Sir Callie and the Dragon's Roost, page 3
Goes without saying, they’re not my biggest fans.
Peter picks himself up as quickly as he fell, shoving his dusty hair out of his eyes, and wheels on me, ready for another round. I squeeze Satin’s soft leather hilt and brace for the attack, but Jory stops us with a clap of his hands.
“All right, you two, take a break and a breath and give someone else a turn.”
Peter glowers and sheathes his sword, returning to his crew with his chin held high like I didn’t just publicly humiliate him.
The good thing is it doesn’t take much work to humiliate this lot. Just my presence is a personal insult to most of them.
“You’re not making friends like this, you know,” Edwyn murmurs, offering me a handkerchief to wipe away the sweat stinging my eyes. There is a warning in his dark blue eyes, but there’s a spark of amusement too. I’m not entirely sure what kind of history those two have, but whatever it is, it means Edwyn enjoys seeing Peter eating dirt as much as I do.
“Don’t care.” I sheathe Satin, loving the sing as she slips easily into her scabbard. “Not trying to make friends.”
I have enough of those. Don’t need any more.
El’s over on the other side of the court with Neal, dueling with magic the same way the pages are dueling with swords. It’s just the two of them, despite the new rules stating that anyone with magic is now free to use it without fear of scorn or retribution.
I suppress a scoff.
Easier said than done.
The rules might have changed, but that doesn’t automatically mean people’s attitudes have. Helston doesn’t like different, and that’s never been plainer than the look on my peers’ faces as they watch Elowen and Neal spar, their magic bright and burning through the air. Where the sight fills me with awe, the others watch Elowen and Neal with contempt, confusion. Fear. No doubt wondering how on earth they could be expected to combat such power with steel weapons.
Progress is slow, and the learning part takes even longer than the rules part. I know this, but I’m itchy for change. Real change.
The new era at Helston dawned with hope and excitement, leading the way into a future where both magical and physical forces can work side by side, as equals. Queen Ewella even charged Neal with the responsibility of creating a magical curriculum for anyone who wanted to learn, and granted permission to use the training grounds—going against all the increasingly loud voices of those who still saw Neal as an infiltrator, a witch’s spy. The enemy.
Neal pretends not to hear the not-so-subtle muttering, or see the suspicious glances, but I can’t ignore them. It took getting into several nasty brawls with bigoted kids of bigoted grown-ups before Neal told me to stop.
“Let it go,” he said, carefully healing my third split lip of the week with soft magic. “They don’t matter.”
“Why don’t you care?”
“What difference would it make to care? Nothing I—or you—can do will change people’s minds. They have to learn for themselves.”
“But what if they don’t?”
Neal gave a small smile. “Their loss, kiddo. Give them time. They’ll come around once they understand we’re all on the same side.”
I guess I get that. But I wish they would hurry up and understand it faster!
So far not a single person has volunteered for Neal’s lessons except me and Elowen. Willow is busy round the clock learning the ins and outs of being a king or whatever, and Edwyn would still rather die than come out as magical.
At least that is easier to understand. When you’ve been taught that who you are is a punishable offense, it’s hard to let go, even in a safe place.
But even though I understand that, I’m not patient, and faith doesn’t come easily. We fought the battle and won, didn’t we? We earned our progress and things should be better now!
I take the pause that Neal’s been trying to teach me and breathe through my frustration, counting all the battles we’ve won and the things that are better.
Peran is gone. Elowen and Edwyn are safe. Girls are allowed to fight and boys are allowed to be magical, even if no one’s taking the opportunity right now. Helston is healing, and healing takes time, and that’s okay. Everyone is moving forward, and the proof is right in front of me. Just the fact that I’m here, training with the best to be the knight I know I am, is huge.
We have time.
I wipe my brow, then offer the handkerchief back to Edwyn. Or try to. He balks like it’s been soaked in a pox.
“No thank you,” he says primly. “You can keep it.”
I shrug. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.” Edwyn’s voice is brusque, but there’s a hint of a smile in there too, and I grin back.
Peter watches us from the sidelines with narrowed eyes flitting from me to Edwyn and back again like he’s trying to work out some equation.
I touch Satin’s hilt meaningfully—the universal sign for You wanna go again?—but Edwyn gives a subtle shake of his head and repeats the mantra I’ve been trying to practice ever since I joined the pages in their training: “His issue, not your problem.”
I pull a face. “Rude of you to throw that back in my face, but whatever.”
Edwyn smirks. “You shouldn’t hand out advice you’re not prepared to take, Sir Callie.”
I’m all ready to initiate a scuffle when Jory claps his hands and Edwyn snaps to attention so fast I’m shocked his spine doesn’t break.
“You’re up, kid.”
“Yes, sir.”
I plonk myself down on the ground and get comfy as Edwyn takes up his position opposite his opponent. Even though Edwyn is almost a whole head shorter than the other boy, I already know how this fight’s gonna go. For better or for worse, and mostly the latter, years of Peran’s brutal routine have made Edwyn unbeatable. He can take every hit without stalling, can go longer without sweating, and watches for every minuscule crack in his opponent, ready to pound the weak spot until they break.
Losing is not an option.
Edwyn grounds himself, readying his body for the first attack. This is his personal method—letting his opponent strike first to get a good idea of what the opponent has to offer, and then turning it right back on them with twice the skill.
The first blow sends Edwyn skidding in the dust. Taking three measured steps backward, Edwyn sweeps his sword in a wide arc. The two blades meet with a clash, but less than a heartbeat later, Edwyn dips and strikes. His opponent stumbles with the effort of dodging the blow, and from there Edwyn is relentless. The attack comes in a volley of brutal blows that beats the boy farther and farther back, nearly sending him right into the collection of onlookers.
Then a shadow falls.
My jaw clenches in time with my fists.
Captain Adan.
Peran’s dog.
Though “dog” is way nicer than he deserves.
As far as I’m concerned, Adan should’ve been sent across the bridge with his master. Between him and Lady Anita, it’s like Peran’s still here. The ghost of Helston. Except no one else can see him. Just us.
And the ghost manifests in the shadows on Edwyn’s face.
He falters, needle-sharp focus broken, and his opponent snatches the chance to deliver a ringing two-handed blow right across Edwyn’s chest, sending him crashing to the ground in a cloud of dirt and dust.
With a triumphant sword point at his heart, Edwyn coughs and raises his hands with a gasped, “I yield.”
I sprint to offer Edwyn a hand up as his opponent returns to the collection of pages, flushed with the surprise of his win. Edwyn’s face is a grimace of pain, but he ignores my hand, painstakingly maneuvering himself onto his knees before trying to stand.
“I’m fine,” he mutters before I can suggest otherwise.
“You did good, kid.” Jory comes up and squeezes Edwyn’s rigid shoulder. “No one can win them all. You had him, right up until that moment.”
Unfortunately, Jory doesn’t come alone.
“You mean the moment he lost?” Adan scoffs. “If this is the best of Helston’s future, we might as well surrender to the witch now.”
Jory matches Adan’s glare point for point, despite nearly half a foot in height difference. “One defeat does not make a failure, Adan. They are kids, they are learning—”
“Make them learn faster. And turn out the hopeless. It would be a kindness to put them out of their misery.” Adan turns a contemptuous sneer on Edwyn. “For all our sakes.”
As I watch Edwyn shrink, my temper finally snaps. “No one is hopeless. Least of all Edwyn. And you’d know that if you gave him a chance and didn’t try to scare him into losing every time.”
“Knights shouldn’t get scared.”
“That isn’t true!”
“Callie—”
“No!” I sidestep Jory’s placating hand. Neal and El are watching us too, but I don’t care if I’m causing a scene. “It doesn’t matter how good Edwyn is, Adan’s already made up his mind! And knights do get scared, and pretending they don’t just makes you a bad leader!”
Adan looks just about ready to pop a vein. Or take a swing at me. Or both. Probably both.
He bares his teeth. “You’re not a knight yet, little girl. And you forget who decides when you’re ready to graduate. I expect my squires to be quiet and obedient. Edwyn might be worthless, but at least he has those qualities. What do you have to offer?”
Rage bubbles hot in my blood. “I’m not a girl,” I say through gritted teeth. “And if you think I’m gonna be the kind of squire who shuts up and follows bad orders—”
“Then you will stay here and watch as everyone you know moves forward without you,” says Adan bluntly. “Honestly, Jory, I pity you. Not even the most skilled master can create gold from dirt. Her Majesty set you up for failure.”
Elowen storms up to stand beside me, anger blazing as hot as the magic in her fingers. I can’t believe anyone ever dared suggest that magic was a worthless power. “The only person who’s dirt is you.”
I snort but Edwyn winces as he says, “Elowen, don’t—”
Adan draws himself up, outrage glinting in his eyes. But his anger isn’t directed at Elowen. Instead, a slick smile curls on his mouth as he looks down at Edwyn. “A knight who needs his sister to defend him…Is this really what Helston has been reduced to?”
Neal stops at Elowen’s side, his own face a picture of anger. “Speak to Edwyn like that again, and you will meet me on the dueling ground.”
The laughter dies on Adan’s face. There is nothing left in his expression but the deepest disgust. “It would be my pleasure, dragon. You know I’ve been waiting for the excuse to run you through. This is a Helston matter. Stay out of it.”
Dragon. The insult zips through my blood like lightning. I’ve been hearing it more and more lately, whispers following us through the palace, the implications plain: Liar. Traitor. Enemy.
Neal breathes through the insults and ignores them. I try to do the same. I’m not as good at it as he is.
“My children are my business,” he says firmly. “I will not apologize for defending them.”
Adan’s bark of laughter is a harsh bray. “Your kids? I suggest you don’t get too attached. Folks around here aren’t too happy with you being allowed near our children. And looking at this group, it’s plain to see why. Your days of freedom are running low. And you two—” He looks down on the twins. El glares back, but Edwyn’s chin is deep in his collar. “You both know this cannot last. You will be returned to your places soon enough. I advise you not to get too comfortable.”
I am so close to exploding, my vision’s gone fuzzy, but before I can even open my mouth to yell at him, the sound of bells rings through Helston.
I stop. Everyone stops. Even Adan freezes.
It’s not like the chiming celebration that runs during the tournament, or the bright sound that begins every day. This is low and pounding, and I feel it in my chest more than I hear it in my ears. It sounds like the sea—booming and wild.
And then the spell breaks and everyone moves as one.
“What’s happening?” I demand, yelling to be heard over the chaos.
It doesn’t do any good.
“Take your kids home,” Jory orders Neal, moving to herd the pages into some semblance of order. “Stay inside and wait for Nick.”
“That’s not an answer!” I shout. “What do the bells mean?”
Elowen’s hand is on my arm. “They mean the company has returned,” she says grimly. “It means defeat.”
All the hairs on my body rise. Fear runs through the pages like a vein, and the anxious muttering turns to panic. One of the boys starts crying.
“The dragons are coming! They’re gonna attack! The castle’s gonna fall!”
The older pages do their best to help, to calm the younger ones.
Everyone except Peter, who backs away, shaking his head when Jory reaches for him.
“I can’t,” he says, voice brittle and shaking. “My cousin…He was with them. I have to…I have to make sure he’s not—”
“Peter!”
But he’s already gone, pushing against the tide of people.
“Is that what this is?” I ask. “The company returning? But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Those bells aren’t good,” Elowen whispers. “The last time they rang was when Prince Jowan was brought home. These bells mean death.”
Death.
My head rings.
“Come on, Callie, quickly.” Neal’s hand on my back urges me away but I don’t move.
I’m a knight. I can’t run from danger. I can’t hide from death.
I have to meet it head-on.
“I’m going down to the bridge!” I shout behind me, already on my way. “I’ll meet you back at home.”
CHAPTER THREE
There’s already a sizable crowd by the watchtower looking out across the bridge to the moors, though the only sounds are the constant tolling of bells and the vicious roaring of the wind, snapping at hair and clothes and cloaks.
Just like everyone else, I ignore it, pushing my way through the wall of grown-ups to try to catch a glimpse of what they’re looking at.
“Callie.” A hand grabs my shoulder and drags me back. Papa glares at me, fiercer than he ever is with me. “What on earth are you doing down here? Go home.”
He’s using his dead-serious voice, but I swallow hard, jut out my chin, and tell him, “No. I want to know what’s happening.”
Papa pinches the bridge of his nose. “I will tell you all I can later. It isn’t safe for you here—” Then he looks up and curses emphatically as Neal and the twins push through to join us. “For goodness’ sake, go home. We don’t know what’s coming—”
“We’re not being attacked,” says Elowen. “That’s not what those bells mean.”
“I know that, Elowen, that isn’t what I’m afraid of.”
I fold my arms. “Then what?”
Papa’s green eyes flick across the anxious crowd, and I don’t need to hear his explanation to understand. A frightened Helston is a dangerous Helston.
“We’ll be careful,” I promise. “But we’ve a right to know.”
Papa gives me a long hard look, then sighs, defeated. “Fine. But stick together and be quiet. And if there’s any sign of trouble, get home.” He nudges my nose with his scarred knuckles. “Got it?”
I nod my promise, hoping I don’t need to keep it.
We nestle together, our mismatched family, as nervous speculation flies through the gathered court; then the crowd behind us parts and Queen Ewella sweeps briskly through, cutting a path as easily as a hot knife through butter. Her chin is held high, her expression cool and calm. Her dark hair is braided in a crown about her head, and her long crimson-velvet gown brushes the ground like a breeze.
Two steps behind, Willow hurries along in his mother’s wake.
He catches my eye as he passes, and I give a small wave and an even smaller smile, but Willow doesn’t return either. On the outside he looks like the perfect crown prince—crimson-and-gold tunic gleaming in the sunlight, long black hair sleek about his shoulders—but his face looks like he has absorbed every ounce of fear in the kingdom. He looks like he’s about to throw up. Haunted.
I move automatically to be by his side, but Papa’s hand on my shoulder holds me still. Now is not the time to break protocol.
Silence falls when they reach the bridge, save for the snapping of flags and the moan of the wind. Even the bells stop tolling, leaving an empty space where the sound was.
We all wait together to count the returning men.
How many rode out yesterday? I try to remember and hate myself when I can’t. It didn’t seem important at the time. I didn’t know any of the riders personally and I knew nothing of their mission. I was so caught up with my own life that I just didn’t bother to pay attention.
Now I wish I had.
I wish I had been there as they’d saddled up, to bid them luck and give them my hope they would come home quickly and safely. I wish I had looked at all their faces and committed each to memory.
Next time I will. I swear it.
Queen Ewella shares a murmured conversation with Adan, then with a quick glance summons Papa away from us.
Willow lingers awkwardly behind the grown-ups, alone and ignored, and I want to shout to him to come over here where he belongs, with us. If he’s only there for decoration, he might as well be with people who’re going to take care of him. Anyone can see that he’s in dire need of a hug right now.
