Sir Callie and the Dragon's Roost, page 20
“Elowen. Edwyn. I remember the day you were born. I knew you would both be special. I am so glad you have found your way here.”
“You talk like we had a choice.” My voice is sharp to the point of brittle, and my fingernails cut into the soft part of my palm. But her easy countenance, her friendly manner…It’s like we’re just visiting a relative who lives far away and whom we rarely get to see. But that’s not true. That’s not real. And it completely wipes out everything that is.
My heart thudders fast.
We’re not doing this again.
I am sick of being around grown-ups who make up their own reality at our expense.
“You said you see everything,” I say. “From here to Helston. So you know what we went through and why. You know we’re not here by choice.”
The Witch Queen tilts her head with a patient smile. “Fate is a strange thing, child. You were always meant to be here, whether you knew it or not.”
Anger blurs my vision. “What does that even mean?”
“It means that all that has happened and all that has been done to you has led you right here. It was inevitable. And I am so glad. You are exactly where you are supposed to be.”
She’s still smiling. How can she still be smiling?
“Come, sit. Some things should only be discussed over tea.”
Alis motions at a table behind her—sprung like a mushroom out of the stone balcony—and my treacherous mouth starts watering immediately.
Laid out is a feast of scones and jam and cream.
And all at once, every bad feeling, every ill will, evaporates.
I’m done. Sold out. The End.
I never stood a chance.
I manage to keep my composure just long enough to not rush at the table and face-plant right into the dish of cream, instead forcing my feet to move at a demure and excruciatingly civilized pace along with the others’ more cautious gait.
The plates and cups are thick pottery—nothing like the delicate tea set Queen Ewella used—but they’re all carefully patterned with the image of the same kind of bird that adorned the front door. A black-and-white bird.
“The magpie is Pioden’s sigil,” Alis explains when she catches me squinting. “Given our mission, it was the obvious choice.”
“Thief,” Elowen whispers.
“Collector,” Alis corrects her. “We find the lost and bring them home. We discover the treasure among the discarded. I know what it feels like to be turned on by those you loved and who you believed loved you, simply because you don’t quite fit their idea of who you should be. Each of you has been led to believe you are less than you are. Some more than others, yes, but all have fought more than you should ever have needed to just for the right to exist.” One eyebrow twitches as she catches my eye. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I can’t. Every word out of her mouth is true.
“I know you have already been welcomed to The Roost,” says Alis. “But let me repeat: You are all welcome here for as long as you wish to stay, without condition or expectation. I hope your time here will be long enough that we might become reacquainted, that I might have the chance to make up for the time I lost with you, Willow, but I know also that some stories are not so easily rewritten. But for now”—a sweeping gesture of a hand fills each of our plates with scones—“eat. Everything else can wait. We have time.”
I demolish my plateful and go for seconds. I’m on my third before I notice the others aren’t really eating. Elowen is sipping her tea with lowered eyes; Edwyn’s been spreading jam on his first scone for several minutes, and Willow’s hands are in his lap, a frown knotted between his brows. It’s only then that I remember I was angry a few minutes ago, but for the life of me I cannot recall why.
Maybe I was hangry. I’m my own worst enemy when my stomach is growling. Whatever it was, it can’t be that important. Alis is nice. Dumoor is safe. And she’s right, isn’t she? Everything we went through led us right to this moment, and this moment is pretty okay. Maybe it was all worthwhile.
“Jowan wasn’t fate,” says Willow quietly. “Father wasn’t fate. None of it was meant to happen, and it didn’t make me stronger, and if I’m any good now, it’s despite what happened, not because of it!” He glares at his aunt across the table, his eyes full of tears. “You don’t get to call it fate when you’re the one who took them away from me! It was your fault. Everything that happened to me—to us—it was because of you. They fear magic because of you. They hate us because of you! You’re the reason why Father left. You killed Jowan! It is all. Your. Fault!”
Willow’s voice rings clear and loud and sets the magpies that are coasting in the air closest to us fleeing.
None of us speak. None of us dare. I can’t even swallow my mouthful of scone, turned to clay in my throat.
We each hold our breath, all eyes on Alis, waiting for the sweet façade to finally crack into something violent and vicious, like lightning breaking through soft clouds to strike us down and put us back in our rightful place.
But all that happens is a twitch of one blond eyebrow and the tilt of a golden head. “Is that what they told you about me?”
Willow doesn’t answer. I don’t think he can answer; stunned into silence by his own insolence. Elowen and Edwyn look like they’re waiting and wishing for the ground to swallow them up whole. It even takes me a few good goes before I can get my voice working again.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Everyone knows the stories.”
“Stories?” Alis repeats with an amused curl of the lips. “I do know how Helston loves their stories. Their epic ballads of daring deeds. There are none so talented in twisting a tale as Helston’s elite.” She reaches for her cup and raises it in a sort of toast. “Go ahead, child, tell me a story, and make it an exciting one.”
I falter. “About…you?”
“Of course!”
I study the Witch Queen carefully. I can’t tell if she’s for real or trying to lure me into a trap. It feels like all those moments when Mama would sweet-talk me into telling the truth about why I had come home covered in mud with rips in my skirt; she’d promise amnesty, then punish me anyway. Truth is not always safe.
Alis smiles. “Trust me, Callie. There is nothing you can tell me that is worse than my imagination. Don’t forget—I was a Helston princess once upon a time.” She winks. “I know the kind of talk that gets spun through the court. I wasn’t their first villain, and I’m certain I won’t be their last.”
“I’m afraid we may have taken that spot,” says Elowen bleakly, and Alis laughs a full-belly laugh that washes away the worst of the tension so at least the air is breathable again.
“Then you are in good company. This little community we have forged, it is a haven for all Helston’s enemies. Each of us different. All of us united.”
“So, what? You saying the stories aren’t true? They’re just stuff Helston made up?”
“All good stories sprout from a seed of truth,” Alis tells me. “I know the part I played in my own, and I accept responsibility.” She sighs and sits back, her gaze on the teacup cradled in her lap; then she raises her eyes and asks us, “Will you permit me to tell you my story?”
“Yes!” Elowen sits forward in her seat so fast she nearly topples right off it. “Please do!”
Her enthusiasm is, apparently, enough to speak for the rest of us. Alis nods, pours more tea, and settles into her tale.
“Like all who were raised in the palace, Helston was my whole world. Its rules were all I knew and all I ever expected. I was my parents’ firstborn, the oldest and the strongest, but from the moment he was born, I knew that my little brother had already surpassed me. It didn’t matter that Richard fumbled his lessons and could never take anything seriously; his destiny was set in stone. It didn’t matter that I worked a thousand times harder and did everything anyone asked of me; I was always just the crown prince’s sister. I existed in his shadow, and there was nothing I could do to escape it. Anytime I tried, I was returned firmly to my place behind him, while all Richard had to do was breathe and the court cheered.
“I accepted my frustration as part of myself. Helston doesn’t change. Helston cannot change. But the older I got, the harder it became, and the bigger my resentment grew. It wasn’t fair, and no one was interested in making it fair as long as everything stayed the same. As the princess, I had my pick of companions, but there was only one I considered my friend. My partner. With only a few weeks between our birthdays, we grew up together. We shared every moment of our lives, every secret dream, every forbidden wish. When we played, we played as queens together, ruling as one, with no one above us and no one who dared tell us to moderate ourselves.
“But it wasn’t enough to keep our hopes in the pretend world. I needed them to be real. And we could do it, she and I. We could do it together. We were the strongest in Helston, honing our magic in secret beyond anything Helston told us was possible, even if we were the only two who knew of our potential. But she was afraid. A child’s game is one thing, but true rebellion—treason—is something else entirely. I pushed too hard, and I pushed her away. I watched her leave me, and I watched her become queen on her own. At someone else’s side. In someone else’s shadow.”
“Mother,” Willow whispers, and Alis nods, her expression deep with grief.
“We would’ve been great together, she and I. We would’ve been everything. But Ewella lost her courage. I watched her marry my brother and look at him the way she used to look at me. I watched her raise the next future king, another unexceptional boy who would never have to work for the crown on his head. And then I saw you, Willow, and I knew you were something else. Something special. Something like me. And you would be ignored and stifled just the same; crushed by a world I had helped create by holding my tongue and keeping the peace.
“I wanted more for you. I wanted everything for you that I had wanted for myself. And I knew you would never have it in Helston, the most beautiful crystal cage.” A smile slips across Alis’s lips. “So I broke it. I shattered the façade and I accepted my fate as the banished princess, the Witch Queen of Dumoor, Helston’s greatest enemy.” Pride flecks every word. She wears the titles like a crown. She wears them well. “I showed them all what they should really be afraid of.”
Elowen is literally on the edge of her seat, elbows on the table, absorbing the tale like it’s a life-giving elixir.
Willow, on the other hand, is not smiling. “Is that why you killed Jowan? Because you were jealous of Father?” His fingers are white where they grip the lip of the table, chest heaving with anger. “And what did you do to Father? Did you kill him too?”
Alis shakes her head. “I did not kill Jowan—”
“Maybe not personally, but you ordered him dead!”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie!” It’s a desperate plea, more pain than rage. “I am sick of people lying to me! I am strong enough to bear the truth, so tell me! Tell me what happened to my brother and father! Because I remember. Every moment. It was Jowan’s first mission. It wasn’t even supposed to be a battle, but I didn’t want him to go anyway. I didn’t want him to leave Helston. But he promised it would be okay. He promised he would come home. I believed him. But when the riders returned—” Willow turns his face away and grits his teeth, fighting desperately not to crack.
I know because I feel it too. The lump choking his words is in my throat too, the memory vivid and vicious. I wasn’t in Helston back then. I was in Clystwell, waiting by the gate for Papa to ride home. Just as Willow said, it wasn’t supposed to be a battle, so when Papa came home war-torn and haunted, I didn’t understand.
It was a long time before he told me why he was never going back to Helston, why he was retiring and why he was willing to give up everything for my sake. When he told me Jowan had fallen that day, it was like I’d lost my own brother. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t right. Jowan was good, and good people weren’t supposed to fall. Not so easily. Not so quickly.
“Sir Nick said it happened fast,” Willow whispers. “That he couldn’t have suffered. That’s what I heard him tell Mother and Father. He said they’d been caught off guard and attacked unprovoked. That they didn’t stand a chance.”
I nod. “That’s what Papa told me too.”
“Mother as well,” says Elowen. “I remember that day also. Father was gone, occupied with Their Majesties. Mother sat us down and told us what had happened. We weren’t allowed to leave the apartment until Father came home. It was the longest he’d ever been away from us.”
“Lord Peran was with me,” says Willow bleakly. “He said Mother and Father were too grief-stricken to take care of me. He said I had to stay out of everyone’s way, that I would just be a reminder of everything the Crown had lost. I didn’t see them again until after the funeral. Even then, I knew they were busy making plans for what they were supposed to do without Jowan. I was the new crown prince.” He raises his eyes to Alis. “Isn’t that you wanted all along? Isn’t that what you said? How can you tell us you didn’t do it while admitting in the same breath that you didn’t think Jowan or Father deserved to be on the throne? You finally got what you wanted, so just admit it!”
“I never wanted them dead,” says Alis softly. “I loved my brother and I loved Jowan. Just because I didn’t believe they deserved the powers and privileges they possessed merely by virtue of their birth doesn’t mean I wanted them dead. When I heard that Jowan had fallen, I made certain that it was not at the hand of one of my own. If it had been, I would’ve ensured that they faced a just sentence. I remember that day, too, just as well as you do. As I told you, I have eyes everywhere, from here to Helston. I watched Helston ride out and I watched them attack my people. Unprovoked. I saw Jowan fall, but it was neither by my hand nor on my orders.”
Willow stares at her a few moments longer, and then he slumps, defeated, head falling into his hands. I know that feeling—everyone with a different story, and the truth is getting harder and harder to grasp. Exhausted just by trying to hold on to the shards of a thousand different stories when all you need is a single truth.
I put a hand on his back and glare at Alis. “Why should we believe you above anyone else? Far as we know, everyone’s got their own version of the story and none of them are true. What makes you any different?”
The Witch Queen pauses, painted lips parted. Then she sets down her teacup and rises.
“Because I can prove it,” she says, holding out a bejeweled hand. “Because I can show you. Come.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
We follow Alis back into her granite palace. My legs feel weird, like they’re not part of me, and my heart is racing so fast I’m afraid it’s gonna run right out of my chest. I’m scared of what she wants to show us, and this isn’t why we requested an audience with Alis. But every time I try to think of a way to get us back on track, my mind slides right off the thought. I can’t get a grip on my own head, like my brain has turned to slick oil.
There’s nowhere else to go. No more stairs, no more doors.
We stop beneath the pointed ceiling of the tallest tower, the crisscrossed eaves full of magpies, which stare down at us with cocked heads and curious black eyes.
Alis whistles a single high note and the birds take off in unison, streaming out of the single small window.
“It is better that we are alone,” Alis explains, ushering us into the tiny, round room with no doors, no furniture, no nothing except a single dip in the floor, perfectly round and filled with water so tranquil it’s almost invisible. She settles on the far side, arranging her skirts around her, and motions for us to sit.
The air is so still, it feels almost disrespectful to breathe.
We each take a spot equidistant from each other, making up five points around the pool.
Willow is across from me, his face pale and somber. El sits between me and Alis, hands folded neatly in her lap. Edwyn is on my other side, gnawing on his lip.
Once we’re all settled, Alis leans and touches the tip of one finger to the water’s surface.
It ripples. It shimmers. It glows.
And then it breaks into a picture as clear as though we were looking through a window.
It’s a bird’s-eye view—a bird soaring over the moors below gray clouds. A summer’s day, yes, but what does that even mean in Wyndebrel?
Far below, a company of tiny horses and riders trot across the countryside.
The picture pulls us in, down, closer, and my heart leaps as I recognize Papa on Bayna and, beside him—
Willow makes a choked sound. His fingers are curled tight around the lip of the pool like he’s about to pitch right into it—back into a world where his brother is still alive.
Prince Jowan throws his head back as he laughs.
The sound—so familiar and forgotten; so real—hurts my chest.
I steal a glance at Willow, who is valiantly fighting tears as he watches his brother. What a difference it would’ve made if Jowan hadn’t ridden out that day. Peran would never have dared even try to touch him.
“How are we seeing this?” Elowen asks, softer than a breath. “I’ve never heard of this magic before.”
“Dragons have their uses,” Alis murmurs.
So that’s what this is. Not a bird’s-eye view. A dragon’s.
Kensa’s.
“Note how it doesn’t attack, only watches. My dragons are my eyes. I see what they see.”
And now so do we.
And we hear only what they hear too—just the rush of air and the chirping of birds. I know that I’m on solid ground, I even press my palms flat to the floor to prove it to myself, but my brain doesn’t quite believe me. I suck in my dizziness and make myself watch the scene unfold.
