Ice & Smoke

by Elizabeth Belyeu

  "Cowardice!" Owain cried. "How can you say, who were not even witness to this event? I say you are merely bitter to find your father bested."

  "Bitter? Why, indeed, would one feel bitter toward one's father's murderer?"

  "Peace," I said. "The matter at hand, if you please. Which is Braith's master, whom we must discover and defeat."

  "I have no master," Braith said. "I answer to no one but myself."

  I slammed my spoon down on the table. "Braith, why do you obstruct me in this?"

  "If the dragon himself denies your story," Owain said, taking a hearty bite of his porridge, "I don't think you can have any expectation of the rest of us believing it."

  My throat clogged with confusion and rage. Surely Braith's oath did not require this active dishonesty—I knew it did not, for we had spoken in more detail than this already.

  Before I could formulate a response, Gareth got to his feet, pulling out his leather pouch of runestones. "Stones say the truth."

  "Oh, come now," Owain said, but I raised a hand to cut him off.

  "I have seen Gareth's stones speak truth before," I said, somewhat in desperation, though I hoped it did not show.

  "Ask," Gareth said, holding the handful of carved pebbles toward me.

  I asked, "Who is Braith's master?"

  Gareth shook the stones, cast them out upon the table. "He is... high, but not high enough. Skilled, but not skilled enough. Smart... but not smart enough."

  "Useful," Tristan murmured.

  "But what is his name?" I asked.

  Gareth only looked at me and shrugged. "Stones don't know names."

  "Where is he, then?"

  Another casting. "Near water."

  Owain burst into laughter.

  "Silence," I snapped. "Truly, Owain, I am surprised at you. Did you not offer a vow of good behavior for this conference? Why do you now act the child?"

  Owain rubbed a hand across his face. "I apologize, princess. The night was long and uncomfortable, chained to a stable wall. And now I cannot eat my breakfast without dragon-stink in my nose, while you tell us some tragic tale that the dragon himself insists is fabrication. For that matter, even if you are right, still the dragon's death would free us!"

  "Would it?" Tristan asked. "This one's father died, and here came the son. Were he to die, would some other come?"

  "I—think not," I said when Braith made no reply. "He has not mentioned having any children."

  "Excellent, we have only one dragon to kill," Owain said. "Unless this shadow-figure of a master holds them hostage. After all, I suppose he'd be foolish not to give himself more dragons to order about—choose this one a mate, take the hatchlings—"

  Braith, leaping to his feet, took up the nearby pitcher of ale and dashed its contents into Owain's face.

  "Braith!"

  "You dare!"

  All was shouting and breaking crockery, and Tristan and Genevieve pulling Owain back as Gareth and I did the same to Braith.

  "Unhand me! I will not stay!" Owain shouted; shrugging off all hands, he stormed out into the dooryard.

  Braith twisting free of my grasp at the same moment, I feared he would pursue, but instead he fled upstairs.

  For a time all I could do was stand with eyes closed, wondering if, at this moment, Rindargeth would blame me in the least for slaying his son with my own hand.

  When I opened my eyes, I found that Gareth had departed with his bowl of porridge, and Genevieve and Tristan were on their knees by the table, applying cloths and napkins to the puddle of ale. Rather, Genevieve was on her knees; Tristan had fallen when Owain pushed him off, but seemed to have decided to be useful on the floor so long as he was there. He laughed, even, making some joke to Genevieve that actually won a shy smile in return.

  "Come, Ariana," he said, when he saw me returned to composure, "be not so grim. My brother is well-known for an idiot, and dragons well-known for their tempers; this is but the natural result of their proximity."

  I assayed a smile, but felt it fail. "I will help you up."

  "Oh, I am comfortable enough. And Genevieve can aid me when this flood is dried. I daresay it would be wisdom in you to speak to your dragon before he wreaks further havoc."

  "Indeed, I have some words especially selected for his hearing," I said, and took to the stairs.

  I found Braith on the roof of the tower, clutching the edge of the parapet as if he felt in danger of falling.

  "I must congratulate you," I said. "You have done all in your power to ensure that these men will kill you. Why can you not be cooperative for one hour, and perhaps win freedom for us both?"

  "No freedom will come of those two."

  "It will for me," I said bluntly. "You think Tristan will go home and leave me here? He will kill you, or he will be persuaded to seek your master instead. There is no third option. Unless, admittedly, I permit you to kill him first, which I will not. I will do all I can to preserve you from each other, but I cannot succeed indefinitely."

  He said nothing.

  "Why did you react so to Owain's words? Did he…" I swallowed. "Did he, by accident, hit the mark?"

  "You mean, do I in fact have a mate or hatchlings held hostage somewhere? No, thanks be to every god, I was never foolish enough to…" He trailed off, shook his head.

  "But he could, is that it?" I said quietly. "Your master could do exactly as Owain said—force a mate on you, take and use your children."

  No reply.

  I scrubbed a hand down my face. "For all our sakes, I think, I would have you gone from here," I said. "If none of us are forced to see, hear, or smell you for the remainder of the day, I can perhaps begin repairing some of the damage you have wrought."

  "That suits me extremely," he said.

  "Then I will escort you to the edge of the circle."

  Owain, the idiot, caught us up halfway there.

  "So I did see you walk by! Dragon, where would you take Ariana?"

  "Peace, Owain," I said wearily. "Braith has agreed to keep to the forest the remainder of the day, so as not to inflame tempers further."

  "Abandoning your post, dragon? So disloyal to your master." Owain's tone was teasing, almost sarcastic; clearly he still considered the concept of this master to be a joke.

  "Disloyal?" Braith repeated. "I have no master—but even if I did, one need not love a man to owe him a debt. I assure you that to any man who would leash me to his heel, I would as soon show my teeth as my gratitude."

  "A shame you haven't done so, then, and solved our current predicament."

  "Indeed." Braith seemed to bite the word as much as say it. "No dragon may harm one to whom he owes a debt, not without paying his own life in return. Although there are some," he added in a growling murmur, "who consider that an even trade."

  "Fortunately there is none such among us," I said firmly, and came to a stop. "This is as far as we may go, Owain."

  "Truly?" He frowned, and did not pause in his steps—until he hit the invisible wall of the circle with a thump. Owain yelped and stumbled back, clutching his forehead.

  "Truly," I said dryly. "Do you see the flowers? No thinking creature may pass, but for the dragon who cast them."

  "Ah," Owain managed, squinting through his fingers at the red flowers.

  I caught Braith's sleeve before he could quite pass me. "Wait, Braith. Are you... will you..." I gazed past him into the dim forest, where all manner of danger might lurk, and then again at Braith, unable to change shape without tearing open his wounds. "Are you quite sure you will be safe?"

  "One might recall that I am a dragon," he said, raising an eyebrow.

  "Of course, but..." But at the moment, scarcely more than a wounded man, unarmed, pale and strange-smelling enough to draw all manner of attention... I bit my lip, and unbuckled the sword from my side. "This may be helpful, if a bear or wolf takes too pressing an interest in you."

  He took it, looking baffled. "You know I cannot use this."

  "It is sim
ple enough. This end for holding, that end for stabbing. The scabbard goes thus." I helped him buckle it at his waist. "Will you be warm enough? The day is chilly."

  He huffed a gratuitously smoky laugh, and pressed scorching-hot hands to my shoulders. "Pray you tell me, shall I be warm enough? Such a hen you are, Ariana! Rest easy; a dragon can withstand a few hours in the forest."

  With this he turned and strode away into the shadows.

  "You arm the dragon," Owain said, "and fuss over him—as he said!—like any mother hen!"

  "I would do as much for Tristan," I said and turned back toward the tower.

  "Aye," I heard him mutter. "This is what worries me."

  ◆◆◆

  "A slug? What horror! Fear not, my lady!" Elaysius drew his toothpick of a sword and made a flourishing shape of it in the air. "Sir Elaysius shall hunt in thy service, and eradicate every such audacious beast!"

  "Please do," I said with as much gravity as I could manage, and off he went, pouncing and stabbing at the plants. Well, since he could carry but a pod or two at a time, he was likely of more use as a slug-hunter than in helping us harvest the peas.

  Gareth and I, at least, were harvesting peas. Owain was proving as little use as Elaysius—plucking leaves instead of pods, tipping pails and trampling plants—and Genevieve I kept having to summon back from fussing over Tristan. He was laid out in the sun, very comfortably, but she seemed determined that he must need at all times a blanket, or a pillow, or bread, or a mug of ale.

  "Pray calm yourself, Genevieve," I said impatiently, thrusting a pail of peas into her hands. "He is a strong, healthy man with a broken bone, not a plague-stricken child. I know you are a good nursemaid by nature—I have benefited thereby—but the best nursemaid must know when to let a patient breathe!"

  Looking abashed, she took the pail. It was not ten minutes before she crept away again to Tristan.

  "I feel so very useless," Tristan grumbled after a bit, "watching everyone else labor. If someone might fetch my pipe from my saddlebag, I could provide you entertainment, at least."

  Genevieve dashed off before I could say yea or nay. She returned with a simple wood pipe in her hand, almost small enough to be called a whistle, and helped prop Tristan against a vine-frame so that he could play.

  Music we had little of here, unless provided by our own voices, so I was eager to hear. I had never known Tristan to be musical, however, and the pipe seemed a good size for shrill, shrieking sounds fit only to drive away wildlife. I waited with some trepidation for him to begin.

  The sound that flowed forth from the pipe was neither shrill nor shrieking. The notes were high, but pleasingly so, clear and bright as a stream over stones, and like a stream they danced and leaped, curled and twirled and twinkled. All stopped where they stood to listen.

  Tristan was blushing bright by the time he ended the song. "You need not stare so. I know I am only a twiddler, pray do not criticize."

  "Criticize? Tristan, that was beautiful."

  "You are starved for entertainment here, I perceive."

  "Wherever did you learn to play so? You had no such interest when I was twelve years old."

  "Ah, one might do anything to pass the time when kept abed, as I was for so long. We had a travelling minstrel, one eve, who pleased me so much that I begged him to stay and teach me. He stayed two seasons before my performance pleased either of us, but at long last I could pipe a tune when I fancied."

  "Well, pipe on! Such music makes any labor lighter."

  Alas, the music also ensured that no more labor would be got out of Genevieve at all. She seemed unable to move for some time, watching Tristan play as a hungry child might watch the bread rise in the oven. Eventually she knelt before him, and soon after, the smooth glide of the music was replaced by halting, unsteady notes, some overblown to shrieks. I looked up to see Genevieve, face alight, blowing hesitantly on the pipe, while Tristan showed her the use of the stops. She caught the way of it very quickly—so quickly that I realized she must have played some similar instrument before, in whatever life she lived before washing up on our beach.

  The tune Genevieve played, when she had mastered the pipe well enough to form a tune, was something as strange as it was beautiful, curious and haunting as a dream. Again all stopped their work to hear. When it faded to a close, Genevieve's face was streaked with tears. As was Tristan's. As was mine.

  "Very pretty, Gen," Gareth murmured, awestruck.

  "Yes, most impressive," Owain said more loudly, and began to applaud.

  I wanted to kick his ankle. Poor Owain, who always spoke at the wrong time, and thought this was the sort of thing one applauded, like a half-drunken minstrel's lay in a tavern.

  Reminded of her audience, Genevieve looked away and hunched her shoulders, as if trying to sink into the ground.

  Tristan put a hand gently on her shoulder. "Do play us another, Genevieve."

  She shook her head, almost frantically, pressed the pipe back into Tristan's hands, and fled toward the kitchen.

  I made a movement to go after her, and was surprised when Elaysius held me back.

  "If thou wilt allow it, princess, I shall see that she is well," he murmured. I nodded, and he fluttered off in her wake.

  "Shy little thing, eh?" Owain said, sounding a mite confused. "No call for it, I must say, for that was as pretty a pipe-tune as I've heard in all my days. No offense to you, brother."

  "None taken," Tristan murmured, his gaze still following Genevieve over the hill.

  "And she's pretty, too, isn't she? And silent, a great quality in a wife!" His hearty laugh died off when no one joined in. "Er... I say, brother, have I stepped in it again? I swear I meant no harm..."

  "No, Owain, you've done nothing too dreadful." I turned back to the peas. "I worry for Genevieve, that is all. She is seldom so emotional."

  "Another excellent quality," Owain said. "Come, brother, play a happier tune for us, if you have breath left! We shall see if Princess Ariana remembers her dancing lessons."

  "Oh, no, I don't think—" But Owain had already swept my hands up in his and begun flinging me about in truest Owain-fashion. I was only irritated for a moment; Owain's easy amusement and goodwill were hard to dislike, however much he trod on my feet. It was strange indeed to feel my dancing lessons return to me, hardly thought of in five long years—though it was hard to say how well I remembered, with such a partner as Owain. I took a turn with Gareth as well, who was hardly less clumsy and a great deal less educated in dancing, though he laughed and spun with great enthusiasm.

  "Come, Tristan, dance with me!" I called to our musician. "All others have had their turn, now let me dance with my betrothed."

  "Your betrothed," Tristan said, patting his splinted and bandaged leg, "is in poor condition for dancing."

  "Oh, we shall manage."

  "And what of music? I surely cannot play and dance."

  "We can hum as well as ever, can we not? Owain, help me lift your brother to his feet. Gently!"

  We could not dance properly, of course, for Tristan leaned heavily on me by necessity, and could not take a step without falling. He could spin, after a fashion, pivoting on one heel while I steered him by the shoulders. Dancing it was not, perhaps, but great fun at least, both of us laughing and fumbling, Owain and Gareth clapping a beat and humming off-key to no particular tune.

  "Do you remember, during one of your visits, when I was nine and you ten," I said, "and my dance teacher locked us in that inhuman stuffy ballroom—"

  "Good heavens, yes! I thought we must all suffocate."

  "You were incensed at being kept indoors on such a fine afternoon."

  "You hardly seemed pleased yourself."

  "Yet it was not my idea to set fire to the instructor."

  "That was not my intention at all!"

  "It was the result nonetheless, and I thought your father—"

  "Oh, I shudder still to remember his countenance, I thought I was for the dungeon and no m
istake!"

  "So did I! Already I was preparing an idea of sneaking down in the dead of night to save you from the rack."

  We were laughing too hard now to even mock at dancing, merely hanging on each other and giggling.

  "Did the poor man's hair ever grow back?" Tristan gasped.

  "It did—but gray—and he ever blamed you for it!"

  "It was his own silly fault for being so near the candlestick!"

  Our musicians, such as they were, had stopped to regard us with amused exasperation. This realization only made me laugh the harder. Oh, how good it was to have Tristan here! This—laughing together, arms around each other—made me more comfortable and happy than I could recall being since my twelfth birthday, as if some sleeping, half-forgotten part of me were waking into sunlight.

  I tightened my arms around him, breathing in the sun-and-grass scent that was Tristan. "How I have missed you," I said.

  "We shall not have to miss each other anymore," he said, and kissed my cheek.

  The gesture startled me. I could not have said why, for it was a very proper and natural thing from a gentleman to the maiden he was to marry. Yet startle me it did, and Tristan took immediate notice.

  "Is something wrong, Ariana?"

  "No," I said quickly. "Only that I think Gareth's stones were quite right yesterday—it is going to rain any moment."

  Indeed, the sky overhead had grown thick and grey, and the breeze was heavy with moisture.

  "Get the peas indoors, hop to," I called, not only to my nearby companions but also Genevieve and Elaysius, whom I spied coming back down the hill. Genevieve seemed restored to her usual self now, and joined in with a will as all began trekking back to the tower, burdened with our harvest. I followed after, supporting Tristan.

  The rain began before we were halfway to the door. Just a dusting of drops, at first, that caused Gareth and Elaysius to laugh and spin; Genevieve pushed them along, tugging the lagging Owain's sleeve, and got them inside before the water fell in earnest. Tristan and I, slowed by his leg, were less lucky, and both wet through when we finally came in the door.

  "It was most ungentlemanly of me, to keep you out in that," Tristan said, leaning on the wall as I wrung a cold flood out of my skirts and hair.