Short Stories from the Network Series

by Katie Cross

  I’m fine, Camille wanted to say, waving an airy hand. Don’t worry about me. I just ran back into the dragon’s lap to save her life.

  She closed her eyes instead, drawing in a deep breath.

  I’m safe now, she thought, repeating an oft-used refrain. I’m safe. Someone out there loves me and is happy I’m okay, even if I haven’t found them yet. I’m safe.

  When she opened her eyes, Bianca had paled. Her eyes were drawn. Like the dragon, her nostrils flared as she stared into the distance, lost in thought. Camille watched her with a mixture of awe and concern. Ever since her mother died months before, Bianca radiated a strange mix of rage and sorrow. Now, more than ever, she burned hot as a coal. Camille feared she’d be burned if she touched Bianca’s arm.

  The Captain motioned toward the castle. “Let’s get you back,” he said.

  His eyes slid to Camille’s for a brief moment. In that pause, her heart nearly stopped. The good gods, she thought. He is the most beautiful witch I’ve ever seen. He looked past her, as if he hadn’t really seen her.

  “Your father will be hearing of this by now, no doubt,” the Captain said to Bianca, “and will want to see you himself. I’ll walk you back.”

  The shrill voice of Aunt Bettina rang through Camille’s head. There’s no one to check on you, Camille. Forgotten girl. An orphan once, an orphan always.

  She dismissed the stab of pain and jealousy, but it left a lump in her throat anyway. Bettina had never said words like that. Not really. Bettina had subtle disapproval down to an art. But Camille still felt as if Bettina said it. Determined to take her mind off it, Camille hurried her gait until she walked beside the Captain, feeling safer with him close. The rest of the contingent remained behind, scurrying to do the Captain’s bidding.

  “I’m Camille,” she said. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

  He grunted. She scrambled to keep up with his long strides. In the rapid movement, the metal plates of his half-armor jostled against the leather connecting them. With every swing of his arm, the symbol of the Guardian on his wrist seemed to flash. Most of her friends here at Chatham Castle were Guardians, but she hadn’t met many of the Captains.

  “I’m assuming you have a name,” she drawled.

  His gaze slid to hers from the corner of his eyes. “Brecken,” he said. The name sent a thrill through her. What a delightful name. So rare. With a fun little twang in the middle. Breh—cken.

  She paused for a moment, as if considering what he said. “Brecken suits you.”

  He ignored her.

  Camille squared her shoulders. “Well, thank you for walking us back to the castle, Brecken. After encountering a dragon, it’s nice to feel safe.”

  He kept his eyes ahead. Bianca had fallen behind by now. Camille sent a worried glance over her shoulder, but Bianca seemed lost in the same stubborn haze she’d been in since her Mama died. Camille would take Bianca back to the Witchery, where she could space out.

  Then she’d go to Fina in the kitchen and scrounge up a lot of chocolate.

  Her terror of the dragon began to fade. Camille let the harrowing memories go. Dwelling on it wouldn’t help. Besides, ’it wasn’t like she could write to anyone about it. Aunt Bettina would blame her for it somehow, and Angie would faint for three days straight.

  Camille let several strides pass—jikes, but he walked fast—before she attempted conversation again. Some Guardians were so fickle.

  “Where are you from, Brecken?”

  A sure win. Guardians loved talking about themselves. Brecken wasn’t likely to be different. Several beats of silence passed without a word from him. Camille blinked. “Uh … I’m from Hansham. It’s a little village in Letum Wood. Lovely place. Excellent bakery. Have you heard of it?”

  Two Guardians jogged up to Brecken, saluting as they slowed. He barked a couple of orders and the two continued on. One of them, Luther, departed with a wink. Camille’s stomach plummeted in a downward spiral. Oh, she thought. How awkward!

  Camille rubbed her fingers together as she half-ran, half-walked back to Brecken’s side. What if Brecken had seen Luther take such flirtatious liberties? He’d think her brazen! Then she’d never find out anything about him.

  A few days earlier, Luther had asked her to go with him to the Anniversary Ball—still months away—but she turned him down. Too early to say yes. Plenty of time for a genuine romance to bud up somewhere. Someone to really care, she thought with a discreet glance at Bianca, who frowned at the ground. Like Bianca. Everyone cares about her. Her father. The High Priestess. Leda. Stella. But I’ll find someone to fear for my life when I encounter a dragon.

  A one-time occurrence, hopefully.

  The castle closed in with surprising speed. She only had a few minutes to appease her oppressive curiosity. She simply had to get one real response out of him.

  “Do you have a favorite weapon?” she asked, half-panting. She pressed a hand into her side to allay a building stitch. “Most Guardians pretend they like hand-to-hand fighting best. Barbaric, if you ask me. Others say swords. The Archers sound really difficult to get into.”

  Did she imagine it, or did his grip on the hilt of his sword tighten? Was it awkward to walk so fast with one hand on his sword?

  “I-I’ve been at the castle for a few weeks now,” she continued with another poor attempt to hide her shortness of breath. “Isn’t it wonderful here? The servants and the turrets and the dinners—oh, I can’t even talk about the dinners. I haven’t eaten alone once since I’ve come.”

  Camille snapped her mouth shut when Brecken’s lips moved. His eyes narrowed. Every so often, he shook his head in a subtle way, as if talking to himself. Camille blinked as she realized he likely hadn’t heard a word she’d just said.

  Very odd.

  A little prickle of annoyance flashed through her, then faded. My fault, she thought in disappointment. She shouldn’t bother him while on duty. Although friends with many Guardians, she made a point not to bother them while working. She wasn’t desperate, after all. Just lonely.

  The Wall—several stories of rock and stone melded into an almost-impenetrable defense—loomed ahead. They’d pass under the arched doorway soon, leaving the field, the dragon, and the terrible day behind. Camille would be safe. Leda would listen to their story. Michelle would be concerned and satisfy Camille’s need for someone to care. It would be comforting.

  Except for leaving Brecken behind.

  Well, she thought, pressing her lips together as Brecken peeled away with one last question to Bianca. I’ll just have to find a time to talk to him while he isn’t working.

  She started up the Wall steps, her mind already whirling with plans.

  Finding the right mealtime in the staff dining room required careful calculation. Fortunately, Camille knew just when to arrive so there weren’t too many Guardians or too few.

  She planned her lunches and dinners with precision. Eating with the same Guardians too often would create gossip amongst the servants. Unbecoming. Somehow, Bettina would hear. She always did. Even though the Guardians were just silly witches that made her laugh, Bettina would find something improper. In a world dominated by masculine arrogance, any touch of femininity sent Guardians reeling, especially pretty curls and a quick smile. Camille didn’t mind a little careless flirting. So long as they kept their proper distance.

  She waited outside the dining hall the next day, cloaked in an invisibility incantation. Idle chattered sifted through passing witches. She’d have to be invisible more often. The maids had far looser tongues this way.

  “—nearly killed both poachers with her magic.”

  “Wasn’t even wearing shoes, I hear.”

  “Derek will give the poachers Veritas, no doubt.”

  “Dragons? Honestly. I don’t believe it.”

  “Local Factios members, I bet.”

  “Did you see the article? Dragons are back!”

  She scowled. Blessed be. Bianca wasn’t the only one the
re, she wanted to say, but bit her bottom lip. What did it matter? Any minute now, the first wave of Guardians would fill the dining hall with the intermingling scents of sweat and leather. Brecken should be amongst them. She’d watched him from the Witchery turret as he trained, just to be sure.

  Sure enough, Guardians flooded the hall minutes later. Once they settled at the tables with their food, Camille straightened her dress, pushed her hair away from her face, and removed the magic. With an eye on a far table, she piled a cucumber sandwich and fresh fruit on her plate. She sashayed through the tables, plate balanced on one hand. Brecken sat at a small table with one other Guardian on the far left.

  Perfect.

  Camille veered to the right.

  Luther and Zeke called to her before she reached their table. “Oy! Camille! Over here.”

  “Camille!”

  Luther waved a long arm. She lifted her hand with a vague smile. “Merry meet, gentle witches,” she sang. A chorus echoed back, rippling down the packed benches. Zeke straightened. A blond Guardian named Ted cleared his throat. Another named Jameson looked away, but peeked back from the corner of his eye.

  Camille continued on her path, alone. She settled on the end of an empty table large enough for six. By the time she set down her plate and smoothed a napkin on her skirt, two bodies flanked her. Zeke and Luther.

  Just as planned.

  “So, Camille,” Luther said, tapping her shoulder with his. “How are you doing? Rumors have been flying, you know. Your friend danced with a dragon, apparently?”

  Zeke sat across from her, tossing his stick-straight black hair out of his eyes. He smiled, quiet and reserved. Camille tightened her jaw, then relaxed. So what if Bianca always had the spotlight? She sank her fork into a piece of strawberry, slicing it in half. The heavy clink of the fork against the plate satisfied her.

  “Yes, Bianca did encounter a dragon,” she said. “But thankfully she came out all right. Only the poachers were injured.”

  “So … she didn’t wrestle it?” Zeke asked, casting a sidelong glance at Luther. Luther cleared his throat.

  “No!” Camille cried. “Are you crazy?”

  Zeke slugged Luther, nearly sending him off the bench. “Told you.”

  “Oy! That hurt. Garret told me she wrestled the dragon and killed two witches.”

  “They were stunned.” Zeke rolled his eyes. “Not dead. You’d believe anything, Luther.”

  “How do you know if they’re dead or not?” Luther puffed out his chest. “You’ve been in the dungeons all morning.”

  “Yeah. Two poachers are down there, imbecile. Derek had a little visit with them not long after. You should have heard the screa—”

  Camille cleared her throat. “Where did you hear the news? I thought the two of you hated reading the Chatterer.”

  “Guardian report.” Luther shrugged. “The Captains have to write them up after incidents. Couple of witches read it out loud before the run today.”

  Camille turned her attention to a piece of cucumber, willing herself to be hungry. Not an ounce of appetite could compel her to eat when she dangled on the cusp of all the information she needed.

  “Paperwork? Sounds boring,” she drawled. “Not as fun as fighting off the poachers, I imagine?”

  Luther guffawed. “Certainly not.”

  Zeke clucked under his breath. “Those stupid blokes sure got it when Derek interrogated them.”

  “Who was the unlucky Captain that had to do paperwork?” she asked, pushing the fruit aside and studiously avoiding their gaze. Zeke gestured with a nod to the other side of the room.

  “Breck did.”

  A thrill skimmed her spine. “Breck?”

  “Brecken. He was the Captain on duty.”

  Must not write very thorough reports, she thought, although Brecken struck her as the meticulous sort. A skill she couldn’t even fathom bothering with. Why hadn’t he included her in the report?

  “Hmm,” she murmured around a long sip of cool water.

  With careful ease, Camille cast a careless glance at Brecken’s table. He leaned forward, fork in hand, listening intently as the other witch spoke, waving his arms. Brecken commanded an undercurrent of purpose and single-handed attention. Like everyone else, sweat stained his collar and the tendrils of his hair. The dining room always smelled foul in the summer, thanks to all the stinky bodies after training.

  Affecting as bored an air as possible, she waved for a nearby pitcher of water and an empty glass. It settled on the table. Luther reached to pour it for her, and she gave him a grateful smile.

  “Is Brecken new?” she asked.

  “No,” Zeke said.

  “Just quiet,” Luther added.

  “Captains like him. Guardians don’t. Thinks a lot. Follows the rules.” Zeke tapped the side of his head, leaving a few crumbs in the reedy black strands. “Real smart. Good with tactical planning, I’ve heard.”

  Luther’s nose wrinkled. “He works too hard. Then we have to work hard. I don’t like him.”

  Zeke and Luther laughed, as if he’d told a joke. Camille let it go, smoothing out a ruffle of annoyance. Steering the conversation onto Brecken so easily had been a small miracle. The two of them had attention spans the size of gnats.

  “Where’s Brecken from?” she asked with a sip of water. It trickled down the back of her throat, soothing and cool.

  “Dunno.”

  She scowled. “What do you know about him?”

  Zeke’s brow furrowed. “Why d’ya want to know? Thought ya hadn’t heard of him?”

  Camille’s shoulders snapped back. “That’s why I want to know.”

  Luther tossed a hearty piece of meat pie into his mouth and chewed around it. “Aw, don’t worry about that. Just boring stuff.”

  Zeke waved it off. “Hey, how do you make your hair so curly anyway?”

  Camille staved off another burst of irritation. She just wanted some solid information about Brecken. Attempting conversation a second time would be tricky. She’d have to be successful, or fail without appearing too cheeky and bold.

  Such a delicious challenge.

  “Brecken’s a bore, anyway,” Luther continued. “He’s on grounds duty, which means he patrols the perimeter of Chatham Castle. Walks through gardens to check security. Can’t imagine anything more boring than that.”

  Camille ignored them. It sounded romantic and wonderful. Except in the heat. She’d rather walk the gardens in the fall, when her hair stayed in defined curls and her arms didn’t sweat.

  “That’s where the poachers hid, you know?” Zeke said. “Hid in the gardens. Brecken would have found them soon enough. He was probably delayed smelling the flowers.”

  Luther snorted. “Or chasing burrowing gnomes in Fina’s cellars. Hardly a real job!”

  They both chortled again.

  Camille folded her cloth napkin into a perfect triangle. Her plate of food remained untouched, pieces of fruit cut into varying sizes.

  “I see,” she murmured.

  “Hey, Zeke.” Luther shoved his shoulder. “Did you hear about the Guardians on watch last night? Swore they saw a red dragon. Said it was fierce.”

  Zeke snorted. “They lie. You can’t see a forest dragon at night. They’re too sneaky and dark enough to blend into any night sky.”

  “They swear it.”

  Camille leaned back as the two of them descended into a debate over whether forest dragons glowed in the dark. Her eyes slipped to the other side of the room. Brecken had leaned back in his chair, relaxing against the wood. He sat alone at the table now.

  Her stomach dropped like a stone when he looked up, his gaze grabbing hers in a frightening embrace. She gasped. Brecken had eyes like the sky, even from here. His mass of curls spun around his head in loose abandon. For what felt like an eternity, they stared. Camille’s stomach fluttered. Then a raucous group of Guardians walked between them, obscuring her view.

  When they passed, Brecken was gone.


  Days later, Camille dropped her textbooks with a groan.

  “Why are books so heavy?”

  Leda shot her a glare. “Treat your books like gold, Camille,” she hissed. “They’re worth far more.”

  “They weigh more than a dragon,” Camille mumbled. “I would know! I practically fought one off.”

  “Quiet. The librarians will kick you out.”

  Leda carried four textbooks in her left arm, not counting the three in her bulging bag that swung at her hip. She’d drown beneath them any moment now. A nearby librarian passed with a huff. Leda smiled an apology to her and then pressed her lips into a thin line of warning as she faced Camille again.

  “Can’t you help me?” Camille pled in a quieter tone. “Leda, you know I’m terrible with algebra. Numbers and letters shouldn’t mix!”

  “No, I can’t help you. I have too much of my own homework. Besides, the scroll Miss Scarlett assigned you is just a review. You can’t fail. She just needs to measure what you already know.”

  Leda glanced to the other side of the circular room, no doubt worried she’d lose the table she claimed every day. Her books didn’t fit on anything smaller.

  “But Leda!”

  “You can do it, Camille.” Her expression softened. “I know you can.”

  Camille sighed and settled onto a wooden chair with a plop. “Right,” she muttered. “Sorry.”

  Leda eyed her with her straw-colored eye, a lock of white hair spilling into her face, before disappearing around a stack of books twice her height. She’d study alone, on the other side of the library, like she always did.

  You talk too much, Camille, Leda always said with a sigh. Even when you think you’re being really quiet.

  The dead talk too much for Leda, Camille thought, peeling open her algebra scroll. The columns of symbols and numbers made her nose wrinkle.

  “Jikes,” she said. “I’d rather face the forest dragon again.”

  Camille found a properly sharpened pencil. Rooted through the bottom of her bag on the offhand chance she’d hidden a snack. Smoothed out her homework scroll—which had a little fleck of dust she couldn’t brush away—and glanced at the clock.