Dragonoak: The Complete History of Kastelir (27 page)

That part of the mountain was far dryer, path made of dust and broken stone. It was considerably narrower, too, and I took my first uncertain steps with my shoulder to a rock-face. There was no gentle incline, this time. I wanted to claw at the ground in front of me so I didn't slide backwards, and every step caused loose stones to shift beneath my feet.

“How do people get up here?” I asked Claire, hoping that she'd say
Who can say, you'd better stay here.

“The people who use this route to trade with the pane have grown up around the mountains. It'll get worse before we reach Kyrindval, I promise you that,” she said, showcasing, for the first time, her unique ability to say the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear. “These paths were made by the pane. They have no such trouble.”

She pointed towards Kouris, who was coming into her own. Those strange feet of hers were serving her well; she moved as though striding through an open field, clawed toes digging in and gripping tightly to the traitorous path beneath. At times, she'd forgo taking it altogether, and would walk along the harsh side of the mountain, finding purchase on the tiniest of crags and ledges, like a mountain goat.

“This is—It's...” Michael said, taking a deep breath. He'd been taking a lot of deep breaths since we'd set off along the path, and his face was tinged green. Mirroring my own, no doubt. “Well, we'll be there soon, won't we!”

It took hours. I slipped more than once, not doing much more than hitting my knee on the ground, dislodging my heart into my throat in the process. Claire reached out each time, placing her hand on the back of my elbow until I was on my feet, all the while telling me to
be more careful
.

I was too focused on not falling to my death while refusing to acknowledge how far there was to fall that I didn't think to look for the Bloodless Lands. My head might've been spinning, but I was sure we hadn't made a full loop of the mountain, and likely hadn't actually missed anything. I didn't catch sight of any of the walls, either, but supposed that the mountains here had been forged so close together that nothing could get between them, anyway.

“Here it is. Home,” Kouris murmured to herself, as if in all the years she'd been gone, she'd expected it to slip away.

Kyrindval unfolded in my mind as a dusty plateau covered in a sparse littering of animal-hide tents, but I'd done the tribe as much of a disservice as I had the pane.

It was enormous. When we looked down on it, it rivalled Isin itself. Kyrindval was an entire world hidden away in the mountains; log cabins bigger than barns, bigger than anything I'd ever seen that wasn't a castle, were strewn around twisting, cobbled paths, pane filling the streets. Dozens of them.
Hundreds
of them.

They went about their business, fixing fence posts the height of doors, carrying buckets of water I could've bathed in, trading furniture at store fronts. I soon learnt that Kouris wasn't particularly tall for a pane. An arch of dragon-bone stood at the entrance of the village, and as we passed through, I was convinced that it had changed me in some way; it had cut my height in half. I was surrounded by things I knew, things I recognised, yet I was out of proportion with the entirety of the world.

How absurd the rest of Bosma must be to the pane; how it must all seem like everything was a model of Kyrindval, made for children.

We passed two butcher's and a bakery, a store selling shirts as large as blankets, even a
library
, and as we went, nobody stared at Kouris. For once, their eyes were fixed on us, on the humans. The pane, infinitely varied with their curved horns and no horns at all, in some cases, looked on us with more kindness than any human ever would a pane. We weren't novelties, not quite, but some would stop their conversations to turn towards us, and all would nod their heads in greeting, or at least lift their brows.

Kouris moved too quickly for me to wave at the pane who took the time to smile at me, and Claire didn't fall a step behind.

“Amazing—look at that! Some kind of... fire pit?” Michael murmured, “A communal meeting area, perhaps?”

The building we stopped in front of was larger than the others, in the same way that a dragon is larger than a wolf. The great lodge had doors taller than any pane could have need for – taller than any pane standing on another pane's shoulders could need – made from thick wood, decorated with carvings of dragons and pane alike. Some were the size of my fist, while others were far greater in stature than any pane we'd come across.

“This'll be it,” Kouris said, lifting a hand to knock. “The old meeting hall...”

Claire stood by her side and Michael tried peering around them, suddenly able to see through wood. All the time in the world passed and Kouris didn't knock. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her fingers around a handle carved in the fashion of a dragon's tail.

With a heave, two smaller doors opened. I hadn't noticed them, until that point; they were seamlessly carved into the towering doors, dragon tails and pane horns jutting out as they were drawn towards Kouris' chest.

Inside, statues of pane stood all around the hall, close to the rafters miles above, dragon-bone used in place of their horns and claws. Torches burnt along each wall of the great lodge, throwing light into the centre of the room. A single table had been dragged out, higher and longer than the one the Kings used to host feasts.

Six people gathered around the table: four pane and two humans. A dark woman with her hair worked into dreadlocks sat at the table, eyes fixed on one of the scrolls a pane was pointing to, and I knew she couldn't be anyone other than Queen Kidira. I thought I'd never be able to take my eyes off her; my gaze was anchored there by the weight of what Kouris felt.

I blinked and the spell was broken.

“This is a private meeting. If you would be so kind as to leave,” the oldest looking of the pane said, Mesomium perfectly pronounced. It was the sight of humans that put them on edge, and their eyes only briefly flickered over Kouris. They didn't recognise her at all.

Queen Kidira lifted her head, expression severe. She wouldn't be as polite as the pane, no doubt.

The woman behind her, broad-shouldered and tall enough to rival a pane, was far more relaxed than anyone else in the hall. An axe hung at her hip, but as far as I could tell, she'd forgotten it was there. The pane hurried to pull their scrolls and books into tight piles, protecting whatever sensitive information Queen Kidira had been studying. She wasn't dressed to fit her station – there was no crown atop her head, and her clothes were plain – nor was the woman behind her wearing anything resembling a Kastelirian uniform.

She stepped away from the table, arms spread out in half a shrug.

“My friend here, they are offering good advice!” the woman said. “Be good, yes, turn back, and we are appreciating it.”

As she spoke, Queen Kidira rose to her feet, moving as though the statues above were pulling at strings. Kouris tore forward, a shadow carved free from the soles holding it down, and it was only Claire's hand held out to stop me that made me realise I too had tried to move.

Kouris could've engulfed Queen Kidira. Instead, she fell to her knees, knocking dust free from the rafters. She bowed her head so low that her horns scraped across the floorboards, and neither the pane nor the woman who'd been standing guard knew what to make of it. All of us were as still as the statues above, save for Queen Kidira, whose fingers betrayed her.

She reached out a hand, as though she didn't believe her eyes, but didn't dare to touch Kouris, lest the contact cause her to fade. My nails pressed crescents into my palms and I silently willed Queen Kidira to move—not for Kouris' sake, but her own. When she neither breathed nor spoke, Kouris at last looked up.

Kneeling as she was, Kouris was still taller than Queen Kidira. She held out a hand, as terrified to go any further as Queen Kidira was. Eventually, Kouris placed her palm against her cheek, fingers trembling, unable to believe that Queen Kidira was really there; unable to believe that it had been so easy; or that it hadn't been easy at all, but that she'd finally found her, in the end.

Kouris' golden eyes gleamed, but Queen Kidira's were made of stone, and her expression was carved of much the same. Finally letting out a shaky breath, Queen Kidira wrapped her fingers around the back of Kouris' wrist, in the same way I'd gripped Claire's to let her know that I wasn't about to charge off after Kouris. Unblinking, Queen Kidira shook her head over and over, lips parting, though no words came to her, at first.

Until an ember that had never quite gone out rose up, roaring behind her ribs.

“
Leave
,” she said darkly, and even the statues flinched.

Kouris' fingers curled towards her palm, and Queen Kidira held onto her no longer.

“Leave,
leave
,” she repeated as she took steps away from Kouris, and though Kouris rose to follow her, Queen Kidira's gaze had become steel, or ice.

All Kouris saw was her own reflection and could do nothing but shrink away from it. She stared at the ground, awaiting some admonishment. As though a reprimand, a lecture, could fill the gap left by years lost to a lie. Queen Kidira froze as though she wouldn't be able to move until Kouris did, and was finally shaking because of it.

Still, Kouris refused to leave, and through grit teeth, Queen Kidira said, “You are
dead
.”

Kouris held out her hands, bartering for peace, and said, “And yet I stand before you. I am here, and I—”

“And you are twenty-seven years too late.”

Queen Kidira fell back into her seat as though there was nothing left inside of her but bones. The woman, her guard, was the first of us who dared to move, but didn't rush for her weapon. She knelt before Queen Kidira, hands on her knees.

“My Queen,” she murmured in her thick accent, knowing that the meaning of words would escape Queen Kidira, shaken to the core as she was. Queen Kidira stared at the tabletop, though the scroll she'd been focused on was no longer there.

Her guard placed a hand against her cheek, turning her head towards her. For a moment, Queen Kidira showed the slightest sign of weakness; she leant into the touch, eyes almost closing; but it was only a moment, and she recomposed herself in an instant. Her guard shot to her feet and sauntered our way, but the pane with the long, curved horns stepped out in front of her.

“Kouris,” they said, finally recognising her. Any softness in their eyes was drowned out by remembrance, and they said, “You are not welcome here. You know that, Kouris.”

“Now, Zentha,” Kouris said quietly, caging a growl behind her fangs, “I'm not here to start any trouble...”

She wasn't lying. I doubt she could've found the strength to form a fist, let alone throw it at anyone.

“Leave. Leave the tribe,” Zentha said, no small amount of force behind their words.

The growl escaped her. With one last look at Queen Kidira, Kouris turned sharply, doors bursting open and slamming in their frames as she thundered out of the building. My heart raced, desperate to keep up with her, and I had to force myself to stay still.

It wasn't my fault. It couldn't be. No matter how much I'd wanted Kouris to hurt, to suffer, I couldn't have caused this. Kouris was the only one to blame. Kouris was finally paying for the deceit she'd sown. That thought should've strengthened me, but it didn't.

Silence battled with confusion as we stood there, echoes dying down. Claire stepped forward, meaning to approach Queen Kidira, but her guard took a swift step to the side and blocked her path.

“I apologise for being here at such a time, truly, I do, but I have come to speak with Queen Kidira.”

With both hands on her hips, the guard leant forward, squinting at Claire. Scars riddled her face, cutting across the bridge of her nose, the line of her jaw and the corner of her mouth, but they didn't mar her brown skin. If anything, they made her more of herself, and I felt that under any other circumstances, she'd be smiling brightly.

“How is it that you are knowing where the Queen is, hm?” she asked, lifting her brow. “And who are you thinking you are are! You are barging in, and you are not even knocking.”

“Again, I can only apologise. My name is Ightham, and—”

“Ah!” The woman snapped her fingers, pleased, all the pieces before her apparently slotting neatly together. “Sir Ightham of Thule, yes, of course, I am hearing of you. The accent, it is giving you you away. But you are doing such remarkable work, yes. That we are meeting under such circumstances is a shame.”

“Indeed” Claire managed after a moment, a little taken aback but not altogether surprised. Michael nudged me in the side, wanting me to see the confusion scrawled across his face, but I kept my eyes on Claire, seeing the way she hesitated before making a guess of her own.

“... Commander Ayad, perhaps?”

“No, no, Akela, that is fine,” the Commander said, shaking Claire's hand. “Now, I really am needing to know how and why you are here, otherwise I am having to draw my axe. And I am thinking you are better at slaying dragons than facing Commanders, yes, Ightham?”

Akela said it as warmly as anyone could be expected to issue a threat, and Claire knew there was no malice behind it.

“We're here with permission of the Kings,” she said, hand dropping to the sword at her side. She unhooked it from her belt and handed the whole thing, blade and sheath, to Akela, who confiscated it without taking her eyes off Claire. “There are important matters to discuss—but I understand that the Queen will likely be here for a number of days, and it might be better to reconvene at a more convenient time...”

Akela had, for whatever reason, decided that Claire was trustworthy. Her axe remained at her hip, but what passed between them next was lost to me: the pounding between my temples grew and grew, and I couldn't accept the fact that they were going to entangle themselves with whatever news Claire was going to bring; they were going to move on without blinking, as though Kouris hadn't just stood before Queen Kidira for the first time in twenty-seven years.