Dragonoak (25 page)

No one
said anything. They could only reflect on how weak Katja had made
me, how her words cut through me still, and the thought of wrapping
my fingers tight around Katja's throat made it impossible to draw
breath into my own lungs.

I
ran.

Behind
me, I heard Varn ask, “Who the fuck is Claire?” but if anything
else was said, it was lost to the pounding between my temples. I
charged through the forgotten gardens, crashed into the front
doors, shouldered one open, and though the corridors were filled
with a dozen footsteps drawing closer and closer, I didn't care. I
didn't know where I was going, but it didn't matter.

I could
feel Kondo-Kana within the palace. I chased that feeling, bolting
into the temple and skidding to a stop, almost striking my forehead
against Isjin's outstretched hand in the process. Hands on my
knees, all the breath spluttered out of me, and the guards who'd
given chase weren't far behind. Wheezing, I heard Kondo-Kana say,
“It is fine, it is fine. Go,” dismissing them, and I screwed my
eyes shut, trying to drink down how it felt to be around
her.

“Aejin,”
Kondo-Kana said, placing a hand between my shoulder blades. “I did
not think to see you back so soon. Please, sit with me.”

I pulled
away from her, tugging at my hair as I paced the room, kicking over
candles. The light warbled and faded and spread as I seethed, dry
wax cracking, hot wax burning my skin, drying on my feet and shins.
Without a sound, Kondo-Kana lowered herself onto the bench,
ignoring the destruction as I tried to suffocate what Katja had
said out of my system.

“You are
angry,” she observed. I span around, wanting to snap that of course
I was, but my eyes met hers, and all that impossible clearness
opened something wide within me. Anger and hurt poured through that
rift and I was left shaking with the dregs that remained. “But
anger is not all you have, or all you are. Will you speak with
me?”

I sat by
her side, but a storm continued to rage within me, throwing itself
against the walls. The floor beneath us was so unsteady that we may
as well have been at sea.

“Tell me
what has happened, Aejin,” Kondo-Kana said softly, “Tell me who has
hurt you.”

I looked
at her and she smiled, aware of how blunt she was being. There was
a certain freedom afforded in being able to speak plainly around
her.

“Katja,
she—” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. The words she'd
spoken outside the palace mixed with those that had passed her lips
within the apartment, and they swirled around my head, drowning out
my own thoughts. “I thought she was my friend. She's a... a healer,
but she thought she could be something more.”

I leant
against Kondo-Kana's side, strength drained from me. Katja had been
planning on saying what she had outside of the palace; it wasn't
spur of the moment, hadn't come to her without rhyme or reason.
She'd probably practised it in her head over and over on the
journey to Chandaran.

The
secrets I'd been holding onto tumbled out of me in stilted pieces
and Kondo-Kana listened, fingers trailing through my hair. I didn't
know what it was that made it easy to talk to her – whether it was
the bond pulled taut between us, or the fact that I wouldn't have
to see her every day – but I started at the beginning, words
dripping out of me. I spoke not only of what had happened, but of
the ways I'd been hurt, and how that hadn't come to an end when
Akela took me from the apartment. Nothing like shock or pity
registered within Kondo-Kana as I spoke; she simply held me close
and listened.

I told
her what had forced me to run to her like this, and Kondo-Kana
said, “And now you are afraid that your friends will think of you
differently, knowing this?”

“No. Yes. Sort of,” I murmured. “Whenever they see me, it's
the first think they'll think. It's all I'll be to them. I'm
making
them
feel
bad just by being around, all because of something they had no
control over or part in, and that only makes me feel worse, and I'm
afraid it'll never end.”

“They
are never going to forget this, that is true,” Kondo-Kana said,
tucking my hair behind my ears, “But you must allow them to feel
what they feel. Of course they will hurt when you are hurting, but
you must trust that they are not so selfish as to let that consume
them. They love you, they will listen to you. They will never
reduce you to one moment of your life, Rowan, and they cannot help
you while you keep this all to yourself.”

The
thought of voicing any of this with Atthis or Akela, or even
Kouris, made my heart spike, but Kondo-Kana was right. My eyes
stung with how dry they were, tears refusing to rise.

“That is
the thing with the world, Aejin. Their blades will not bleed us dry
and their oceans will not drown us, but that does not mean there
aren't greater ways to harm us,” Kondo-Kana said. “We forget, but
we do not forget. We hold onto the ways the world tries to scar us,
though history fades. People are cruel. Or they are confused or
scared, or all three. Sometimes there is no defining what they are,
or why they act in such ways. Trust that you are not the only one
who feels this. Know that there is still plenty for you to do,
before the silence takes you.”

“Silence...?”

“Yes,
yes. You will know it when you hear it, but please, do not linger
on that now. It is meant for another time,” she said, leaning back.
“Concern yourself with what comes next. With the Bloodless
Lands.”

I hadn't
thought anything could tear my thoughts away from Katja, but I
found my hands at Kondo-Kana's shoulders, desperate to hear
more.

“You will go there, though I cannot say when. But you
will
go there, because
there are so few who can. We are the only ones who can look upon it
without changing, Aejin. We are the only ones who can walk the
ruined cities of our ancestors; the only ones who can hope to make
it more than it is,” Kondo-Kana said softly. “The things I did were
terrible. Or perhaps the things I did not do were
worse—or...”

Kondo-Kana faltered, glancing away, and her eyes swirled
darker, darker as she seemed to draw away from me, away from the
world, until it all cleared within a blink. She closed her eyes,
trying not to grit her teeth, to tense up.

“I do
not remember. I do not remember what I have done, Rowan,” she said,
taking a deep breath. “I will tell Nasrin you're here. Find your
companions when you are ready.”

I was
left with Isjin, mind swimming with thoughts of the Bloodless
Lands. The longer I remained there, the harder it was going to be
to leave, but I wasn't brave enough to face the others quite yet.
Kneeling on the floor, I salvaged what candles I could, relighting
those that had gone out as I whispered my apologies to
Isjin.

Leaving
the temple, I heard a faint murmur of conversation down the
corridor. It wasn't hard to find the others, for most rooms within
the palace had been boarded shut, and when I walked into the
waiting room, Atthis, Kouris and Varn looked up at me, wanting to
say something without knowing what would reach me. Silence dragged
on and I surmised that Akela was watching over Katja outside.
Eventually, Varn did me a kindness in speaking up.

“What a
complete tosser,” she said, knocking a fist against her open palm,
“Need me to stick a few knives in her head?”

A
breathy laugh rushed out through my nose and a weight lifted from
my chest along with it. Kouris and Atthis seemed to realise that
they didn't need to say anything, not right away, and I moved over
to Kouris, saying, “I'm sorry about what Katja said, about Kidira.
That wasn't fair.”

“None of
it was fair, yrval,” she said, looking very much as though she
wanted to add something more, but didn't, for my sake. “Come on. I
hear there's a Queen waiting for you.”

I didn't
want to waste any more time. Kouris handed me Gavern's head, ooze
and gore seeping through the fabric wrapped around it, and we
followed Varn down the corridor, to the room Atalanta was standing
vigil outside of. Atalanta and Varn smiled at one another, and
without saying anything, Varn took her place at the other side of
the door, holding it open for us.

Kouris
ducked through the doorway, and I found that little had changed
since my last visit. Queen Nasrin was still consumed by her work,
and Kondo-Kana sat by her side, humming as she ran a brush through
her unreasonably long hair, making ready to braid it. Queen Nasrin
was used enough to Kondo-Kana's whims to not let it distract her,
and it was Kondo-Kana who spoke up first.

“A
pane,” she said at the sight of Kouris, smiling brightly. “It has
been far too long since last I met one. Tell me, my towering
friend, where do you hail from?”

Kouris
spared a moment to bow politely at the Queen, and turned to
Kondo-Kana, saying, “From the sca-isjin of Kyrindval, my little
friend.”

“Ah. You
still keep the old words,” Kondo-Kana said, evidently pleased. “But
the pane have always remained untouched by time and war alike.
Truly the wisest of all Isjin's races.”

Queen
Nasrin kept her eyes on me the entire time, pulling her hair free
of Kondo-Kana's hands and tucking it over her shoulder.

“Now,
before Kana gets stuck reminiscing—do you have it? Did you do
it?”

The
words came out more stiffly than she'd intended them to. She was
refusing to let herself get her hopes up, despite what I held
between my hands.

“I have
it,” I said. “Gavern's head.”

I held
it out to her as though it was nothing more than a sack of
potatoes, but when Queen Nasrin reached to take it, I found myself
stepping back.

“Promise, first. Promise you'll help us back to Felheim,” I
said, holding the head out of her reach. Acting as though it wasn't
already too late for bargaining.

I was
toeing a fine line. Queen Nasrin stared up at me, eyes hard, and I
could practically feel the headache Atthis was giving himself,
still not used to having no authority in a situation like
this.

“I won't
promise anything of the sort until I see what you've brought,”
Queen Nasrin said firmly. “Anyone's head could be in there; there's
hardly any shortage of the sort, down in Port Mahon.”

“Nasrin,” Kondo-Kana said, clicking her tongue. “It's
Gavern's head.”

“And how do you know such a thing? It's
a
head, I won't contest that, but
you never met the man.”

Kondo-Kana shrugged.

“I trust
Rowan,” she said. “She would not lie.”

“Must
you always insist on taking everyone else's side?” Queen Nasrin
asked, rolling her shoulders when Kondo-Kana leant against her
back.

“I
cannot help it. She is my Aejin yu ka Aejin,” Kondo-Kana said,
resting her chin against the Queen's shoulder.

“Can't you just say
necromancer
like the rest of us?”
Queen Nasrin said, not going to the effort of shrugging Kondo-Kana
off for a second time. “Very well. If it will put an end to
this
current annoyance,
then you have my word. Present Gavern's head to me
immediately
and I shall
put you on the next ship back to Felheim.”

The cut
of her frown told me that I'd already pushed her further than most
had, and I didn't wait for her to change her mind. With all eyes on
me, I cleared a space on the desk, put down the head and peeled
back the strips of fabric. Sunken eyes stared blankly at nothing,
sallow skin darkening around the lips and throat. Akela had ensured
it'd been a clean cut, but a severed head was still a severed
head.

Atthis
cleared his throat and looked away while Kondo-Kana paused to
contemplate what was before her, and the Queen nodded to herself,
fingers pressed to her lips.

“That's
Gavern,” she murmured, and then looked between Kouris, Atthis and
myself, as though searching for the correct way to react. “I didn't
think you'd actually do it. This is—this is good.”

“I hear
you're a woman of your word,” Kouris said, stepping forward. She
scooped Gavern's head up in a palm and carefully wrapped the strips
of cloth back around it. “You've done a lot of good for Canth, but
you know that. Twenty-four years I lived in Canth while your father
was on the throne, and the country did nothing but tear itself
apart. I like to think this here will be helping you as much as it
helps us.”

“Of
course,” Queen Nasrin said, quickly coming back to herself. She
proved not to be too squeamish to take the head. “Of course. Rowan
tells me that you're Queen Kouris, and your companion is none other
than King Atthis. Both presumed dead, one more recently than the
other. For all the proof I have, you could be the Queen of Myros or
my cook's favourite butcher. Regardless, a ship sets sail for
Ironash at dawn, weather permitting. I hope to hear favourable
reports of Kastelir in the years to come, as I expect you will hear
of Canth.”

Nothing
more was said. Queen Nasrin dismissed us with a look, and Atthis
and Kouris concluded the meeting with respectful, practised bows. I
backed out of the room, watching Queen Nasrin stare down at what
remained of Gavern with a curled lip, and closed the door on the
price we'd had to pay as though it would help me forget
it.