by Nathan Roden
“Lucien—?” Jaclyn pushed past Tilda and into the corridor.
Tilda ran after Jaclyn and wrapped her robe around her shoulders.
Jaclyn heard Lucien’s voice as he climbed the stairs.
Lord Sterling and Raynard were at his heels.
Lucien reached the top of the stairs. He swayed on his feet and grabbed the back of his head.
“What were you doing in the dungeon—in the middle of the night?” Sterling sneered. “There are very few lit torches—even along the corridor. It is small wonder you fell and hit your head—you could have killed yourself! What kind of legacy would that leave, Your Gr—?”
Lucien spun on his heels. His fists were clenched, a fact noted by both Sterling and Raynard.
“I told you, Uncle!” Lucien growled. “I did not fall! I was struck—from behind!”
Sterling and Raynard exchanged a look, and slight smiles.
“Then we most definitely have a problem!” Sterling said. “There is one among us who has risked certain death, in order to give the King a massive headache!”
“It was him!” Lucien snarled.
“It was who?” Sterling asked, nonchalantly.
“The dragon! My brother!” Lucien cried out. “He was here! I know it!”
Sterling scowled. He grabbed Lucien by his bare shoulder and pushed him through the door and into the King’s chambers. He looked down the corridor and met Jaclyn’s eyes.
Jaclyn saw distrust. And hate. She ran past Sterling and Raynard and into the King’s chambers.
To comfort her husband.
Sterling leaned close to Raynard’s ear.
“Get some men down there. Light the place and search it.”
“Surely, you do not believe—” Raynard said.
“No!” Sterling replied through clenched teeth. “I do not believe the dragon-boy was within miles of here. If I did, I would have taken precautions, wouldn’t I?”
“Yes, My Lord,” Raynard said.
Sterling sniffed the air. He narrowed his eyes.
“There is something….” he hissed. “There is something amiss—something I cannot put my finger on.”
“I will send my men,” Raynard said. He turned to go.
“Wait,” Sterling said.
“Did we have guards at the home of the Sorceress?”
Raynard shook his head.
“No, my Lord. You said—”
“I know very well what I said!” Sterling snapped. “Send two guards there immediately. And do not send boys.”
“I’m still replacing the good men who fell to the dragon,” Raynard said. “No one volunteers after so many died by dragon fire. And inside the castle at that! We must replenish our numbers from somewhere.”
Fifty-One
Simon sneaked along the tree-line, behind Magdalena’s house. He froze when he heard rustling in the fallen leaves.
He relaxed when he saw Helena’s unmistakable hair.
“Pssst!” Simon whispered. “It’s me!”
“She will be fine soon,” Boone whispered. “The wound still looks bad, but she is not in much pain—”
Simon held up his hand. He heard voices murmuring—still fairly distant.
Simon swore under his breath.
“I knew Sterling would send someone here!”
“What happened at the castle?” Helena asked.
“There is no time,” Simon whispered. “Both of you—go! Now!”
“What are you going to do?” Boone asked.
“We cannot let them find her with an arrow wound,” Simon said. “Or questions will arise. Sterling is not stupid.”
“I will stay with you,” Boone said.
“Me too!” Helena said.
“No!” Simon said. “Get to the cave. That is an order.”
Boone grabbed Helena’s hand and pulled her away.
“Do you have the dagger?” Helena asked.
“No,” Simon said. “I had to use it.”
“By the gods!” Boone said. He pulled on Helena’s hand, and they disappeared into the night.
Simon crept toward the door to Magdalena’s house. Two men appeared, in the uniforms of the King’s Guard. They were young and did not carry themselves like hardened soldiers.
These “guards” are not long for this world, behaving as they are, Simon thought.
One of them rapped on the door.
“King’s Guard, My Lady! On the King’s business!”
They waited. One of them tried the door. It was open. They stepped inside.
Simon ran to the wall where he could hear anything the guards said.
“Sorry for the intrusion, My Lady—”
“Something is wrong here—she’s not moving. My Lady? Can you hear me?”
Simon heard Magdalena moan.
“Great Vehallion’s ghost!” a guard exclaimed. “She’s been pierced with an arrow!”
“You—you stay here with her. I’ll alert Lord Sterling!”
Simon was in a state of panic. He could not allow the guard to leave. But he had no weapon.
He flexed his hands. When the guard appeared in the doorway, Simon lowered his shoulder and ran at the guard as hard as he could. The guard never saw him coming. He folded in half around Simon and landed next to the steel-clad wall.
Simon grabbed the guard’s head. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth.
He bashed the man’s head against the steel. The man moaned.
Simon did it again.
He heard swearing above him. He looked up and saw the terrified face of the other young guard. Simon watched as his fright turned to rage. The young man raised his sword above his head and brought it down. Simon rolled out of the way. The guard swung his sword sideways and tore open Simon’s shirt. Simon backed against the wall and had no means of escape.
The wolf hit the guard from the side. It bit down on the young man’s shoulder, tearing the flesh as it ripped its jaws from side to side.
The man screamed in agony and then began to cry and to beg.
The wolf released the man’s shoulder. It stood on top of him and turned its head to look at Simon. Simon sat on the ground, breathing heavily.
The wolf tilted its head and whined.
Simon looked into the pained face of the crying guard. The guard’s fate was inevitable; it was almost certain that he would bleed to death before he could be saved.
To leave him alive would be taking a risk.
Simon pushed himself to his feet.
“He has seen your wound. And my face.”
The wolf sank its teeth into the man’s neck. And it was over.
Simon looked into the sky. Dawn was coming.
“Come with us to—”
But the wolf bounded away and disappeared—in the opposite direction of their cave.
Boone and Helena were sound asleep when Simon reached the cave. The morning was cold. They huddled together for warmth. Or, for other reasons.
Simon did not disturb them. He lay down on his own bed, the bed made for the dragon. He was asleep instantly.
Simon woke to the heavenly smell of roasted meat.
Simon handed Helena her locket. She burst into tears. She caressed the locket for hours and held it against her heart.
The three of them relived the tales of the previous night.
When Simon finished his account of what happened at the castle, they stared into the crackling fire.
Boone stood and rubbed his face. He put his hand on Simon’s shoulder.
“I am truly sorry, my friend. But no experience would have been enough, would it?”
Simon shook his head.
He held his hand in front of him and stared at it.
“I touched her arm—with this hand. I felt the warmth of her skin.”
Boone patted Simon’s shoulder.
“It is a start, My King.”
“Yes,” Simon said. “It is a start.”
Simon stood and looked outside where the shadows gre
w long.
“We will travel tonight—to the eastern shore of Islemar. I…have something to do there. And we need a quiet place to rest.”
“Do you think we will see Magdalena soon?” Boone asked.
“I should not be surprised,” Simon said.
Simon began his walk. He walked further away than he had to. The transformation would be one of pleasure, not pain.
But he wanted time alone, to think.
He had not lied to his friends, but he had feelings about last night he could not share. He did not think his friends would understand.
He walked into a deep gulch, between two high walls of sheer stone.
His transformation, back into the dragon, was only moments away.
Simon did not want to experience the sensations that lay ahead. He did not want to sense the unbounded freedom that accompanied his transformation.
He did not want to feel the physical pleasure. He did not want to feel the rush of adrenaline that would launch him into another eternal sky.
The familiar tingle started in the tips of his fingers. He looked down at them.
“No!” he screamed.
His fingers splayed. They grew in length. His nails grew, beginning with his right hand.
“NO!” Simon screamed again.
He turned and swung his hand into the stone wall as hard as he could. The nails shattered. Blood spurted into the air.
Simon laughed like a madman.
The blood stopped. His nails continued to change.
Simon swore at the top of his lungs. He smashed his hand into the stone again. Nothing happened. Both of his hands changed into talons before his eyes.
Simon threw back his head and screamed.
He lowered his head and ran at the stone wall on the other side of the gulch—
An immense wave of adrenalin coursed through him. He left the ground.
Simon the dragon flew, and he cried.
Fifty-Two
The servants finished loading the Royal carriage.
Jaclyn leaned toward her father. She stared at Tilda, who was quite excited to be traveling outside of the village for the first time in her life—and as a handmaid to the Queen!
“Does she have to come with us?” Jaclyn asked quietly.
Lord Lamont could not help but laugh.
“It is the most exciting day of her life—as well as being proper protocol for a Queen when she travels. Anything else would raise suspicion.”
“She cannot be trusted,” Jaclyn said.
“Of course not, my dear.”
Lucien approached them.
“I wish you would come with us,” Jaclyn lied with a smile.
Lucien smiled.
“It will be good for you to visit Islemar for a few days. You have not yet visited as Queen. The people will be thrilled to see you. And that is good for the Kingdom.”
Jaclyn continued to smile. Lord Lamont bowed his head.
“Well said, your Grace. We will give the people of Islemar your words, and your best wishes.”
“Please, do so, Lord Lamont.”
The Lamonts arrived in Islemar to great fanfare. The people lined the streets. They cheered and threw flowers before the procession of guards, horses, and the Royal carriage.
A huge feast was prepared for the evening meal. Everyone ate heartily, except for Jaclyn. The Queen did not want a heavy meal to make her sleepy.
She had plans for late that night.
Jaclyn retired to her old bedroom. Tilda knocked gently on the door and opened it.
“Will you be needing anything further, My Queen?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I will,” Jaclyn said. “Come in.”
Tilda stood at attention.
“Yes, my Queen?”
Jaclyn pointed to a chair.
“Sit.”
Tilda looked confused but she did as she was told.
Jaclyn stood and walked to her wardrobe. She returned with a flask of wine and two cups.
She poured them both full.
She handed one to Tilda. Tilda was terrified.
“I…I beg your pardon, my Queen.”
“It is wine, Tilda. You drink it.”
“But…but…I…”
“I am no longer a child, Tilda,” Jaclyn said. “And neither are you. Drink it.”
“But—”
“Your Queen has given you an order.”
“Yes, my Queen.”
“So, tell me about yourself,” Jaclyn said.
“There is not much to tell, My Queen…”
Jaclyn pretended to sip her wine.
“This is excellent wine! Drink up, Tilda!”
“This is…most unusual, My Queen,” Tilda stammered.
“Nonsense!” Jaclyn smiled.
“How would you know what is unusual? You have been my handmaid for what—all of a week?”
Tilda stared at her cup.
“I am confused, My Que—”
“Drink,” Jaclyn said.
Her smile was gone.
Tilda told story after story about the magnificent steeds she cared for. Jaclyn tried to pay attention. She sipped at her wine while continually filling Tilda’s cup.
After two cups of wine, Tilda’s stories changed to include tawdry scenes involving stable boys and various members of the King’s army. Jaclyn found these stories much more interesting.
When Jaclyn was confident that Tilda would sleep soundly for quite a while, she helped her to her quarters.
Tilda hummed as Jaclyn helped her to bed. She smiled when Jaclyn pulled up the blanket to tuck her in.
“You are so nice!” Tilda said. “You are the best Queen in the world!”
“Sweet dreams, Tilda,” Jaclyn whispered.
Jaclyn backed out of the guest room. Tilda’s humming grew softer until it turned into snores.
The hour was late and the rest of the castle was silent. Jaclyn took the oil lamp from her room and crept down the corridor toward the servant entrance. She slipped outside and pulled her cloak tightly around her neck. The ever-present winds off of the sea chilled her. She ran across the courtyard and entered the stairwell to the tower.
Jaclyn took the steps two at a time, shrieking and almost falling when she stepped on a mouse.
She reached the top level and its two rooms. She stepped inside the room she had not seen in years—the room that filled her memory and fueled her desires for five long years.
The room still held a bed and a bureau, each covered with heavy, dusty cloth. Jaclyn held the lamp high and searched the dusty floor for signs of footprints. Or…talon prints.
The floor was undisturbed. Jaclyn pulled open the bureau door.
It was empty and contained nothing but an abandoned spider web.
Sadness.
Disappointment.
And fear, gripped Jaclyn’s heart.
The possibility had never occurred to her that Simon’s words had been empty. That he could make a promise to her and not keep it.
Or worse yet—what if something had happened to him? Something bad. Something terrible. The entire Kingdom wished him dead. What if—?
Jaclyn heard a fluttering sound outside the window.
Her heart raced. He ran to the window and leaned out.
Nothing.
Nothing but the howling wind.
Jaclyn pulled herself up into the window. She crept carefully along its ledge, inching her way out toward the bastion. One more step and she would reach safe footing.
The flurry of bats came out of nowhere. Jaclyn screamed. The bats circled her head, whipping through her hair. She swatted at them with her free hand. Her right foot slipped. She reached for the edge of the bastion and her hand became tangled in her hair. In her panic she made a fist. She opened her eyes and found herself face-to-face with a terrified bat.
Jaclyn and the bat screeched at each other. Jaclyn lost her balance and waved her arms. A piece of stone broke loose beneath her feet. She fell forward and st
ruck her head.
And the world went black.
Jaclyn woke and raised her head. The bats had moved on, and she was alone again with the roaring wind. She lifted her head and looked down. Her hands were bloody. She pushed herself to her knees.
And then she saw it.
Beneath a large, flat stone, she saw the corner of a piece of parchment.
Jaclyn lifted the stone. The wind whipped at the parchment, threatening to carry it out to sea. Jaclyn snatched it just in time. She held it to her chest and pulled herself back along the window ledge. She reached the window and pulled herself up. She lost her grip momentarily and threw her arm across the window sill. She fell headfirst into the room.
Jaclyn breathed deeply. She held the parchment tightly as she limped toward the lamp. A swirling gust of wind whipped around her, threatening to tear the parchment from her fingers.
Jaclyn swore, cursing at the wind and its evil purposes.
She took the lamp and sat down on the floor, beside the bed and out of the wind currents.
With trembling hands, she held the parchment in front of her eyes.
My earliest memory is of wanting.
I wanted to learn, to read, to explore.
I wanted my mother to hold me, instead of assigning me to nursemaids.
I wanted my father to hold me in his lap. I wanted to hear him laugh,
and hear him remark to anyone who would listen how intelligent and gifted his son was.
And then, everything was taken away.
And I wanted back everything I had lost.
These were all the wants of a selfish child.
My wants became simpler.
I wanted to live another day.
I wanted to eat.
I wanted to survive.
