Kindle the Flame (Heart of a Dragon Book 1) (23 page)

“Ayden?” Kinna asked. “Are you coming?”

Helga turned. “Aye, my lad, have no fear. I don't normally cook Dragondimn for my dinner.”

“Dragons,” Ayden murmured. “I should stay out here with Chennuh. He'll need sustenance after flying all day.”

“Oh no, dear, he's fine.” She motioned over his shoulder where they had left the Dragon on the other side of the river.

Chennuh was curled up in a shimmering ball, snoring. The remains of some large animal lay on the ground beside him.

A chill ran up Kinna's spine, exploding into a million fireworks at the base of her neck. Something about this plump, pleasant woman awed her and terrified her.

Helga was walking again toward the cottage, and finally Kinna took a shaky step after her. Ayden's glove on her sleeve stopped her. In a whisper, he said, “Stay here, Kinna.”

“What? No.”

“I mean it. I need to talk to this woman alone.”

“Ayden, we only have Lincoln's word—”

“Lincoln's word is good. He's never proved unfaithful.”

“But it's only ever been the three of us. We can't
know
for sure ... and he
has
been awfully secretive about his past...”

“No more than you've been, or I, for that matter.”

“But I—”

His gloved thumb on her lips stopped the words from coming.

“No, Kinna. This is something I need to take care of by myself. But thank you.”

Kinna blinked up at him. “For what?”

“For caring,” he said. He turned and followed Helga, who had stopped on her doorstep and was waiting.

Kinna stared after him, suddenly terrified that, as his broad back disappeared into the doorway behind Helga, she would never see him again.

A
yden shut
the door behind him, taking in the woman's cottage, surprise flickering through him. It was tidy and comfortable. A dancing fire lit the small stone fireplace to his right. Two over-stuffed chairs angled close to it, and another basket of spun wool sat next to the chair on the left. The spinning wheel stood in the corner, the thread on the spindle only half spun.

To his left a larger cookfire took up most of one wall, and several hooks held bronze pots of all shapes and sizes over the fire. A table stood in front of it, and on it, two biscuits sat on a plate.

Helga watched his perusal, amusement on her smile-creased face. She nodded at the biscuits. “As you can see, Lincoln's offer to bring in fish is necessary if we are all to eat our fill.”

“Yes, of course.” Ayden dropped his gaze, embarrassed to have been caught ogling.

“I see you still wear the gloves.”

Ayden's gaze jerked back to the woman. She had moved to a counter in the corner where she pulled out flour and salt. She busied herself in preparations to make more biscuits.

“What?”

“They've changed over the years though.” She laughed lightly as she glanced over at him. “I suppose leather only lasts so long. I didn't think you'd stoop to cow-hide though.”

Her laughter was comfortable, jolly even. It made the little rolls in her chin wobble.

Ayden glanced down at the plain, brown leather that covered his hands, then back up at the woman. “I'm sorry, do we know one another?”

“You wouldn't remember me.” She had formed the dough by this point, adding a tiny bit of water from the kettle to get it to the correct consistency. She sprinkled the table with flour and emptied the dough out onto it. “It's been many, many years since I've set eyes on you. In person, at least.”

“What do you mean?”

Helga laughed again. “Seeing someone physically standing in front of you is only one of many ways to view them.”

Ayden felt his mouth hanging slack. He shut it firmly.

Helga kneaded the dough swiftly and grabbed the rolling pin, spreading it out. “You're what, two and twenty now?”

“Aye.” His birthday had passed over the winter months in the Rues. He hadn't mentioned it to the others, afraid that it would invite questions.

The biscuit cutter moved over the dough, cutting out fluffy round shapes that Helga moved onto the pan with her nimble fingers.

Carrying the tray to the fire, she opened the brick oven on the side and slid in the tray.

“I knew your mother.”

Ayden's knees weakened, and tears tinged his eyes. He searched for the nearest chair, a flimsy wooden one that sat near the door, and sank down onto it. “Why am I just now finding out about this?”

“Because if you had known about me or any of it, you would have been dead before you had gone five steps. So no one told. And you were safe. For the time being at least.”

“Wh—at?”

Helga smiled. “Have no fear, young Ayden. We've got the night before us. I'll tell you many things, and hopefully, I'll be able to help you with your affliction as well. But for now, let us sup together.”

The door swung open next to Ayden, and he jumped, peering out into the semi-darkness. Lincoln and Kinna were hurrying through the woods toward the stoop. They entered the warm lantern light, and Kinna immediately searched his gaze.

He knew she was frightened, perhaps almost as much as he. He nodded, hoping to reassure her.

S
upper was filling and warm
. Kinna stretched like a sleepy kitten when she'd finished her plate of fish and biscuits. She offered to clean the dishes, but Helga waved her off. The older woman's light chatter seemed to have relaxed Kinna, and Lincoln was like an entirely new Pixie. He bantered with Helga like an old friend, and Ayden grew more and more intrigued as the evening passed.

At last Helga stood. “There are some extra blankets in the bedroom through there. Kinna and Lincoln, I would like to talk with Ayden alone.” Her voice was kind but firm, and Ayden sensed no awkwardness or hostility as Kinna made her way to the door by the hearth, Lincoln trailing behind her. He watched Kinna's profile as she passed through the door, and Kinna sent one long look over her shoulder at him.

Then Helga and he sat before the fire in silence.

Ayden blinked. The spinning wheel stood in front of Helga again, the string steadily spinning onto the spindle. The sudden, unexpected change threw him off balance.

Helga glanced over at him as she worked. “Like I say, Ayden, I knew your mother long ago in Lismaria. I was first employed in King Liam's palace, and then stayed on after Sebastian killed Liam and struggled against Nicholas Erlane.”

Ayden's mind traveled back to his earliest memories—the tiny village where he and his mother had lived, how he had run the single path through the houses up to the hills every day with Flindel. And then the burning, charring flames of destruction and death...

“Alice was the sweetest woman I think I've ever known, and I've known quite a few. She never held back from anyone. She was poor as a pauper's pockets, but she still gave away anything she had, precious little though it was, to anyone who needed it more than she. The only time I ever saw her say no was during the famine—I believe it was during your second year—when there was one biscuit left in the house, and you had no other prospect for dinner. A beggar pounded on her door that evening, and she had to tell him no. Aye, she told him no with tears running down her face. No one was sure that anyone would survive that time.”

Ayden asked, “Did you live in the village, too? How do you know all this?”

“Aye, my home was there. I lived in the palace during the weeks, but on weekends, I liked to return.”

Ayden's eyes widened. “But the village was far from the King's palace, was it not?”

“Aye.” Helga did not elaborate. She sat even straighter in her chair and pulled another tuft of wool from her basket to feed into the spinning wheel.

A long pause ensued. Ayden tried to keep his curiosity at bay. He wanted to ask her if she could fix his malady, could remove the curse, but her manner told him that she would get to that when and only when she was ready.

“Why don't I remember you?” he asked at last. “I was eight when the village burned.”

“I did not look then as I do now.”

Ayden's eyes widened. “What—”

“In those days, young Ayden, we did not live together in Clans as we do here in West Ashwynd. Many different people of many different giftings lived in the same villages. You were a Dragondimn, that much was clear. Your pet's name was...” she paused, searching for it, “…Flindel, that was it.”

“Aye.”

“I was not a Dragondimn.”

“You lived near us? Were you...” He paused, searching his memory, but only seeing small pieces of pictures as he thought back.

“I was a Pixie,” she answered, smiling. “Or what you would call a Pixie, though I'm from the old order, one of a group called the Seer Fey. My gifts went far beyond words and songs. But yes, the Pixie Clan would be where I should live if I would choose to dwell among others.”

Ayden stared at her. “I—I don't remember you.”

“No, you wouldn't. As I explained, I was a Pixie.”

“But...”

“An
actual
Pixie, Ayden, not a Dimn. And I often chose to exist in my truest form.”

Realization hit Ayden at the same time as Helga spoke again. “Aye, when I was in my Pixie form, I was no bigger than your hand.”

Now Ayden was really confused. “You were ... Fey. A small one. But—you said you worked in the palace?”

“Aye. On weekdays, I took my current form.”

“But how?”

Helga smiled. “You've heard, I'm sure, of the
taibe
. I am a
taibas
, a weaver of the old magic. Not all Seer Fey practice
taibe
, and not all
taibe
are Seer Fey. However, I am a Seer Fey who also practices
taibe
, a bit of an anomaly in these parts.” She winked over her spectacles at him, and then stopped her spinning wheel abruptly, leaning forward, her brilliant, steady black eyes on his. “And that is why you are here, is it not? My gifts?”

The sudden change of subject snapped Ayden's gaze to her face. Her black eyes were sharp, despite the jollity of her expression. “It is not an easy fix.”

“How do you know? About this?” His voice rasped as it slid through the emotions that choked his vocal cords. He held up a hand in the stuttering light from the fire, his bitter gaze raking over the leather.

“I saw him curse you, that day.” She stood and crossed to the large fireplace, pulling the kettle off the flames. “Would you like some tea?” she asked, for all the world as if this were a common topic of conversation.

“No, I think not, but thank you.”

She poured a cup for herself before returning to her seat. She took a sip of the scalding liquid. “I was furious, you know. That he would vent his spleen on a helpless child, and
such
a curse...” She shook her head and took another sip. “He had reason to be upset, I suppose. You did manage to exile him from Lismaria and the throne which he had intended to take.” She chuckled. “Sebastian, running from an eight-year-old boy. You were something fierce.”

Ayden shook his head. He didn't remember much of anything from those days, but he did remember Sebastian's face, and he remembered the hatred that had burned in his heart these many years toward the man. It was the very reason he had followed Sebastian across the Channel to West Ashwynd. Everything he'd done, every choice he'd made since his mother had died and the village had burned had been to eventually repay Sebastian for the pain the man had caused him. When Tannic had hired him, he'd leaped eagerly at the idea of training Dragons. His plan had morphed into the dream of achieving
psuche
with a Dragon in order to kill Sebastian. He'd hoped to do just that with Chennuh, until Kinna...

“Take off your gloves.” Helga's voice spoke to his left, and he started.

“I cannot. I would risk your life if I did so.”

“You're not going to risk anyone's life, Ayden. At least no one in this room.”

Ayden slowly did as she instructed. Without warning, she picked up his bare hand in her own.

“No!” he shouted, yanking his hand backward. She didn't let go. She waited until the slow realization washed over him.

She was not turning gray. No ashy, dry cracks ran across her skin. Her steady, dark eyes held his until he allowed her to raise his hand before her face. She studied each finger, the palms, the back of the hand.

At last, with a heavy sigh, she dropped his hand back onto his lap and returned to her chair.

Ayden reeled from the shock. He hadn't killed her. She sat in her chair across from him and traced her finger over the string of wool wrapping the spindle. At last, he found words. “Does it not affect you?”

She twisted her fingers sharply, and the wool string on the spindle inexplicably cavorted through the air in a whirling dance of thread. She chuckled as she pointed to the basket, and the thread wrapped itself into a ball and settled on the fluffy wool. “Of course not. I'm a
taibas.
Your curse is the work of
taibe
; it has no effect on a weaver of itself.”

Ayden was still in shock that she had touched his bare hand and lived. Finally he managed to speak. “Can—you lift the curse?”

“No, Ayden, I can't.”

Ayden felt as if all the light and air went out of the room. He hadn't realized how much he had been hoping that somehow, this would be the way out. That somehow, he could live a normal life, a life that included the touch of other humans or creatures.

“But I know who can.”

At first the words didn't sink in; Ayden was too wrapped up in the picture of his life as a loner, a pariah from any society.

And then they did. He lifted his head. “There is someone who can break the curse?”

“Aye.”

“Tell me.” Elusive hope shook his voice.

“The one who gave it to you in the first place.”

A ragged gasp tore from his throat, and he lurched to his feet, blinking his burning eyes as he walked to the window. His gloved hands slammed the sill, and he stared blindly out at the open darkness beyond the shutters.

“What good does that do me? He'll never do it.”

“Not intentionally, no. Unless he's changed since the last time I've seen him.” She laughed comfortably at her own joke, but Ayden couldn't find even a spark of humor in the situation.

He bowed his head in defeat. “What do you mean?”

“The curse that Sebastian used is a very old spell, one that is avoided by any but those into the deepest dark arts. That’s why I cannot undo his curse. An old
taibe
proverb says, 'If darkness births the deed, then darkness is the creed.'”

At Ayden's confused look, she smiled. “It simply means that because Sebastian used the dark arts to conjure the curse, only dark arts will take the curse away.” She shook her head. “Quite frankly, I am surprised that he knew that curse. His interests had been long divided between his search for the throne and his fascination with all creatures. He was a mere apprentice in the
taibe
arts anyway.”

Ayden inhaled a deep breath of the night air. “The point remains, he did know the curse. Are you saying there is a cure, but he has to be the one to give it?”

The tea cup clinked as she set it back on the plate and stood. “When Sebastian cursed you, he had to draw from every part of who he was, inside and outside. The physical, the emotional—all of him went into that curse. Anything less would not have worked. It's a testament for how powerfully you had turned the tables on him. So, to retract the curse, you must do the opposite of what he did. You must overpower him, physically and emotionally, just as he overpowered you that day.”

“Do you mean I am to kill him?”

“Did he kill you?”

“No. But—”

“Overpower him, Ayden. Make him cower as you did when you were a boy. Terrify him, Ayden, as he struck terror into your heart. Then,” she held out her hand, “give him this.”

Ayden crossed the room slowly, his mind whirling. She dropped a silver necklace into his hand—the pendant a wood amulet etched with a swirl of circles ringing an eye.