by Chrys Cymri
‘I have been chosen,’ the unicorn replied. ‘This is my duty, regardless whether you ask or if I have to hunt you down.’
‘But you will ask,’ the Archdruid said. ‘Listen to your accusers. Do they not speak the truth? None of them will stand by you.’
All of them were speaking now, their voices weaving through and around each other. Liar. Disappointment. Two-timing. Unbalanced. Inferior.
I looked up at the dragon. ‘Are they right, Raven?’ The words were gouged out from some deep, dark place within me. ‘Tell me they’re wrong. Tell me that--that I’m worth caring about.’
‘Yes, Hrafn Eydisson,’ the Archdruid said. ‘How do you feel about this human? Do you care for her?’
Golden claws dug deep into the ground. His eyes bulged, whites exposed around the blue-green irises. I held my breath, suddenly hopeful as his neck muscles rippled under the green-black skin. When he finally spoke, it was with desperate arrogance. ‘Penny is one of the most interesting humans I have ever known.’
‘Even the dragon,’ Holly said with a sniff. ‘He knows better than to rely on you.’
‘I always warned you about cross species relationships,’ Morey told me. ‘Always let you down in the end.’
‘Don't any of you care about me?’ I demanded, tears blurring my vision. ‘Don’t any of you love me?’
Silence. They all looked away. Then, one by one, each figure stepped forward, glowing with self-righteous indignation. My gaze found the male unicorn. ‘It would be quickly done,’ he promised me. ‘A quick thrust, a sharp stab of pain. And then all this would be over.’
Lloegyr taken from me. Peter and James gone. Rosie becoming the vicar of my parish. Morey moving on to another priest. And Raven, who only valued me as a diversion. What would I have left to live for? ‘Oh, God,’ I groaned, wondering how I had come to this. The image of my body, cold and lifeless on a table in Russell’s morgue, filled my mind. Would anyone even grieve?
‘Stop, stop, stop!’ Clyde was bouncing on his branch, his body pulsating in a bright rainbow of colours. ‘Live, live, live!’
‘What for, Clyde?’ I asked dully. ‘Everyone’s turned against me. Nobody cares.’
‘Love,’ the snail stated. ‘Love!’
‘Precisely,’ I sniffled. ‘Nobody loves me.’
The snail shark stared at me for a moment, colours swirling through his body. Then he reared back, almost losing his footing as he opened his jaws wide to sing. “Penny, oh I will love you forever, love you forever.’ He took a deep breath, and with a volume which would have rivalled even Whitney Houston, he belted out, “‘Through all darkness and storm, I will love you forever, I will love you forever. Wherever you lead me, through joy and through sorrow, I will love you forever.”’
My throat was suddenly thick. I blinked away tears as he crawled down the tree and up onto my arm. He sang quietly, ‘“You, Penny, I will love you forever.”’
I straightened, and faced my shadows. ‘He has less reason than any of you to love me. I killed his mother, I keep him in a tank, I’ve let him get hooked on Australian soap operas instead of giving him an education. But he loves me. The rest of you can get knotted.’
It would have been very satisfying to see them howl and then disappear like the images of Zoë and Jamie in The Five Doctors. Instead, all that happened is that they faded away into the gloom. Or back into my subconscious, which obviously needed a good sort out one day soon.
‘Thank you for your offer,’ I told the male unicorn, forcing my voice to keep steady. ‘But I decline. Kill me if you must, but I’m not going to ask you to do it.’
The Archdruid snorted a command. The other unicorn bobbed his head, and returned to the depths of the forest.
Roots and branches slithered away, freeing Raven from their grasp. His skin was pale, more green than black. ‘A malwen siarc,’ he stuttered. ‘I stood there, I said nothing--and a malwen siarc saved you.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Clyde saved me.’
Raven stared at me for a moment. Then the forest cracked as he turned and plunged away. Part of me wanted to call out to him, to reassure him of--what? What could I say? I was suddenly tired of lying simply to protect the feelings of others. Raven would have to work this through for himself.
‘Am I?’ I asked the Archdruid. ‘Safe? Or are you going to throw something else at me?’
The sharp horn was still now. ‘Malwod siarc care for no one but their own, and even then not overly much.’
‘What?’ My mother would have been furious, but I was too tired to be polite. ‘Clyde cares. He once attacked a harpy to protect Morey.’
‘Snail sharks do not risk themselves for others.’ She pawed the ground with a forehoof. ‘Your God is a great protector, Father Penny. I will not go against him.’
I opened my mouth to protest. Surely Clyde’s decision to defend his adopted family had nothing to do with God. Then I swallowed my words. I had no desire to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. ‘Neciaunim. This is now a promise I make in my own name, not for someone else. Your lands are protected. Lloegyr is protected. And I will make sure of that.’
‘Will you pledge honour and blood, life and limb?’
‘I will pledge honour and blood, life and limb.’
‘Then you may go, Father Penny.’
I waited a moment, hoping that she would leave first. But the Archdruid showed no signs of moving. So I gritted my teeth and fought against my weak legs. The knife was gleaming on the forest floor, and I picked it up. Then I managed to walk away without stumbling, although my body felt as if I’d been pummelled by a troop of Cybermen.
Clyde dropped back into his bag as we left the forest. My ears ached as I listened for the sound of hooves, and my shoulders were stiff as I wondered if I might still feel the thrust of a horn into my back. But the only sound was that of wind blowing over the flattened grasses. Hot bath and whisky, I promised myself. Or, forget the bath, just go for the whisky. Get home, have whisky.
The chill of the thin place was nothing compared to what I’d just been through. I climbed into my car, placed Clyde onto the passenger seat, and turned the key. Within a few minutes, welcome heat spread through the car. And then I lowered my head against the steering wheel and sobbed.
‘“I will love you forever,”’ a soft voice sang beside me.
‘I know, Clyde, I know.’ I straightened, blew my nose, and turned the car towards home.
Chapter Twenty-Six
All I wanted, when I arrived home, was to grab a bottle of Talisker and head upstairs to my bedroom. I wasn’t even particularly worried about finding a glass. But as I entered the kitchen, James was sitting at the table, his iPhone beeping as he prodded his screen. I placed Clyde on the kitchen counter, and opened a beer. Half was poured into a bowl for the snail, and the other half into a glass for me.
‘You’ve had a call from that churchwoman,’ James told me without looking up. ‘Holly whatever.’
‘Churchwarden,’ I corrected. ‘What did she want?’
‘She thought you were working on some application for a church thingy.’ James put the phone down. ‘But you weren’t were you? You went to Lloegyr.’
‘Yes, I did,’ I said. My voice was steadier now that I had half a bottle of beer inside me.
‘There you go again,’ he muttered.
This would need more than just beer. I got up, poured a good measure of whisky into my empty glass, and returned to the table. ‘And what do you mean by that, James?’
‘Like what I said.’ He flushed slightly. ‘You don’t tell people the truth.’
‘So I should tell Holly about Lloegyr?’
‘Well, no, you can’t tell her about that.’
‘There’s lots of things I can’t tell people,’ I continued. ‘Yes, okay, I admit that I’ve gone too far sometimes. But I don’t always have the luxury of honesty.’
‘The family service, the organist--’
‘I’m not perfect.’ Another s
ip of Talisker slid down my throat. ‘It’s not that black and white, James. I have to lie about Lloegyr, for example. And that’s not the only secret I have to keep. I’m told things as a priest which I can’t share with anyone else.’
‘But--’
‘What’s this really about?’ I leaned forward. ‘What are you really worried about?’
His fingers curled around the edge of the table. ‘Was Miranda all my fault? Is she dead because of me?’
‘She was the one who deceived you,’ I told him. ‘She lied about why she wanted to visit the dragon longhouse.’ Then I sighed. ‘Stop blaming yourself when other people die, James. Alan wasn’t your fault. And Miranda wasn’t either.’
The doorbell rang. I hesitated. But James was staring down at his hands, obviously lost in thought. So I rose and went to answer the door.
Peter stood outside. For a moment the words spoken by his forest image ran through my mind. Then I shoved them aside. ‘Penny,’ he said. ‘Can’t stop, I have to report in, but I just wanted to check how you were after seeing the unicorns.’
‘I’ll tell you about it sometime,’ I said, although I wondered if I could find the necessary courage. ‘It was a bit tricky, but Clyde got me through it.’
‘Clyde? That slimeball?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Don’t call him that.’
Peter grinned. ‘You know I don’t mean it like that.’
‘You know that, and I know that,’ I said. ‘But Clyde might not know that.’
He studied me for a moment. ‘Okay. Point taken. I’d better get going. Thursday evening again? I’ll come collect you. We could go see the new Star Trek film?’
‘Sure.’ Another evening of a polite arm around my shoulders, a peck on my cheek. Suddenly I was tired of him being a perfect gentleman to my perfect lady. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ And, without giving him any warning, I reached out to cup my hands around his ears. His eyes widened as I drew his face down to mine. But he offered no resistance as I pressed my lips firmly against his. He tasted of chocolate, which mingled pleasantly with the Talisker still coating my own mouth.
After a long moment we drew apart. Peter lifted a hand to touch my cheek. ‘Just to say, you know I wouldn’t--’
‘Shut up,’ I told him, ‘or I’ll do that again.’
‘Lead me not into temptation,’ he told me. ‘I can find my own way. I’ll be counting down the minutes to Thursday.’ And, after a firm kiss on my lips, he turned and walked to his car.
There was a new energy in my legs as I returned to the kitchen. Clyde was staring mournfully at his empty bowl, and I poured in a small amount of whisky for him. A large shot of Talisker filled a glass at James’ elbow. There was a calm silence in the room which eased something in my soul.
The quiet was disrupted by a rattle from the cat flap. Morey flew onto the table, his landing erratic and claws scarring new lines into the wood. Blood was flowing from his left ear, splattering across his feathers and fur and leaving drops along the kitchen floor.
Chairs clattered as James and I both rose to our feet. ‘What happened?’ I demanded. ‘Did you have a fight with Taryn?’
Morey shook his head, flinging a spray of red over my brother’s t-shirt. ‘No,’ he said glumly. ‘It’s much, much worse than that.’
‘Worse than that?’ James echoed. ‘What did she do?’
Morey’s tail lashed wildly behind him. ‘This is a marriage proposal. Taryn’s asked me to marry her.’
Well, I knew exactly what to do. ‘James,’ I said firmly, ‘you get the bandages. I’ll pour the whisky.’
######
Penny White will return in ‘The Marriage of Gryphons’
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Chrys Cymri
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About the Author
Priest by day, writer at odd times of the day and night, I live with a small green parrot because the upkeep for a dragon is beyond my current budget. Plus I’m responsible for making good any flame damage to church property. I love ‘Doctor Who’, landscape photography, single malt whisky, and my job, in no particular order. When I’m not looking after a small parish church in the Midlands (England), I like to go on far flung adventures to places like Peru, New Zealand, and the Arctic.
Discover other titles by Chrys Cymri
Dragons Can Only Rust
Dragon Reforged
The Dragon Throne
The Unicorn Throne
The Judas Disciple
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First Chapter of The Dragon Throne
Fianna dropped a final portion of straw on the stable floor. Resting a moment on her pitchfork, she wiped a grimy sleeve across her sweaty forehead. The smell of horse dung seemed to cling to her very skin, and she studied the stalls left between her and the main doors. Four more to muck out. Her muscles ached already. Taking a deep breath, she moved on.
‘My lady.’ Ern, the stablemaster, suddenly stepped in front of her.
Fianna straightened. She was tall for her eleven years, but still had to tip back her head to look him in the eye. ‘You’ve told me, in here, I’m Fianna.’
‘Not today, Your Highness.’ He gently but firmly removed the wooden handle from her grasp. ‘I haven’t forgotten the grief of fourteen months’ standing. Today is your mother’s death day.’
‘I didn’t forget,’ she told him bitterly. ‘Please let me work.’
‘You should be with the King--’
‘My father hardly ever knows when I’m gone.’ The words hung in the warm air. Fianna turned her head, regretting the outburst. A princess did not speak that way of the man who was her ruler as well as her sire.
‘Aye, lass, I know.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ern reach out, then drop his hand away before it could touch her. ‘It has been but a year. He might now change.’
And the dragons might come down from the Sacred Mountains and sit one of their own upon the Throne. Fianna winced at the saying. It had been one of her mother’s favourites. ‘You’re right. I’d better go.’
‘I’ll get Jeremy to finish here.’
Fianna nodded. She glanced at the last stall. ‘Tell him Midnight likes to sleep in the right corner. I always put extra straw there for him.’
‘Aye, my lady.’
The shower rooms were empty. Most of the pages were still at their duties, cleaning stalls, repairing tack, training the dogs, the multiple tasks which young nobility were expected to undertake in their earliest service to the King. Fianna stripped off her dusty clothes, dropped them into the communal barrel, and stepped into a hot jet of water. A child of the royal family, she had discovered when she had first come to the stables just under a year ago, was expected to keep to the lighter duties in the castle itself. Carrying messages, greeting visitors, serving the King.
Fianna slicked back her long hair. She liked the stables, the kennels. Animals were often better than people when you wanted to someone to talk to. Midnight was one of her favourites. The gelding always nuzzled her in greeting, and never minded if she left tears in his mane.
Once she’d rinsed, she had no excuse to delay any longer. Fianna reluctantly left the shower, grabbing a towel as she stepped into the next room. Heat rose from the floor, drying her skin as she scrubbed her scalp with the towel. As usual, it took longest to convince a brush to tame her mass of hair. She was convinced that a curry comb would work best, but she couldn't see Ern agreeing to let her use one for such a purpose. And the tell tale strands o
f red she’d leave behind would give her away.
Beyond the drying room was the dressing area. Fianna opened the wooden door to her own wardrobe. Fortunately she had one set of court silks still unworn. They’d only been sewn for her a month ago, so they’d still fit. She slipped the trousers over clean undergarments, tucked the shirt into the waist before tightening the belt. Dark green and black. Not the royal colours, but the red badge was in its place above her left breast. A golden bar across the top, cutting across the golden wings of the dragon, marking her as heir to the Dragon Throne.
Fianna laced up her boots, then stared out the window. A wind was playing with remnants of snow, swirling white flakes across the cobblestones. The entrance to Secondus castle was several hundred feet away, and Fianna was tempted to use the underground passage from stables to pages’ quarters. She put the thought aside. It would not do for the King’s daughter to be seen entering the castle from the servants’ halls.
Gritting her teeth, she made her way across the courtyard to the main entrance. The chill stripped the last of the shower’s warmth from her body, and she was grateful for the mulled wine warming over a brazier just inside the thick doors. She ignored the guards’ respectful salutes as she dipped a mug into the spicy liquid.
‘Your Highness.’ Fianna was unable to stop the grimace at Bernard’s low voice. ‘Your sire will meet you in the Queen’s apartments.’
A Queen must be able to hide her emotions from public view. Her father’s advice helped her to swallow her dislike of the Court Recorder, assisted by a helping of mulled wine. ‘All right, I’m going.’
