Dragonoak (50 page)

All of
it failing.

Nothing.

My ears
worked. There was something sliding, squelching. Hands on my
shoulders, tugging, tugging. I opened my eyes, tried to see,
but—

Silence.
Silence, silence, silence.

It
wasn't nothing, it was—

I was
thrown into the dirt. My shoulder hit the ground and the hole in my
chest healed, closed over, and I gasped for breath. Alive. I was
alive. My body ached with it, light seeping from every pore, and I
screwed my eyes shut, forehead pressed to the dirt. I gripped at my
chest, rocking on my knees, not throwing up, not throwing
up.

I wasn't
healed over, not completely, but those same hands that had pried me
off the rock took hold of my shoulders and forced me onto my back.
My eyes flashed open, thick with colourless fire, and I saw a boot
at my throat, a dragon-bone spear poised to split my head in
two.

And at
the very end of the weapon, covered in my blood and gore, stood
Kidira, eyes hard.

PART III

CHAPTER XVIII

I didn't care about the blade. It was Kidira's eyes that sent
me scrambling through the dirt. The hole in my chest had closed but
my insides were still twisted around one another, nothing but pulp
with no definable shape, unsure of its purpose. My chest was heavy
with a lack of everything; my heart didn't pound, my lungs didn't
expand, but I was
moving
, palms grazing against the
ground as I pushed back, back.

Kidira
took a step forward, following me with her gaze and spear alike,
and I collapsed onto my side when there was nowhere else to flee
to. My back was against a mountain and I put my hands through the
hole in my shirt, flesh soft and tender, unblemished, discomfort
giving way to a pang of guilt so raw I could've choked on
it.

“Nnng.” I tried to speak but there was blood in my throat.
Kidira pulled the spear back and my heart surged.
“
Don't
!”

I'd come
back from the dead. I'd been impaled on a rock the width of my
ribcage and my body had pulled itself back together in seconds. Yet
there I was, staring up at Kidira, seeing Katja and all she'd done
to me, all too aware of how weak I could be made to
feel.

“Don't
hurt me, don't...” The words rasped out of me, lungs burning with
their first breath. I held out a hand, pleading as though I already
knew how useless it was, but something in my voice reached Kidira.
Her grip loosened, knuckles no longer white around the spear, and
it struck me how I must look to her: raised from the dead and as
pale as the moon, eyes blazing with light, skin glowing.

“I'm not going to
hurt
you,” Kidira said, teeth all but fused together.
She lowered the spear and I stared at her; she was the Queen I
remembered in everything but costume. She was dressed like a pane,
tough leathers and purple cloth draped around her, wolf pelts
wrapped around her shoulders. “Well? Get up.”

I didn't
move. Slinging the spear across her back, Kidira held a hand out to
me. I took it for fear of where my non-compliance would lead,
unsteady on my feet. The world swayed and there wasn't much feeling
beneath my stomach – had that been recreated, too? – as though I
was still falling and the wind had numbed me. I stared down at my
feet and then up at the mountain, where Kidira's gaze was fixed.
The fall looked further than it had felt, so far that I should've
lost myself on the way down, and at the time I had believed I might
never strike the ground.

I
stepped forward, not knowing where I was going, and walked
face-first into a wall of rock. Kidira grabbed my shoulder,
steadying me, and used what remained of my shirt to pull me closer.
I stumbled but her grip was tight, and though I was looking down at
her, I was still forced to swallow a lump in my throat. She was
searching my expression for something, eyes darting back and forth,
but I was light-headed and my fear had soured into a dank sort of
amusement. I smiled. She gripped the front of my collar, and shook
me, hard.

“Does
Claire know? Does she know that you're not...” She pressed her lips
tightly together, taking a moment to find the word. “Not
dead.”

Claire!
I thought. Claire was alive,
and so was I; though I hadn't been, minutes ago. Kidira freed me
from her grasp and I swayed but didn't stumble. I dropped to my
knees of my own accord, face pressed against ground, rocking.
Everything inside of me was cramping, one organ pressing against
the next, fighting for its place within me. And Kidira, she'd saved
me. She'd saved me and she hadn't called me
necromancer
, hadn't left me on that
rock; she'd asked me about Claire and she'd called her
Claire
, not
Ightham
or
Marshal
or
Sir.
She asked because
she cared about her, and I promised myself it would be enough to
get me through this.

“Claire's alive,” I said, but it wasn't what I meant. I
pushed my face into the dirt, groaning. “I'm alive. Claire knows
I'm alive.”

Kidira said nothing. I couldn't tell whether it was the
ground spinning or my head; it could've been both, though they
didn't rush in the same direction. I clawed at my chest, desperate
for it to stop, gasping and laughing and trembling with nausea. The
muscles contracting within my chest weren't my own, just like the
damn hand I was trying to tear them out with. Had it been like this
for the lambs I'd fixed, once the wolves had made off with their
guts? I was sorry. I was so,
so
sorry. I would've taken it back, if I
could.

I
wondered how much more I'd lose. Wondered what Claire would think
of me when I stumbled back, heart and hand not my own.

There
was one last jolt within my chest, throughout my ribs, and a web of
veins settled into place. My head cleared and disjointed thoughts
were washed away, relief rushing in through my every pore,
overwhelming me.

*

It was
night when I came to. I'd been dragged into a cave, fire burning
beneath a low, sloping ceiling. I blinked my eyes open, not daring
to move, trying to understand my surroundings. Trying to piece
together what had happened. The blood and all else had been washed
away and I'd been wrapped in the purple spool of fabric Kidira had
been wearing. She sat on the other side of the fire, tending to the
pot over it. She knew I'd woken up, but she said nothing, giving me
the time I needed to sit up.

I scrunched my nose, working my jaw. My face felt odd. As
though it should've hurt, but didn't. The whole of my skull must've
pieced itself together, not letting my memories slip out through
the cracks. My teeth were tingling and I realised that the cave
smelled
incredible
. Kidira was stirring whatever she'd concocted in the pot,
and the thought of food gave me the strength I needed to face her.
She wasn't her daughter, I told myself. She'd saved me and spoken
Claire's name. I was going to be alright.

“How
long... ?” I mumbled, pushing myself up. I glanced down at my
hands; they were still outshining the fire.

“Three
hours,” she said sternly, as though I was running late for
something. “I would've thought you dead, if not for...”

She gestured vaguely towards me, willing to pull the wreckage
of my body off a rock, but unable to say the word
necromancy.
Kidira said
nothing more. She let the stew simmer and leant back against the
cave wall, not asking where I'd been or who I'd been with. It took
me too long to realise that it wasn't because she didn't care about
the others, wasn't because they weren't at the forefront of her
thoughts; two years was a long time to get used to the idea of
people being dead, that was all. And I, I was no ray of hope. I was
a necromancer and they weren't.

“What
are you doing down here?” I asked, glancing over at her things.
There was a bag next to her spear, packed full enough supplies to
last another handful of days in the wilderness.

“What am
I
doing down here?” Kidira asked, but didn't go so far as to
scold me for my lack of gratitude. A moment passed and she said,
“Scouting,” as though spilling all of her secrets in that single
word.

“Oh,” I
said. “I was heading to Kyrindval.”

“Did you
decide to take a detour?”

I
scowled at her but couldn't bring myself to answer. Any explanation
would lead to more questions, questions I didn't have the strength
or clarity to answer. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my
arms around them, trying to hide my new flesh from myself, trying
not to meet Kidira's eye. Here was the woman who had saved Claire,
who had saved me – and my horse, by all accounts – yet I was full
of an untenable anger towards her. I knew she wasn't to blame for
her daughter's actions. I knew she wasn't expected to speak to
Kouris a mere handful of days, weeks, months, after she'd
disappeared for decades on end. I knew this and still, it did
nothing to help.

“I was
in trapped in Canth,” I said slowly, “With the others.”

Kidira
hesitated. I saw her open her mouth and snap it shut, dropping her
gaze to the side as she reined in whatever words had tried to leap
forth.

“... the
others?” she finally asked, too cautiously for me to risk wasting
any more time.

“Akela,
Atthis. Your daughter,” I said, rushing to distance myself from
Katja. “And Kouris. We're all back. Everyone's in Orinhal, except
for Kouris. She came looking for you a while ago.”

It
wasn't my place to tell Kidira so much at once, but I had even less
of a right to keep it from her. She stared into the fire, cleared
her throat, then became unduly focused on stirring the stew over
and over. I turned away and busied myself with adjusting the cloth
Kidira had wrapped around me, giving her a moment to herself. I
knew that if I saw anything like weakness ripple across her
expression she wouldn't be able to come back from that. I'd no
doubt she was doing her best to convince herself I was lying; my
words wouldn't truly sink in until she'd seen everyone she'd
counted dead with her own two eyes.

“Kouris
thought you were dead, you know,” I added, against my better
judgement.

“Good,”
Kidira replied briskly. “Then she knows how it feels.”

I
lowered my head, wincing. My heart gave a jolt at the words, still
settling into place. It beat too hard and I brought my hand to my
chest, fingertips sliding cloth over smooth skin. Oh, Katja: would
you be proud of me now? Had I finally reached my potential, or at
least scratched at the surface?

I kept
my gaze low, willing to deal with the brunt of Kidira's scorn so
that Kouris didn't have to. Kouris wouldn't be hearing any kind
words from Kidira no matter how much I endured, but I thought I
could take off the edge while the sting was fresh.

“Canth,
again?” Kidira murmured. “No points for originality
there.”

“We had
no choice,” I said, looking up, eyes fixed on her shoulder. “There
were dragons everywhere, the whole country was burning
and—”

“And you
got on a ship and sailed away to safety,” Kidira said, and I wanted
to scream that her daughter had been saved because of whatever
cowardice she imagined had fuelled us, but couldn't. “Save your
excuses. I was in Kastelir; just like you, just like Kouris. I
didn't run; Claire didn't run.”

My
throat was raw with all the yelling I wasn't doing. I couldn't tell
her not to breathe Claire's name as I had to Katja, because when it
came down to it, Kidira was the one who'd been there for Claire
when I hadn't. She was right. We'd run, we'd saved ourselves. It
didn't matter that I was carried onto that ship. We left Kastelir
and watched it burn from the ocean, while Kidira had stayed amongst
the rubble of Isin, pulling bodies out of the wreckage.

There
were burns on her hands, up her arms. I watched her ladle the stew
into wooden bowls taken from her pack, and stared blankly at it
when she placed it in front of me.

“Eat,”
she said bluntly, and I took hold of the bowl for fear of what she
might say if I refused her orders. I brought it to my lips, sipping
it. My tongue was old and worn and the taste didn't overwhelm me,
but when I swallowed it, I felt it slip from my throat and trickle
into my chest, as though I was riddled with holes and it was about
spread throughout the entirety of my body. I choked it back up,
stomach turning for the first time, and couldn't stop coughing and
heaving.

My hands
were in the dirt as I rocked forward, glowing brighter than ever,
all the nothing I had inside me mixing with bile, splattering on
the ground. I groaned, gasping for breath, and Kidira sat there,
watching. Unmoving. She didn't slap my back, didn't offer me a drop
of water. It was as though she was in on this with Katja; she was
ignoring me, acting as though what I was going through was
nothing.

“... she
was
dead,” I mumbled, just as soon as I could mumble.