Sir Callie and the Dragon's Roost, page 21
The riders sit easy in their saddles, unaware of the beast above them, and the dragon soars a little lower on silent wings. I don’t understand how the knights don’t notice Kensa. I guess dragons have decent invisibility magic too?
Lower and lower, and faces come into focus. Papa’s, the prince’s. Captain Jory is there too, and my heart pangs with fresh grief. There’s a cluster of riders I don’t recognize, concealed by their helmets. One of them nudges their horse to a trot and rides to stop beside Jory. He points into the trees, murmuring something to Jory, who shakes his head.
I lean forward, straining to hear the conversation, but there’s nothing except birdcalls and the whisper of wind.
Papa notices and nudges Bayna beside them, leaving Prince Jowan behind. Alone.
My pulse thumps loud in my blood.
I know what’s coming. We all do. And every second that passes is a second closer.
Everything inside me wants to look away, like somehow not seeing it means it won’t happen. Like it’s still possible to save Jowan.
It’s already done.
He’s already dead.
I glance at Willow. I wish he wasn’t here. He shouldn’t be seeing this. It’s not too late. It hasn’t happened yet.
I start to move, to open my mouth to call a halt to this whole thing because it doesn’t matter. Jowan’s dead. That’s it. It doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.
“Look,” says Elowen, pointing.
The air has shifted, the riders gathering close together. Papa and Jory draw their swords first, facing the trees. No one’s laughing anymore.
We hold our breath with the Helston company. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.
And then the scene explodes.
People spill from the trees like rabbits chased out by hounds. Even from high in the sky, their panic is visible. Tangible. The Helston company wheels in shock, weapons at the ready.
But the charging people…they’re not attacking. They’re fleeing.
Fear collides with fear in an explosion of violence, of magic, of blades. Everyone is trying to defend themselves from an attack that never took place.
And amid all that—
Willow’s cry is a broken thing, like the arrow struck him.
The arrow.
Wait—
I lean so far I nearly dive right into the water, but I have to see, I have to be sure.
The moment before Jowan falls, I glimpse red.
Not blood. Not a crimson tunic.
A red feather.
A Helston feather.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
No one but us—two years late—notices. The battle continues around the fallen prince, and through the chaos a single figure darts in and snatches the arrow out of Jowan’s back. They’re gone before I can catch an identifying detail, but one thing’s for sure—
“They lied,” Elowen breathes. “They told everyone it was magic, but it wasn’t.” She raises her face from the shimmering scene, and there’s a strange triumphant light in her eyes. “I knew it. Helston murdered—”
“No.” Willow scrambles up, backing away from the pool and shaking his head so hard it’s like he’s trying to dislodge the image from his mind. “This is wrong. This is a lie. That isn’t what happened!”
“A dragon’s eye cannot lie.” Alis rises, approaching Willow slowly and softly, gathering him into her arms. He lets her, accepting the comfort, letting her hold him up on legs that don’t want to work. “I’m sorry, child,” she murmurs into his hair. “It is a hard thing, when all you know is false. And I’m sorry, too, all of you, that you suffered so terribly beneath this lie. I promise you now, Helston will pay. I will not stop until reparations have been made.”
“I want to help,” says Elowen at once, her voice quavering with determination. “I want to fight. On your side. Against Helston. I was the chancellor’s daughter and I know Helston better than anyone. Let me help you.”
Alis inclines her head. “You are sweet to offer, Elowen. But this is not your fight. It is time that the four of you rest and let the grown-ups fight for you.”
The words—strung together in an all-too-familiar sentence—buzz in my head.
How many times have we been told that?
How much good has it done us?
I pick myself up, my own legs trembling. “No. This is our fight, and we’ve every right to be a part of it. That’s why we came up here, isn’t it?” I look to the others for support, but Elowen’s already made her mind up and Willow’s face is hidden in Alis’s shoulder. Edwyn hasn’t moved from his place by the pool, and he’s still staring down into the water, frowning.
I take a deep breath and face Alis. “Look, I get it. You don’t know us and you feel bad and want to make things right, but leaving us out isn’t the way to do it. You haven’t been in Helston for forever. You don’t know what it’s like on the inside. We do. We can help. And maybe we can work out a way to get through this without bloodshed—”
Elowen wheels on me so fierce and fast, I nearly trip backward. “Why? After everything Helston has done to us, why on earth would you want to protect them?”
I stand my ground, mirroring her glare. “Because I don’t believe in making innocent people suffer for one person’s crime, Elowen!”
“One person? You think one person is responsible? It was a cover-up, Callie! They lied to give themselves an excuse! That’s not one person! That’s the whole court! The king, the queen, Captain Jory, Sir Nick—”
“You’re wrong!” I have to clench my fists tight to keep myself from clamping my hands over my ears; my nails cut into my palms. “They didn’t know! There’s no way they could’ve known!”
“And there’s no way they couldn’t.”
We stare each other down, our stubbornness frustratingly equal.
“Now is not the time to bicker,” says Alis gently. “Whoever your enemy is, it is not each other. You all have a lot to process. Please, return to The Roost and allow yourselves to be taken care of. You have my word that we will talk again soon.” To me and Elowen, she says, “I understand your passions and your eagerness to set things right, but you must let your feelings settle before making big decisions.”
“We’re not kids,” I snap.
But the look Alis gives me fizzles out the hottest part of my temper.
“Yes, Callie, you are. Even if you haven’t been treated as such. I know the way Helston treats its young.” She carefully extracts Willow from her embrace, helping him stand on his own. The prince looks utterly spent, hair a mess, face blotchy. I don’t know if he’ll even be able to make it all the way down to The Roost. “From the moment they are big enough to follow orders, children are treated like soldiers. Girls too,” she adds with a nod to El. “Obey, be quiet, don’t argue. Everything you do must be for the good of Helston. That is not the way we do things here.”
“What about Teo?”
There is a moment—a fraction of a second—when Alis’s placid countenance flickers. I don’t think anyone else notices. Maybe I imagined it, because the gentle earnestness is right back in place when Alis says, “I am forever indebted to you for bringing Teo home. When we heard she had been captured—”
“Xe,” I say. “Teo’s pronoun is ‘xe.’ ”
“Of course. Forgive me.” Alis dips her head. “It is a recent change. I still haven’t got used to their new words yet.”
My heart thudders, each wrong word like a kick to the gut. Doesn’t matter that it’s not me being misgendered. Doesn’t matter that Teo’s not here. Everyone deserves basic respect always. “Xir. You haven’t got used to xir new words.”
“Xir,” Alis repeats, her smile taking on a strange brittleness. “As I say, when we heard Teo had been captured, I was devastated. The responsibility was entirely mine. Teo was keen to join the scouting party, and I had been advised that Teo was ready. I should’ve known better, but I always like to give people a chance when they ask for it. Be assured, I will not take such a risk again. Every life is precious.”
I feel myself nodding—yes, that makes sense—but on the inside I’m screaming that this feels wrong. Except that’s all it is: a feeling. And one I don’t have a name for.
“It’s been a hard day for all of you,” says Alis, a sweep of her hand ushering us out of her strange tower room. “A hard week. Return to The Roost and be kind to yourselves. I will be here when you are strong enough to talk.”
I’m strong enough now, I want to argue, even as my feet follow her command. Except I can’t get my head straight, and Willow’s in no state to think about anything right now, and Elowen—
I glance at her as she strides past me, her face set rigid. Angry.
Before we talk to Alis again, El and I need to work things out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Except she doesn’t talk to me. All the way back down the hill and through the forest and into The Roost and up the stairs and into her room, where she slams the door as though I’m the one who killed Jowan and covered it up.
“I…think I just want to be by myself,” Willow mumbles, dragging himself into his own bedroom. “Good night.”
Like it isn’t barely past midday.
I stare at each closed door, unsure what do to next. I don’t want to leave things weird with El, nor do I want to leave Willow miserable by himself. But neither of them wants to talk to me right now and I don’t know how to fix this.
I don’t know if I can fix this.
I don’t even know what I feel.
There’s no way it was a big cover-up like Elowen says. Papa loved Jowan just like he loves me. If he knew who’d killed Jowan, he would’ve seen them brought to justice. And why would anyone in Helston want Prince Jowan dead?
Jowan was born to rule, not just by virtue of his birth but in everything he was. Maybe I didn’t get to spend much time with him—I certainly didn’t know him the way Willow did—but the few summers he spent at Clystwell as Papa’s squire still burn bright and alive in my memory. Jowan was brave and fair, funny and kind. He treated every single person he met equally and was always eager to help out anywhere he could, never using his status to pass off hard work to others. I didn’t even know he was a prince until I overheard Papa and Mama talking one evening. He didn’t fit any picture of a prince I had in my head, and now, when I think about the kind of king he would’ve been, I nearly cry. Jowan’s Helston would’ve been the kind of Helston I could believe in. A Helston I would be happy to live and die for. Jowan would never have stood aside and compromised as Lord Peran and the council picked apart everything good in the kingdom.
I don’t get it….
“Callie?”
“Huh?” Edwyn’s voice startles me. I didn’t realize he was right there, lingering awkwardly like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. “Sorry, my head’s all over the place.”
“Mine too.” He shifts on his bad leg, brow deeply furrowed.
I try to wait patiently for him to find the words, but waiting for Edwyn to speak is like waiting for a pot to boil. Except longer.
“What’s up?”
“I…” His gaze flicks nervously between El’s door and Willow’s; then he shakes his head with a brusque, “Do you want to spar?”
The request is so unexpected, I burst out laughing. “Yes! Please, yes!”
There isn’t another method in the whole world guaranteed to clear my head as well as hitting things with sticks.
* * *
Unfortunately, sticks are all we have to work with.
There isn’t a single sword in sight anywhere near The Roost, and when I finally decide to ask someone, they look at me like I just asked if I could personally murder all their loved ones, please?
We beat a hasty retreat.
“I guess Teo wasn’t exaggerating when xe said there’s a total separation between Pioden and The Roost,” I mutter, foraging for two relatively sword-sized sticks in the undergrowth of an enormous oak tree.
It’s quiet out here, nothing to disturb us but distant birdcalls and whispering wind, and I’m glad we came. I’ve never been so thankful for peace.
Especially after today.
I grasp for the tree as a fresh wave of grief batters through me and leaves me breathless.
I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to believe.
I don’t want Elowen to be right.
“What do you think of her?” I ask Edwyn, letting my back hit the trunk and sliding down to sit among the roots. “Alis. Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
Edwyn looks at me like he forgot I was there. Or that he was here. Pale and confused, he looks like he’s lost.
I push the thought of Alis aside for a moment. We came out here to relax and blow off steam, doing what he and I do best: beating each other up. I grin, handing Edwyn the longer of the two sticks. “You can take first strike if you like?”
Edwyn flinches.
The way he reminds me of Willow way back when makes my heart hurt.
I drop both sticks and put my hands up where he can see them. “Hey, it’s okay. What’s up?”
His lips part briefly, then lock up tight like there’s some invisible force keeping his mouth shut. Frustration flickers across his face, and there’s something in his eyes that is begging for help.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what is wrong.
“You didn’t really want to spar, did you?”
The tiniest shake of the head.
“D’you want to…talk?”
He nods—yes—but the whisper says, “I can’t.”
It’s like there’re two of him. One on the outside and one on the inside. And the one on the inside is scared to death.
“Hey, look, shall we go back? I feel like we should go find El. She’d be better at…whatever this is.”
“No, don’t.” His voice is high and urgent, leaving no room for argument. “She mustn’t…She can’t—” He grimaces like there’s a bad taste in his mouth, like words keep getting stuck in his throat.
Honestly, I’m scared he’s gonna choke.
“No, we’re going back,” I tell him firmly, looking for a way to touch him without triggering another panic response. “It’s been a messed-up day. Alis is right; we need to take it easy. We can come out and spar another day. Let’s head back.”
Edwyn grabs me.
It’s so fast and unexpected, I nearly punch him.
His fingers pinch, nails sharp and biting into my arm.
I swallow my own instincts, breathing through the pain and telling myself over and over that this is Edwyn. Not Mama, not Peran, Edwyn. I don’t need to be as scared as I feel.
“Tell me what you need,” I grit out. “Talk to me.”
“I…remember.”
“Remember what?”
“I’m not…I can’t…” A strange sound comes out of his mouth, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, as Edwyn grimaces, fighting furiously with himself and taking it out on my arm.
I bite my tongue to distract myself from the pain, and cover Edwyn’s white-knuckled hand firmly with my own. I don’t try to remove him. I don’t even try to loosen his grip. I just need him to know where he is and who he’s with.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “Take it easy. Take it slowly. It’s just us. We’re nowhere near Helston. We’re safe. You’re safe.”
I wait as long as it takes, and, wow, it takes a long time. I’m pretty sure I can hear the bones in Edwyn’s fingers creak as he slowly manages to uncurl them just enough that my pain is replaced by tingling as blood rushes back to the spot.
“I think…I know,” he says haltingly, not looking at me. “Watching the battle…seeing His Highness…But I can’t get to it. I can’t reach it. But I know it’s there. Something I’d forgotten.” He presses his fingertips hard into his temples like he’s trying to reach into his mind to yank out the thoughts. “It hurts,” he mumbles. “My whole head feels like it’s about to explode. I don’t understand what’s happening to me….”
Neither do I and, to be perfectly honest, he’s freaking me out.
“You said you think you know. Do you know what you think you know?” If that makes any sense at all.
But Edwyn says “yes,” the single syllable drawn out like he has to drag it from his lips. Like there’s someone inside him trying to pull it back. “His Highness…Prince Jowan…I know what happened.”
I freeze. “What d’you mean?”
“I—I know what happened,” Edwyn repeats, rubbing furiously at his forehead. “I can’t find it, but I know it’s there. I can feel it. I know that I know!”
I stare at him, my heart a drum in my chest. “You have to find it,” I breathe. “We have to know the truth. The real truth. Edwyn, this could make all the difference…This could stop the war!”
Because this is the key, isn’t it? Jowan’s death, that was the catalyst, the big kaboom that sent everyone angry at each other. Helston wanting revenge on Dumoor. Dumoor wanting revenge on Helston…I know what it looked like, in the pool. And I understand why Elowen’s made her mind up. I don’t blame her. Not really. But even if what we saw was real, that was only one piece of a sprawling tapestry. And one piece doesn’t tell a whole story.
Whatever is hidden inside Edwyn’s head, we need it out. All of us.
“I think we should go back to Pioden,” I say. “Right now. We can talk to Alis. See if we can use that pool to—”
“No. Not her. She’s…nice.”
A smile tugs in one corner of my mouth. “You don’t like nice?”
“Mother is nice,” Edwyn replies. “When she needs to be. When she wants something. Nice is a tool people use to get what they want and make you believe it’s what you want too.” His head drops. “Nice is a costume. It isn’t real.”
