I slip into the trees, eyes fixed on the moving metal that glints and flickers ahead of me. Small clues confirm my suspicions—a branch drops here, a tree sways against the wind there. As I draw nearer, moving further and further out of sight of the castle grounds, I begin to hear the slight scritch scratch of talons scoring the huge redwood trees as it leaps from branch to branch.
There’s only one Tree Hopper in Onyx, and he isn’t one of the Head Dragons so I don’t interact with him much. They’re a smaller variety, so he generally avoided the rest of the herd to keep from being challenged. He caught me, once, when I tried to escape. He slinks like an oversized cat, curving his body unnaturally around tree trunks and using talon-like claws to grasp thick branches and climb the high redwood trees. He was on me before I knew it.
But this is a different dragon and a different time. I know how to track them now.
My feet sink into mud and I quickly grab leaves and use them to tug myself free. There’s an axe buried into the trunk of a sycamore, and I snatch the handle and pull the weapon free. The lights in the trees blink, and I make out a distinct pair of steel-gray eyes. A vine drops, and it takes me a moment to realize that it isn’t a vine at all. It’s a dragon’s tail. The rest of its body is hidden by the dense branches and trunk of the tree it’s wound around.
“I know you’re here,” I shout. “You might as well come out.”
Branches crack, and a blackened body lands at my feet. Chills shudder up my spine. My stomach attacks my throat. I can’t make out a face past the cooked helmet. It’s another knight. I sink to my knees and extend trembling hands toward the dead man. Mindful of the hot metal, I tug the helmet to reveal the knight’s identity. The face is nothing but blackened char, but the hair...oh God, the hair…
It’s a blond man. The hair is the exact texture and color of Rhydian’s.
Thump.
I raise my eyes. The dragon is standing before me now, hissing and snarling, dripping great globules of drool over the dead man’s chest. I fight the urge to plunge the axe into the horrible beast. The body isn’t Rhydian, I promise myself. He’s not a knight. I let the axe slip.
“Stand down,” I say in dragon tongue, holding a hand out. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Wide, soulful eyes return my gaze, then flick to its forearm. It lets out a roar and sinks fanged teeth into the fleshy part of its limb. There’s a long, bloody gash scarring the arm. My eyes stray to the dead man. Nearby, there is a broken sword strewn against a tree.
“You’re injured,” I say. “He struck you with a poison-tipped sword.”
My words earn another roar.
“I think I can help.”
In answer, the dragon swoops open its wings, sharp looking things like blades on its back. It snatches me with wide talons and bounds into the air. I am unafraid—if it wanted to kill me, it would have done it already. We travel for miles. Then, under a canopy of trees, at the base of a mountain, it drops. Into a cave maw, past the set of human-made tracks and wheelbarrows filled with stones, shovels and mounds of dirt. Into blackness illuminated only by eyes of fire.
At last the creature settles on the ground. It doesn’t squeeze me, as dragons are wont to do when I’m caught in their claws, so I take it is a sign of peace and slide carefully away from the sharp, metallic edges of its talons. I back away slowly, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the gloaming. In moments, I can see the sad creature licking the wound on its arm and staring at me with frightened, suspicious eyes. It splays out beside me, letting out a soft groan.
“Let me see it,” I say in dragon tongue.
“I understand you,” the thing speaks back. “How?”
“I lived with dragons.”
Scales clack as it shifts and stretches out the arm for me to inspect. The wound is nasty, but a cut like this won’t kill it and the poison on the sword shouldn’t slow it down for long.
“Who did you kill?” I ask.
“Lord Reuben,” the dragon replies. “He crept up behind me.”
I can’t help the strangled moan of relief that escapes. “I know why you did it.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Did you kill Lord Darton?”
“No.”
“Did you attack Lord Faigen?”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“I need light to see what’s wrong,” I say softly.
The dragon blasts fire near the entrance of the cave. A broken wheelbarrow catches flame. It burns quick and brilliant—the fire won’t last long. I peer at the wound and see a small sliver of metal in the bloody mess. “There’s a bit of the sword still in here. It broke off when he stabbed you. That’s probably why it hurts so much.”
“Take it out.”
“It’ll hurt.”
“Do it.”
“Will you kill me afterward?”
“I won’t.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear on my blood.”
Maybe it’s because I’m back in a cave and feel compelled to obey the dragon, or maybe it’s because of its sorrowful eyes. Something about the way it talks, even in the harsh dragon language, relaxes my fight instincts and moves me to help it. I touch the wound, then draw back slightly as the dragon flesh shudders. With deliberate, quick motions, I slap my fingers into the wound, grasp the sharp object, and tug it out. With a splurt and a gush of blood, the flesh releases the metal. The dragon lets out a bone-chilling roar. Scales around the wound drop off, delicate as flower petals against the taint of poison. I place the sword’s edge on a rock and wipe my fingers, coated in black dragon’s blood, off on the underside hem of my dress.
The dragon scuttles away from me until it is against the wall of the cave. It presses its back along the cave wall and slides across the rock. The sound is like knives sharpened against stone. Sparks brighten the space for a brief few seconds, and in that time I see a multitude of colorful dragon scales scattered all around the cave and buried in the rocks. The creature claws at its long neck, and scales drop like overripe fruit. It continues like this for several minutes.
“You need to stop,” I say at last. “You’ll damage your armor.”
“I have to get it off,” the dragon says. “I want it off.”
“Why? Does it hurt?”
“I’m not a dragon,” it replies. “This is all a horrible nightmare.”
Suddenly, it all makes sense. Adom had Muuth to fill in the gaps for him. Muuth knew about the changelings, and he knew how Adom came to be. He took Adom to be with the dragons on Onyx Island so he could learn how to manage the dragon part of himself.
The other changelings were not so fortunate.
“It’s not your fault,” I tell it. “You don’t know why this is happening to you.”
“I’m a monster,” the thing croons sadly. “If I had known the knight planned to kill me, I would have let him. He did not deserve to die. I do.”
I crook my finger. “Come here.”
The creature pads slowly toward me.
“Do you want to die?” I ask, picking up the piece of broken sword.
It stares at me with expressive, glittering eyes. “I deserve it.”
“Do you want me to kill you?”
“No.”
“Good.” I let the metal fall. I doubt I could have killed it with the small piece of sword, and if it had said yes I would have been hard-pressed to murder the thing with that sad look in its eye, but I’m not about to tell it that. Instead, I pat the ground near my lap. “Lay your head here.”
It shuffles closer and eases its head to the ground.
Silva had a tender spot around her jawline that she used to make me work on. She always kept her eyes wide open, watching, teeth glistening as my fingers moved across her snout and under her chin. This dragon does not harbor such inherent distrust. As soon as it
s head collapses, it lets out a halting snort and its eyes slide shut. I reach over and splay my fingers on its jaw. Very gently, I work out the tightness around the creature’s face as I used to do with Silva.
“You’re safe with me,” I say, realizing that this may be the first time I’ve ever felt compassion for a dragon. But this one is so different. It’s scared and confused, more like I was when I first arrived at Onyx Island, disoriented by my situation.
As it sleeps and the fire dies out, the cold chill of the cave sinks into my bones. The creature isn’t like other reptiles—its body radiates heat. For the first time, I realize this is an attribute unique to the changeling dragons. Adom is hot blooded, too. The dragons on Onyx are cold, like snakes. I make a mental note of that fact; it could help me down the road.
It can help me right now, in fact, as the cold seeps into my blood and numbs my extremities. I’ve never cuddled with a dragon before, but in this icy, dank place that reminds me of too many terrible memories, I find myself sliding closer to the beast, pulling myself against it, gravitating toward its searing core. The dragon snorts and turns its head to the side.
Hours later, or maybe days, we awaken as one to the midnight cave.
“Where am I?” he says in Tranar tongue, his voice hitched and panicking.
I know this human voice. “We’re still in the mine, Rhydian.”
Skin slaps against skin, and he lets out a mortified curse. “Oh, God. I’m naked.”
“I won’t look,” I whisper, laughing.
He rises shakily to his feet. “I can’t see a damned thing. How do we get out of here?”
I push myself off the ground. “We have two options. You can change again and fly us out of here, or you can follow me. I know caves well enough to find an opening.”
“I can’t control it,” he says. “Until now, I thought it was nothing but a horrible dream.” His breath comes in gasps. “It can’t be real. I can’t really be—”
I reach for Rhydian’s hand. “Then I’ll take the lead.”
We wander into the next cave, following light and the flow of air. He missteps, nearly tumbling off a jagged edge, but I pull him to safety. My feet act on their own, without thought. This isn’t the world I was born into, but it is my world nonetheless. Calm envelops me as my toes plod over familiar terrain; harsh ridges, clods of dirt, and sharp stone.
“Is this a dream?” he asks me, suddenly.
“No, Rhydian. You changed and brought me here.”
“And Lord Reuben?”
“He’s dead, but it isn’t your fault.”
We squeeze through treacherous, narrow pathways. Someone dug this path out long ago, and there are remnants of human life along the walls, clues of ages long gone. Cloth sacks, and bones, and every now and again a torch hanging along the wall.
“I need to turn myself in. King Siles will see me hanged for murder.”
“You can’t turn yourself in without revealing you’re a changeling.”
“I could say I burned him in a house fire.”
“They’ll know.”
“I could blame it on Count Malandre. He calls himself a changeling, doesn’t he?”
At this I clamp my mouth shut. Rhydian might guess that Adom’s claim is real, but it won’t be me who gives away the information. Rhydian already thinks Adom’s a monster.
He’s silent for a few moments. Then, “He told Siren the truth, didn’t he? She was a changeling and so was he. What my father saw was real. My father murdered a monster.”
“If Siren really was a changeling, nightshade couldn’t have killed her.”
“Miss Harminy said Faigen was with a woman called Siren.”
“It could have been someone else.”
“Or it could have been my sister. She could still be alive.” For the first time since his awakening, a note of hope creeps into his voice. “Celeste should know.”
“You have to be careful, Rhydian,” I say. “Not all changelings feel as you do about their abilities. Some of them may take pleasure in the power it gives them over humans.”
“But she’s my sister,” Rhydian replies. “If she’s done anything wrong, it’s because she fell under Count Malandre’s influence.” His fingers grip mine in vise-like intensity. “I could ruin Malandre with this information. He doesn’t suspect my secret, but now I know his.”
“He might suspect your secret,” I point out, my heart hammering in my throat. “If your sister was a changeling, he might know that you’re one as well. And you can’t prove that he’s a dragon. It’s not like he’ll demonstrate before the court if you accuse him of it.”
I feel Rhydian’s eyes on me, thinking. “You knew that Malandre was a dragon?”
I tug him around a stalactite and suddenly my feet are walking across a set of tracks. “He’s not a changeling, Rhydian.”
“Then why did you come here after he kept you as a prisoner for twelve years?”
“Maybe it’s because I care about him?”
“You don’t. You can’t.”
“Suppose I do?”
Stunned silence hits me like a bag of stones. It buys me a few moments of relief. I don’t really love Adom, but Rhydian can’t rationalize away my emotions the way he has tried to do with my history, the dragon scorchings, and my connection to Lord Malandre.
The blackness softens to a dirty brown. We are nearing the entrance of the cave. I hasten forward, but Rhydian locks his knees. I squeeze his arm, but he doesn’t move.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m naked.”
“Do you want my dress?”
“I just need...a covering.”
It takes a bit of concerted effort not to inform him that male genitals are nothing I haven’t seen before. A family of brothers, a crazy old man, and a changeling prison-keeper have all strengthened my constitution in this regard.
When I begin to undo the laces of my bodice, Rhydian says, “You don’t have to do that. Your apron will do.”
In moments, Rhydian is clothed and we emerge, blinking, under the dawning sky. The moon is full, majestic above us, and the horizon wreathed with an orange glow. I glance over at his face—he’s covered in dirt—and the gaping scar on his left arm looks painful. I entwine my fingers between his.
He pulls away. “I thought you didn’t like to be touched,” he reminds me.
I can’t ignore the stab of hurt I feel over this small rejection. “Are you angry?”
“Yes. I’m angry and confused. The worst part of it is, I don’t know why. How could I be this...thing? How did I never know? All the dragon scales in my caves, were they all mine? Is my sister really alive?” He latches eyes on mine. “How can you be in love with him?”
Of all the lies I could have told him, why did I choose this lie? It seemed easiest in the moment to stop him from asking pointed questions about why I’m sticking so close to Malandre. But now I realize it’s only going to torment him a different way. “I don’t know,” I say, not sure which question I’m answering. “We’ll find the answers together, Rhydian. You can trust me.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“I swear that I won’t tell Count Malandre about you.”
His eyes soften. “Thank you.”
“But you have to promise you won’t try to frame him for Lord Reuben’s death.”
“I won’t frame him for Reuben’s death, but I can’t promise you that I won’t ruin him.”
My heart aches. “You have to let it go. Malandre didn’t do anything wrong. If your sister is a changeling, he never lied to her. And if she’s not dead, your family can be reunited.”
“It isn’t about any of that now,” Rhydian says, avoiding my eyes.
~ * ~
We steal a horse and a set of farmer’s clothes hanging out to dry, and Rhydian rides back to the
castle with me, now fully clothed. The castle guards recognize Rhydian, and one of them——a bulky one with beady eyes——gives me a dubious look as though he remembers me as well. Come to think of it, he might have been on duty the day I showed up with Lord Faigen all those weeks ago.
I slink back to the servants’ quarters, praying no one has noticed my long absence. When I arrive at the clinic, a message from Patience is pinned to the door. The note says that Longley has asked if she can spare my help today. The cook instructs me to the dining hall to ready the floral arrangements for breakfast. I wash, change outfits, and set to work, ignoring the aches and groans of my joints. Work goes quickly. On the way back from the dining hall, I pass the door to the parlor room. A tinkling laugh fills my ears and a masculine chuckle follows. Adom? So he’s returned already? After barely a day?
“Your skills on the pianoforte are phenomenal. Your family is proud, I’d imagine.” His voice sounds warm and pleasant. I’ve come to appreciate the deep richness of his speech.
I dodge out of eyesight and peek between the crack of the partially opened door.
Celeste laughs. “They’re more impressed with my marriage match than my piano skills.”
“Of course.”
“And do you ever intend to marry, Count Malandre?”
I squint to better see. The sliver of light only affords me a blurry glimpse of the room.
“Never,” he says. “Marriage wouldn’t suit me.”
“Really? Why not? I know many eligible women who would leap into action to steal your heart. Then again, perhaps you’re right. Maybe you aren’t actually capable of love.” She says it with a smile on her lips and a playful look in her eyes, but there is a note of pain in her voice.
“I loved Siren faithfully when she lived,” says Adom quietly, gazing out the window.
Lady Celeste studies him carefully. She lifts a glass of champagne and sips. Then she returns the glass to the top of the piano. “Where were you when she was dying? You never came. You never even sent a note.” She clears her throat. “We never saw you again.”
He looks her square in the eye. “I was on a boat, on a diplomatic mission for the king. The message didn’t reach me until after she was gone. If it had, I assure you I would have defied the king, abandoned the mission, and stayed by her side until the bitter end. I loved her, Celeste.”
Slither Page 24
