Dragonoak: The Complete History of Kastelir (32 page)

None of the people there were monsters. None of them were hateful. Their lives carried on without Kouris; nothing revolved around her absence.

I wondered how much of it had been in my head. How little people truly thought of me, when I was exiled to the farmhouse.

“Rán...
Kouris
was the first person who was nice to me in a really, really long time. I'd forgotten that people wouldn't just think I was—a
thing
, a shell for my powers, or... It even took you a while to warm up to me, and my brother, I don't think he's very nice at all,” I said, realisation coming to me as I spoke the words. “But everything she did, all the people she killed. I grew up hearing about it, everyone did. I don't know how I can just talk to her after all that, like everything's fine.”

“The Phoenix Festival will be upon us soon. I expect we'll be in Isin, by then—and you will hear no shortage of tales about Kondo-Kana and all the other necromancers who plagued Myros, laying waste to the land,” Claire said in a low voice, leaning close to me. “And I have no doubt that you have spent your whole life hearing stories about some necromancer or another, how they were responsible for the plague a decade back; I've little doubt that you know better than to believe them. Speak with Kouris. She is not a headless ghost, roaming through the forest by your house. She is your friend—there are only wolves in the woods, and I know you have dealt with plenty of those before.”

She placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it, and if not for the barricade of pane around me, I would've rushed out of Kyrindval and into the night, in desperate search of Kouris.

The chatter around the fire pit died down as five pane got to their feet, standing around the edge of the fire. All eyes turned towards them and they huddled together, mumbling amongst themselves, nudging each other, nodding towards the crowd. One of them finally relented and stepped forward. After a pause, they said, “Um. I see many little friends... and we hope you will enjoy, even if you are not understanding.”

Once they switched back to Svargan, the group exuded confidence. They were actors, putting on a show the likes of which I'd never seen. There'd been a few performances in my village around the festivals, but never like this. The pane didn't stay still. They circled the fire, voices booming as they went around and around, sending the crowd into fits of laughter. The movement was suited for the stage, and certainly one way to stop people from squabbling over the best seats.

I didn't understand a word of what was being said, but the pane's energy was infectious. I sat there with a smile on my face, laughing breathily at their exaggerated movements.

A song followed the play, up-beat and unaccompanied by instruments. A recital followed that – a poem, I thought – and though the pane speaking wound around the fire, it wasn't of as much interest to me as the other acts had been. It left more of an impression on the other listeners; the pane were enthralled, absorbing the words in quiet awe, and Claire's attention was so focused on the speaker that I stopped stealing glances her way and looked at her plainly.

I searched her face, trying to glean some meaning from her expression that I hadn't got from the words. Firelight washed over her face, made faint shadows dark and lit up her eyes, and I didn't realise that the sky had shifted from dark blue to black, until I was traced the edge of her profile against it. The performance stopped, but I was oblivious to the patter of applause that followed.

Claire turned to me, too quickly for me to look away. She lifted her brow and hummed. Not accusingly, not as if she wanted to know just what I thought I was doing, staring so unabashedly, but as if I had asked her a question and she hadn't quite heard it.

I opened my mouth, pre-empting what I actually wanted to say, but no words followed. It belatedly occurred to me that we'd been listening to poetry in a language I didn't understand, and I could've easily asked her to translate it, or at least give me the gist; but it was too late, by then. I looked back towards the fire, face warmer than it should've been, and didn't dare to glance to the side, lest Claire was still looking at me.

A pane ran over, saving me from myself.

He spoke to Claire quickly and enthusiastically. She held out her hands, shaking her head, and said what I assumed was
no, no
. The surrounding pane overheard and hurried to the first pane's side; soon enough, four pane surrounded Claire, all of them trying to convince her of
something
. Claire was far from distressed. She was flustered, if anything, teetering on the verge of relenting.

One of the pane turned to me, said something, and when I only stared at her blankly, said, “Little friend—tell this one that she should perform!”

Claire looked at me, pleading, and I betrayed her.

“I think you should do it,” I said.

Whatever
it
was.

Claire narrowed her gaze, using one hand to push off the ground.

Very well,” she said coolly, and the pane cheered.

I couldn't bite back a grin as Claire headed to the fire. The pane who'd approached her was to be her opponent. They shook hands and spoke for a moment, and two other pane came rushing over with weapons. They were large, even for pane; Claire was handed a wooden sword as tall as she was, and she gripped the hilt with both hands, testing the weight.

The swords were beautifully made, with flowing patterns carved into the blade, making them lighter. I wondered how Claire was supposed to win against a man four foot taller than her, but when they started moving, I saw it wasn't a fight at all.

Claire and the pane were light on their feet, moving in set rhythms around the fire. They brought their blades together, each strike letting out a hollow
lock
of a sound, and the pane murmured and clapped at certain moves, though I had no idea how any of it was scored. They moved around the fire, Claire stepping backwards and then lunging forward, taking the lead.

The whole performance was far more nuanced than I could discern in the few minutes it lasted, and though I understood little of it, I took plenty away in watching Claire.

The crowd swelled with applause when it came to an abrupt end, and Akela cheered from the other side of the fire. Claire returned her wooden sword to the pane and shook the hand of her opponent. She hurried back to my side, trying and failing to look stern.

“He was rather skilled,” she commented. “I haven't practised in years.”

“If that's what you were trying to teach me with that flimsy sword you had, then you're a much better performer than you are a teacher, Sir,” I said playfully.

“Careful,” she returned, brow arched. “You presume to be too familiar.”

Already, it seemed absurd that she had once been nothing beyond
Sir Ightham
to me. I wanted to wrap my arms around hers, to lean close. I wanted to say
something
, but couldn't pick the right words from my flurry of thoughts.

Instead, I said, “Why do they keep calling us
little friends
?”

“Because we're little and they want to be our friends,” Claire said flatly. It took me long seconds to realise that she was actually making a joke. “They translate their word for humans rather literally. The fact that they still do so is a testament to their patience, really.”

Despite what I'd seen, the next performance – if that was the right word for it – may well have been my favourite. A young pane dragged over a pot half his height, and began handing out bowls the size of the sort I was used to. The fact that they weren't big enough to fit my head in confused me, until I realised that the boy was merely giving out samples; it wasn't supposed to be a meal in and of itself.

“Dragon-tail soup!” he said brightly, ladling a serving into my bowl and moving swiftly around the crowd.

I stared down at the soup, and Claire said, “Don't worry. There isn't any dragon in it—it's all vegetables. Another poor translation, though it is a rather clever play on words in Svargan.”

I took her word for it. The soup smelled wonderful, but before I could so much as blow on it, Kravt had come lumbering over.

“Careful, careful!” they said, lowering themselves onto the ground next to me. “It is hot, you will burn.”

They finished their soup off in a sip, and my serving sloshed in the bottom of the bowl, threatening to spill.

But Kravt was far from inconsiderate. They simply weren't used to being around humans.

“There is, hm. A contest! A contest next week. This boy, he is gaining favour with free, ah. Gifts,” Kravt explained, lapping up what remained in the bowl with their long tongue. “All week, they are doing this. I do not mind.”

I brought the bowl back to my lips, and the moment I tasted it, I was beyond grateful that it hadn't been spilt. It was brimming with spices I'd never tasted before, and a single drop was thrumming with more flavour than any meal I'd ever sat down to. My eyes watered a little, and I hoped the soup would have the same effect on Claire.

I hoped she'd forget whatever her journey had been about and stay in Kyrindval until the cooking contest took place. Surely they'd benefit from the judgement of a human palate.

“Ah—Rowan, before I forget,” Kravt said, dropping their bowl and pulling their bag onto their lap. “A gift!”

I half expected them to pull out leathers in the style of Claire's, but I was presented with something else altogether. Kravt eased a helm out of the bag, made from steel and lined with fur on the inside, with two great horns spiralling from the front. They held it out and I took it, bemused, not certain whether I should be concerned by the horns.

Seeing my confusion, Kravt said, “It is a... hm. Ightham, help?”

“It's used to help young pane become accustomed to having horns. They don't start growing until pane are around fifteen years old, and as you might imagine, it can be somewhat disorientating for them,” Claire explained. “Practising with these has likely saved a lot of door frames.”

Kravt chuckled, and I ran my fingers across the finely forged metal. I'd no doubt that there were plenty of these helms spare around Kyrindval, but the gesture touched me. Even as a healer, I'd been on the outside, but there I was, high up in the mountains, and the pane were making an effort to include me.

“Thank you,” I said warmly, looking back up at Kravt. They bowed their head, and I said, “These aren't... real horns, are they?”

“Of course!
Sheep
horns, do not look so worried.”

The bowls were cleared away with a clatter, and another singer took the stage. I placed my helm in my lap, meaning to press my hands to the ground and lean back, but my palm touched the edge of Claire's fingers. I pulled my hand back as though I'd touched the flames themselves, but before I could so much as mouth a
sorry
, Claire took hold of my hand.

She placed it against the ground, but didn't pull her own hand away.

I felt as though the soup was still in my throat, burning on the way down. The music pounded in my ears and I gathered the courage to glance at her. She stared ahead, watching the pane sing, but I could've sworn I saw her smile.

I dredged up the courage I didn't know I had to turn my hand, palms placed together. The fire roared and the song rose and rose, and mercifully, Claire said nothing.

The pane finished, bowed, and Claire pulled her hand away to clap.

It took me a moment to remember how to do the same.

“Queen Kidira intends to return to Isin tomorrow. Should you wish to speak with Kouris, you'll have an early start,” Claire said, rising to her feet, “Kravt—it was good to see you.”

The helm rolled to the ground as I stood, forgotten in my lap. Kravt chuckled, scooping it up and holding it out to me. I thanked them again, hurrying with my goodbyes; Claire wasn't waiting for me.

I caught up easily enough. I wrapped my arms around the helm, suddenly not knowing what else to do with my hands.

“Is it really like this every night?” I asked Claire as we drifted through the dark streets.

Most of the cabins were dark, and what little light bled through the curtains barely contended with the starlight.

“Most nights. You ought to see a pane tribe in the midst of a festival.”

Whatever hurry Claire had been in was forgotten. I was aware of how slow we were walking and it didn't bother me, though I half expected Michael to show up out of nowhere and scold me for daring to place my hand in a Knight's.

For a moment, Claire was thoughtful, but not distant, and when she spoke, I got the impression that it wasn't what she had intended to say. But her words were warm and I hadn't pried them out of her; it was enough for me.

“The story you told me yesterday about the wolf. It reminded me of something. My brothers and I were taught to use a sword from the moment we could hold one, and I supposed Alex and I thought having the best teachers in the Kingdom meant that we were invincible,” Claire said, turning down a street that wasn't the most direct route back to the cabin. “When we were eleven, Alex and I took our swords and decided that nothing within the royal forest was a match for us.”

“What happened?” I asked, already wincing in sympathy.

“We were arrogant, and there were bears,” Claire said bluntly. “But there were healers in the castle, and thus it could've ended much worse. Rylan took the blame, actually. The King was furious with us, but he claimed that it was his fault; he hadn't been watching over us properly.”

Claire's mind wandered back, but nothing like sadness or anger rose to the surface. It was as though she'd convinced herself that this was her first time amongst the pane all over again, and that she was going to march down the mountains, back to Thule. Back to her family.

We moved on in silence, winding our way back to the lodge. Claire stopped in front of it, holding out her hands. She took the helm I was clutching like a life-line before I realised what she wanted, and my arms dropped like weights, fingers tugging on the hem of my shirt.

“Here,” was all she said as she carefully placed the helm atop my head, leaning close to ensure the horns lined up with my forehead. She tucked my hair behind my ears and stood back, smiling.