, but she tightened her grip on him, pulling him nearer.
“What do you like about my freckles?” she asked.
“I…” Nerves made his voice tremble worse than his hands. “I like them because they’re not symmetrical. I mean … I like things symmetrical, but just not you.” He cringed, squeezing his eyes closed. “What I’m trying to say is, I like it that you’re not symmetrical. You’re unpredictable—just look at your clothes!”
Calise glanced down at herself, a look of confusion on her face. She was wearing an unbleached linen skirt with a leather riding shirt. He loved the way her clothes were always mismatched, as though she purposefully mixed the pieces of different outfits for a variety.
“Every time I think I know you, I find out I don’t,” he admitted. “And that’s what makes you beautiful. Your freckles just show on the outside what you’re like on the inside. That’s why I like them,” he finished lamely, glancing down.
Calise stood for a long moment without saying anything. Then she raised her hand to his face and, leaning forward, pressed her lips gently against his. Aram’s stomach plunged, and his blood burned in his veins. He wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss softly. When they parted, he stood in a trembling daze, his breath coming in soft gasps.
Gathering him close, she kissed him again then simply laid her head on his shoulder. He stood with his arms around her, his cheek pressed against her hair, rocking her softly and staring out across the shadows of the canyon. He held her that way as the breeze moved past them and the mist drew close overhead. Long moments passed timelessly, and yet they still weren’t long enough.
“Let’s go dance some more,” she whispered.
Holding her hand, Aram led her back off the terrace and into the warmth of the eyrie. As they crossed the wide-open space in the center of the cavern, he could see the forms of the dragons resting in their alcoves, and he got the strongest impression that they approved.
He walked with her back to the dining hall, pulled by the soft strains of music and the promise of another dance. He moved in a blissful daze, weaving through the press of bodies, feeling her soft fingers stroking his.
Walking around one of the tables, he felt a tap on his shoulder and halted, looking back.
A tall, middle-aged man had risen behind him and stood offering him his hand. Aram accepted the handshake automatically, frowning in confusion. He had never seen this man before, although he wore the armor of the fighting Wing. His hair was thin and starting to gray, and there was a long scar slanting across his face.
“Corin Bandor,” the man introduced himself, his grip firm. “I wanted to congratulate you. I’m sorry, but I never knew your family name before it was announced tonight. Are you any relation to Darand Raythe?”
Aram stiffened,
his hand slipping from the man’s grasp. His gaze fixed on Bandor’s face, his confusion rampant.
He said warily, “Darand Raythe was my father.”
The man gave him a warm but sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, or I would have introduced myself sooner. Your father was my friend, the finest man I ever knew. You have my sincere condolences.”
Aram’s breath caught, his chest tightening. “You knew my father?”
The man nodded with a frown of confusion. “Of course. Everyone did.”
Dazed, Aram’s gaze drifted away from Bandor, coming to rest on Eraine Vandra, who stood behind them looking on, her face slack with dismay. When their eyes met, Aram’s throat constricted with emotion.
Vandra ducked her head, her eyes filled with regret.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Aram sat on his straw pallet in Esmir’s quarters, knees drawn up to his chest, a bit of twine in his hand that he was knotting and unknotting with rapid, brisk motions. He’d cast aside his rough wool blanket, even though Esmir insisted he sleep with it every night. To Aram, the wool felt painful against his skin, but he usually forced himself to endure it. Tonight, he just didn’t want to deal with it, so he shivered instead. It was hard to tell if the shivering was more from the cold or from the emotions chilling his insides. He had always heard that anger burned hot in a person’s blood, but the anger he felt was more like ice.
He heard a low growl coming from the other side of the chamber. Ever since Markus had taken Siroth into the eyrie, he had moved his pallet to the other alcove and slept next to his dragon. They were there now, settling in for sleep. Markus had graciously left him alone with his thoughts and his resentments. Aram appreciated that, knowing he wouldn’t make for good company. Even Esmir had made himself scarce, which was a good thing. Aram didn’t want to speak with him yet.
The door to the hallway opened. Aram looked up to see Vandra entering the dim cave—the last person in the world he wanted to see. He could tell by the look on her face that she regretted her part in keeping knowledge of his father’s death from him, and yet Aram knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive her easily. His father’s disappearance had haunted him all his life and had been the source of much of his self-doubt. Knowing anything about his father—anything—could have made a world of difference. But the people who had the power to set his mind at ease had made a decision not to.
