The Dragon of Trelian (17 page)

Her smile faded. Well, almost anything. For some reason, she hadn’t told him about Wilem. She didn’t know why. She and Calen certainly didn’t have those kinds of feelings for each other, but still she worried that he wouldn’t understand. But surely it didn’t matter. By necessity, her life was divided now between castle and dragon, and Wilem was part of one world and Calen the other. It had to be that way, didn’t it? She tried to imagine telling Wilem about Jakl and could not. She knew he’d be leaving with the prince after the wedding, anyway; she knew her fantasies about having a future with him were only daydreams, but . . . what if they weren’t? What if somehow they could end up together? Would he still want her if he knew? Would anyone
ever
want her? A girl whose mind and heart were already half spoken for . . . by a dragon?

She didn’t want to think about that now. She would keep her two lives separate, as she had been, for as long as she could. And then, when Jakl got too big to stay hidden, or when she could no longer find enough excuses to steal away to visit him in secret . . . well, she would just have to find a way to make everyone accept it. Telling her parents would be awful; she knew they wouldn’t understand, but eventually they would
have
to come to terms with it, wouldn’t they? And then so many things would be so much better. No more secrets from her family or anyone else. No more sneaking off into the woods, where who knew what kind of monsters could still be lurking. No more dividing her life into parts, as if she were several people instead of only one. She would just be herself again, with nothing to hide and no reason to fear discovery. If her family loved her, they would accept who she was. And anyone else who loved her, really loved her, would do the same.

They would. They would have to. Wouldn’t they?

She fell off to sleep imagining this singular future, which merged into a hazy, troubled dream of a fancy dinner banquet with two long tables between which everyone in the world was divided. Calen sat at one, Wilem at the other, and both were saving her a seat, but she could only sit with one of them. As she tried to decide which way to go, a great shadow filled the hall. She turned to see Jakl just outside, throwing himself against a window, struggling to get in.

CALEN STEPPED CAREFULLY ALONG THE HALL WAY
. Serek had allowed him to try working a spell that made him invisible to the casual eye — successfully cast, it would encourage others to simply not notice he was there.
Very
successfully cast — using a variant based on Calen’s supplemental study and of which he was fairly certain Serek would not approve — even someone who was specifically looking for him would be unable to see him. But since Calen was not at all sure it
was
successfully cast, to any degree, he was also trying to walk as if he had every right to be where he was. He wanted to become good enough at it to use it as a defense against Lyrimon, although he’d have to be careful trying it out anywhere in the mage quarters. Serek had made it clear that if he discovered Calen attempting to use the spell as a shield against his own instructor, there would be dire consequences, and he wasn’t likely to split hairs about whether he or Lyrimon had been the intended focus.

Of course, if Calen became
really
good at the spell, Serek would never even know. But he’d have to be sure about his skill before testing it in that regard. For now he’d have to settle for the eighth-floor hallway.

Closing his eyes, he checked the invisible barrier he was trying to construct around himself. He envisioned tendrils of gray energy forming a thin layer about three hands’ width from his body. The idea was that a person’s gaze would encounter the barrier and slide off to either side instead of penetrating to see Calen himself. It was hard to keep the shield in place while walking, though, especially if he wanted to keep his eyes open. Still, he thought that he was getting the hang of it. And then, once he mastered the basics, he could try weaving in the other kinds of energy he thought would help to —

“What are you doing?” a voice suddenly whispered behind him.

Calen jumped about three feet in the air before he realized it was Meg. She was already laughing by the time he turned around. He really was going to have to speak with her about this sneaking-up business at some point. But right now he was too glad to see her.

“It’s — never mind,” he said. Obviously, he still needed some practice. “Are you going where I think you’re going?”

She grinned. “Same place as you, I imagine. They began setting up for the tourney this morning. Maerlie called off our regular wedding planning session so that she and Mother and Morgan could oversee the construction. Which means I find myself with a bit of unexpected free time.” She held out her arm. “Shall we?”

Calen grinned back and threaded his arm through hers. “Yes. We shall.” They walked the rest of the way together, then carefully slipped inside the still-empty set of guest rooms.

“I’m glad no one’s been put in here yet,” Calen said.

Meg nodded. “Someone will be soon enough, though. This will probably be our last chance for the window. I think many of the remaining guests are planning to arrive tomorrow to be in time for the tourney the day after, and then of course the wedding’s just three days later.”

Together they ducked behind the heavy curtains. Meg immediately hoisted herself up onto the ledge, tucking her skirts underneath her and swinging one leg to dangle out the open window. Just looking at her up there made Calen nervous. He kept both feet on the ground like a sensible person and leaned up against the wall beneath the window.

Down below, workmen were setting up for the various events. In the center of the courtyard, the long barrier intended to separate jousting contestants had already been erected. It had been painted red, as tradition dictated, the color of love and marriage and passion. And blood, of course. Smaller arenas were being cordoned off by ropes for other events. Fighting teams selected from leading warriors of each kingdom would battle with blunted weapons in the melee, and there were assorted smaller contests of strength and archery and balance and all kinds of things.

“Isn’t anyone worried that the prince will get maimed or killed during all of this?” Calen wondered aloud. “Who thought up this stupid tradition, anyway?”

Meg favored him with one of her withering looks. “No one’s going to kill anyone,” she said. “It’s just for fun, and luck. It gives the prince a chance to show off for his bride, and everyone gets to let off a little steam. It’s not like the old days, when suitors would actually fight each other for the right to marry a princess and the last man standing became the groom.”

Calen grimaced. No wonder Meg tended toward violence. Trelian’s whole history was filled with murder and fighting and contests of blood. He still had occasional nightmares thinking about that story she’d told him about poor Queen Lysetta. He hadn’t been down in the cellar since.

“I can’t wait for the tourney,” Meg went on, looking eagerly down at the courtyard. “There hasn’t been one here since Morgan was married. You’ll see, it will be fun. I bet even Serek will turn out for the festivities.”

Calen smiled at the idea of Serek cheering in the stands.
That
would certainly never happen. He turned to say so to Meg when the sound of the chamber door suddenly swinging open made them both jump. They froze, staring at each other silently.

“Mother, that’s not what I’m saying.” A young man’s voice. Calen didn’t recognize it, but Meg must have. Her eyes grew even wider, and if he hadn’t known better, he thought she might have been blushing.

“Quiet!” The sound of heavy skirts rustling and the door slamming shut. The second speaker was a woman. She spoke softly, but there was an edge of iron to her voice. “Do you want our plans to come to nothing? This is not the time to lose your nerve.”

A pause, filled with tension. Any chance Calen and Meg might have had to reveal themselves gracefully had passed. Whoever these people were, they were obviously in the middle of a heated argument and had ducked into what they thought was an empty room for some privacy. There was nothing to do now but keep silent and wait for them to leave.

“I am not losing my nerve,” the man went on, finally. “I would not betray Father’s memory. Or Tymas’s. I just want to be sure there is no other way.”

The woman sighed. When she spoke again, her voice was gentler but still firm. “Wilem. I know this cannot be easy for you. The prince himself is not to blame, and I know, despite everything, you have come to care about him. But you cannot let that cloud your judgment. Is your friendship with the prince more important than revenge for your father and brother’s deaths or working to bring your father’s plans to fruition?”

“No, but —”

A sharp smacking sound cut off his words. She must have slapped him. Who
were
these people? She had called him Wilem. Wasn’t Wilem one of Prince Ryant’s companions? That didn’t make any sense. Meg seemed as confused as he was.

“
But?
But what? Now that the moment of revenge is at hand, the moment we can make sure your father’s wishes are carried out, that Kragnir will remain strong and not taint itself through an alliance with murderers and liars, now you will tell me that you lack the resolve to complete our task? Your father and brother were
killed
by these monsters!” Her voice broke, the strength falling from it so suddenly and completely that it was hard to believe the same woman was speaking. “Am I alone in this, Wilem? Will you truly leave me to face this final test alone?”

“No, Mother.” His voice seemed to have gained in strength what hers had lost. “I am sorry. I will not fail you in this. You’re right — I was weak to hesitate. Ryant is the son of a traitor to his people. My personal feelings change nothing.”

Calen stared at Meg in horror. What were they
talking
about? How could Wilem be calling his own king a traitor? Meg looked lost.

The woman spoke again. “And the girl?”

“I know where they will be staying on the wedding night. I was nearly certain anyway, but Princess Meglynne confirmed it. You were correct in that as well. My time spent with her has been most — useful.”

Meg’s face drained of color. For a moment Calen was terrified she would faint, but she managed to take control of herself. Her eyes were enormous and dark against her face, though, and they swam with tears. He still couldn’t make sense of most of the conversation, but he could guess at the last part. Something went cold and hard within his chest. He reached out and took hold of Meg’s hand, and she gripped his back fiercely.

“You must remain strong, my son. The hardest part is yet to come, but always remember why we do this. We cannot allow Ryllin to forge this alliance. It would bring Kragnir to ruin, and there is no other way to stop it. Your father tried to reason with him, and all it did was get him killed. Him and Tymas, both. Remember that these
kings
are the men who murdered your father and brother. They showed no mercy then, and neither will we. Maerlie’s death will be a small and necessary evil on the path to greater good.”

Meg gasped at the woman’s final words, and there was a sudden terrible silence. Calen could almost feel them turning to stare toward the curtains. He looked around frantically. No way out. Just the window, but even Meg wouldn’t try jumping from this height. He desperately wished he had mastered that invisibility spell. The extra-strong version.

He looked hopelessly at Meg. She was shaking her head angrily; he knew she must be furious at herself for making noise, but who could blame her? They were talking about killing her sister! Which meant, Calen realized with a sinking heart, they probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone else who got in their way. Or who overheard their plans.

Meg slid from the ledge to stand beside him as footsteps approached, and then the curtains were thrust aside. Wilem’s cold eyes glanced at Calen, then grew wide when he looked toward Meg. He almost looked as if he would speak to her, but his mother’s voice sounded from across the room.

“Who is it, Wilem?”

Wilem stared at Meg for another second and then stepped back, giving the woman a clear view of the now-exposed window. Sen Eva Lichtendor — that’s who she was. He hadn’t put it together before. Of course, she was Wilem’s mother. Gods, this just got worse and worse. The primary advisor to the throne of Kragnir and her son, the prince’s trusted companion, conspiring murder and treason!

If Sen Eva was upset to see Meg there, she gave no sign.

“Greetings, Princess,” she said calmly.

Meg tore her gaze from Wilem and turned to Sen Eva. She had released Calen’s hand, and now her skirts were knotted in her clenched fists. Despite the tear tracks that glistened faintly on her cheeks, she held her head high, staring back at the woman defiantly.

“Hello, traitor,” Meg answered. Calen could tell she was struggling to keep her voice from shaking.

Out of the corner of his eye, Calen noticed Wilem’s expression going grim and hard at her words, but this was probably no time to warn Meg to be careful. It was hard to imagine how she could possibly make things any worse, anyway.