The Crown and the Dragon (28 page)

Their eyes locked for a rapturous instant that stretched out into a long heart-stopping moment. Then he leaned down slightly and, after a second’s hesitation, kissed her with a fierce tenderness that took her by surprise.
Finally
, Elenn thought, closing her eyes and kissing him back.

Reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, she collapsed against his chest like she was sinking into a feather mattress. Feeling his hands running through her hair, she never wanted it to stop.

The first time he had kissed her, in the cavernous upper halls of the fortress of the Leode, they both thought that they were about to part forever. So Elenn had told herself to forget about it. He was a thief; there was nothing remarkable about him stealing a kiss from a girl he thought he would never see again.

Since they were still going together to Iliak, this kiss was not a goodbye. Despite the deliciousness of the moment, Elenn couldn’t help but ask herself what it meant. Was it a promise? An invitation? An assumption?

Elenn didn’t even know if she could return his affections. He was an outlaw, and she was from a line of kings. More than that, she was the Paladin. She had been given a gift from the Gods, and with that gift surely came the obligation to serve. Would she have to join the Sisters of the Leode, become married to the Gods? The thought of leaving all this behind was agony, but as Aunt Ethelind once said, some things were more important than one woman’s life.

As her head swam with a thousand thoughts, Aedin broke off from kissing and stepped away.

Had she done something wrong? Elenn had only kissed one man, but Aedin had been married. Perhaps he had sensed her turmoil, and wanted to talk before continuing further. Or maybe he had been repulsed by her distraction. Why hadn’t she just allowed herself to surrender to the moment?

“Aedin?” she said, taking his hands in hers.

Unable to look her in the eye, he opened his mouth, but he hesitated, saying nothing. His brows were knit in puzzlement.

“What is it?” said Elenn, searching his face for clues.

“Is that… my sword?” said Aedin, looking over her shoulder.

“What?”

“It is,” said Aedin, dropping Elenn’s hands. In the dark of the starry night, she watched as he strode away across the beach, the waves coming in around his shins. He reached down into the surf, and pulled up a naked sword, with a sturdy metal ring set in the hilt. “Look!” he cried.

“I don’t know how you managed to see that,” said Elenn, somewhat irritated. Her own eyes had been closed during the entire kiss.

“Gods, neither do I,” he said, holding it up to catch the starlight on its polished steel blade. “Unbelievable. It came back. How is that even possible?”

“You think it’s the same one?” said Elenn, rubbing her arms. The sea breeze was quite cool, and her hair and clothing were still soaked from the long swim.

“Oh, I know it,” he said, taking a few practice swings as he waded through the surf back to Elenn. “Can’t explain it, but I know it.”

“Not everything needs to be explained, I suppose,” said Elenn.

“Exactly,” said Aedin. He replaced the sword in its scabbard with a satisfied grunt. “Nice to just… enjoy the magic.” He grinned.

Was this finally an acknowledgment of their kiss? Elenn couldn’t be sure, in the dim light of the stars, but she thought his gaze had flickered to her lips. She was tempted to lean in and see what happened, but instead she just smiled and patted him on the cheek.

“Now,” said Aedin, “let’s go find those confounded horses and get that fool Kilkarrin his crown, before we run out of miracles. You ready?” he said, offering her his hand.

Elenn took a deep breath. There were a thousand things she wanted to say. But there would be other times, other places. For now, there was work to be done, as Aunt Ethelind would have said.

“Ready.”

Together, they walked hand in hand up the bluff, whistling for their horses.

***

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Epilogue

On the broad, flat summit of Mount Iliak, Elenn fidgeted in borrowed robes, waiting anxiously for the breaking of the dawn. Iliak was a lone ridge, rising up from the vast, flat grasslands of central Adair. In Ghel, they would have called it a hill, if they called it anything at all. But here were found the footprints of Anyon, the first king, burned into the stone by lightning. And here were crowned Deira’s kings.

“Why can't the sun hurry up?” Elenn whispered aloud.

The Sister who had loaned her clean clothing for the coronation was six inches shorter, and rather plump. Still, it was better than wearing the silk gown that Corvus had given her—now ripped, scorched, and stained with sea-salt.

“Eager, are you?” Aedin muttered.

He also wore borrowed clothes and a sling for his right arm. It made her wonder if she really had healed the break, despite the certainty she had felt in the moment. Perhaps the Falarica’s power—or her own—was exhausted. All her attempts at conjuring during the night’s ride had failed.

“Of course I am,” she said. “And I should think you would be, too. Especially since you’re part of the ceremony.”

He rolled his eyes. “Wish I wasn’t.”

It was not false modesty. She had heard him argue with the chieftain and ranking Lairds who wanted him to bear the standard of Clan Scylfing, protesting that he was no hero. But fishermen from Drumney had identified the two of them as the dragon-slayers, and the tale had circulated widely. So with his good arm, Aedin held a verdant pennon aloft, the wind displaying the clan insignia: a hare holding a crown.

Elenn had been chosen for an even greater honor, to carry the Falarica for the Sisters of the Leode. She had wanted to refuse. She was only an initiate, not even an acolyte. And despite what Aedin told her, she had no recollection of slaying the dragon—only confusing fragments of memory, like the scattered impressions of a dream.

Despite her misgivings, she had accepted. She was the Paladin. Although Elenn was still unsure what that meant, she knew she had a responsibility to serve. And so she stood in borrowed robes with four other women representing Deira’s most powerful Orders, waiting to invest the new king with the sacred relics their institutions zealously guarded.

Bringing these precious artifacts to the mount where the dragon made its lair had been an act of profound faith. Even coming at dawn, when the monster was most quiescent, was a terrible risk. Yet, as the new Leodrine Mother said, the prophecies were clear—the coronation must be at this place, on this day. And so they had come, trusting that the Gods would prepare a way for them to fulfill their destined roles in the anointing of the new king.

They were not alone. In truth, Iliak’s broad, flat summit was positively crowded. In the dim gray light of pre-dawn, Elenn saw nuns, chieftains, Lairds and Ladies, bannermen, and warriors with their great swords. Even Clooney Taftoughin was here, the old villain. Humble peasants, too, had come for the crowning of the new king, or to see for themselves if the dragon were truly gone. More arrived every minute.

Aedin and others said that it had surely been more than twenty years since this many people had graced the mountain’s slopes. Elenn imagined that many of them were refugees, or the children of refugees. Having seen the dragon's empty lair, they might be staying here in Adair to farm lands they had abandoned twenty years ago. Many others, though, would be returning to other provinces, recounting the story of Garrick's crowning.

“It is a proud day,” Elenn said. “A glorious day.”

“Bit ominous, to my mind,” said Aedin. “Better to wait for tomorrow.”

There was no fixed date for the crowning of kings, although several had been anointed on Lammas Day, the festival of bread. It was a time to give thanks for the first fruits of the harvest and to celebrate new beginnings.

This morn, however, would begin Lammas Eve, a day for endings. In Ghel, this meant fasting and penitence. Crofters in Adair feasted, emptying their larders to make room for the new harvest. Many Riverlanders gathered to share their oldest wine and recount stories from days gone by.

“In Renonia,” Elenn said, “no man can refuse an apology on Lammas Eve. It is a day for forgiveness and reconciliation.”

“Course they need a day for pardons,” said Aedin, “treacherous lot that they are. Corvus was Renonian, in case your memory’s still shaky.”

“It’s good enough to remember you telling me how he gave his life to save us.”

“Maybe,” Aedin said. “Man like that gives you a piece of fish, look for the hook.”

Elenn shook her head. “He’s dead and gone. Let go of your hate.”

“Someone told me our hurts are part of who we are,” he said. “That our wounds make us strong.” He was staring at Garrick. Perhaps he was the man Aedin had been talking about all along.

Elenn reached up to touch the ring hanging from a chain around her neck. “Remembering the sacrifices of those who loved us,” she said, “is not the same as letting bitter feelings fester in your heart. That’s a hook you set yourself. Time to let it go.”

Aedin’s response, if he had any, was preempted by a wave of gasps and exclamations as the first rays of light reached up over the horizon, stretching out to touch Iliak’s broad peak. Then the assembled host hushed as Garrick Kilkarrin and his Council of Knights knelt in silent prayer before a wooden throne, decorated with intricate carvings of heroes from history and legend.

“Someday we will tell our children we were here,” Elenn whispered. Flushing, she added. “All of us, I mean. Every one of us will tell our children.”

Aedin didn’t appear to notice her slip. “I want it to be true,” he said, “but how can one man make all this right? The monster is dead, but the Vitalion remain. The clans are united today, but how long will it take for us to be at each other’s throats again?”

“The blood of the dragon will heal the land,” said Elenn. “That’s what the prophecy said. If Garrick the Dragon can’t finish this work in one lifetime, then maybe his heirs will. In time, his line could heal this land. And we can help. Each of us has our part to play.”

“Speaking of,” Aedin said.

Garrick and the Council rose from prayer, and Garrick sat down in the throne. With his Knights arrayed behind him, he looked every inch the king. His august countenance was framed by waves of chestnut hair which fell upon his broad shoulders. His beautifully crafted armor gleamed so brilliantly that Elenn was glad the back of the throne was between him and the rising sun. He was more than regal—he was resplendent.

Garrick gave Elenn and the other four women chosen by the Orders a grave nod, and they advanced as one toward the throne. The first Sister took his left hand and placed on his finger the ring of Anyon, first King of Deira. The second took his right hand and placed in it the sword of Uilleam Sprigge, the last man to kill a dragon. The third placed a scarlet cape on his shoulders and fastened it with a silver fibula.

Then it was Elenn’s turn. Bowing to Garrick, she presented the Falarica, which the new king took in his left hand. For a moment, their eyes met.

Did he know, she wondered, what a treasure he was being given? Or was it just another trinket to him, another symbol of majesty? For that matter, did he know who she was? Not just the Paladin, not just another Barethon and possible heir to the throne, but his cousin. With her aunt gone, this man was all the kin she had in the world. Did he know that they were family?

He smiled at Elenn, and then his gaze shifted to the woman who stood behind her. With a last bow, Elenn stepped aside. This was not the time, but she resolved to speak to Garrick. After a life spent in the shadows, she was ready for a new dawn.

The fifth priestess reverently placed a crown on Garrick’s head. All of the company fell to their knees, in awe-filled silence, as King Garrick stood, for the first time. He stepped forward and placed his feet on the prints on the rock, where it was said that the Gods had endowed Anyon with power from the heavens.

He raised his sword to the sky in silent plea for divine favor. A warm summer breeze blew in from the east, stirring his hair and causing the scarlet Laird’s cape to billow out behind him in regal splendor. The Gods had given their approval.

A cheer came up from the assembled host, and Elenn was pleased to hear Aedin’s voice mingled with the rest. She stepped back to join him, gently taking hold of his injured arm. She raised her voice to join him in the cry that burst forth triumphantly from each man’s lips and echoed in every ear.

“Long live Garrick! Long live the king!”

***

Acknowledgments

John D. Payne would like to thank Jason Faller and the creative minds at Arrowstorm Entertainment for the amazing opportunity to be a part of this project. Specifically, I owe a great debt to Kynan Griffin, Anne Black, and Justin Partridge, without whose original screenplay none of this would have been possible.  

Undying gratitude is also due to the incomparable Kevin J. Anderson of WordFire Press and to the inestimable Rebecca Moesta for encouragement and expert editing. Thank you for believing in this book.

Many thanks to a host of readers, including: Ryan English, John Ferguson, Martin Greening, Alice Beesley, Andrew Griffard, Alice Wills Gold, Don Hodge, David Payne I and II, Steven Besendorfer, Danielle Andrews, Sara Anderson, Ryan Burraston, Linsey Duncan, Ellen Imler, and Marc DeVore, with special thanks to Heidi Taylor, Kim W. Justesen, and E.J. Patten. This book is much stronger because of all of your insights and feedback.

For their support and sage advice, I would like to recognize the whole tribe from the Superstars Writing Seminar, and in particular Brandon Sanderson. Thank you for helping me to believe in myself. 

And finally, thank you to my beloved family. You are better than fantastic.

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