Dragonoak: The Complete History of Kastelir (37 page)

“But why can't they just... learn to change their minds?” I asked, hands balled into fists. “I'm not going to hurt anyone.”

Kouris chuckled, far from unkindly.

“Sometimes, yrval, I reckon you don't know how powerful you are.”

“Healers are powerful!” I said, belatedly remembering to keep my voice down. “They can basically do everything I can. They can even stop pain.
I
can't do that. Or I haven't figured it out yet, anyway...”

“Aye, healers are powerful, but here's the thing: they have limits. Sometimes they're not quick enough, sometimes not skilled enough. Sometimes they've pushed a disease out too many times and the body's adapted. Point is: they have limits that everyone's aware of. Everyone knows that they're not the be all and end all of power. But you...” Kouris smiled in a way that made her tusks seem longer, and covered one of my hands with her own. “Yrval, you could do near enough anything you wanted. A human, now, even with the best healer on Bosma, they're going to be living two hundred years at the very most. But you, you won't have even seen a drop of your life in that time. A necromancer can bring theirself back, bring anyone back—no matter what, almost. Even if they've been gone for days, weeks. Even if they've had their eyes carved out and their head cut clean off.”

The walls of the courtyard drew in closer, forcing my ribs to press too tightly to hold all the air in my chest. The implication behind what she'd said clung in the air, and she stared at me, unblinking, expression screaming that she'd wanted to voice it for a long, long time. It was my doing: I'd made her promise never to lie to me again.

“Kouris...” I whispered, moving onto my knees, hands finding her throat.

She tilted her head back and I felt it. It wasn't a scar running across her flesh, but something deeper than all that. It rushed through her like a wind howling through a canyon, calling out to me. It was there, it was there; how had I missed it?

“Yrval,” Kouris said softly, long fingers wrapping around my wrists, easing my hands back. “We'll be drawing attention—come on.”

Questions knotted inside of me, a string of
why-why-why
, and I followed her out of the courtyard, through twisting corridors, as soundless as a forgotten spirit. My surroundings blurred around me, and all I could focus on was the power trapped in Kouris' core; power that wasn't mine, but was so familiar that I might as well have pressed my fingers against a mirror, rather than her throat.

The door rattled in its frame behind us, sunlight glaring through the windows. I blinked bright, scattered colours out of my eyes, watching my room take form around me. Kouris crouched in the corner, shoulders slumping, having been held up by secrets for years.

“Why didn't you say anything?” I said, standing between her knees and placing my hands on her cheeks. “Why did you let everyone believe you'd just run away?”

“Didn't like to be causing a fuss,” she said, lips twitching into a smile, eyes grey as stone. “Better not to be... ah, you're understanding how it is, I'm sure.”

Better not to bring necromancy into it. Would the Kings look at her as they did, if they'd known she'd faced the gallows? No doubt they'd blame necromancy for changing her, and not the decades spent in Canth.

I wrapped both arms around one of hers, dragging her over to the bed. The curtains caught on her horns, but there was room enough there, unlike any of the sofas. She fell back against the mattress and I pressed myself close to her side, doing all I could to refrain from clawing out all she knew about necromancers.

“What... happened? Other than the obvious, I mean,” I said, head rested on her outstretched arm. “If you don't mind talking about it.”

“It's been too long for me to really mind. Just makes me thoughtful, that's all,” she said, eyes flitting left and right as she searched for a place to start. “For a while, I was running and running from the mob. Always intended to go to them, but—aye, I was scared. Seemed like a noble enough thought when I left the castle, going to atone for all the hurt I'd caused, but once I was out there, being hunted down, I couldn't help but run. Even considered heading down to Canth, heh...

“Well, not all of the stories were nonsense. You know what happened here. And as for the necromancer, his name was Iseul. Good lad. Ten years older than you are now, maybe. He was the town taxidermist. They were gonna have him take my horns out and send 'em back to Kastelir, serving as a sort of proof.

“Only, he had his own ideas. He knew he couldn't just be bringing me back, letting me roam around Kastelir—both for my sake and the country's. So he took me, body, head, horns and all, and off we went on a boat, all the way across the Uncharted Sea. Didn't bring me back until we were on solid ground, though. Turns out packing a little bitterwillow around a body stops it from going too far to rot.”

She was calm as she spoke. Her chest rose and fell evenly, and her voice didn't tremble. Yet all I could think of was how scared she must've been, kneeling at the guillotine, feeling time in its entirety for how little there was left; knowing beyond knowing that it was all about to end, hearing the blade set loose, falling, falling.

And then waking up a world away, body bound back together after so long. I wanted to know what she'd seen of the afterlife, of the Forest Within the Forest, but didn't dare ask, lest there'd been nothing at all.

People did their best to forget that we only knew about the world beyond this one because of necromancers, but the thought of there being something after death had never settled me as it did everyone else.

“Why don't you tell Queen Kidira? She thinks you just left her—but if she knew, she might not be so angry,” I said, and Kouris shook her head as I spoke.

“I stayed away for twenty-seven years, and that's about all that matters. What difference would any of it make? Don't reckon I deserve her forgiveness, anyway.”

Whatever had drawn Kouris back was more powerful than the love she had for Queen Kidira, and the fact that her plans at least ran parallel with Claire's, if they didn't entwine, was the only thing that stopped me from asking. There was no need for Kouris to punish herself any more than Queen Kidira was, and I hoped that in time, she'd come to understand that.

I hoped that in time, I'd see why she had placed her affection within Queen Kidira in the first place.

“Iseul, is he... ?”

It was too much to wish for, but I had to know.

“We worked off his debt and got him back on a ship to Kastelir, a few years in,” Kouris said. “Never heard another word from him. Sorry, yrval.”

Then I was still alone.

The two of us laid there quietly, and I reflected on all that Kouris had said. The differences between healers and necromancers, especially. Without having to close my eyes, for the first time, I was able to see inside myself; there was something burning, deep down in the black; so deep that the light barely sparked. It was an anchor, keeping me here, fixed in this world, made of something more solid than ageless mountains, tree roots twisting deeper than the ocean.

Everyone else was fleeting. They were bound to Bosma by a tether; a tether anyone could cut, but only I could join the frayed ends back together.

“I'm going to live forever, aren't I?” I asked Kouris.

I understood what people intrinsically knew when faced with a necromancer: that I was not like them.

“Now, don't be getting too upset about it. I know I'm going to be living for a long, long time, but that's no reason to fret,” Kouris said, poking my side with a crooked finger.

“How long
do
pane live?” I asked, turning onto my front.

“Ah, let's see now. Zentha – you saw Zentha, aye? – they're a good three-hundred and fifty years old. And over in Jorjang, I hear there's a pane who's pushing on six-hundred. That's about the only remarkable thing there—tiny tribe. Barely even two dozen of them. As for pane in general, well. Despite how I might be skewing your perspective, we're a pretty laid back people. We take our time with things. If we're ignoring any accidents, any human interference, I reckon five hundred is about the average. Though I'm told a dozen centuries back, a woman by the name of Borya made it to seven hundred, near enough. Not sure if I'm willing to be believing that, though.”

Moments ago, I'd tussled with the prospect of eternity, but that had the benefit of being an abstract idea; it was more comforting than the thought of being burnt, or drowning in the ocean, dashed to pieces against the rocks. Numbers like
four hundred
and
seven hundred
were too big for me to digest, and I could only think how
young
Kouris was. Perhaps twenty-seven years hadn't been very long to her at all.

I didn't have it in me to ask any more about the pane, no matter how valuable a distraction it might've been. I was exhausted to the point of apathy, for it had all been too much. Luxon's death, what had happened with Claire, and now this, the truth about both Kouris and myself. It'd feel real in the morning, but for now, it fell about me like a fog, swamping my thoughts with a constant thrum of grey.

Even kissing Claire felt distant. It was as though I was simply starting to become aware that it was something I might like to do, but would never gather the courage for.

Kouris was dealing with enough of her own, and understood my need to lapse into silence. She pulled me close, hand on my back, and sleep came to me before the sun had the chance to consider setting.

Kouris left early in the morning.

I felt her rise but didn't stir for more than a second, caught up in dreams as I was. I dreamt of Luxon, black mist rising from his body, slowly taking form, eyes burning like the moon. I dreamt of waking, of drifting through corridors, and coming so close to the truth Claire had promised me that I
almost
knew what it was, upon starting myself awake.

Sleep didn't leave me rested, but when I looked down, I saw that I was still myself, arms and legs intact. The suffocating extent I'd felt my powers to yesterday had drained away, already distant.

I'd barely had time to rub the sleep out of my eyes when someone knocked at the door. I poked my head out between the curtains and called for them to come in, not awake enough to think it through. Claire stepped into the room, held the door open, and ushered in a servant carrying a tray. He placed a breakfast big enough for a pane on one of the low tables, leaving with a bow in Claire's direction and a few silver coins in his hand.

“I wasn't certain how comfortable you were with issuing orders to the servants. Nor was I certain what you wanted for breakfast,” Claire said, glancing at the assortment of bread, cooked meats, fruit and cheese. “... evidently.”

I grinned from ear to ear. I'd lost my appetite after the incident with Luxon, but if nothing else, sleep had replenished that. I would've dived onto the sofa and got started, had Claire not ducked beneath the curtains and sat on the edge of the bed, rendering food forgotten.

The dark marks beneath her eyes had faded a little in Kyrindval, but I'd no doubt she'd slept as poorly as I had, if at all. I wanted to wrap my arms around her shoulders and pull her onto the bed, but I knew she wouldn't be there for long; there was always something Claire had to do, and always for someone other than herself.

“Are you alright?” I tried, and she turned her head towards me slowly, not seeming to have heard me at all. “Is everything okay?”

She nodded without meaning it and I shuffled across the bed under the blankets, leaning against her back.

“I am just...” she started. “It is...”

Claire let out a long, heavy breath, and I said nothing, giving her time to gather her thoughts.

“You will understand soon, I've no doubt. There is to be a meeting at midday, in the Cardinal Hall, where we will finally decide what is to be done. Kouris has ensured you'll be granted access.”

I buried my forehead between her shoulder blades, nodding. My arms slipped from under the blankets and around her waist, and she leant against me, not needing to say anything more. One of her hands covered the back of mine, and I lifted my head to see her looking down at me. She bit her lower lip, on the verge of saying something more, but it was no good.

Claire was back on her feet before I realised I'd let go of her. I fought with the blankets and jumped out of bed, but she was at the door, making ready to leave.

“There are matters I must discuss with Kouris,” she said, and turned from me.

“Thanks... thanks for breakfast,” I tried, but she was already gone.

I fell down against the sofa, glaring at the mountain of food as though it was responsible for everything that had drawn Claire to Kastelir. She hadn't simply come to my room to bring me breakfast and let me know I was welcome at the meeting; she'd come to me for a reason. She'd been on the cusp of admitting she needed someone to support her, if only for a moment, and I hadn't been able to keep her in the room.

I tore through the food, deciding it was much more effective to take my frustration out with my teeth, washed myself by the basin, and found more clean clothing left by one of the dressers. From the window, Isin seemed remarkably peaceful in its bustle. It was difficult to believe that anyone down there had reason to be angry, much less a reason to band together about whatever I'd half-witnessed yesterday.

The clock tower opposite my side of the castle revealed midday to be hours away, but I wasn't taking any chances. I was determined to make the meeting, and recalling that the larger rooms I'd happened across yesterday had been on the ground floor, I headed too far down, ending up by the cellars. I took the nearest staircase up and had much better luck in a more open part of the castle, corridors full of nobles drifting this way and that.

Yesterday, I'd been terrified a guard was going to grab me by the scruff of my collar and have me marched back to my room. Today, I'd barely been wandering for ten minutes when I managed to walk into a King.

King Jonas stepped out of a chamber, surrounded by a slew of advisers waving parchment at him, trying to get his seal on some document of great urgency, each bartering for a moment, just a moment, of his time. He waved a hand, silencing them, and said, “Good people—I appreciate your enthusiasm and dedication in equal measures, but I shall not be returning to business until this afternoon. If you would be so kind as to give me some space...”