“I have to enter the fairy realm, Uma. Confront my grandfather in DunGarrow; find out if he or any of the fairies in Dragonswood are behind Desmond’s murder.”
“When you’re stronger,” I argued.
“Now. I also need to find out if the fey hexed the queen to keep her from having more children. You’ll need them out of the way to succeed with her.”
“You were going in to speak to the fey on my behalf?”
“What else could I do to help you when you refused to run away and save yourself from her?”
Suddenly shy, I held my palms out to the fire, studying my torn nails and raw fingertips. He had not rejected me after our fight; he’d entered Dragonswood to confront the fey and help me. “Thank you,” I managed.
“You are the most stubborn person I have ever met,” he added.
“So are you.”
“We should get you back to the road. This part of Dragonswood isn’t a safe place for you.”
“And it is for you?”
“I grew up hunting on Dragon’s Keep. I know how to stay alive in the forest.”
“And I lived outdoors with the Adan weeks at a time,” I argued, drying the pan.
“Not in woods as wild as these.”
I slammed the pot down on the ground. “You don’t need to escort me.”
“Think of it as selfish, then. I need to retrieve a new horse from Pendragon Castle to ride to DunGarrow. It’s much too long a journey on foot.”
I slid the copper pot into my basket. “It’s miles to the boundary wall. We’re not going until you’re better.”
Without another word, he shoved the arrows into the quiver and strapped it on. Then he took up one of the kea bundles and started off, walking with a limp. I shouldered my basket and provision bag, and grabbed the second bundle, too angry to speak.
Jackrun kept his wounded right arm pinned against his side as he walked. His swollen knee made our progress slow. Early on, he found a branch and stripped the twigs and leaves away to make a staff for himself. Leaning on it seemed to help. He still couldn’t move with much speed, but whenever he cringed and paused to catch his breath, he shot me a fierce look, warning me not to say a thing. I eyed both sides of the trail for a flash of red as we passed through a glade of gnarled oaks, still hoping fox would lead me to some trees where the huzana vines grew.
“Water?” I passed Jackrun the pouch. Watching him lift his chin and close his eyes to drink, I thought of the warriors back home passing the jar hand to hand, drinking sega as part of the Dragon Moon dance.
“Jackrun?”
“Hmm?” He handed me the pouch.
“Promise me if I don’t succeed with the queen, if I die—”
“You won’t die,” he said fiercely. “I won’t let that—”
I put my fingers on his wet mouth. “That if I die, you will convince the king and queen to free my people. You’re skilled in persuasion. I know it. You already saved my life, talking Queen Adela out of burning me. She won’t have a reason to hold my people captive anymore if I’m gone, but I’m afraid she’d keep the troops there anyway. The English and the Euit have a long, bloody history. We’ve been surrounded and driven off our lands before.”
I watched his face change as I lifted my fingers.
“You don’t need to ask. I won’t let the queen hurt you. I—”
“Please, Jackrun.”
Oak leaves whispered all around above us in the long silence. He took my hand, kissed my damp fingertips. “I promise.”
• • •
WE WALKED ON together until the light faded from blue to deep purple under the towering evergreens. I’d still seen no sign of fox. It looked less and less like we would make it to the boundary wall before dark. I pulled up my hood against the early evening chill, letting go of my search for huzana for the more urgent one of a safe place to sleep. The trail widened. I was hoping to find boulders tall and broad enough to protect us from the wind and the wolves.
Jackrun pulled an arrow from his quiver. “Run,” he whispered. “Climb a tree.”
Soft cracking sounds came from the underbrush up ahead to the right of our path. Gray wolves paced between the pines, heads down, ears pressed back, two, then four. I looked wildly around for branches low enough to reach. They were all too high. Even if we could both run fast, which Jackrun couldn’t do, where would we climb?
“Go,” Jackrun ordered in a whisper.
“No, I won’t leave you here.” I swept small sticks into a pile and quickly tried to light them with my tinderbox. I could barely hold the flints in my shaking hands. The sparks caught and started a tiny flame. So small. Too small. I added more sticks and in my haste nearly doused the fire. The largest male sniffed the air, then he crept closer.
I lit Jackrun’s walking stick and held it out like a warning torch. Jackrun’s arrow struck the male’s neck. It yelped, staggered a few paces, and fell over. Blood pooled around it. The others drew back snarling. But another charged and there were more behind it.
Jackrun shot again. I shouted and waved the torch. Still one leaped and knocked me down, planting its paws on my chest and bearing its teeth. Thick drool splashed on my face. Throwing my arms up, I screamed, pressing hard against its furry chest. A halo of yellow fire exploded over us. All was blinding light around the wolf’s snarling jaws. Jackrun’s breathing fire! I thought.
But the flames were not from Jackrun.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Dragonswood, Wilde Island
Dragon Moon
October 1210
A GREEN DRAGON with a golden chest swooped down and landed on the wide path. The male wolf jumped off me and fled. The others yelped, racing from the flames.
“Uma? Are you all right?” Jackrun helped me sit up. Angry barking filled the wood. “We’d better get out of here now.” He swung my herb basket over his shoulder by his bow and helped me onto the dragon. I straddled the base of her lowered neck like a great tree trunk.
“My herb bundles.” I looked frantically around. One was burning. Jackrun threw the other up to me.
I grabbed it, heart pounding, amazed to be alive, to be seated on a dragon. A lifelong dream and it was happening so fast, too fast to take it all in.
Jackrun grunted in pain as he climbed up and scooted in behind me.
“Jackrun, if you tear open any of the wounds I so carefully sutured—”
“Worried about your stitchery?” he asked from behind, as if I were a maid-in-waiting fussing over some pretty lacework. He wrapped his strong left arm around me. “Grab her upturned neck scale, Uma,” he called.
I threw myself forward over the kea bundle and grabbed the jutting scale with both hands. The dragon leaped from the forest floor, rising and dipping in frightening jerks under our weight. My stomach went down to my feet, then up again until she managed to crest the treetops and soar over the canopy. Wolves ran below, fanning out between the pines like scattering gray leaves.
“Thank you, warrior,” I called to her. I held on, stunned, chest aching where the wolf’s paws had held me down, heart pounding with the sheer excitement of the unexpected ride. I’d wanted this since I was a small jealous child watching Father ride Vazan.
As the dragon winged us over the forest canopy, I thanked the Holy Ones. We were alive, the wolves were far below us, and I was flying for the first time in my life. High above the moving forest, I felt I was a part of the evening sky, a part of the wind that blew past in chilly gusts, stinging my cheeks and eyes.
My hands were cold, gripping the scale, but the dragon’s neck warmed my legs, and Jackrun warmed me from behind. He pressed his chest against my back, peering over my shoulder.
“She’s not flying toward the boundary wall,” Jackrun said, waking me from my reverie. To her he called, “Where are you taking us, warrior?”
Whe
n she did not answer, he raised his voice again. “What is your name?” he shouted. Still no answer as she flew west. “We are not trespassers in Dragonswood. I’m Jackrun Pendragon.”
Stars overhead brightened to polished jewels as she flew west, skirting Morgesh Mountain. A warmer, sweeter wind washed silken across my skin. It was redolent with flowery scents as if the dragon had somehow flown us from autumn to summer. I wanted to say something to Jackrun, but I didn’t have to. His arm tightened around my waist. His breath warmed my neck. We were entering the fairy realm. He felt it too.
The dragon soared down, following a dark river that cut a sinuous path through the forest. Stars winked out one by one in the thickening clouds above. The lower she flew, the colder it got. “Where are you taking us?” I called. Still, she didn’t answer.
A barge came into view and I saw the large outline of another dragon seated at the prow. Our dragon landed on the edge of the barge, gripping the timber rail with the talons on her back legs as a bird on a branch, beating her wings to keep her balance. At last she steadied herself and lowered her neck for us to dismount.
“Tell us where we are, warrior,” Jackrun said.
Silence.
We got off, and the dragon abandoned us, shifting the barge, rocking it violently up and down. We stumbled forward, gripped the rail until the motion eased, then turned to face the dark outline of the other dragon at the prow.
Jackrun did not draw his bow or his sword. Bowing to the dragon, he said, “I am honored to meet you, warrior. I am Jackrun Pendragon.” The beast opened its jaws and breathed golden fire, lighting the torches bracketed to the rails on our left and right. It was then I saw the woman in a crimson gown on a carved throne before the seated dragon. Her golden eyes and blue-green scales along the left side of her forehead matched the dragon’s at her back, her eyes were sparkling jewels in the torchlight. I knew her from Lady Tess’s painting in her solar.
Jackrun gasped and rushed forward, knocking over a bench on his way to Princess Augusta. She came to a stand as he rushed to her, a strong, slender woman not much older than Jackrun. I was surprised to see the dragon curl her long green tail around their feet. The tail had three sharp-tipped curved spikes on the end, like Vazan’s.
“You’re a man now,” Augusta said. “You were nine when I left, just a boy.”
I saw the top half of Augusta’s face over Jackrun’s broad shoulder. Our eyes met for a moment. Hers were astonishing, as if they had caught fire.
Jackrun was fighting to catch his breath. “I . . . wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again, Augi.”
The dragon huffed smoke at the nickname. Princess Augusta gestured to her companion. “This is Filalda.”
I bowed to the fierce-looking she-dragon along with Jackrun.
“Please introduce me to your friend,” said the princess.
“This is the queen’s physician, Uma Quarteney.”
“You serve Queen Adela?” Her eyes flashed with anger. I met her look and didn’t quaver under it. Between us, Jackrun leaned over. Augusta’s expression softened. “You are hurt, Jackrun. Please sit.”
I stepped forward and helped the princess right the bench Jackrun had knocked over. He groaned as he sat, clutching his right arm.
I said, “He is recovering from a wolf attack, Princess.”
“Uma saved my life,” Jackrun said, stretching out his sore leg. A section of the bandage I’d wrapped around his knee peeked through his torn pants.
Augusta’s face was all concern. “When I learned you were in Dragonswood, I sent my dragon out to find you. I see I acted too late.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“We have our border patrols. I’m only sorry it took us so long to locate you, Jackrun. How bad are your wounds?”
“I am on the mend,” he said.
I slid onto the bench beside him, wanting desperately to check his arm to see if the stitches had torn out. “Bleeding?” I asked him.
“No, just sore.”
Princess Augusta returned to her throne and sat, fingering the carved rosebuds on the armrest.
Jackrun’s breathing was still unsteady.
“The attack was only just last night, Princess,” I said. “The wounds are new. Food and rest would help.”
“Yes, of course.” Princess Augusta waved her hand. Tiny lights flitted across the water. Soon scores of will-o’-the-wisps flew toward the barge bearing a small table, long-necked ewers, and food on silver trays. The last time I’d seen these smallest of fairies was the day the fey king of Dragon’s Keep brought us the glass coffin.
A soft humming filled my ears as they flew down, set their table before us, and placed the trays on it. The fresh bread brought a heady scent to my nose. I folded my hands to keep from reaching for it or for the sliced cheeses layered and arranged like blossoms, the relishes and fresh berries covered in cream.
The will-o’-the-wisps startled me, tugging my hands apart, washing my unbandaged one with warm water from their ewers and drying it with tickling cloths before cleaning Jackrun’s hands. They could do nothing for his torn clothes, my bloodstained cloak and gown. I drew back as I felt one trying to clean under my fingernails. This was all a little too close for me.
“Uma cannot eat fey food,” Jackrun said, glancing at the meal. My stomach lurched. I was hungry.
“I cannot eat their food either,” said the princess. “I have my own cook who’s human. Uma may eat whatever she likes.” I heaved a grateful sigh as the wisps filled our goblets with wine. I began to feel less light-headed as I ate the luscious berries and the sharp cheese that stung the back of my tongue. I was chewing the warm bread when the will-o’-the-wisps darted back over the water.
At last Jackrun spoke again. “You have to tell me why you left us for good. Why you never came home even for a visit.”
Small wrinkles formed on the half of her brow not covered in scales. She gazed at the trees lining the shore, then at the sky. Dark clouds had mounded up in the heavens. “I don’t belong in the human world. I won’t be going back.”
“The family misses you, Augusta. Mother and Father and Tabby and . . .” He paused. “You haven’t even met my little brother, Kip, but I know he would love to meet you. Dragon’s Keep is still your home.”
“It was never my home, Jackrun. I was banished from Wilde Island at birth because of my face scales and my eyes. My father rejected me and sent me there to live my life as an outcast.”
“You weren’t any more of an outcast than the rest of us were on Dragon’s Keep.”
“Don’t lie, Jackrun. It only makes things worse.” The heavy clouds opened overhead, letting down a sudden rain. Filalda spread her wing over the three of us. The princess must be well esteemed, I thought. Babak was the only dragon I knew who could tolerate water, so I understood what it meant for Filalda to stay out in a sudden heavy downpour just to keep the princess dry.
Filalda’s chest heaved in and out as she pumped her lungs like bellows to stoke her inner fire and stay warm. Vazan had used that trick whenever she was caught out in a shower. Flares shot from her mouth high above each time she puffed, illuminating her wing and sending short, bright flashes of light over us sheltering below.
Jackrun seemed oblivious to the rain. “If you stay away, it will mean King Arden, Queen Adela, and Desmond won, Augusta. It will be as if you agree with the ones in the family who always thought you—”
“Were a monster,” she finished.
“Thought you didn’t belong,” he corrected, tensely.
The expression on Augusta’s face changed from anger to sadness to resignation to pride. Whatever Duke Bion and Lady Tess did to help the princess feel loved, to heal the wounds the other family members caused, wasn’t enough. Something made Princess Augusta run here for sanctuary.
I saw more likeness to Jackrun in those looks. These
two had more dragon in them than the rest of the family, but their gifts had come with a price.
“Things can be different for you,” Jackrun said, “now Desmond is dead.”
Augusta said, “We heard of his death.” I caught her vindictive look. What I saw sent a cold chill to the back of my neck.
She was glad her nephew had fallen. I ate more sharp cheese, rain pattering the outstretched wing above as I chewed. I wondered just how much she knew about the death.
The cheese clumped in my mouth. I couldn’t seem to swallow it.
Jackrun had mentioned the possibility of a rogue element in Dragonswood. What if . . .
“Augi,” Jackrun said, interrupting my thoughts, “we think Desmond was murdered.”
“Murdered?” She sucked in a quick breath. All went dark a moment. When Filalda breathed fire above us again, the princess was standing over us. “No more talk about this here,” she warned. “Wait until we arrive.”
Chapter Forty
Princess Augusta’s Castle, Dragonswood, Wilde Island
Dragon Moon
October 1210
PRINCESS AUGUSTA SAT again. I felt the barge moving mysteriously, following her gaze as if her eyes directed it. We drew north against the river’s current, then toward the trees until the barge bumped against a short dock in the riverbank.
A small steep-roofed castle made of river stones waited in the woods. The two dragon sentries, curled up tail to snout on either side of the entryway, leaped up as we approached. They bowed to the princess, one using his talons to pinch the door handle and let us in.
I hung my filthy cloak on the hook next to Jackrun’s, keeping my herb basket and kea bundle with me. Lifting the hem of my bloodstained skirt, I followed the princess to the large central room. A fire bloomed in the hearth as we came in. I’d seen no one light it, but this was Dragonswood after all, a magical place. As soon as we took the chairs by the hearth, will-o’-the-wisps flew in and flitted about Augusta’s head like little jewels, straightening her wind-tangled hair.
The wisps and dragons serve her as if she were queen of Dragonswood. A queen is used to giving orders, getting what she wants. I thought again of the triumph I’d seen on her face earlier at the mention of Desmond’s death, and glanced away, my temples pounding.
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