“The king makes you do this?” I ask.
He shrugs, staring at the table’s surface. “He has human business to keep him occupied. I’m in charge of the dragons. Both in Trana and on Onyx.”
A connection forms in my mind. “That’s why you don’t tell him about the challenges?”
He takes a long sip of wine before responding. “I would appreciate it if you don’t share that piece of information with him. It’s my responsibility, and I accept it willingly.”
“But sometimes you take on too much responsibility,” I say softly. I stare down at my empty dish. Then, “Adom, I know you took punishments for me. I didn’t know until recently, but now I do. Why? Why didn’t you just set me free? Wouldn’t that have been easier on us both?”
“There’s a longer story there,” he says, glancing around the room. “But let me tell you at a different time.” He smiles. “As for the punishments, don’t worry about me. The betas would attack me regardless of you. And I can take care of myself.” At my look of disbelieve, he crinkles his nose. “I’ve done just fine so far.”
Both he and Muuth tried to make me feel like it had nothing to do with me. Like the challenges would happen whether or not I was involved. But it doesn’t feel that way.
How much would I have sacrificed to keep the balance of peace? If my imprisonment meant something more—not only to Adom and the king, but to me—could I have endured it without becoming bitter? The king said something strange earlier along those lines...but now with all the other revelations I can’t recall just what it was.
“How many betas have you had to fight?”
“Seventy-six. Are you done with the interrogation?”
“Not even close.”
He chuckles. “Must we talk about the eccentricities of home life?”
Eccentricities put it politely. Abuses. Torture. Violence. I shudder thinking of that cold place again. “You think life on Onyx is eccentric? I thought you were well-adjusted to it.”
Adom’s eyes meander to the ceiling. “It has its moments.”
“Which do you prefer? Humans or dragons?”
“Human females. Like Raina,” he says, with a dreamy expression.
He’s made the conversation light, and somehow this is a relief. Underneath all the layers, there is still darkness between us. Some wrongs can’t be easily forgiven. I still need answers to questions I can’t even begin to form. So I embrace his topic change as a shield. “Unbelievable. Even as a human, you think like an animal.”
He throws back his head and laughs.
“Do you really like her?”
His eyes blank, wide and falsely innocent. “Who?”
“Raina.”
A dimple I’ve never noticed before appears in the lower corner of his left cheek. “She’s beautiful and like putty in my hands. What’s not to like?”
“Then why don’t you marry her?”
He smiles again, but doesn’t answer.
~ * ~
By the time we return to the castle the following day, it is mid-afternoon. Patience greets me, but doesn’t seem surprised that I’ve been away. She asks me how my time in the country was. She is under the impression that I was visiting a friend for the day. I smile and gush about the trip until she is satisfied.
Patience and I begin a daily training schedule. I discover that she is far more talented than I previously guessed. Her skill with a bow and arrow is renowned throughout the castle. When we practice, everyone, even the knights, gravitate toward the training course to watch. She is equally good with a wooden sword, although she can’t afford real steel on a physician’s salary. She can spar with the best of them, frequently challenging and shaming the more experienced soldiers. But she chooses me to pick on, to taunt, to push to newer heights.
“Your greatest skill is your strength,” she says, flinging an axe my direction.
I duck before the blade comes down on my shoulder, then grab the handle lightning quick and rebalance my wrist so I’m holding the weapon properly. “You almost killed me!”
She laughs. “No. I’ve watched you on the training course for five days now. You’re agile and somehow so powerful. I can’t understand how your body could be so delicate and yet so strong.” She points to the pile of heavy limestones arranged in the corner of the training course. “I saw you lift three of those bricks at the same time like they were nothing. How?”
“I was a farmer’s daughter, remember?” I point the axe at the wooden target and warm my shoulder muscles for the throw. “It requires a certain degree of hardiness to harvest crops and lift barrels of feed for the livestock.” I wind my arm, and release the handle of the axe.
It hits the wooden man directly in the forehead.
Patience gives me a crooked smile. “You have fine aim,” she says. She shields her eyes and looks toward the dying sun. “And during twilight, no less.”
“I often see better at night.”
“Really?” she studies me. “That’s odd. Most people have less acuity at night.”
“Lady Malandre?” someone calls me from behind.
A shiver crawls down my back at the name. I’ve gotten sloppy. I should have been keeping my head down. Now that Adom knows I’m here, I don’t have to avoid him any longer. But how could I have forgotten about Lord Faigen? I pivot, squinting into the dusk. Lanterns on poles to help illuminate the training course.
“Lord Faigen,” I say softly. “What brings you here tonight?”
Patience eyes me with a clear What-did-he-just-call-you look. I consider asking her to leave, but then I think better of it. She’s still holding a bow, after all.
Theodore draws closer. “You’re dressed like a servant,” he observes, his tone skeptical.
“When I took you back to Foghum, I considered it odd Malandre would let you walk without an escort. Then, as I left you at the castle, you said you didn’t want the servants to know your name. I think I know just what is going on here.”
“You’ve found me out,” I make my voice light. My eyes scan the sandy course to see how close the nearest guard stands. There are a few straggling knights practicing their swordsmanship, and one or two beating each other with sweaty, bruised fists, but nobody is paying us any mind. They are accustomed to Patience’s presence here. Mine, too, apparently.
“You’re his mistress, aren’t you? You’ve been quarreling. That day I found you, you were running away. That’s why you brought a pack of clothes with you.”
“Suppose I was,” I say slowly, keening aware of Patience’s boring gaze against my back.
“I’m supposing.” Faigen winks. “I think you’ve come back here because I told you about Malandre’s search for you. You chose a job here in the castle so you could retain your dignity without being too far away from your lover. Am I correct?”
“On all but one account. It’s over between us.”
Faigen’s smile grows. A curly brown lock drops into his eyes, and he brushes it away. “Then will you permit me to tell you what I truly think of him? He’s a scoundrel and a lout,” he confesses. Taking my hand in his own and planting quick kisses along my wrist, he purrs, “And I wish you’d forget him.”
I giggle, more because his warm breath tickles my hand, but also because I’m strangely nervous. Then he straightens and grows serious. “Will you come dancing with me?”
“Tonight?” I squeak.
“Of course tonight. I need you, lovely Elanor.”
Patience clears her throat. “Elanor, we have elderwood cream salves to produce tonight.”
“That’s right.” I tug my hand away from Faigen. “I’m very sorry. Have you met Patience?” I gesture loosely toward her. “She’s the king’s physician. And she’s brilliant.”
A group of enthusiastic, lace-and-ribbon ladies bedecked make their way to the alcove just above the trai
ning arena. The lanterns illuminate their bright, flushed faces, Lady Celeste striding at their head, wearing an ivory robe that matches her porcelain skin.
One of the ladies, a young woman who is two inches shorter than Lady Celeste, with a pleasant face but eyes that look too tired for her years makes a soft, impatient sigh. “Celeste, really, you’re about to be married to the king. These boys can’t interest you.”
Celeste lets out a mischievous laugh. “Oh? Can’t they now?” She waves at one of the soldiers, a broad, muscular man who is busy hacking away at a wooden dummy. “It’s just harmless flirting, my dear Ora. Nothing more.” They wander to another corner of the alcove.
At the sound of the ladies giggling, Lord Faigen’s smile falls. “Pleasure to meet you, Prudence,” he says, not looking at Patience. “Elanor, maybe we could meet another night?”
“Maybe,” I say, trying to sound as noncommittal as possible. I enjoy Faigen, but now isn’t the time for foppery and foolishness. I couldn’t care less about dancing.
Faigen seems to savor that. “Farewell,” he calls before fleeing the training course.
“Prudence?” Patience grumbles.
“Be thankful,” I say kindly. “If he knows your name, he’ll probably try to woo you.”
“Yes, at least I’m spared that torment. Although I seem to have this general effect on men. I think they might be afraid of me,” she admits, and her gaze lingers on Lady Celeste. A thoughtful expression appears on her face. Her eyes follow the direction Lord Faigen went. “Elanor, I consider myself a fair judge of character, but that man truly baffles me.” Then, more timidly she asks, “Did you mean what you said? About being Malandre’s mistress?”
“Of course not,” I say, setting my axe on the bench with the other weapons. “Faigen has been trying to figure me out since the day we met. I thought it would deter him if he thought Count Malandre and I were in a relationship.”
“In other words, you lied to him.”
Lied to him, to Lord Berrel, even to Ryrick and Patience. Goodness—I’m becoming quite talented at deceiving people. Almost as good as Adom. “It’s complicated, Patience.”
She sits on the bench and unties her boot straps. “Didn’t Lord Faigen find you in a scorched village? I thought you told my father that when you first came looking for a job.”
“Faigen and I met before that,” I admit. “I’m not comfortable talking about my past.”
Her eyes soften. “I can understand why you would want to reinvent yourself. Your past is your private business.” She tosses the wooden sword into the weapons cache where it lands with a clatter. “You don’t have to tell me your life story. Just don’t lie to me, Elanor. I like to trust the people I live with.”
~ * ~
“Elanor, wake up.”
I groan. “Go away. It’s not morning yet.”
The voice persists. I lift my head and force my eyes open against the blackness, disoriented. Then I recognize it as Ryrick, and realize he shouts through the keyhole.
“Come quick,” he rasps. “An injured lord is out in the courtyard. Go and get Patience.”
I lurch up, instantly awake. Adom? I dress and check Patience’s room and laboratory. I can’t find her anywhere. I throw the door open. “She must have stepped out. What happened?”
Ryrick leads me through the winding staircase. “I’m not sure. A guard woke me up and told me someone was injured in the hallway. I took him to the courtyard, but it’s clear he’s in bad condition.” He lifts a torch to illuminate the way.
I stifle a yawn. “What time is it?”
Ryrick stops at the bottom of the staircase. “It’s late enough that Patience shouldn’t be stepping out by herself.” He shakes his head. “That girl imagines herself invincible, but with what happened to Lord Darton, she just isn’t as safe as she thinks she is.”
A crumpled form writhes on the ground outside the kitchen entrance, smearing blood and ash across the entryway. Lord Faigen. I cover the distance between us.
“Can you talk?” I feel for a pulse. It beats faintly, and Faigen’s eyes flutter open. His skin is feverish, and the smell of burnt flesh sickens me. To my relief, the ash appears to be coming off his clothes and hair—not his skin. Maybe he isn’t burned badly, after all.
“Attacked by dragon,” he breathes. “Help me.”
I look to Ryrick for help. “He’s lucky he isn’t dead.” Sighing, I cradle Lord Faigen’s sweat-soaked head in my hands. The visitors’ suites on the second floor are filled with high-profile guests. It will be next to impossible to cart Faigen’s body inconspicuously into one of those empty rooms without anyone noticing. “Are there any spare quarters on the main level? Some place safe I can take him?”
Faigen’s eyelids close. I fear he might slip into a coma.
“He can’t stay here,” Ryrick reproaches, licking his lips and staring woefully at Faigen. “Cydra would order us to put him up at the Volcourt Inn, send for a local healer, and report the whole mishap after he’s well on his way to recovery. That’s the best treatment we can offer him.” He stands several feet away, about to bolt at the first sign of trouble.
My throat burns with the acrid smell. “Ryrick, he won’t make it to the Volcourt Inn in his condition. This happened on castle grounds, just like with Lord Darton. The king will want to know, and I’m sure he’d want Patience tending to him.”
Ryrick hesitates. “What if the other guests find out?”
“He can sleep on the pallet Patience is letting me use. Help me to carry him.”
We bear him through the open courtyard, whispering, and somehow manage not to wake anyone. At one point I swear when I almost trip. Faigen snorts once, his body limp and heavy.
“On the pallet,” I breathe, opening the door to Patience’s office. Ryrick heaves the lord onto the bed. I rush to find the jug and bowl I use every morning to wash my face. “Can you find me some salve? It should be in that drawer above the cabinet.” I point at spot. “And I’ll need a vial of nightshade to make him sleep. It’s behind the dried huckleberry.”
Ryrick obeys without complaint, closing the door behind him. I light a lantern. Faigen is in bad shape, his right eye bruised and swollen. Other cuts and scratches on his arms and neck indicate he was in a fight. But with whom? Some of the cuts run deep. Dragon talons made these.
Faigen opens his eyes and looks at me. “Angel.” His head rolls back, onto the pillow.
I check his pulse again and breathe easier. He isn’t dead yet, merely unconsciousness.
Ryrick returns with salve and the sleeping potion. “I also found this.” He hands me a pouch filled with herbs. “Patience sometimes mixes this with water and pours it down the burn victim’s throat. It’s supposed to soothe the abused internal muscles and balance his energies.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Are you certain?”
“I’ve watched her respond to plenty of emergencies. I’m certain this will help.”
My heart swells. “You’re wonderful, Ryrick. Now go back to sleep. I’ll wait for Patience and we’ll watch over him tonight. We can tell Cydra when we see her in the morning. He’ll hopefully be in a better state then.” I can handle dragon burns better than most.
“I can’t help but feel like the dragons… they’re plotting something unpleasant for us.” Ryrick’s eyes dilate as he fixes his stare on Faigen.
“Get some sleep, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
He wipes his damp forehead, mutters under his breath, and leaves.
I go to work on Faigen, mashing the herbs in the pouch, adding water to them, and making Faigen swallow the concoction. Then I uncork the vial of nightshade and drip a couple of drops into his mouth. Ripping the hem of my dress, I make small rags that I wash and dip in salve. I strip off his clothes, careful to avoid the burned places. The right side of his body is whitish-pink and blistered.
“The white dragon!”
I draw a sharp intake of breath.
“The white dragon!” Faigen cries again before sinking into a restless sleep. I wash his burns with the utmost tenderness. Then I wrap the salve-drenched bandages over his wounds.
He can’t be a changeling, can he? He left in a hurry today. What does he know about the white dragon? Maybe his work as a knight is a cover. Maybe he is the dragon who scorched Salcom village. Or maybe he came too close to one of the rogues and they tried to kill him. I can’t know for sure until he recovers and I can get him to talk. Changelings can be injured by dragon fire—I know this from the times I saw Adom recovering from a battle—but they heal quickly.
The door creaks open and Patience enters. She sees me with Lord Faigen, stares at me bleakly for a moment, then heaves a sigh. She sets a knife down on the counter and comes to my side. “Rest,” she says. “I’ll take care of him now. You’ve done well.”
I fall to the floor, exhausted, and curl up in a corner of the room. Perhaps I can catch a quick nap before the day begins. Tomorrow I have to find Adom and tell him about Faigen.
~ * ~
The door bursts open. I roll over, my back cracking. From the doorway, Cydra glares at me. The world spins as I rise. “There’s a noblewoman going into labor and you’re needed immediately.” Her eyes fix on my cot. “Who’s that?”
Why had I slept on the floor? Then I follow Cydra’s gaze and I remember. “Lord Faigen. A dragon burned him yesterday.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?”
“Ryrick and I had it under control. Ryrick thought you’d want to send him elsewhere, but the lord was in no condition to be moved. We planned to tell you first thing this morning.”
Cydra’s face screws into a pinched frown. “Get him out of here. Can you imagine the scandal if the king found out you had a lord in your bed last night?”
I bite my tongue. It won’t do any good to correct her. Cydra wants to believe the worst about me. Where is Patience when I need her to take Cydra down a peg? I approach my washing bowl then step back. The water’s tinged red with Faigen’s blood. Never mind washing my face.
Slither Page 20
