“Don’t just stand there. Find Patience! She’s been summoned.”
I smile politely and close the door in Cydra’s face. I can hear her seething on the other side as I lock the hatch. After dressing, I throw another worried look at Lord Faigen, and go about my chores. Patience left behind a list asking me to gather wild mushrooms, strip bark from certain trees, and deliver tinctures and salves to her elderly patients.
Faigen can’t go anywhere in his current state. He needs rest and plenty of bedside care for the next few weeks, at least. If he turns out to be a rogue dragon, he can’t pose a threat now. No one but Cydra, Ryrick, and Patience knows he’s here, and I’ll take careful pains to keep the door locked. If Cydra has him moved, I’ll tell the king.
Longley finds me in the hallway and raises a hand to catch my attention. “You offered me your help earlier,” she says. “I’m ready to accept your assistance in the kitchen.”
“What if Cydra finds out?”
She rolls her eyes. “Cydra likes to think she’s a queen, when really she’s a dustpan. Besides, Princess Ora arrived today and with her a host of Corvan nobles. I’m short staffed. I’ll pay you twice whatever Patience is paying you to help me this afternoon.”
“Done,” I say, hoping Longley doesn’t find out that Patience isn’t paying me. “But first I need to find her. Cydra says she’s needed for a delivery.”
“I just saw Cydra speaking to her by the stairs not five minutes ago,” Longley replies.
“In that case, let me finish my task list and I’ll join you in the kitchen this afternoon?”
“Good,” says Longley. She scans my attire, another dress modified into a suit by Patience. “Better roll up your sleeves. We have horrifying numbers of dishes to do.”
It takes several hours to complete the tasks Patience has assigned me. I find I’m particularly good at dealing with the elderly patrons in the room visits. All they want to do is talk and fawn over me, and the only thing I need to do is shut up, listen to their stories, and give them their medicines. They all look younger than Muuth. But they are wealthy, and they are sad at how quickly life has gotten away from them, and all they want is a little bit of attention. It is easy for me to be what they want.
After I’m finished, I return to the clinic to check on Lord Faigen. He isn’t there, but Patience is. She’s washing blood from her hands in a bucket of water.
“Where’s Faigen?” I ask.
“He was doing better, so I had him moved to his own room.”
“Is that his blood?”
“No, I just returned from an early morning appointment with a patient who needed a limb removed.” She places a soggy hand over her brow. “He had infection in his hand. It wasn’t going away. I had to sever the whole hand to keep it from spreading.”
She’s trembling, so I come up behind her and set a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“I came back and saw Faigen here, and I just couldn’t take it. Ryrick moved him.”
“Did you deliver the baby, too?”
She blinks. “What baby?”
“Cydra came this morning and said you were needed. I went looking for you, but then Longley said she saw you and Cydra talking so I assumed she told you herself.”
Patience frowns. “No. She didn’t say anything about a delivery. She mentioned needing more poultice for her foot, but nothing about a baby.”
“That’s odd. She made it sound like an emergency.”
“Maybe they found a midwife?” Then she lets out a curse and shakes her head. “No, I know what this is. When she couldn’t find me right away, she decided not to tell me. To make me look bad. She’s done it once before.” She dries her hands and begins packing her bag. “I’d better go find out about this baby. Thank you for telling me, Elanor.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No, I’m fine. The chambermaids usually like to help get me hot water and rags, and really that’s all I need. But thank you for offering.”
I shrug. “I finished the visits and found the mushroom and bark you needed. Longley asked if I could help in the kitchen when I was done. Do you mind if I go?”
She nods, but looks a little disappointed. “We’ll miss practice today.”
“We could do it later tonight.”
Her face brightens.
I leave for the kitchen, but on the way, Rhydian catches me by surprise, ducking around a corner and popping up just in front of me.
“Elanor.”
He looms ahead of me, giving me no chance to sidestep him. I scoot back as far as I can get, until my back is against the wall.
“Elanor, I’m sorry I accused you of working with Malandre. I’m sorry I insinuated that you didn’t care. It was wrong of me to put you in that position, especially after learning all you’ve endured.” He hangs his head. “If you don’t want to take vengeance out on Malandre anymore, I’ll respect that. It doesn’t change how I feel about him, or my goals, but I won’t pressure you to join my schemes. Just please don’t cut me off.” He holds up his hands as if in prayer.
I bat his hands away, looking down the hall anxiously. “Fine, I won’t, but if anyone catches you in the servants’ quarters—”
“They’ll what?” He grins. “Fire me?”
“No. Fire me. You shouldn’t be here. It won’t look proper.”
He purses his lips and stares at me solemnly. “You’re avoiding me.”
My face flames. I can see how he would think that since I haven’t seen him in days. Between the trip to the mountains, work and training, I haven’t had a single moment to think about Rhydian. And after what’s happened to Faigen, I don’t want to put Rhydian in danger if I can help it. “I don’t have time to talk. Guests are arriving today, and Longley needs me—”
“I’ll do chores with you.”
I glance at his hands, which are soft and refined. This man has never worked a day in his life. “You don’t have a clue how to wash dishes or pluck a chicken, do you?”
“You learned.”
Rhydian moves, slightly, and finally I have a window to slide around him and make my escape. He follows me like a shadow, my own personal storm cloud. “I’ve work to do, Lord Berrel.”
He lets out a strangled gasp. “I liked it better when you called me Rhydian.”
“And I liked you better when you didn’t pry.”
He jumps in front of me and walks backward, his eyes narrow and squinty. “Did you know that there is no island south of Cornoc?”
My heart begins to pound, and my feet go still. “Maybe you have an outdated map?”
“I looked at four made in the last three years.”
“Perhaps you should plan a trip?”
“Where are you from, really?”
“South of Cornoc,” I insist. “Where there’s nothing on your map.” I resume my walk, and without looking I know that he’s still following me. Why can’t he leave this alone?
“You’re different from anyone I’ve ever met,” he says, a little breathlessly. “You’re not a normal noble woman looking to find a good marriage match and live an easy life. And you aren’t a very good servant; you’re obstinate, self-directed, and you don’t listen well. You believe in the dragons, and like me you have a dark history with Malandre, but you’re not one of the crazy ones who wanders from village to village shouting nonsense about the end of times. It’s like you don’t want to share what you know with me. And I know you know something. I can’t shake you.” He catches up to me and walks beside me now.
“Please don’t shake me. I don’t like to be touched.”
He smiles. “It’s an expression. It means I can’t put you out of my mind.”
“I see.”
As we make our way past the stables, two children poke past Longley’s guard dog, eyes fixated on the great tower high ab
ove. They aren’t servants’ children—this I can tell by their fine attire and wide-eyed wonder. I face the tower, but see nothing out of the ordinary.
The boy crosses his arms resolutely across his chest, shaking his head with vehemence. Tufts of reddish-copper hair jut out from his head. Every now and then he attempts to smooth a piece only to have it sproing out of control the moment his hand jerks away.
“I won’t do it,” he shouts at the girl.
She takes hold of one of his crossed arms, tugging, and with her free hand she points to the sky. “Please, Hivan. You’ve got to protect me from the dragons.”
I glance at Rhydian.
“It’s a game,” he insists. “They’re pretending.”
“Of course.” I smile meaningfully at him.
“Fine.” He sounds surprisingly annoyed. “Let’s go investigate.”
The girl and boy look about six years of age, and while the girl tugs at his arm in persistence, the boy’s face is fixed. “Leggo of me, Erma,” he whines when he can’t manage to disentangle himself from her firm grip.
We step closer to the pair.
“Can I help you?” I say.
Two sets of wide eyes fix on me.
The pudgy girl drops the boy’s arm. “Nothing!” she squeaks. “We’re not up to mischief.”
Rhydian gives me another meaningful look.
The boy, now extricated from her clutches, he rubs his arm. He points accusatorily at the girl. “Erma’s trying to make me go to the watch-tower.”
“He’s my knight,” Erma explains defensively, pouting as if to soften me up. The effect is somewhat lost, for I find myself distracted by her many chins, potbelly swagger, round face, and thick limbs. She wears her hair cut short, and it curls around her baby face as if her parents thought to hide a few of her layers behind excessive curls. When she notices my unaffected stare, the girl continues. “‘Sides,” she argues. “He saw it. It’s his responsibility.”
“Saw what?” Rhydian asks.
Both children gape at each other as if determining how much they should tell us. Finally the boy straightens, lifts his regal chin, and points at me. “You go get it. I order you.”
“Hivan,” the girl huffs. “You can’t order a woman to get you a dragon. It isn’t chivalrous.”
Hivan turns red, his eyes defiant. “I’m a prince. I can do whatever I wish.”
“Prince Hivan and Princess Erma,” Rhydian says, making the connection. “You’re here for the royal wedding, aren’t you?”
“Naw, that’s our parents,” says Hivan. “We’re here to go dragon hunting.”
“Prince Hivan is from Eppax,” Rhydian explains to me. “And Princess Erma comes all the way from Newaka.” He bends on one knee and grins at them. “I’ll bet you heard fairy tales about the Tranar dragons at bedtime and now you’re hoping to see them?”
“My momma says Tranars are idiots for pretending the dragons don’t exist. Everybody knows dragons are real. We don’t have them in Eppax ‘cuz of the position of the sun.”
“That sounds very logical,” Rhydian agrees indulgently.
“Where did you see a dragon?” I ask.
“It came from the forest,” the girl whispers in excited tones. “Hivan saw it first.”
The boy nods. “From that mount over there. That’s where it came from.”
My heart tumbles to my toes. “Where did it go?” I press.
“The watchtower,” the girl says in a sing-song tone.
I look at Hivan, who offers solemn confirmation.
“You may not be able to order me around, but Lord Berrel is perfectly capable of battling dragons,” I say. “Did you know he’s the brother of Lady Celeste?”
Erma gasps. “Oh, you’re very handsome, sir knight. Will you marry me?”
Rhydian smiles. “Ask me again when you’re old enough. In the meantime, it would be my profound honor to protect m’lady from any dragon. I’ll take my leave now to slay your beast, and in the meantime you both should return to your quarters and pray for my safety.”
“Can I give you my kerchief?” Erma asks. “For good luck?”
Rhydian accepts the handkerchief, and bows low over it. “I’ll bring you back a scale from the nasty creature,” he promises her with a fond pat on the head.
TEN
Maybe you should go and get help,” I say, for the first time nervous about Rhydian’s well-being. “I can go on ahead and see what’s up there.”
The thin-lipped response he gives me is loaded with flat disbelief. “And who would you have me go get?” he asks drily. “Malandre?”
I open my mouth and then close it again. Adom is precisely the person I want with me right now, but I know I can’t ask Rhydian to fetch him. Not when he doesn’t even believe.
“There’s something I didn’t tell you before,” I say to Rhydian as we sprint toward the watch tower. “Another lord appeared on the grounds with burns on his body.” My fingers feel for the pocketknife Patience gave me. It won’t be much protection against a dragon, but it’s better than nothing. I know how to creep, to make myself invisible. It’s Rhydian I fear for.
“Who?” he asks, hand on the hilt of his sword.
A sword won’t work. Dragon scales are too tough—they would split his sword in two. And by the time he draws a sword a dragon could slash him to bits. A pocket knife thrust into a jeweled eye is far more effective. Although it wouldn’t do permanent damage, it’d provide a distraction to help us escape.
But Rhydian won’t understand how I know all this, and there isn’t any time to explain. I just have to hope this dragon has enough self-preservation to know not to draw attention with a fire blast in the king’s tower. Hope that Rhydian has the sense to stay quiet, like me.
“Faigen,” I answer.
His eyelids shoot open. “Lord Faigen? I just talked to him yesterday. Is he dead?”
“No. He’s severely injured.” The watchtower is nearer now. I slow my gait. No sign of a dragon from here. “Maybe the children were pretending after all? I pray this is the case.
“Where is Faigen now?” Rhydian whispers, a note of urgency in his tone. “I’d like to see him. If he has burns, like you say, it would help me believe you. About the dragons, I mean.”
I clamp my mouth shut as a sudden rush of servants saunter by, unconcerned. Nobody else seems to have noticed a dragon landing on the watchtower. The children are either hyper-vigilant, or the dragon has a particular ability I haven’t yet encountered. Some dragons can make themselves camouflage with their surroundings, but I haven’t heard of a dragon who could make itself invisible. Yet. It wouldn’t surprise me to discover new types of dragons in Trana.
We’re almost to the watchtower when Rhydian gazes at me in disappointment. “I thought you trusted me.”
“Patience had him moved,” I whisper back, dismissively, surveying all the entrances, windows, and exits. We need a few escape routes planned. “I don’t know his current location.”
He waits to speak until a group of servants passes out of earshot. “Why would she move him if he’s as injured as you say?”
“For his safety. I didn’t ask for details.”
Rhydian scratches his beard and unsheathes his sword. He puts a hand on the door to the watchtower. “I thought you and Lord Faigen were friends. That’s what he told me when I spoke to him the other day. He seemed to think you and Lord Malandre were married. Strange.”
“He was mistaken.” I touch his sword hilt and shake my head. He’ll only draw attention.
“About your friendship? Or about you and Malandre?” Rhydian slips his sword back in the sheath, agitated. “Who do you care about, Elanor? Lord Faigen? Lord Malandre?”
“Shhh.” I place a fingertip against my lips. “If there’s truly a dragon up there, we don’t want to alert it to our presen
ce. No swords. We can’t fight it. We aren’t prepared. Understand?”
Rhydian nods, and draws in a breath before opening the door. He takes his time, lifting the hinges so that they won’t squeak as the door opens. Silence greets us.
“I’m going in first. Stay behind me at all times.”
An amused look crosses his face. “Elanor, I don’t think—”
“Promise me,” I plead.
He looks like he wants to argue, but then the stubborn gleam fades and he shrugs.
I step inside. He closes the door behind us. After a few cautious steps up the spiral staircase, I pause and listen again. Tiptoeing up additional stairs, I follow the steady incline to the top of the watchtower. We approach the light that looms ahead, steadily growing more luminescent with each round we take. Rhydian stays close by my side, in the shadow of my footsteps.
Voices, cool and confrontational, reach my ear. I freeze, straining to hear the words that come from the top of the watchtower. Beside me, Rhydian draws a heavy breath, tilting his head to better hear the conversation. I put a hand on his arm, and cover my mouth with a free hand. He does the same. We don’t dare to move, rooted to the spot, like statues against the wall.
At first, there is an angry growl. It could be a beast. Or, it could be a human. Then a voice speaks, and it’s so low and marred that it could come from either a man or a woman. Or, it could be a dragon attempting human tongue. It’s difficult to tell. “No one saw me. Quit worrying.”
“You can’t be so careless,” says a second, female voice. Though familiar, I can’t quite pin it. “The knights are crawling all over the place. If one of them had seen you—”
“No one saw me. Nobody ever sees me.”
“You can’t know for sure. Children sometimes notice.”
“People don’t listen to children,” the voice scoffs. “And if it’s a problem, I’ll take care of the situation like I did with the housekeeper’s son.”
“We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention. Remember, there are others who won’t be fooled. They could identify us if we don’t win them over.”
“And we, in turn, could accuse them.” Then the first voice sighs heavily. “All right. I take your point. I’ll be more careful in the future.”
Slither Page 21
