Dragonoak (20 page)

He sat
down, hand on his chin, and when he didn't say anything, I spoke
up.

“I'm
sorry, Atthis. Sorry I avoided you – everyone – for so long. I
just... I didn't think you'd want to see me, and the longer I left
it, the harder it was,” I said, rubbing the back of my
head.

Letting out a heavy breath, Atthis said, “
I'm
sorry, Rowan. I'm sorry for what
happened to you,” and I shuffled in my chair, somehow made
uncomfortable by the fact that he believed it all without question.
His unwavering acceptance made me feel as though I was lying, my
own mind turning against its memories. “I never would've thought...
had I
any
idea, I
would've intervened.”

“But
she's your niece,” I said, unable to speak her name. “And now she's
in jail, because of—”

“Because
of what she chose to do,” Atthis said firmly. “Never blame yourself
for that.”

Said the
man who still blamed himself for what had become of
Kastelir.

I stared
down at the bare floor between my feet, fingers digging into the
arm of the chair, and silence enveloped us both.

“Rowan,”
he said after a few minutes had crawled by. “Do you remember when
we first met? I dare say you recall it with far more clarity than I
do. I only had a vague notion of your existence because of the
frequency with which Kouris mentioned you. Perhaps this sounds
cruel, but I was a King, and I had been for thirty long years. I
was used to dealing with an entire country. I was occupied with
cities, not individuals.

“Sometimes I feel as though I no longer know how to sit down
and talk to people without the weight of a kingdom on my shoulders.
I apologise if I don't say the things you need to hear, Rowan, but
know that you've been in my thoughts.”

“No,
no,” I said, leaning forward. “I think I just spent so long
convincing myself that everyone would be angry at me that I was
determined to believe it, no matter what you said. But I like
talking to you, Atthis. It's like... it's like talking to my dad.
He always listened, even if he didn't know what to say.”

A smile
flickered across Atthis' face, and we finally allowed ourselves to
feel at ease around each other. Getting to his feet, I watched with
idle curiosity as Atthis moved over to his desk, murmuring, “I got
you something,” under his breath.

I leant
to the side, wondering why he was sorting through a stack of books
on the way to finding whatever it was he'd got me. Atthis wasn't
the sort to buy gifts, though he'd often insist on paying for what
he could of mine at market, and judging from the way that he held a
book out to me, he wasn't very good at it, either.

Not
wanting to appear ungrateful, I took the book, smoothing a hand
across the cover. It was an old, dusty thing, almost too thick to
wrap my hand around, and I dropped it into my lap, tracing the
shape of a phoenix on the front.

“Thank
you... ?”

“I
didn't forget that you can't read,” he hurried to say, “I happened
upon this while searching for Mesomium books in Votas, and thought
you might like it.”

There
was something he wasn't telling me. I pulled the book open, spine
cracking, and found a diagram of a phoenixes' outstretched
wing.

“What is
it?” I asked.

“I'd read it before, years ago. I believe it's considered the
definitive text on phoenixes: physiology, culture, history and
all.
The Sky Beneath The
Sun
,” he said, and after a pause, added,
“... by, ah. Tacita Ightham.”

“Oh,” I
said, closing the book. “... oh.”

Atthis
hovered in front of me for a moment more, when it suddenly occurred
to him that neither of us had anything to drink. He hurried to the
tiny kitchen area to fix that, making far too much noise with
glasses as he took them from a cupboard, and I stared down at the
cover of the book, tracing my fingers over a name I couldn't read.
A long time ago, what felt like years longer ago than it had truly
been, I'd spoken to Atthis about Claire. I'd said far more than I
could even imagine allowing myself to think now, but he'd known.
About her name, about the book I hadn't known the title
of.

“It has
lots of pictures,” Atthis said, bringing the drinks over. “Should
you ever want anyone to read it to you...”

“Thank
you,” I said, meaning it, that time.

Still
clutching the book, I took a sip of the water and said, “Kouris and
Akela said that you got a letter from Galal.”

Atthis
did his best not to smile, trying to quell and hopes that
threatened to rise, but didn't succeed particularly
well.

“It was only a brief letter. Not addressed to me, of course.
He probably thinks I... well, I doubt anyone would think to look
for us here. It seems the resistance – and there
is
a resistance for us
to return to, Rowan – is doing all it can to garner support. His
letter was meant for Canth, meant to reach the Queen, I expect,
explaining what had truly happened to Kastelir. The man who'd
agreed to help me send a letter towards Kastelir happened upon it
and thought it might interest me. No doubt it was written months
ago – a year ago, even – but there it is. My son is alive and
Kastelir did not fall when we fled.”

I
couldn't help but mirror his smile. All the pieces were in place,
and the thought of Kastelir having crumbled in its entirety no
longer haunted us, no longer gave us reason to stay in Canth for
fear we might return and find nothing but ash. We were all beyond
restless, and there I was, the only one with any chance of getting
us across the ocean.

Book
clutched to my chest, I said, “... I think I might be able to get
us back, Atthis.”

CHAPTER VIII

“How's
the Queen?” Reis asked.

They
were sat on the sofa with one of the heftier account books folded
open across their lap, while Tae slumped next to them, staring
vacantly into the misery plaguing her mind.

“Busy,
but she seemed nice. I think,” I said, “What's wrong with
her?”

“Tae
here wants to know why I can't just finance a ship she's got her
eye on, so I'm being kind enough to run through some numbers with
her,” Reis said, grinning.

Wide-eyed, Tae mouthed
help
, and I didn't bother pretending
I hadn't noticed.

“Have
fun with that,” I said, “Is Kouris in?”

“Aye,”
Reis said, nodding towards her bedroom door.

I found
Kouris sat cross-legged on the floor with a stack of clothing
folded across one knee and needle clasped between her claws. She
was whistling airily through her fangs, and her ears perked up at
the sight of me.

“Yrval!”
she said, holding out an arm to me. I perched on the edge of her
unoccupied knee and carefully, she placed the needle and thread on
her bedside cabinet. “Was starting to think I might have to march
down to Chandaran to make sure everything was alright. Well? What
was it like?”

Kouris
knew why I'd gone to the capital, but she didn't instantly ask me
if I'd got what I'd gone down there for. And not because she
doubted I'd succeeded, but because it let me know that no matter
what, we had a home here, we had a family, together in Canth. If
Queen Nasrin wouldn't help us back, there were still plenty of
things for us to try.

“It was
like... Isin's castle. If someone took all of the carpets and
paintings and statues, got rid of most of the staff and all the
good food, too. Queen Nasrin is... she's definitely dedicated,” I
said. “I doubt she's ever taken a five-minute break in her
life.”

“I'd
believe it,” Kouris said, splaying a hand across my back as I leant
against her. “If you think Canth's got problems now, you should've
seen what it was like before she took the throne. Her father's
untimely death made a lot of people happy. Yin Zhou wouldn't stop
going on about how fortuitous tragedy could be. Hear she bought up
half the art in the palace.”

“Guess
who else was there,” I said, knowing she never would. Kouris lifted
her brow curiously and I said, “Kondo-Kana.”

Kouris
didn't laugh, not entirely convinced that I was messing with her,
but she didn't hold back her scepticism, either.

“That
so?” she asked, frowning.

“No, really! It wasn't even the first time I'd met her. You
remember that temple I went to with Akela a while ago, don't you?
She was there. The map was originally from Varn, who got it from
the Queen, who must've got it for Kondo-Kana. Apparently she's
always doing her favours. I didn't say anything because... I don't
know why. I didn't know who she was then, but it was as though I
wanted to keep it a secret. From myself, too,” I rushed to explain.
“But she was the one who'd called me to Chandaran in the first
place. The Queen didn't want to see me. Kondo-Kana did. It was
like... like how meeting you would've been, if I hadn't been
terrified of pane. And she told me that I can make
this
stop—”

I
paused, clenching my hands into fists.

“I can
draw all this light back inside myself. It doesn't have to be like
this forever.”

One corner of Kouris' mouth pulled into the start of a smile,
and I stood, arms draped over her shoulders. She looked at me – not
at the glow, but at
me
– as she always had, and strands of light simmered down
inside of me.

“One of
these days we're gonna get back to Felheim and you're gonna have to
tell your dad about the friends you've made,” she said, knocking
her forehead against mine. “You've got interesting taste, that's
for sure.”

With a
laugh, I slumped back against her side, mind full of answers to
questions she'd yet to ask. I watched her patch up the clothing
she'd been attending to before I interrupted her, waiting for her
to ask me if I'd had any luck, but she only hummed as though she
was content to stay there until the end of her days.

“What if,” I began. “What if there was a way to get back to
Felheim? And we didn't have to worry about hurting any of the
soldiers guarding the coast, the soldiers who think they're saving
Kastelir from dragons. We only had to kill
one
person. Someone who deserved it,
who'd already hurt plenty of others. What then?”

“That's
an oddly specific hypothetical situation you've got there, yrval,”
Kouris said, turning her sewing in her lap.

“It's
Gavern,” I grumbled, seeing no way around being forthright. “Queen
Nasrin said she'll help me – us – get home, once he's not causing
problems for her anymore.”

Bringing
her sewing close to her face and focusing on it more intently than
ever, she said, “No one wakes up one morning and decides to kill
someone, just like that.”

“Really?” I asked, getting to my feet. “Because, you know, it
kind of felt like Katja did that exact thing—”

The
words had been as clear as they were strong in my mind, and they
passed my lips with a grave certainly. The moment they were in the
air, however, I felt my throat dry up and every thought I'd been
circling around for the last few weeks swirled within me, draining
into my chest and leaving me glowing brighter than I had in
days.

“Yrval,”
Kouris said, sewing forgotten.

She
reached a hand out to me but I stepped back, pulling my balled
fists towards my chests.

“Don't,”
I said, and without missing a beat, added, “Sorry. Sorry,
I...”

Kouris
didn't reach out for me again. She slid back, pressing against the
wall, and gave me all the space I needed.

“No need
to be apologising, yrval,” she said, doing her best to smile. “Just
remember, you don't have to be doing anything for anyone. Not even
a Queen. It's your choice. No one's gonna blame you if you don't go
through with this. We'll find another way, I promise you
that.”

But how could they not? It could take years to find another
way back to Asar, and all I had to do was
think
our way home. It wouldn't take
any more than that, and I wouldn't have to hurt anyone else. If
they came for me, I could push death into them just long enough to
allow me to escape, and...

I was
already thinking it through, already forming plans in my
mind.

I didn't share my decision with anyone but Varn. I thought
she'd be happy to know that her journey hadn't been a waste of
time, but she only huffed and grumbled about having to stay in
Mahon until we tracked him down. She told me to leave the hard work
to her, and said that I needed to look less like I'd
eaten a fucking jar of
fireflies
, or we'd never get close to
Gavern.

I found outlets for my powers. I didn't intend to work as a
healer, and never did so in an official capacity, but people came
to me for help, and the pressure built up within me eked out,
little by little. The pirates were fussier than those I'd been used
to, back in the village: they wanted the aches and pains gone,
along with anything that would hinder them, but certain
scars
had
to be
saved. Unless they cut through their tattoos at the wrong angle,
that was.