The Last Dragonlord Page 23

  “Dragonlord—may I have a private word with you?”

  He jumped, feeling guilty. He’d forgotten she was in the room. “I’ll be back,” he whispered in Maurynna’s ear.

  Alinya gestured to the door of Rann’s sleeping chamber. He followed as she slowly made her way to the other room. Once there she said nothing, but looked back through the half-closed door. Linden followed her gaze.

  Gevianna and Tasha had finished with Maurynna. Now the three women sat on the floor with Rann. The boy held his coldfire in one hand; with the other he pointed at the toy soldiers as he directed his “generals” in their placement. Linden smiled as Maurynna solemnly galloped a mounted fighter across the tiles. The wolfhound lay thumping its tail.

  The duchess’s soft voice interrupted his revery. “She’s your soultwin, isn’t she, Dragonlord?”

  He spun to face her. “What do you—?”

  The old woman cut him off with a gesture. “It’s the way you look at her and she at you. It’s the same way Kief Shaeldar and Tarlna Aurianne look at each other. Yet you’ve made no announcement. Why?”

  Linden said, “Because she doesn’t know. And she mustn’t; if she tries to force early Change, she could kill herself.”

  Alinya made the sign to avert misfortune. “Who did this to her?”

  “Sherrine. Had I known about Maurynna, I would never have dallied with her. Fool that I am, I never thought the girl would do something like this. I had made it clear to her—I thought—that she might not be the only one.” He picked up a toy soldier that had not joined the muster of its fellows and turned it over and over in his fingers.

  Alinya said, “Sherrine is not the sort to take defeat gracefully, Dragonlord. Bad enough that the ending of your dalliance was not of her choosing. But that she should lose a Dragonlord lover to a Thalnian commoner would be very bitter indeed.

  “Sherrine,” the duchess added, “can be a fool. Like too many Cassorin nobles. They refuse to see that power may rest with others besides the nobly born.”

  Linden raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  Alinya smiled. “When I was a girl, Dragonlord, my parents and I lived for a time in Thalnia with my mother’s foster sister. I know how powerful their great merchant families are—some might as well be noble, such as the Erdons. Yes, I recognized the name. If Sherrine had looked beyond her prejudices, she would have realized that Maurynna was no common trader. The only way someone as young as Maurynna could have her own ship is with the backing of vast resources—the kind that merchant princes control. But Sherrine sees what she wants to see.”

  Linden grunted in embarrassment. Just as he’d seen what he’d wanted to see in Sherrine: a lighthearted companion for a while, with no hearts broken on either side when it came time for parting.

  Alinya looked into the other room again. She said, “May I give you some advice, Dragonlord? Take your soultwin back to her people—and stay away from her.”

  Linden first reaction was fury. Then common sense prevailed. Alinya must have a reason; he would hear it.

  He followed her gaze. The wolfhound held Rann down with one paw while washing his face with a very large, pink tongue. Rann sputtered and beat the dog with a small fist. The wolfhound ignored him. Tasha and Gevianna tried to pull the dog off, but were laughing too much to help. Maurynna was yawning; the weariness that often followed a Healing was setting in.

  “Why?” Linden asked at last, surprised at how calm he sounded.

  “Because, I am sorry to say, the Fraternity of Blood may not be the old nurse’s tale that many people think; there are whispers that some misguided fools have resurrected it here in Casna. I believe those rumors have some substance behind them.”

  “There have always been a few grumblers who have fancied themselves as bearing the mantle of the Fraternity,” Linden said. “And aside from the odd madman trying for a Dragonlord’s life, that is all they do: grumble.”

  Alinya studied him, her old eyes clear and calm. “I have spent my life avoiding the dances of power in Cassori, Dragonlord, but I have not closed my ears. I … hear things. And I am very good at adding two and two, as the saying goes. I truly believe that this incarnation of the Fraternity is dangerous.

  “If it becomes known that the girl is precious to you, the Fraternity could well strike at you through her. The more you are seen together, the more chance that someone else will see what I saw tonight. Are you willing to take that chance with your soultwin’s life, Linden Rathan?”

  “They didn’t attack Sherrine,” Linden pointed out.

  “True,” Alinya replied. “But Sherrine is noble and her mother a favorite of a prince. Likely they dare not strike so high; not yet. But Maurynna … She has no such protection and is a foreigner to boot.”

  The old woman rested a wrinkled hand gently on his arm. “I’m sorry, Dragonlord. I know how long you’ve had to wait. I can’t truly comprehend that amount of time, but I can imagine it. But this is only until you can leave Cassori and take her someplace safe with you.”

  “I could take her under my protection,” Linden said, more out of stubbornness than because he believed it.

  “Bah! Why not have the heralds cry the news of the best way to hurt you? Can you stay with her every candlemark of the day to protect her? And she’s not stupid—or her family would never have trusted her with her own ship. How long before she adds two and two—and comes up with five? Yet you say she must not know what she is.” Alinya tapped her foot.

  Linden looked around at the little-boy clutter of the sleeping chamber. He nudged a leather ball by his foot. It rolled across the floor to rest under a table covered with glittering stones, brightly colored feathers, and seashells from the picnic. He tossed the soldier he still held into an open chest of toys.

  It was foolishness; nothing but moonshine. Alinya was imagining things. The true Fraternity of Blood had been destroyed long ago.

  But he couldn’t take the chance.

  Maurynna rode pillion behind Linden as they journeyed back to the house. She was having trouble staying awake now, dozing off only to be jerked into consciousness once more at some change in the horse’s gait.

  “Wrap your hands in my belt, love, and go to sleep if you want,” Linden said. “I won’t let you fall.”

  Grateful, Maurynna did as he said, resting her head against his broad back. His clan braid tickled her nose, but even that wasn’t enough to keep her awake now. She slept until they reached the house.

  She woke enough to get down from the horse. Linden helped her inside. She was vaguely aware of her aunt and cousin converging on her, then retreating at something Linden said. All she could do was yawn, it seemed; she hadn’t even the curiosity to wonder why he led her to the front room.

  She came out of the sleepy fog pulling her down when he suddenly held her tight, nearly crushing her, and just as suddenly released her and stepped back. She blinked up at him, surprised.

  “Maurynna,” he said, taking her hands. “I’m sorry. Gods, I can’t tell you how sorry, but—we will not be able to see each other again.”

  Thirty-three

  Maurynna snapped awake at Linden’s words. “What?” was all she could say. “But why?”

  “Because it’s too dangerous for you. I can’t subject you to another attack. We won’t be able to meet again—not until this is over, and likely not in Casna.”

  His hands were warm around her own that had suddenly turned icy. She pulled them away.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said, confused and hurt. “Who would attack me? Lady Sherrine again?”

  He started to say something, then stopped. A moment later he conceded, “No, I don’t think Sherrine would—”

  “Then who? Did anyone attack her for keeping company with you? Don’t tell me your dalliance was a great secret.”

  He shook his head impatiently. “Of course it wasn’t. Blast it, Maurynna—be sensible. Sherrine has her rank to protect her. You’re both foreigner and commoner. Cassorin law�
��” He paused and tried to capture her hands once more. She wouldn’t let him. “Cassorin law would be against—”

  She turned to stare at the wall, her mind fastening on the word “commoner.”

  “It’s because I’m not noble, isn’t it? Have you come to your senses, then, and decided to look to your own station for …” Her voice broke. She said through tears, “Lady Sherrine said that you could only be amusing yourself keeping company with a commoner. She was right, wasn’t she? You’ve never asked me to stay with you; she did, and many times, didn’t she? What was the point of it all, Linden? Were you truly just amusing yourself?”

  She could hear his teeth grind from where she stood but refused to look at him.

  “Don’t be stupid—you know that isn’t it. I wouldn’t do that—”

  Maurynna turned to face him squarely and cast her pride into the dust. “Then take me home with you tonight,” she said quietly.

  He looked away. “I—I can’t,” he whispered.

  Hot tears slid down her cheeks. “Then go. Go to your Lady Sherrine, Linden; she’s beautiful. Not like me, with my mismatched eyes and calloused hands.”

  She turned her back on him once more and leaned her forehead against the cool paneling. “It shall be as you wish, Your Grace. Indeed, I never want to see you again,” she lied. “Go.”

  He did not come to her as she had hoped he would. He stood for a long time behind her; out of whatever rags of pride she had left, Maurynna held back the worst of her tears until she heard him leave. When the door slammed, she slid to the floor and cried.

  The next thing she knew Aunt Elenna and Maylin were fluttering around her like frantic partridges.

  “What’s wrong, Rynna?” Maylin asked over and over.

  “Hush, girl, don’t badger her,” Aunt Elenna said. “She’s simply tired from the Healing and the shock of everything that’s happened. It sometimes takes people this way. Come, dear heart, try to stand. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  No, she wanted to say. I won’t be better in the morning. How can I be? She tried to find the words to tell them how her world had collapsed around her, but only more tears came. Giving up—for she cared about nothing anymore—Maurynna let her aunt and cousin hustle her up the stairs to the bedroom. Once there she stood quietly while they drew off her gown and shift and replaced them with her nightgown as though they dressed a doll. She had stopped sobbing by now, but the tears still fell from her eyes.

  She remembered seeing Maylin’s worried face above her as they put her to bed and drew the sheet up under her chin. Then Maurynna closed her eyes and shut out the world. They tried to make her talk to them. She refused. In the end, when she turned her back and curled into a tight ball, they blew out the rushlight and left her alone in the darkened room.

  How could he? Maurynna grieved. I thought—I thought perhaps … Damn it, I was right—it’s sometimes better to let a dream stay a dream. I wish I’d never met him.

  She cried herself to sleep, still lying to herself.

  “Was it bad, boyo?” Otter asked.

  They sat in the dining hall of Linden’s city house. On the table between them rested a jug of wine and two goblets. A single candle lit the room. Aside from their quiet conversation the house was silent; the servants had been dismissed for the night.

  Linden rested his elbows on the inlaid wood and buried his face in his hands. “Beyond belief, Otter. I feel as though I’ve torn myself in two, and I know what’s between us. She won’t understand why it will hurt so much. Ah, gods help me—the look in her eyes …” He squeezed his own eyes shut as if that would blot out the memory.

  “Did you tell her what you feared? What Duchess Alinya told you about the Fraternity?” the bard said as he filled the goblet in front of the Dragonlord yet again. “Hang it all, boyo, but I wish you could get drunk.”

  Linden drank half the wine at a gulp. “So do I. Roaring, stinking drunk; then I could forget for a little while. And no, Otter, I didn’t tell her that. She wouldn’t have believed me. Most people think they’re nothing more than a myth, something for bards to hang a tale on. It would have sounded like an excuse to put her aside, and a bad excuse at that.”

  “So instead you gave her no real reason.” The bard sighed. “If it would make you feel any better, I don’t think it would have helped even if you’d told her. She’s fought off pirates and robbers; some half-legendary bogeymen wouldn’t make her blink. She’d be determined to prove you wrong. Our Rynna, if you haven’t guessed by now, is a stubborn one.”

  Linden was too sunk in his misery to rise to the wry bantering in Otter’s voice. He didn’t even raise his head from his hands. “She said she never wanted to see me again.”

  Otter blinked in surprise. “How—Can she truly want that? Doesn’t the soultwinning mean that you two can’t get along without each other or some such thing?”

  “No.” Linden finished the rest of his wine and held the goblet out to be filled again. He rested one cheek against a hand and swirled the wine around, staring morosely into it. “No, not every soultwinning is like that. There are degrees. Most are no closer than a very close truehuman couple might be; it’s as if the souls, while still recognizing the bond, have also grown independent of each other—much as truehuman twins have their own lives.

  “And there are a few—very few, thank the gods—that cannot stand each other.”

  “How can that be, boyo? Not to care for the other half of yourself—how?” the bard asked, surprised.

  “Have you never met someone who hated him or herself, then, Otter?” Linden asked. “Think.”

  “Ah,” the bard said, nodding. “I remember now. You’re right.”

  Linden continued, “Some are very close, like Kief and Tarlna. It’s a hardship for them to be apart for great lengths of time.” Pain filled him; for a moment he couldn’t speak, then said bitterly, “I had thought that Maurynna and I would be like that.”

  He fell silent, reliving his happier memories of Maurynna. The most recent kept pushing them aside to haunt him. The candle was shorter by nearly a finger’s width before Otter broke the oppressive quiet.

  “I think you will find your bonding is like Kief’s and Tarlna’s. You said earlier she won’t understand why it hurts so much. I think she’s hurting, boyo, hurting and striking out with it. And you’re the natural target, like it or not.”

  “May the gods grant that you’re right, Otter,” said Linden.

  The bard snorted. “Of course I am. Have you ever known me to be wrong?”

  Linden couldn’t help a smile at that, though a wry and halfhearted one it was. “Remember that mountain bumpkin you thought you’d found?”

  Sent home under guard as though she were a common criminal. And for what?

  Sherrine paced her room. “For what?” she said aloud. “Teaching the little gutter rat proper manners? How dare she call Linden by name? It was her fault—her fault, not mine!”

  But you didn’t have to blind her. That was excessive.

  “It wasn’t! She deserved it. Anyway, it was an accident.”

  Her linen nightgown billowed as she roamed through darkness broken only by a single candle beneath the mirror. Her bare feet pattered against the cold tiles. Back and forth, back and forth, she swept, convincing herself with every step that she had done nothing wrong.

  She detoured, snatched up the lavender headache bag from the table by the bed and resumed pacing. She inhaled deeply, but for once the fragrance had no power to soothe her. The memory of how the guards refused to look at her, their eyes sliding over her as if she were too foul to contemplate, came back.

  “It was her fault, not mine. I didn’t mean to cut her eye, but she shouldn’t have provoked me.” She stopped before her mirror. She asked her reflection, “She did provoke me, didn’t she? Lowborn slut, casting her eyes above herself. Who does she think she is, trying to take Linden away from me?”

  As if from the image facing her came a thought: And is
Linden blameless? After all, he sided with her—“attend me at my residence,” indeed! How dare he treat you like a common thug?

  Sherrine shook her head. “He’ll see what a mistake he made. He’ll see I’m right. I know I can convince him.”

  Can you? Or was Niathea right? You’ve lost him. A pity Althume doesn’t have a love potion for a Dragonlord.

  “Althume,” Sherrine breathed. “Of course. If Linden won’t see reason, I’ll speak to Althume. Not even a Dragonlord can treat me this way for the sake of a lowborn trull like that.”

  She shredded the bag in her fingers. Tiny dried purple flowers cascaded over her toes. She crushed them beneath one heel; the sharp scent of lavender filled the air.

  “How dare he treat me that way … .”

  Thirty-four

  Gevianna listened at the door to Rann’s sleeping chamber. The boy had taken forever to fall asleep this night; the excitement of the young sea captain’s injury and his unbounded delight in the scarlet coldfire had conspired to keep the boy awake much later than usual.

  But now there were no longer any mutterings from the room; Rann had evidently finished whatever bedtime story he sent himself to sleep with most nights. She eased the door open. Still no sound.

  Good. Now to see if my idea will work. She went in quietly.

  The boy lay sprawled across the bed. He snored, tiny, child-sized snorts and snuffles. She pulled the sheet he’d kicked aside over him once more and smiled. The boy was an endearing little mite. If only things had been different … .

  But she was not here to gaze fondly upon her charge. What she wanted bobbed a handsbreadth or two above the foot of the bed, lighting the dark room with a faint crimson glow.

  She undid the ribbons that held the little sewing basket to her belt. Pulling lid and bottom apart, she crept up upon the coldfire as craftily as though she hunted a timid rabbit. The coldfire did not retreat at her approach. She reached out slowly, carefully …