When she spoke again, her tone was different. Lighter? “My son, your time here was not intended as punishment, but for some, the path to enlightenment can be difficult.”
An intermittent sound began, a faint whine or hum, like that of those annoying insects, mosquitoes, and the ring of light slowed, began to separate. The glowflies, their blinking radiance increasing, halted their circular flight and again floated separately in a ring around him. Brighter and brighter their pulses grew as the bothersome whine continued to pick at his mind.
Each of the incandescent glowflies flared and became an impossibly long shaft of pulsing light that rose far above and dropped far below. The lances of light began to pulse in synchrony.
Chanté squinted and then closed his eyes against their growing brilliance and wondered at the buzzy whine. There was something about the insistent noise. The sound was annoying but somehow made him feel happy, which made no sense. It was difficult to think, however, in this maelstrom of light. Its intensity could not possibly increase much more—even his arms pressed to his face failed to keep it from his eyes.
Did that mean it was almost done? Would he once again be alone in an unknown place? What of his memories? Because he’d failed, would they be taken from him? That was a possibility he hadn’t considered! Fear growing in his heart, he desperately recalled Quillan’s smiling face. If he could just hold onto that memory, he might be happy.
The light could get brighter. An intense red flare, bright light through his closed eyelids, accompanied an explosion of sound that deafened him, made his ears ring. There was a jolt in his gut as when Nantli dove suddenly, and the sound and painfully bright light were gone.
Chanté knew he was now . . . somewhere real, no longer in the dream.
Swallowing, he opened his eyes, but the flash had partially blinded him. He saw only shifting blotches of light and dark. Where was he?
The ringing in his ears began to subside. Strangely, the odd, wavering whine was still there.
...hhhheeeaarr mmmeeee?
He blinked and shook his head.
CCChhhaaaanté! The voice suddenly became steady and clear. Can you hear me?
He drew his brows together. Nantli?
From the distance, there came a roar.
YOU SCARED ME!
“Did you have a . . . nightmare? Nantli sounds worried.”
Chanté looked over and blinked. “Q–Quillan?”
“Yes, yes, I’m awake. Everyone seems pretty excited by that, for some reason.”
Chanté convulsively tightened his grip on Quillan’s hand and closed his eyes. His body began to shake uncontrollably, tears ran down his cheeks, and horrible sounds started issuing forth from his mouth.
What happened? I could not sense you at all!
“Good gods! Chanté! Are you alright? Why are you crying like that?”
He had to take deep, ragged breaths in between those appalling noises. Alandra flew my dreams, stole me away for a talk about what I’ve done.
Shock pulsed through the link. S–She did? And you remain here?
Behind, it sounded like the door burst open. “What’s going on in—Alandra’s merciful heart!”
Merciful heart. That she’d let him stay brought forth another wrenching outburst.
“Thank the gods you’re awake! I’ll go get the doctor.”
“Chanté!” Quillan’s hand gripped tighter. “Are you injured? Please! What is wrong?”
He opened his eyes. Sobbing, vision blurry, he said, “H–Humans are so stupid! Why do we cry w–when we’re this happy!”
Quillan was sitting up staring. He burst into laughter.
Feeling a little betrayed, Chanté yelled at him. “Why are you laughing? And why can’t I stop crying?” He wiped at the unending tears running down his face. “A–Am I broken?”
Quillan hesitantly reached out with his injured hand.
Chanté blinked when Quillan’s fingers brushed his eyelashes.
“I’ve wanted to touch them from the moment I met you.” Quillan smiled, pulled him close, and embraced him. “You aren’t broken, silly. But you are very strange. Strong, yet vulnerable, incredibly brilliant, yet ignorant of the oddest things. You are a collection of contradictions.”
“S–Sorry,” Chanté mumbled against his chest.
“Sorry?” Quillan chuckled. “Chanté, you’re magnificent. It’s no wonder I fell in love with you.”
Chanté’s eyes widened. In love?
A feeling grew in his chest, as if his heart was expanding to fill the room. With an enormous smile, Chanté flung his arms around Quillan and returned the hug as tightly as he could.
His voice muffled by Quillan’s body, he said, “I love you, too.”
“What was that?” Quillan leaned back a little. “I couldn’t quite hear.”
Chanté stared up into Quillan’s eyes. He was so close! “I–I said that I—”
Quillan pressed his lips against Chanté’s.
Chanté blinked. What was Quillan doing? It was . . . it was . . . good. Heart pounding in his chest, Chanté closed his eyes and joined in whatever this was.
Quillan pulled away a bit later.
Almost gasping, Chanté opened his eyes and said, “What . . . what was that?”
Quillan’s eyes widened a touch. “Oh. Right. You’ve probably never had a kiss before.”
A kiss? Chanté raised his fingers to his lips and shook his head. He lowered his hand. “C–Can we do it again?”
“Gods, yes. As many times as you want.”
Nothing existed but Quillan—his scent, his breathing, his hands, lips, and tongue. Chanté hadn’t thought you could be closer to someone than with an embrace, but he had been so very wrong.
“Hey, hey, hey.”
Feeling Quillan pull away again, Chanté opened his eyes and took a breath.
“Your boyfriend worked very hard to save your arm and hand. Don’t undo all his efforts, you hear?”
The doctor was standing next to Chanté—when had she gotten here?—and was shaking a finger at Quillan.
“Yes, ma’am.” Quillan lay back down, but he grabbed Chanté’s hand with his left.
“The spells on the lacerations can be removed in a few days,” she said, “but you’ll need at least a month before you do anything remotely strenuous with your right hand.” The doctor glanced at Chanté before turning back to Quillan. “He said that there was a nicked tendon and one that was nearly severed. Those will need two or three months to heal completely and will require motion therapy to ensure proper movement returns to your hand and fingers. Undue strain before the tendons are ready could tear or damage them and might cause loss of function in your hand. Understand?”
Quillan nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. In the morning I will teach you some simple motion exercises for your wrist and fingers to keep the healing tendons from attaching to anything other than what they should. But right now, let me do an examination.”
The doctor spent a few minutes asking Quillan questions as she performed various tests on him—tapped his elbow, his knee, shone a light in his eyes, and the like.
Afterward, the doctor nodded. “Alright. Nothing seems amiss. You’ve awoken, which was the important thing. All that’s left is to let your injuries heal.”
She narrowed her eyes and glanced from one of them to the other. “And I expect effort on both your parts to make that happen.”
Chanté nodded. “As you say.”
“Still, kissing should be fine as long as he minds his right arm and hand.” A glint in her eye and a tiny smile on her lips, the doctor turned and headed for the door. “Visiting hours are over, but if it remains quiet in here, I expect no one will come looking for any stragglers.”
The door closed.
Chanté turned to Quillan. He drew his brows together, cleared his throat, and said, “Can we kiss some more?”
“Hells yes.”
Chapter 28
Duviday, Se
decy 8, 1875.
Early Morning.
Lifting the saddle off the stand, Chanté glanced at Quillan and smiled. While they spoke, the tall young man put things into his pack in preparation for the trip to Stronghold. It was slow going only using his left hand, however. They’d spent the night here at Bataan-Mok, in one of the completed dens, in order to meet Master Gella at the early hour she’d requested them.
Quillan awkwardly tucked his pack into a saddle bag and then secured it.
Chanté’s smile faded a bit. Ever since that night at the hospital a little over a week ago, any time he looked at Quillan, he had a very strong desire to touch him—his hair, his cheek, his shoulder, his hand . . . any kind of contact. Why? He’d restrained himself for fear of seeming even more strange.
I do not think it is strange.
He turned to Nantli and placed the saddle onto her. Perhaps not, but neither of us know for certain, do we?
She grunted and strong humor came through the link. Mayhap you should ask him.
He refrained from chuckling, but his smile did grow bigger. Mayhap I will!
He adjusted the saddle to seat it properly and began strapping it in place. “And the trial is where justice is carried out?”
“Not exactly.” Quillan grabbed the saddle bags with his left hand and slung them over his shoulder.
Chanté blinked. The strength from his Smith Craft background was serving him well, it seemed.
Quillan walked to Nantli. “A trial is part of the overall process of carrying out justice.”
“Process?”
Quillan nodded and set the bags down behind the saddle. “Yes. Anyone accused of certain crimes, like treason or murder, gets to try to prove their innocence. That takes place during a trial. The prosecution will present their case against the accused, explain what they think happened and show supporting evidence, and the accused will have time to explain away or outright disprove the prosecution’s case. It is only if the accused is proven guilty that they can be punished.”
Chanté drew his brows together. “So Koen will get a chance to try to explain his actions away?”
“Or show that the prosecution doesn’t have enough evidence to prove its case against him. In either of those instances, he gets to go free.”
Chanté clenched his jaws. That could not happen! From what he’d learned the past few days, there had been several deaths at Koen’s direct order or through his actions. Quillan himself had nearly died because of the fire at the theater.
Lips pressed together, Chanté tested the last strap. It was good.
He turned to Quillan. “Do you think he’ll go free?”
“From what I understand, Master Gella has provided the prosecution a very good case against him, but who can say? We’ll know soon enough.”
We should hurry. Master Gella said we need to arrive early.
Chanté grunted. “Right.” He secured the saddle bags then grabbed his own pack and stowed it in preparation to leave.
Quillan’s arms wrapped a little tighter around him when Nantli lifted them up into the sky.
Chanté smiled. Patience paid off quite well. “Careful of your arm and hand.”
“Yes, yes, mother hen.” Quillan’s voice held a trace of exasperation, but the hug with his left arm showed how he really felt.
They were supposed to pick up Master Gella at the police headquarters and then fly to the courthouse. After emerging from the portal, Nantli began a banking descent. Chanté was surprised to see two dragons lying under the shelter, Coatl and Kisa.
Nantli beat her wings again and again as she landed on the sturdy police building, and when all her paws were on the roof, Chanté hopped down.
Master Gella was waiting, as expected, but Fillion and Gregor were here, too, standing in the shelter with their bond-mates. The dragonlinked raised hands in greeting and the dragons chirped at them.
As Nantli returned the chirp, Quillan began removing the safety straps.
“Actually,” Master Gella pointed to him, “wait on that. I had you two arrive so early because Quillan needs to get to the courthouse immediately.” She walked over and began climbing up to Nantli’s saddle. “Witnesses need to be there early to be checked in.”
Chanté grunted. That was the reason for the early hour. Quillan was among the witnesses for the trial.
“So then why are you two here?” Quillan said. “The sun’s not even up at the Guildhall, is it?”
“No, it’s not.” Fillion smiled. “But I don’t want to miss anything of the trial.”
“And I had some free time,” Gregor said, “so I thought I would find out what he’s been up to here in Stronghold aside from getting shot.”
Fillion scowled and Coatl let out a grunting laugh.
“Let’s get going.” Master Gella had finished strapping in. “On the bright side, getting there this early, the three of you should get good seats.”
“Golden!” With a big smile, Fillion began climbing onto Coatl.
Gregor wasn’t far behind on Kisa, and they all left.
Chanté had Nantli hover a moment at their destination to admire the building. The courthouse was massive. Master Gella directed them to what looked like a carriage yard behind it, and after Nantli set down there, the building seemed even bigger, towering over human and dragon alike.
He stared up at the enormous stone edifice. “Impressive.”
“It’s a former fortress,” Master Gella said, as she hopped down, “though much larger than the one the police headquarters is in.”
“What of our bond-mates?” Fillion wagged his thumb at Coatl.
“They can wait out here. I’ve made arrangements with the city and police.” She pointed to a few officers standing at the gates at either end of the large, paved yard.
“Ah, good.” Gregor glanced at Kisa. “I’ll have her let the others know.”
“It is you! I saw the dragons landing.”
Chanté’s brows rose. Elizabeth was approaching the west gate from around a corner of the building. She was getting pretty good with the crutch.
An officer stopped her.
“She’s with us,” Master Gella called out.
The officer glanced at her, nodded, and waved Elizabeth through the gate.
Quillan stared at her as she drew near. “Why are you here?”
She raised a brow. “And hello to you, too.”
Cheeks reddening, Quillan stammered, “I–I didn’t mean it that way, I meant—”
Laughing, she waved off his concern. “I know. I wouldn’t miss this for anything. It’s the end to my story for the papers, after all.”
Quillan chuckled. “That’s true, I suppose.”
“We must hurry.” Master Gella turned and led them away.
After a few hallways, she pointed to a door. “You four go through there. It leads to the front foyer. From there, head to courtroom thirty-eight. I’ve got to get Quillan checked in and I want to look in on our special guest.”
“Sounds good.” Fillion headed off, Gregor at his side.
Special guest? Chanté watched Master Gella and Quillan as they took the other hallway, then glanced at Elizabeth and her crutch.
“I’m good,” she said and then pointed at Fillion and Gregor. “Let’s go. I want a good seat.”
Not ten minutes later, Chanté was sitting in an unusual chair. Set in rows of twenty or so and fixed to the floor with bolts, the close-set chairs were thickly padded and comfortable. There wasn’t much room for his elbows, however. Gregor was seated to the right, Fillion just past him, and Elizabeth sat to Chanté’s left. Crutch somehow tucked at an angle between her hip and the side of the chair, she occasionally wrote in a large notebook open in her lap.
Their row was a few back from the middle, almost exactly in the center of the public seating on the left side of the courtroom. When would the other dragonlinked arrive? They had better do so soon, because the public seats were quickly filling.
He drew his brow
s together and looked again over the dwindling seats. Where was Master Gella? It wouldn’t take this long to get Quillan to wherever the witnesses were waiting, so was she still with the special guest? Who was this person that she’d risk not being able to watch the trial to check in on?
+ + + + +
“Lord Koen, please!”
With an irritated grunt, he turned to his lawyer. “As I’ve told you again and again, they have nothing! All incriminating documents were destroyed, any witnesses in the organization were instructed to go into hiding, and the people that were caught either knew nothing or . . . happened to die. So what do I have to prepare for? All they’ve got is that bastard Tobin, and when we went over everything about him, I told you what angle to take.”
The man raised his voice. “I know the prosecutor! He won’t let me just imply something. More importantly, that fame-seeking bastard would not have brought this case to court if he had nothing, and certainly not this quickly! What of Cadoc?”
“What of him? He’s on trial, too.”
“He’s being tried separately. Do you think he’ll attempt to trade testimony against you for leniency in his own case?”
“Absolutely not, Verrill. Cadoc is loyal to a fault.”
“You’d better hope so.”
“Why are you so concerned? If there was anything to worry about, they’d have told us, wouldn’t they? Aren’t they required to let us know about any important evidence they have?”
“Required?” Verrill snorted. “By whom?”
Lord Koen frowned. He didn’t like the man’s tone. “I don’t know. The law?”
The man actually laughed. “While there have been grumblings by judges and lawyers that all evidence should be revealed prior to trial, the current majority consensus—and the reason there is no law requiring disclosure—is that if you can’t address what is brought against you in court, mayhap you do have something to hide.”
“What if you need time to prepare a rebuttal or to gather your own evidence to refute what is brought forth?”
“Those are some of the very same arguments being raised to change the laws, but until that happens, we must live with the way things are.”
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 102
