Sir Callie and the Dragon's Roost, page 14
“We don’t think,” I snap. “We know.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. I know too. It wasn’t right, what happened. Any of it.”
I bristle. “Then why didn’t you say anything? Or do anything? Why did you just stand there and let them?”
“There was nothing I could do—”
“Then what’s changed?”
Confusion flicks across his lined face. “Changed?”
“Yeah. What’s different now? When we go back with you, what’s changed to make Helston better and safer? Did the queen stand up to the council? Did Adan get banished for what he did to Edwyn? Is Willow allowed to be himself? Has El been pardoned?”
Jory’s guilty swallow is answer enough.
“I didn’t think so.” I gather myself together and sheathe Satin. “Look, tell Papa and Neal I’m okay. We’re all okay. We’re doing what we need to do for us and we’ll write when we can. You can tell Her Majesty that too. If you mean what you say, you won’t make us go back and they will understand. Helston doesn’t want us. If they really want us back, they’re gonna have to make changes first. You take that message home.”
“Tell Mother I love her,” says Willow. “And I’m sorry for hurting her but I’m not sorry for leaving. Callie’s right—if they want us back, it will have to be safe there before we return.”
To my surprise, Jory bows deeply. “You are right. My orders were to see you safe, and I understand now that I would fail those orders by forcing you home. I will take your messages with me and I know they will bring comfort to your families.”
“You’re…letting us go?” Edwyn asks.
“I am doing what I should’ve done a long time ago,” Jory replies. “I’m sorry it took all this. Go now,” he says sharply. “There are others who will not understand. Be safe. We will see each other again.”
“Thank you,” Willow tells him, gripping the captain’s hand in both his own. “We are indebted to you. I will see you honored when we return.”
“I hope that is sooner than later, Highness. Look after each other, hear?”
“That was always the plan, sir.”
And then there’s a sound. Tiny. Barely more than a shifting insect that sounds like a thwip.
Jory gasps, and it’s like all the breath has been suddenly stolen from his body.
I don’t understand.
For the longest time I don’t understand.
Until Jory falls with an arrow in his neck, blood pooling on the ground. Already gone. Already dead.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Willow screams.
So do I, though my voice doesn’t sound like my own.
“You killed him,” Peter whispers, his voice a breathless squeak. “Why did you kill him?”
“Move aside,” says a voice in the trees.
“What’re you going to do?”
“That is not for you to question.”
“The orders were to bring them home—”
“Move!”
“Callie, watch out!” Edwyn yanks me down just as another arrow whistles past my ear and thunks straight into the solid trunk of the tree behind us.
I stare at the quivering arrow. The same kind that felled Jory.
In one thoughtless motion, I yank the arrow free and stuff it down my tunic.
Adan steps out of the darkness, a third arrow leveled right at Willow.
“So sad,” he says softly. “So tragic. How will Her Majesty survive another loss? Her last son. The only living member of her family. I wouldn’t be surprised if this killed her. How cruel Dumoor is. How valiantly Helston tried to save the children. Such a tragedy Jory fell defending the young prince. He never stood a chance against the witch’s army. We were lucky any of us survived at all.” He glances back at Peter, stone-still and staring in confusion and horror. “Aren’t you?”
“Aren’t I—?”
“Lucky,” Adan prompts. “To survive.”
The implication settles heavy like cold, wet wool.
“It isn’t your fault it went south. The girl was foolish. If she hadn’t resisted, we would’ve got away in time. It’s no one’s fault but hers that the mission failed. She put us all in critical danger.”
It takes a long, dizzying moment to realize he’s talking about me. And he doesn’t plan for any of us to survive.
Willow scrabbles backward, glaring up at the Helston knight. “You won’t get away with this,” he says, voice wobbly but strong. “They’ll know. As soon as you ride back, they’ll know.”
He flinches as Adan stands right over him.
“Perhaps,” says Adan. “And perhaps they’ll be glad. Perhaps it’ll be a relief. Perhaps no one will ever say it out loud, but perhaps this will be the best thing that ever happened to Helston.”
“I will live,” Willow returns fiercely. “If only to see you brought to justice.”
“Would you like to make a wager, Your Highness?”
Adan draws back the string.
I grope for Satin.
I can’t find her.
The arrow is inches away from Willow’s head.
A snap. A yell. My heart stops.
But it’s not Willow’s yell.
Magic crackles in the air.
Green magic.
Edwyn’s magic.
And Adan is clutching his face with a snarl of agony, blood spraying between his fingers.
“Move! Go! Come on!”
The ground lurches beneath my feet like the forest is on a boat in the middle of a storm, rolling and pitching and trying to knock me to my death.
Only Edwyn’s grip on my arm tethers me to safety.
We run.
“After them! Don’t let them get away!”
We’re not running toward anymore. We’re running away. Running for our lives.
* * *
The forest is alive with magic and the sound of fighting, and I have no idea who’s fighting who, only that we need to get away from both sides and the man hunting us down.
Horses and humans scream and snarl; blades flashing and blood spilling. Willow stumbles. I grab at him. I miss. I can’t tell the difference between dogs and wolves. They both lunge for us with snapping jaws.
And I don’t have Satin.
I left her lying on the ground. Just like I left Jory.
Jory.
There’s no time to grieve.
Only the living get to grieve, and that means we have to survive.
We have to—
Something scorches into my back and for a moment I think I’ve been hit by a wayward spell. I reach behind and touch feathers. My hand comes away slick and red.
My stomach lurches. My eyes don’t understand the vision in front of them.
A crash of branches and Adan lunges after us, face contorted in triumph.
Peter looks small in his shadow.
I thought he was bigger than that.
“Callie!”
I dunno if it’s Willow or Edwyn or Jory or Papa, and it kinda sounds like all of them. It sounds like dragons and wolves and hounds and my own blood rushing out of me.
I fall.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I don’t dream.
I don’t feel.
Is this what dying is?
Many folks believe many different things as far as death goes, but I always figured it would be a short, sharp stop.
Not whatever this is.
What is this?
In the distance, I can feel my own pain, am dimly aware of life moving around me, but I’m not a part of it. Like there’s a wall between us that I’m not allowed through. And I don’t want to go. I’m tired. So bone-tired it’s all that I am and all that I will ever be.
And I hope this doesn’t last forever. If I’m going to be dead, I’d rather stop existing at all.
Except I don’t.
Instead, I dream of dragons and Papa. Of falling, of being caught; of running, running, running from the shadows sweeping across the sky. Papa’s hand in mine, pulling me onward because stopping isn’t a choice, giving up isn’t an option.
Fight, kiddo, fight.
I fight.
I fight until I’m beyond exhausted and sweating. Until I give everything I am and then a whole lot more. I fight the shadows and the arrows, and the men at my back.
I fight until I win.
And then I wake up.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The world is bright, made only of light, and I cannot open my eyes against it. It hurts. My whole self hurts. Like I’m being held together by frayed string and if I move, it’ll snap and I’ll fall apart.
There is nothing to do but hold my breath and wait until, little by little, piece by piece, my body wakes up.
First, my throat and my tongue, so dry I don’t remember the taste of water.
Then, when I cough, my chest. My ribs pull against my skin, emphasizing my bruises and the soft, sore parts, which spread over my sides and down my legs and into my back.
My back.
Memory is the last to come, and it flies fast and sharp as the arrow that felled me.
I got hit.
But I’m alive.
I am alive, aren’t I?
I test the theory and try to move, pushing life into my limbs, my hands, my fingers—
“No, stay still.”
Gentle hands and a familiar voice keep me steady, and I squint through the sharp light. “Willow?” Except it comes out as a sandy rasp from my mouth that tastes completely disgusting.
“Wait.” My bed creaks once when he leaves, then again half a moment later, when he presses something cool into my hands. “Drink.”
I grip the glass in two wobbly hands as Willow helps me sit up, rearranging my pillows so I couldn’t fall even if I tried.
“I’m pathetic,” I mumble around the rim of the glass. The cool, crisp liquid nearly makes me cry in relief when it soothes my parched throat. I’d down it all if I had the energy.
“You’re not pathetic, you’re hurt,” Willow returns sternly, but he smiles when I glare at him. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“Who said anything about better?”
“Well, you’re not dead, are you?”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” I bet death would hurt a whole lot less. I feel chewed up and spat out. I’d rather be digested and have done with it. “What happened?”
Careful not to so much as jostle me, Willow settles at my side to share my pillow. “What do you last remember?”
“I remember…” It’s hard to think through the throbbing ache in my head, harder still to pick apart the dreams from the memories when they’re all tangled together like my hair at its worst. But I brush it out.
I remember blurred movements and indistinct shapes, and masses of sound I can’t pick apart. I remember yelling. I remember fear.
I push back further and further, until one image sticks out clearly.
Jory.
Jory on the ground.
Jory staring right at me.
Jory dead.
My whole body revolts, and I dive over the side of the bed before I puke all over Willow.
Well, “puking” is a generous word. There’s nothing inside me to come out, but I guess my body doesn’t seem to care. I keep retching up spit that tastes so bad my stomach heaves, and the process repeats again and again until I’m scared my insides are gonna end up on the floor.
Willow, to his credit, doesn’t balk. He just sits beside me and rubs my back in slow, soothing circles until I stop feeling like I’m going to die.
Finally, when I’m able to gulp a lungful of air, I croak out, “Tell me they caught him.”
“Adan?”
Just the sound of his name makes my stomach heave again.
Willow’s heavy sigh speaks volumes. “After you fell, Elowen and Teo found us. They brought backup. Dumoor backup. They chased Adan and the others off.”
I pull myself up, wiping sweat-slicked hair out of my face. “Like…let them go?”
“It wasn’t about fighting Helston. It was about saving us. Dumoor saved us.” Willow falls back against my pillows, shaking his head. “Saved from our own people by the enemy…Dreams make more sense, Callie.”
Truer words were never spoken.
“And that’s where we are? Dumoor?”
“Yes. The Roost Teo told us about.”
Dazed, I lie beside Willow and try to take in my surroundings. It doesn’t feel like enemy territory.
A soft patchwork quilt is bunched up around me like I kicked my way out of a cocoon; thin curtains flutter in an open window; the walls are pale stone and the furniture is mismatched and well worn. The door to whatever lies beyond the room is unlatched. And Willow, he looks different. He looks…good. Like the best version of himself, in soft clothes that fit somewhere between a dress and a tunic in a muted color, closer to pink than red. His black hair is glossy and clean and long.
I jerk up. “How long was I out?”
“Little under a week.”
“No way! But your hair, it’s…How…”
Willow blinks, confused at my confusion, then bursts out laughing. “It’s magic! Isn’t it amazing? I had no idea you could use it in such a way. I mean, I suppose it makes sense. You can use magic for anything, but it never occurred to me that you could just…change yourself. Anytime you like. Any way you like.” He sits up, all jittery and excited. “Callie, you should see the way people use magic here. It’s spectacular! And so normal and—I can’t wait for you to see it! And El, you should see her too! I’ll go get her. And Edwyn. And Teo. Everyone’s been so worried about you. For days we thought—we feared…but you’re okay. We’re all okay!” He bounces up, pushing his fingers through his hair. “Stay here, all right? I’ll fetch the others.”
“Like I’m going anywhere.”
Just the thought of moving more than absolutely required makes me feel seasick.
Teo bounds in and smothers me in a hug so fierce it’s like we’ve been friends a whole lifetime and not just a few days, most of which I was out cold.
“Glad you’re alive.”
I hug xem back just as hard, xir body radiating a warmth I didn’t know I needed. “Glad you’re alive.”
I guess that’s the new “hello.”
When Teo finally lets me go and draws back, I take xem in fully. Xe doesn’t look like xe just escaped a prison anymore—xir clothes are fresh and clean, the colors sharp like they’re new. Scales pop bright and pearly against clean skin, and I swear xir horns are longer than before.
“You’re…dragony-er.”
Teo laughs, a tired, happy sound. “I feel like myself again. What about you? How’re you feeling?”
“Like I got shot in the back and died.”
“Well, you look pretty good for a corpse.”
“Thanks! I think.”
We share the rueful smile of two people who went into the underworld and made it out alive.
“I’ve seen worse come through The Roost,” says Teo, xir voice dipping low and serious. “The healers here…they know what they’re doing. I’ll go fetch Nina and tell them you’re awake. She can fix you up without even a scar.”
“I wouldn’t mind a scar,” I call after Teo. “Girls like scars.”
“Knowing you, there will be ample opportunity for scars, Callie.”
My whole body jolts with joy. “El!” And then my mouth drops open when I see her. “Whoa! Your hair!” Where it had once been a cascade down her back, Elowen’s hair now barely tickles her neck, the cut framing her face without hiding it.
“Oh, this?” She fingers the ends where it curls just beneath her ear. “What do you think?”
“It’s amazing!” I wish there was a better word to express exactly how much more perfect it is, even though it was entirely perfect before. Like Teo, Elowen just looks so much more herself. “I love it,” I tell her with so much sincerity I’m scared it sounds false. “Did you do it yourself?”
Elowen nods. “Watching Willow experiment, I realized I wanted to too.” She smirks. “Mother would hate it.”
“Good! Wish I’d been there!”
“I thought about waiting for you, but as soon as the idea came to me, it wouldn’t let me go until I did it. It was like I could suddenly feel every strand of hair on my head and I just wanted to be rid of it. I thought about shearing it all off entirely, but I didn’t want to scare you too much when you woke up.”
I imagine El bald. She still looks amazing. She would look amazing no matter what she did with her hair. “It’s so good to see you, El.”
Her smile gives the faintest wobble, and there’s a hairline crack in her voice. “You say that like I was the one who nearly died.”
“You say that like you were worried or something.”
“Callie—” And then her arms are around me, a hand at the back of my head. She buries her face in my shoulder. Her whole body is quaking. “You nearly died.”
“I didn’t, though.”
“It felt like you did.”
“Sorry about that.”
Elowen glares up at me, her face so close I can count the shades of blue and gray in her eyes. “You should be. Very sorry.”
“Couldn’t be sorrier. Promise.”
“Pinkie promise?”
“Pinkie promise.” She grabs my little finger so tight in hers, I wince. “Ow, El.”
She doesn’t let go. “Don’t do it again.”
I laugh. “Do what? Get shot?”
Elowen’s expression is dead serious. “Yes.”
