Dragonoak: Gall and Wormwood, page 21
“Your... Your Majesty,” one of the healers said, bowing. He was the younger of the pair, no older than thirty, and kept glancing at his companion in a silent plea for guidance. “Welcome back to Thule, Princess.”
Ignoring him, Claire turned to the older man.
“I've no doubt you knew I was in the castle weeks ago. I am beyond disappointed that you did not come to me and inform me of my father's whereabouts,” Claire said sternly. “Are you going to prevent me from entering?”
Bowing his head, the healer said, “I could not if I wanted to, Princess.”
None of us missed the way he glanced at Kouris.
Now that we were there, Claire's legs wouldn't listen to her. The healers stepped to the sides, shooting each other looks that screamed for the other to do something. Claire's fingers twisted around the handle of her cane, arm trembling, but she had time. The guards had let us pass, and the Queen had not sent the Mansels after us. She could afford to take a moment to breathe.
Kouris placed a hand on the small of her back. Claire turned her head in a sharp, spiteful motion, lips curled back as if to shout or snarl; when she caught Kouris' gaze, all of that melted away. With a trembling nod, she let Kouris' great hand support her and stepped into the room.
I followed, and the younger healer caught hold of my sleeve.
“Are you... alright?” he asked, fingers tightening around my wrist. His eyes flickered across my face, searching, and my insides twisted.
The room was not as I had expected. It was not draped in shadow, and the King and furniture alike were not coated in dust. The darkness that had led me there, the cloud of disease, was all but drowned out by the lanterns set out around the room. Many of the King's personal belongings had been brought from the castle, making it less of a pre-emptive tomb and more of a home.
It was just like any of the chambers in the castle. There was a sitting area and a bed, bookcases filled with volumes the King had long since grown tired of, and portraits of Claire, Rylan, Alexander, and the King and Queen were placed around the room.
The King himself was not bound to his bed, and though he was undoubtedly ill, until he set his eyes on Claire, boredom was his greatest ailment. He sat in an armchair, no longer keeping up the pretence of reading, and instead lost himself to contemplation as he stared at the wall. His illness had numbed his senses, and he did not hear us come in. All we could do was stare.
He was a Myrosi man, and looked decades older than he truly could've been. He was thin, skin loose and creased, dried out and ashen. When Claire took a step forward, into the edges of his vision, his brown eyes became bright and brilliant. Strength returned to him for a fractured second.
King Garland grasped the arm of his chair, attempted to pull himself to his feet, but broke down coughing. Claire did not reach out a hand to steady him, nor did she pass him the water on the nearby table. She stood in front of him, hands folded behind her back, and waited for the coughing fit to subside.
I wanted desperately, achingly, to tear the cough from his failing lungs and raw throat, to wave the disease away, but I could not. Not until Claire deigned it.
“King Garland,” she said curtly, when the coughing subsided.
He did nothing, said nothing. He was still gripping the arms of his chair, but not to pull himself up; rather, he was anchoring himself in the moment. Seeing her father stare up at her, unable to look away, brought back the magnitude of what had happened to her. Amongst it all, with King Garland so obviously fixable, it struck me how powerless I was. I could bring back the dead, but I could do nothing for old wounds.
“Claire,” he whispered. He spoke as though he had never meant to use her name outside of the past ever again; he stared up at her as though he had been displaced from time itself, and if she was not real, nothing was. “Claire, your mother—”
Lifting a hand, Claire said, “You are ill.” She said it as though reading a series of inconsequential facts that had no bearing on her life. There was a problem, and she could offer a solution. Beyond that, she would let nothing show on the surface.
“You had a necromancer, and you refused his help. If I were to offer a similar solution, one that worked, would you reject that, as well?” Claire asked, voice betraying nothing. “The people do not know that you are ill. Those within the castle have some inkling, of course, but do not know the extent of it. Queen Aren’s illness was far more public, and her rule has not come under scrutiny because of her abrupt recovery. We can claim more practised healers were found. The consequences would not be far-reaching. They would be yours alone to deal with.”
I had not expected Claire to break down in front of her father, or to even cry. Not immediately. After her outburst at her mother that morning, she had no energy to spend on outward displays of emotion. I understood why she did what she did, but I did not expect to be offered up as I was.
I would do it. There was no questioning that. But Claire had been granted time to discuss this with me. We had been trying to get to her father for weeks, and the assumption I could be successful where a healer inevitably failed made me feel like a tool to be used.
I bit it back. I could love Claire and I could be in the room with her, watching it unfold, but I could not begin to understand how it felt to be in her place.
The King parted his lips, wanting to appeal to her again. He soon forced down the urge. He had known Claire since she was but a handful of months old, and no matter how it pained him, he knew that patience was the only way to get through to her.
“I doubt there is another necromancer in all of Felheim,” he began, missing the obvious implication. “I know. I searched. There was only rumour after rumour to follow. Empty villages in the south. But no matter the case, even if you could find one, I would not subject myself to that. To let a necromancer under my skin, to give it complete control over me…”
He trailed off and swallowed a cough.
“Like a dragon, you mean,” Claire said.
“… In that regard, I am fully aware of what they are capable of, yes.”
Claire hummed flatly and stood in silence. She had nothing more she wished to say, and only wanted to conclude the matter and take her leave.
“Claire. You have been gone for more than two years. I have thought you dead for most of that time. I understand it was my fault, but we parted because of a misunderstanding. If you would only sit and listen, I could explain so much of it to you. You are my only daughter, Claire. I do not want you to hate me because of what I have had to do. Do you think I was not shocked when my mother informed me of what she had done for Felheim, and her mother before her? There is so much that you do not fully gra—”
“You are going to die,” Claire spoke over him. “Queen Aren is acting in your stead, and she has the support of much of the court and council. My powers are vastly limited, no matter how the people rally to my side. However, when you die, it becomes a matter of clear-cut succession. Is the throne still mine, or does that promise no longer stand?”
Claire’s words aged King Garland. When he stared at her, he did so as though in spite of the severity of his illness, the inevitability of his death had never occurred to him until Claire put it into blunt, brutal words.
“I…” King Garland finally stopped digging his fingers into the arms of his chair to press his clammy hands together. “That has not changed. That will not change. I still believe that there is no one better suited to rule than yo—”
“Good,” Claire said, and turned her back to him. “Then we are done here. Rowan, Kouris.”
The authority in her voice said she had already been crowned. Kouris and I followed her from the room without a second thought and headed down the stairs in silence.
We got as far as the corridor below. Claire dropped her cane, and as it clattered against the hard oak floor, she splayed a hand against the wall, catching herself. Kouris shot forward, falling to one knee to pick it up, but Claire held out a hand behind her. Her missing fingers were startlingly obvious, and Kouris stopped in her tracks.
“Leave,” Claire croaked.
“Now, Claire,” Kouris said as softly as her rumble of a voice allowed. “I reckon that’s not the best idea, right now.”
“Leave,” she repeated, voice splintering. She pressed her forehead against the wall, body so tense another breath might cause her to snap.
Kouris didn’t listen. She placed her fingers against Claire’s elbow, and Claire turned on the spot, poised to strike. She met Kouris’ gaze, jaw trembling, and in the next moment, she was saying, “Leave, leave, leave,” while beating a futile fist against Kouris’ chest. Kouris took it in her stride, wrapped her arms around Claire, and all of Claire’s anger slipped from her like sand from an hourglass.
I moved on silent feet to Kouris’ side. I took Claire’s cane from her, caught her eye, and tilted my head towards the doors. If not for the guards lingering at the end of the corridor, wanting to see what the disturbance was, it would’ve been impossible to tear Kouris away.
Pressing her nose to the top of Claire’s hair, Kouris gently released her and headed straight for the door.
I didn’t hear what she said to usher the guards out. All I managed to process was the door slamming shut behind them.
I’d taken one of Claire’s arms to support her, but I didn’t move beyond that.
“Is there somewhere we can go?” I asked softly.
Claire sucked in a breath and her shoulders jutted towards her ears, but after a prolonged silence, she scraped her nails against the wallpaper and said, “Bedrooms. There are bedrooms.”
I didn’t hold Claire’s cane out to her. I offered myself instead. I slipped an arm around her waist and she pressed herself against my side. She pointed towards a hallway she recognised, murmuring as we went.
“We would stay here in the summer, often. It was a way to get away, without being far from the castle,” she whispered. “Alex, Rylan and I… as children, we…”
I waited, patient, but no more words came. I found a room for us, small and simple with a bed more practical than comfortable. In all likelihood, it had been used by servants, not royalty. Claire didn’t care, so long as she didn’t have to stand.
She laid back, covered her eyes with both arms, and I sat on the edge of the bed. I didn’t know what to say. The King wasn’t far, and his presence was exhausting for the distraction it brought.
“I am truly made for this. For ruling,” Claire said after long, pained minutes of nothing but our breathing filling the room. “I stood there, in front of my father, ensured I was getting what I wanted, and spoke bluntly of his death. I am ten steps ahead of my own feelings.”
Leaning back, I planted my hands against the mattress and looked down at her. She was shaking considerably less now that there was no pressure placed upon any part of her, though her leg trembled uncontrollably.
“You don’t have to forgive him,” I said. “Being sick doesn’t change the things he’s done.”
“The things he has done do not change the fact that he is my father,” Claire countered. She moved her hands from her face. Her eyepatch had been knocked askew in the process, and I carefully eased it off, brushing back loose strands of hair with my fingertips. “I ought to cry. I ought to be distraught, because he is dying. I do not need to be a healer or necromancer to know that he does not have long left. And he is so stubborn. I have no doubt he genuinely believes that being healed by a necromancer means giving up some part of himself. And if he believes this of Queen Aren, then it is all the more likely that he will keep his word and pass the crown to me.
“Hah. Listen to me. I ought to be sobbing, and yet I am lying here scheming. This is my family I am talking about, Rowan. Not unfaithful courtiers or double-crossing Knights.”
“You’re angry,” I said, and laid next to her. I placed a hand against her face and she didn’t shake me off. “And it’s like Kouris said. It’s been a long day. Your mother in the morning, the Phoenix Festival, your mother again, and seeing your father, after all this time…”
Claire nodded shallowly. Her eyes darted back and forth across the dim ceiling, tongue pressing to her dry lips, in search of some answer. Her blind eye was to me, and I lifted my head a little to see all that swirled in the other. Plans were forming, unfolding, and dissipating in all of a heartbeat, and I could see history being rewritten in the back of her mind before it had the chance to breathe its first breath.
And for all the things there were to talk of, for all there was still to do, Claire looked at me and said, “I drank. Last week. You were in Agados with Eden and Kidira, and Kouris had gone north to bring the enslaved pane back. I do not mean to pass the blame. I understand that it resides solely with me. But circumstances aligned as such that I was at a meal with my mother and several of the more notable council members. They were drinking, and I had only water. When one of them offered me a glass of wine, my mother gave me a look, as if to suggest that I would come up with some paltry excuse all gathered would see through.
“So I simply did not. I said yes, thank you, and I drank a glass. And then another, and another. Three in total. Red wine; that has always been my vice. I cannot think of any other way to describe it, but it was as though, for a moment, I had no responsibilities. The future was not unclear to me. I felt calm, confident, and my leg hurt less.
“The next morning, I was violently ill. I felt as though my insides had been scoured and my head pounded for days with regret and longing alike. It was a setback. Nothing but a setback.”
There were so many things I should’ve said. I should’ve told her that it was alright, and that recovery was not a constant, upward progression. I should’ve said that I did not understand the nature of a beast like addiction, but I knew she was far from defeated. More than that, I should’ve thanked her for trusting me enough to tell me and let her know I was proud for how far she’d come, and all she was doing to heal a scar a continent wide.
What I shouldn’t have done was burst into tears, and yet I found myself sobbing uncontrollably.
“Rowan?” Claire asked, and struggled to sit up and put her hands on my shoulders.
There was concern in her voice. She sounded more like herself.
“Sorry. Sorry,” I blubbered, scrubbing my hands against my wet face. “I hate this. I hate it! No matter where we go, no matter what we do, nowhere feels safe. I know I can’t just clap my hands and expect it to all get better, but I was meant to be a farmer. I’ve gone from my village to Isin to Canth to Thule, and I don’t belong in a castle. I don’t understand any of this, and I don’t know how to help! I thought…
“I spent so long missing you, wanting nothing more than to just get the chance to say goodbye to you, that I thought that if I was with you, nothing would ever be wrong again. I spent all that time thinking you were dead, so after that, I could’ve dealt with anything. But it’s not okay, is it? Every time we solve one problem we find ten more, and I’m so useless here to everyone.
“I thought… I thought all I needed was you, but…”
I couldn’t force any more words out. I sniffed loudly, eyes streaming, and without hesitation, Claire pulled me to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around me.
“But this is the real word,” she said grimly, though not without kindness. “I think there is something to be said for the fact that through it all, we still have one another. You did not have to remain by my side. You could’ve returned to your father, or to Canth. You would’ve been wise to do so. But you are here with me, in spite of my problems, and in spite of yours.
“Or perhaps not in spite of them at all. Perhaps, awful as these things are, they are the only reason we understand one another as we now do.”
Something inexplicable rushed over me. I loved her, but I knew that already. The awareness, the sensation, was always there, if only humming in the background. This was something more, determination and fear and certainty all wrapped into one, and I was convinced that I could not bear to let her go; that I would stop breathing, if there was more than an inch between us.
I clung tighter. I buried my face in the burns lining her neck and cried and cried.
“I do not know what will happen, and I do not know how long it will take. I will not force you to stay either, Rowan, but know that I am stronger with you,” she said, fingers threading through my hair. “I expect it to get worse before it gets better, and I can make no promises, other than to do all in my power to protect you. But I can tell you what I want to happen. I want to take the throne. I want to be a better Queen than any in Felheim’s history, and I want to achieve that through honesty. By reaching out to our people, to the refugees in the former Kastelir. I want to help them, and I want to bring down the walls, literal and metaphorical, between Agados and our lands. I want to help them all. I want to help Halla.
“I want Haru-Taiki to stand as a symbol of hope, and I want you to be by my side.”
At some point, I’d stopped crying. Not because of any effort on my part, but because I had no more tears left in me. My head was pounding, and I was dizzy in spite of being so grounded. It was too much, too much.
“I want things to be okay,” I said. “But how many problems do we have now? Queen Aren, King Garland. The Mansels look like they’re waiting for an excuse to put a sword through you. We don’t know where Rylan and Katja are, but Orinhal is gone, and Agados are—Agados. There are a hundred problems we need to solve for the pane, thousands of thousands of people we need to find homes for…”
“I know all of that,” Claire said softly. “It does not do well to separate the issues, as though they were each created in a void. They are all entwined, Rowan. Pull one thread loose and all else follows. This is unlike you. You are usually so much more hopeful than this.”
