Sir Callie and the Dragon's Roost, page 17
They are all so completely at ease with themselves, with each other. With us.
Dolan conjures a speckled feather in the air, blown up three times its normal size to show Edwyn the particular pattern on the underside, and no one in The Roost even turns a head at his display of magic. The affection between Feena and Inis is uninhibited and on full display, and I am the only one who can’t stop staring. They love each other so much; it’s clear in every breath they take and every word they speak. And they don’t care who sees, because it doesn’t matter who sees. There’s no one around shooting them dirty looks or muttering behind their hands. Trust me, I know the signs. They’re allowed to just…be.
Not just tolerated but accepted.
Feena catches me staring, and I must look a right fool, because she laughs heartily at me. “I don’t suppose you see many lesbians in Helston, do you, kid?”
“Les—?” The word feels vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
“That’s our word,” Inis explains with a gentle smile. “There are countless words people choose from to describe themselves if they want to. Folks around here tend to get specific with their words in a way that most beyond Dumoor don’t.”
“Or can’t,” Feena adds, and Inis inclines her head in agreement.
“Why can’t they?” Willow asks, shuffling over to join our conversation.
“Danger,” says Inis. “If you proclaim yourself different in a way folks don’t like or don’t understand, that puts you at risk. But even if you choose not to identify yourself out loud, that doesn’t change who you are on the inside. There’re no rules.” She grins. “That’s kind of the point. But words have power too, and there’s community in them. And comfort, knowing there are others just like you when maybe you’ve been made to feel strange or alone before. It’s up to you.”
Willow’s eyes bug right out of his head. “What words?” he asks breathlessly. “Tell me the words. All of them! I want to pick mine!”
This conversation goes long into the night, so late that we’re the last ones up.
I’m tired, but I don’t care. Obviously, I knew there were different kinds of people beyond girls and boys, males and females, and it’s not just ladies and men falling in love with each other, but I had no idea there was a whole dictionary of words to describe them!
I’m nonbinary, and that means I’m not a girl or a boy. Nonbinary. It fits me like a glove made just for me. A word, finally, for who I am, when I thought I was by myself for such a long time.
“What does that mean for me?” asks Elowen, folding her arms. “If Callie was a girl, I would be a lesbian. If Callie was a boy, I would be straight. I don’t think ‘bi’ fits me. I don’t like boys. I just like Callie.”
My mouth drops and I can’t shut it again. She just…said it. Out loud. In front of everyone. Like it’s no big deal. When actually it’s a really big deal! The biggest deal! And what am I supposed to say? That I like her back? Because I do, obviously, but my head’s full of bees and I can’t make my voice work and if I don’t say it back right now, what if she changes her mind? And Willow’s grinning at me something awful and Edwyn’s staring at El like she’s suddenly started talking a whole new language.
And Elowen’s just sitting there like everything’s normal and fine.
Then she catches my eye and smirks, and my face burns so hot I’m surprised I don’t set the whole Roost on fire. I’m a useless nonparticipant as the others hash it out.
“If you’re not comfortable with the more specific labels, there are broader ones you can use, like ‘queer.’ But if you feel ‘lesbian’ fits you, Elowen, it’s yours.”
“But Callie’s not a girl,” Elowen insists. “So that can’t be right.”
“I know some trans men who still identify as lesbians, and plenty of nonbinary folks who do too. It’s about what fits you.”
Willow sits up. “What are trans men?”
“Men who were born into a female body,” Inis explains. “And trans women are women who were born into male bodies.”
I bob my head, trying to keep up. “And nonbinary is neither, right?”
When Sulio nods to me, Willow asks, “But what if…what if you might be both?” His fingers fidget in his lap. “Sometimes one, sometimes the other, and sometimes…both. Is that allowed?”
Sulio squeezes Willow’s shoulder with a smile as warm as soup on a cold day. “Whatever and whoever you are, it is allowed. Everything you just said, Willow, that’s exactly what Dolan said when they were working themselves out.”
Willow’s eyes go wide and round with wonder. “Really? You’re like…me?”
Dolan winks, grinning. “Pretty neat, isn’t it, not to be special?”
“Yes,” Willow breathes. “Though I don’t think ‘they’ fits me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I like being ‘he.’ Even on days when I don’t feel much like a boy. Is that okay? Or is it cheating? It sort of feels like cheating.”
“I promise you it isn’t,” says Dolan, laughing. “I promise you also that that feeling is very common among those coming in new to all this. You don’t have to earn the right to be yourselves. There isn’t an exam, and there are no rules, and just because you feel a certain way one day, that doesn’t bind you to that identity for the rest of your life. People grow and change, and their words change with them.”
“Like shoes,” I whisper, and Dolan dips his head.
“Just like shoes.”
Willow’s hands flutter excitedly, his legs bouncing. “And perhaps I have two pairs of shoes. And some days I like to wear one, and some days the other. And perhaps there are days when I might wear one of each.” He beams when Inis claps her hands. “I wonder what Mother would think if I told her.”
“She would tell you to keep your mouth shut before the council lords overhear,” says Elowen bluntly. “And she would cut off all your hair and retailor your tunics so they couldn’t be mistaken for dresses. What?” she says when I elbow her with a glare. “It’s true. Isn’t that exactly what happened?”
“Yes,” I hiss. “But that’s not the point.”
El opens her mouth to argue, then catches sight of Willow and winces.
He has, to be very specific, withered; sinking heavily back into the deep sofa so it nearly swallows him whole.
“Willow, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, you did,” the vaguely Willow-shaped lump in the sofa mumbles. “And you’re right. Mostly. I just…” He sinks in deeper. “If we weren’t in Helston, I know she would be happy with whoever I was. I know she would love me. She does love me. She’s just…scared.”
I snort so hard it’s more like a sneeze. “Funny way of showing love. Punishing you because other people suck.”
“Callie.” It’s Elowen’s turn to scold me, and I pull a face.
“Sorry. It’s complicated. I get it.”
Feena kneels beside Willow. “It’s hard when the people we love the most don’t seem to want us to be our best selves. And, yes, most often that stems from fear. They can believe with their whole hearts and all the love in the world that they are protecting us, when really they’re the ones who are hurting us the most. We can understand that they love us, and we can love them too, but their intention doesn’t lessen the pain they cause. It’s okay to feel different things—even opposite things—about one person.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Willow,” says Sulio, and the other grown-ups all nod and murmur their agreement. “Maybe one day you can see her again as your whole true self and show her that she doesn’t need to be afraid on your behalf.”
“I’d like that,” says Willow from inside the sofa, just as I’m thinking that I never want to set foot in Helston again, no matter how strong I am.
The arrow, fletched with Helston crimson and gold, the colors I was ready to pledge my life and my loyalty to, shot right between my shoulders…
They don’t deserve any of us at our best.
“We were thinking and talking,” says Feena when Willow stretches with a yawn that makes me realize how tired I am too. “And obviously it’s unconditionally up to you, and you don’t have to decide right away…but if you wanted a home here—something other than The Roost, which is mostly just a temporary place for new folks—you’re more than welcome to become part of our brood. All of you. There’s plenty of room.”
“We can make room,” Inis corrects her. “It’s a little tight and much smaller than what you’re used to. But it’s home, and if you want it, it’s yours.”
The dragon nods enthusiastically. “Yes! Come and stay with us! It’ll be so much fun! There’re hammocks!”
As tempting as the promise of sleeping in hammocks is, none of us make any move to accept; we trade uneasy glances that are, for once, unanimous. Even El, basically ready to swear fealty to Dumoor, holds back. It’s one thing to pledge allegiance and make friends, but it’s something else altogether to commit to the hospitality of strangers. Living in someone else’s home feels…scary.
“Maybe later,” I say. “Thanks for the offer, though. We definitely appreciate it. And maybe later. If we stick around.”
Teo’s ears start to droop in disappointment, but Sulio squeezes xir shoulder and nods, understanding. “Everything in its right time.”
The familiar words are a punch I hadn’t seen coming, and my throat closes around tears I can’t stop.
“Callie, what’s the matter?” El asks.
“I dunno…” I scrub my eyes hard, but it’s like a flood’s been released. “That’s something Neal always said. And this place—all of this—just keeps reminding me of him.”
Dolan sits up so sharp it’s like he’s been struck by lightning. “Neal? You know a Neal who was once here?”
“Yeah.” Thinking about Neal is bad enough, but talking about him…I really don’t want to start bawling. “Neal’s my other dad. He’s the kindest, smartest person in the whole world and he’s really good with magic and he taught me how to be my best self, and Papa and I met him in Eyrewood after we ran away from Mama, and now they’re both in Helston and probably in trouble ’cause of me and I’m here and—”
Inis makes a sweeping motion with her hand, turning the air into a pale, blank canvas upon which she paints a portrait of a young man, maybe even a teenager, with a fierce wariness in his dark eyes and long, wavy hair the color of rosewood. He looks different—thinner, angrier, less sure of himself—but he is, undoubtedly, my Neal.
I lose the battle with grief and guilt and burst into tears. Real, ugly sobs that feel more like an earthquake than something that could fit into my body.
“How did you know Neal?” I hear Elowen ask close by my ear as she puts her arms around me.
Feena’s voice matches the feeling in my chest. “He was part of our brood for many years. The gap he left behind is impossible to fill.”
“Not that it wasn’t understandable,” Dolan adds. “Or a long time coming. As sudden as it felt to us.”
“What d’you mean?” I ask through my snuffles.
Sulio opens his mouth but shuts it again on a small shake of the head from Dolan.
“It isn’t our story to tell, child,” he says gently. “We don’t possess all the information to give you a fair picture of what happened.”
“Kensa does,” says Inis. “Kensa and Neal, they were close as anything. If you have questions, you should ask xem.”
“You’re wrong,” I blurt out. My face burns as they all stare at me, but I hold my ground and take a deep breath that’s way more wobbly than I’d like. “Kensa and Neal weren’t friends. They’re enemies. We met Kensa months ago, and xe tried to kill us, and when Neal stopped xem, xe tried to kill Neal too. That is not what friends do. And Neal explained everything to me after. He told me all about Dumoor and Kensa and why he left and what Dumoor is. I don’t need answers,” I say when Inis opens her mouth. “I know everything. Maybe…maybe you’re the ones who don’t know. You said it yourselves: You don’t have the whole picture. Maybe Kensa lied to you. That’s what dragons do, anyway, isn’t it? Dragons lie.”
It’s not until the last syllable leaves my mouth that I realize exactly what I said.
My stomach flips. “Teo, I didn’t—”
Teo’s ears are flat to xir head, yellow eyes huge with hurt. “Is that what you think of me, Callie?”
“No! Of course I don’t! That’s not what I mean. I don’t think you lie. You’re different, you’re not like—” Other dragons. I grimace. “I’m really sorry.”
“How many dragons have you met?” Feena asks. Her voice doesn’t sound cold, but the guilt twisting my gut sure makes it feel like she’s yelling. I cringe.
“Two. Just two. Kensa and Teo.”
“And what does your experience tell you? Your own lived experience, not the tales that get more and more twisted from person to person. Your. Own. Experience.”
The Roost is stone-silent, with my friends, old and new, and the grown-ups all watching me and waiting for my response. I owe them a thought-out answer.
“Kensa tried to hurt us and trick us into joining Dumoor,” I say slowly. “But Teo helped us. Xe kept xir word and we’re alive because of xem. I consider Teo one of my best friends. I’m really sorry,” I tell Teo again. “Truly. It was a rubbish thing to say. I wasn’t thinking. It’s just…that’s what everyone’s always told me. Always. Dragons lie. Dragons are bad. But that’s not true. And I know that’s not true. Not always. And…and humans lie too.”
“And even if it isn’t their intention,” says Inis, “folks can think they know something when really they don’t. That’s how dangerous rumors start and wrong assumptions are made, and soon enough, a whole species is being condemned by those who have no experience of their own to know it’s wrong.”
“Dragons are not the only reviled beings,” says Dolan, putting an arm around Teo’s shoulders. “But they are the least understood, and the rarest. Most dragons live their whole lives never revealing themselves. The ones who do are usually hunted and killed. Very few dragons live long enough to reach their full power.”
“How old’s Kensa?” I ask.
“As old as the moors themselves.” Sulio gives a crooked smile. “At least, that’s what Kensa says if you ever ask xem.”
“Apparently if you count the ridges on a dragon’s horn, that’s how old they are,” Teo adds, touching xir own. “It’s right for me, at least.”
I don’t think I ever want to be close enough to Kensa to count the ridges on xir horns, but I’m glad Teo’s still talking to me.
Every moment away from Helston, I’m realizing that I don’t just know nothing; what I do know is wrong. Especially about dragons.
Sulio catches sight of my knotted frown. “Don’t worry, Callie. Learning takes time, and relearning takes longer. Give yourself some grace.”
I grimace. It’s way easier to give grace to other people than keep any for myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I lie awake that night, my thoughts tumbling and tripping over each other, too big to find their own space without displacing another.
Neal and dragons and Helston and Dumoor and Teo and witches and friends and enemies and—
It’s too much.
My head is too small. This room is too small. This world is too small.
All my thoughts are bunched together, crowded around my bed, taking up all the air.
I can’t breathe.
My legs are still a little watery, but they work and that’s enough.
I stumble out of bed, out of my room, out of The Roost.
* * *
Moonlight floods the glade like spilled milk; stars speckle the sky, bright and free.
I suck in lungfuls of cool night air, my face turned up toward the stars. They are the same stars that can be seen in Helston and Eyrewood. I can pick out the same constellations Neal used to point out to me.
“See that one there?” he said, one arm around my shoulders, the other reaching to the sky. “He’s called Orion. If you’re ever lost, look to the stars and he will lead you home.”
I don’t think that’s true anymore. How can Orion know where home is for me when I don’t even know myself? I don’t know if it’s Eyrewood, where I felt safest, or Clystwell, where I was born. I don’t know if it’s with Papa and Neal, or here with Elowen and Willow and Edwyn, among a community that embraces us exactly as we are.
Home is where the people who love you are, but what about when they’re scattered? Am I supposed to choose? How am I supposed to choose?
You already made your choice, a little voice in the back of my head reminds me. You made your choice the moment you left Helston.
I guess that’s true.
I chose my friends over my dads.
I chose to put my faith in a dragon’s promise.
I chose to step into Dumoor, and I have chosen, so far, to stay.
I have chosen to stay.
The thought is small and fragile, but the longer it lingers, the more certain it grows.
These people are good people.
There is a war coming.
We can help them.
We must help.
We must fight.
For Dumoor. Against Helston.
I tremble in the cool air, my back hitting the rough gray stone of The Roost, and close my eyes.
I see the bridge burning and I remember being glad.
You are not the first, nor will you be the last, little knight.
