The Dragon of Despair (107 page)

“No,” he said sadly. “My letting it ‘free’ will not end what it will take from me. That is irrevocable. All this would assure is something of a mellowing of the animosity it feels toward humanity.”

Toriovico thought how he would feel if he had been summoned from his life and been bound by another. He thought of Melina and how the only emotion he had felt on seeing Firekeeper kill her was relief.

“I do not blame the dragon for its feelings,” he replied, “but it seems to me that you will have given a great deal for very little return.”

Grateful Peace looked at him in astonishment.

“I have served my land, the Healed One, and been permitted home from exile. My reputation will be restored to me. I have given a great deal—and I will regret that life I will not have to live—but never think I have not had anything in return.”

Toriovico nodded, glad that even before he had learned how central Grateful Peace had been to his rescue he had told the Illuminator that he would be publicly cleared of all charges.

“And Idalia, her surviving family members?” he asked. “What would you have done about them?”

Peace smiled sadly, his gaze wandering to where Idalia waited docilely for whatever would come. Her expression was confused, as if she still sorted through her memories, wondering how she had come to this point.

“Perhaps in time she will hate me less, for Melina did not create that hatred, only used it. I think it would be wise if she and her family were sent in truth to some isolated portion of the kingdom—even as was given out in the first place. Perhaps one of your sisters could be trusted to report on them and advise you when she thought they had served sufficient penance.”

“Then you don’t think them traitors?” Toriovico asked, obscurely relieved. He had little taste for punishing those Melina had used, having been so soundly used himself.

“Not really. After all, they were serving the Consolor of the Healed One—that is hardly the same as acting in the service of a foreign power.”

“Good.” Toriovico nodded crisply. “Not many will need know of their role in any case. Melina kept what they did for her secret enough.”

The clatter of boots on stone announced the arrival of Derian Carter and a large contingent of the city watch.

Toriovico rose and gathered his dignity to him, prepared for everything but how to deal with the inevitable shock and horror when the dragon was sighted. He glanced across to its cave and found the dark space empty.

“Where?” he said to Grateful Peace.

The Illuminator smiled.

“I have already told it to return home.”

“Is there another tunnel then?”

Peace’s gaze grew distant and misty with wonder.

“I don’t think so. As I told you—I am not at all certain the dragon is a creature quite as we would understand.”

ONE BY ONE
, Citrine’s voices fell silent. She realized that this was not because she no longer had things that bothered her, but because at last she trusted other people enough to talk with them about her problems.

Nearly the worst of those problems had been watching her mother die under Firekeeper’s knife. The worst was that Citrine hadn’t wanted to stop Firekeeper, not one bit. Once Citrine might have tried to fool herself: telling herself she had been too far away or that Firekeeper was too strong or if she’d called out she might have distracted Mother.

Now Citrine didn’t try to tell herself any of that. The revelation of exactly what the dragon did to those who commanded it had been too fresh in her mind when Firekeeper attacked Melina, as had Citrine’s realization that Mother had meant Citrine to pay the cost. Nor did she doubt that Mother would have burned her life away without hesitation.

Right now Citrine was nine, in a year she would have been twelve, in two years fifteen, in three—when she should have only been twelve she would have been eighteen. And inside she would have still been just twelve.

Peace had explained this last to Citrine, explaining that age alone did not give wisdom or certainty—only living and making decisions did that and not perfectly even then. That was why Firekeeper sometimes seemed so old, though she couldn’t be more than about sixteen. Her life had forced her to make choices.

All through the days immediately following Mother’s death, when the shock was greatest, Citrine kept doing those figures over and over again in her head. She’d look at Derian, who she guessed was about twenty, at Doc, who was maybe twenty-five, and try to imagine what it would have been like to be that way outside and herself inside.

In the end, Citrine decided that she’d live with her voices, her grief, and her anger. At that moment, oddly enough, the voices had begun to quiet.

She tried talking more and discovered all sorts of things she’d never known—how Elise had been afraid of Mother when she herself was a little girl, how Firekeeper needed to explain that she had killed Mother because sometimes that was the only way to end a problem.

“If I not then, maybe knock Peace to one side and hope I can hold Melina, then someday Melina will hurt someone else. I am only sorry you had to see.”

Citrine had patted Firekeeper’s scarred and callused hand, realizing that this was what Grateful Peace had meant about dealing with things making you wiser.

“I didn’t like seeing it,” Citrine answered honestly, “but I think I had to. Otherwise Mother would be a voice in my head forever.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper and added, “And Firekeeper, I think I would have tried the same, but not because Peace had to be rescued, because I was so hurt and angry. You saved me from that.”

Firekeeper had grinned wryly.

“I was angry, too. Not think other. I have been angry at Melina for a long time. Now, though, she is no more. Dry bones don’t ease hunger, only splinter in the belly.”

Citrine thought this last must be some bit of wolf wisdom since she didn’t understand it at all. The words stayed with her, though, and she kept worrying over them as a real wolf might have a bone.

At last she thought she understood and went to Grateful Peace to share her insight.

“I think,” she said, taking a seat on a footstool and looking up at the Illuminator, who had set his book aside as Mother never would have done. “I think that what Firekeeper means is that worrying over things that are over and done with only makes you think you’re full—like a belly full of dry bone. Really though the worries are poking at you, maybe even making you sick.

“I asked Edlin,” Citrine added a touch inconsequentially, “about bones and he says that the dry ones aren’t really good for dogs. He doesn’t know about wolves.”

Grateful Peace smiled at her.

“I think you are right about what Firekeeper meant,” he said, and Citrine glowed with pleasure, “and her advice is good to a point. However, humans are not wolves. We cannot put the past from us without trying to learn from it. I think that someday Firekeeper will realize this.”

“Firekeeper?”

“No one has nightmares like she does without something haunting them,” Peace replied. “However, now may not be the time or place for Firekeeper to look into her past.”

“I guess we’re going back to Hawk Haven soon,” Citrine said. “The moon is already showing a crescent. It was nearly waned when all that happened—when Mother tried to summon the dragon. I heard Doc say that Edlin’s wrist is mending nicely.”

“And that all of you were fortunate that obsidian is so sharp,” Peace added, “that cuts from it don’t usually scar—not if they’re kept clean. Let me see your face.”

He reached out with his one hand and Citrine marveled how his mutilation didn’t bother her anymore. Indeed, it seemed a proud thing—a sign of something survived. She considered her own mutilated hand and for the first time felt a little proud—not of the missing fingers, but that she’d come through everything that had led to her losing them.

With new understanding Citrine looked closely at Grateful Peace’s tattooed features, taking advantage of their proximity as he tilted her chin, turning her face side to side to inspect the healing cuts.

“That one,” Citrine said, indicating the mark across the bridge of his nose. “That means you’ll never get married again, right?”

Grateful Peace nodded.

“I was young when Chutia died, but on that matter I knew my mind well. I have never regretted not remarrying, only sometimes I have regretted not having children.”

“You don’t have any children?”

“Only nieces and nephews,” Peace said with a levelness that did not hide his sadness, and Citrine remembered that the nephew he had loved best had died. “And none I am close to any longer.”

Citrine took his hand when he let it drop.

“I don’t have any parents, not anymore. I wish I could be your daughter for real, not just pretend like Jalarios and Rios.”

Peace studied her with the smallest of smiles.

“So do I, Citrine. So do I.”

ELISE WAS RATHER NERVOUS
when she received a summons from the Healed One a few days before their planned departure for Hawk Haven. She wondered if Toriovico was going to prevent them from leaving. So far they had been well treated by the New Kelvinese, who, in response to carefully prepared speeches, were even seeing them as heroes of a sort, come to rescue the Healed One from an evil force out of their own land.

Knowing how calculated and unheroic their mission had really been, Elise felt a bit uncomfortable about this, and worried that someone would turn it back against them. She’d seen how quick the New Kelvinese were to condemn their own. What might they do to foreigners?

Toriovico looked tired when Elise came into his office, but that was no surprise. Not only had the Healed One needed to deal with the immediate results of Melina’s death, there also had been larger repercussions as well. Although Xarxius had been saved and his honor restored, Apheros’s government had indeed fallen. The new coalition functioned far less smoothly than the old and Grateful Peace had confided that he was not at all certain that Apheros would not be in power again before the winter ended.

Then there was the Harvest Joy dance, rehearsals for which were moving along at a considerable pace. Finally, Elise did not need to have been the Castle Flower of Eagle’s Nest to notice the large number of unmarried female callers at the Cloud Touching Spire—callers who glared rather pointedly at either Elise or Wendee if their paths happened to cross.

That had made both women giggle privately.

“Not that Toriovico isn’t a fine-looking man,” Wendee said, “but I’d no more want to be his second foreign bride than I’d want to cut my head off and use my skull as a handbag.”

The allusion to the Old Country tale made Elise smile, but beneath the smile she was wondering about Jared. He’d been busy since their arrival within Thendulla Lypella, so much so that Elise had hardly seen him. Part of this could be accounted for in his assumption of responsibility for all those injured during the struggle against Melina, part to the New Kelvinese’s fascination with his talent.

Eager volunteers had made Elise’s assistance unnecessary, and Derian reported that Doc was sleeping nearly half the day, recovering from his continual expenditures. Even so, Elise couldn’t help but think he was avoiding her.

Toriovico rose when Elise entered, and this, combined with his asking her to meet in the relative informality of his office rather than the awe-inspiring precincts of his reception hall, made Elise certain that what he needed to discuss with her was quite serious. This was confirmed when he sent all but his personal guards away.

“I have asked you here,” the Healed One began, after they were seated, “to discuss something important, with potentially complicated ramifications for future relations between our kingdoms.”

Elise nodded, trying to stay calm, but beneath her folded hands she was gripping her fingernails into her palms in the hope the pain would give her composure.

He’s going to tell us we can’t leave,
she thought.
Firekeeper will go over the wall. She’s already impatient to be away. The others will want to escape, too. What will I do!

“You are scheduled to depart at the conclusion of the Harvest Festival,” Toriovico continued, “but I have had a rather singular request. Citrine Shield wants to remain. She came and asked me herself. It seems that she feels she has little to go home to—and that she has formed a deep attachment to Grateful Peace.”