Rain Wilds Chronicles (212 page)

She realized she was staring at him. A smile very slowly came to his face. He lifted a hand, crooked a finger at her.

“No,” she said. “I want you out of my room, Tellator.”

“Thymara, please. I know I was harsh that night. It was necessary. Think of what would have happened if I hadn't insisted you go down the well. It was much more than you finding the Silver for us. You found yourself. You discovered anew who you were meant to be, how strong you were . . .”

“Stop it.” She walked swiftly to a bag on the vanity table, opened it, and drew out the moon-faced pendant. It glowed at her touch. “You should take this with you.”

“It's yours.”

“It's not mine; it was never mine, and I don't want it. I'm not Amarinda, and I don't want to be Amarinda.”

He hadn't moved. “You don't have to be Amarinda for me. In this life, I loved Thymara long before I knew that I had loved Amarinda.”

She crossed the room, and when he made no move to take the pendant, she dropped it in his lap. He caught her wrist. She didn't struggle against his grip, but only said, “If you don't let go now, I'm going to hit you as hard as I can in the face.”

He gave a snort of amusement. “You might try, but it would never land on me.” He let go of her wrist, and she stepped away.

“You're not Rapskal,” she said unevenly, hating that her voice caught in her throat. “Rapskal wouldn't act like this. He wouldn't talk to me this way. Rapskal was strange and silly, but he was also honest and honorable. And yes, I loved him. I don't love you.”

His eyes followed her as she moved away from him. “I'm Rapskal. I've always been Rapskal.”

“You were Rapskal. You're someone else now. Rapskal would never talk to me this way, would never resort to trickery or pry at me with emotions—”

“Everyone changes,” he said, cutting off her words.

She looked at him. Tears threatened, but she would not weep in front of Tellator. Rapskal would have known that she wept for loss. Tellator would see it as feminine weakness. With a sickening lurch of her heart, she realized that there was enough of Amarinda in her to know exactly how he would react to her tears. “Not everyone changes as you have. Rapskal let you in and you became him. But if he had never touched the stone, he would never have become you. He would have grown and changed but—”

“You're being ridiculous!” He laughed. “Are you saying I should have grown and changed only exactly as you wanted me to? Am I a plant, to be snipped and pruned and kept in a pot? Is that what you want? Someone you can completely control, someone that you dictate exactly who and what he is? How is that fair? What sort of a love did you have for me, that demands that I must always remain the same? If you had never groomed a dragon, you would not be the woman you are now. Does that mean your changes are wrong? Can you go back and be the Thymara you were the day we left Cassarick?”

“No,” she admitted. She took a ragged breath. His words were like a shower of stones. He spoke so quickly, built his logic so fast that by the time she'd seen the fault of his reasoning in one thought, he was ten thoughts away from it. His voice was low and reasonable, but she felt battered by his words. She spoke quickly. “I'd give anything to speak to the Rapskal who journeyed here with me. He is the one I wish I could embrace one last time. Because I now know that I will never see him again, regardless of whether you come back or not.”

He opened his arms. “I'm here, Thymara. I'm here right now, and always have been. You're the one who has refused to grow and change. You want to stay the girl who scampered through the treetops and accepted her father's rules. Your parents made all your decisions for you, and now that you're on your own, you still can't step away and decide things for yourself. You want nothing to change, Thymara. But things that don't change die. And even after death, change happens. You are asking the impossible. And if you keep requiring the impossible of your friends, they are going to grow and change and leave you behind. There you are right now, always standing apart and alone. Is that what you want? To be alone the rest of your life? Is that how you are choosing to grow? You used to be so indignant at how Jerd regarded you, but truly, what did you expect? She was growing into this new life. And you were not.”

The hateful, painful tears spilled. She knew that he twisted the facts, that what he said was not true, but the words wounded her all the same. She gave up trying to talk to him. Gave up trying to defend herself from Tellator. “You drowned him,” she said in a low savage voice. “You pulled him down and drowned him.”

He shook his head at her, and his eyes went hard. “You want me to be silly and boyish, don't you? To chatter like a brainless squirrel, to hold your hand and run beside you and never think of you as a woman or of myself as a man. Why would I want that? The other keepers are beginning to respect me and my dragon. Listen to what you are saying! To win your love, I must remain the laughable idiot Rapskal, keeper of foolish, tubby Heeby. Is that what you are saying?”

His words trampled her. “That's not what I'm saying,” she protested. “You're twisting everything.”

“No. I'm just making you look at things as they are. Do you want to love a lackwit boy, a bumbler, the butt of the jokes? Or do you want to love a man, a competent fellow who can protect you and provide for you?”

She shook her head, helpless before the onslaught of his words. “Stop talking about Rapskal like that,” and it was as if she pleaded with a stranger to stop mocking her friend. She just wanted it all to stop. She wanted him to go away, but also wanted to never have the memory of this horrid, useless quarrel. The realization came to her, as clear as water. “You're not trying to talk to me anymore. You're not trying to talk me into being Amarinda; you're not even trying to get me to spread my legs for you tonight. You're just trying to hurt me now. To say anything that will hurt me because I won't let you rule me. The Rapskal I loved would never do this to me. Or to anyone.”

His face changed. It was only for a moment. Then the lines of his jaws and eyes firmed again, and she had to wonder if it was a trick, a deception, that for a moment she had glimpsed her old friend. The man stood abruptly. The moon pendant fell unheeded to the floor.

“I came here to say farewell,” he said harshly. “If all I wanted was a woman to spread her legs, well, Jerd would doubtless oblige. I wanted you to become all you should be, Thymara. To grow into being the sort of woman that is suited to a man like me. And you've changed our farewell into a stupid, childish argument about who I am. So. Have it your way. I'm leaving. I'm leaving this room, and you, and tomorrow I'm leaving the city. And if I never return, well, I'm sure you won't regret that you turned your last chance to bid me good-bye into another one of your silly plays. I can't waste any more time on you. Tomorrow I fly, to lead the dragons in their vengeance against Chalced. To put an end to people hunting dragons. That doesn't seem to be something you much care about.”

The cold river of his words tumbled and bruised her on the rocks, drowning her in his acid criticism. She pointed wordlessly at the door. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she fought the sobs that tried to rise and choke her. He stalked to the door and she followed, two paces behind, out of reach.
I fear him,
she thought, and she knew by that admission that the love she had felt for wild, silly, gentle, thoughtful Rapskal was only a memory.

He turned in the hallway, his eyes hard and glittering as jewels. “One more thing,” he said coldly.

She shut the door in his face. She crossed the room and sat down on the small chair in front of the mirrored vanity. She looked at herself, at the winged Elderling Thymara.

And then she let her tears take her.

“D
awn,” Thymara scoffed. “I think the dragons meant, ‘After we wake up and when we feel like it.' ”

“They need the sun.” Tats excused their late arrival. “And it is important for them to have the Silver, as much as they can drink. They will fly faster and longer.”

“And their venom will be all the more potent,” Thymara added. “Sintara told me so. She said that Tintaglia had counseled them all to drink deeply before they departed.”

The small group fell silent. The force was finally massing in the middle of the Square of the Dragons as the sun approached noon. All the dragons were going. Some, like Heeby and Kalo and Sestican, had chosen elaborate harnesses. Others had submitted grudgingly to a simple strap that secured a perch for a rider. A few, like Sintara, had refused any harness and even the idea of carrying a rider into battle. Sintara had dismissed Thymara's offer to go with her with a brusque “You'd be in my way.” Fente had listened to Tats's ardent pleas to accompany her with great pleasure, but in the end she, too, had dismissed him. He now watched the others with undisguised envy. Davvie was already perched high on Kalo, staring around him as if he had never seen Kelsingra or his fellow keepers before. A half smile came and went on his face. Thymara watched him and wondered why all the boys were so eager to go to war.

Reyn was going too. Tintaglia was resplendent in a jeweled harness, the metallic plates fastened together with wires. She had chosen gold and a pale sky blue that set off her own indigo scaling. Next to her, Reyn wore a helm of pale blue and an Elderling tunic of the same color. There had been no armor that fit him. He had dismissed it with, “It would have been too hot and heavy anyway. And at least this time, when I travel with Tintaglia, she will not squeeze me in half with her claws as she nearly did the last time I flew with her.”

His attempt to make light of his departure with the dragon failed with his wife. Malta was not pleased to let him go and not only because she feared for him. No,
she
had wanted to be the one to ride the queen into battle. Her anger at what had been done to her dragon had only grown as the full tale became known. And she had old reasons of her own to wish revenge upon Chalced, as well as her more recent injuries at their hands. “The vengeance should be mine! I have never forgotten my days aboard a Chalcedean ship, and at their mercy. Nor will I ever forgive that they tried to kill my child!” Only her baby's needs had kept her in the city and on the ground.

Jerd had not wanted to go, but Veras had insisted. Thymara pitied her. Her face was pale and strange with all her hair tucked away under a helm. She gripped one of their old bows, and her quiver was full of hunting arrows. She sat on the ground near her queen and looked as if she might be sick. Sylve stood beside her, looking more insubstantial than ever in the sleek-fitting armor. Harrikin stood staring at her, his heart in his eyes. His dragon had refused him. He had begged Veras to take him instead of Jerd, but the queen had refused, and Ranculos had been livid with jealousy at the idea. “You will stay here,” he had told his keeper, and Harrikin was left with no other choice. Nortel was going and looked almost as pleased as Rapskal about it.

On the steps of the baths, seven former slaves sat watching the chaos and pageantry as if it were a puppet show. Long servitude had left harsh marks on all of them, minds as well as bodies. Thymara wondered if they fully grasped that the
Tarman
had truly departed, leaving them here to begin new lives. Only a few had adopted the Elderling garb they had been offered. The others had washed and mended their tattered clothes and seemed to be grateful that they were allowed time to do that. They still kept to themselves and spoke mostly Chalcedean to one another.

Rapskal was everywhere, striding about, directing keepers to tighten or loosen a harness strap, asking each keeper if he or she had filled a water bag and packed rations. He had a practiced air to his motions and questions that near broke Thymara's heart. She knew it was Tellator who was seeing to his soldiers as she watched. She watched him sternly assist Jerd to mount and stand by her as she settled into place on Veras. The other keepers imitated her.

Spit had insisted that he would carry no one, not even Carson. They had quarreled about it, and when the hunter had attempted to put a harness on the silver dragon, Spit had hissed at him. Mercor had intervened. “This is something a dragon decides for himself,” he had warned Carson gravely. The hunter stood beside Relpda and looked up at Sedric perched on her back. Tightly packed gear bags hung from the rings on her bell-studded harness. Thymara thought to herself that Carson had packed everything he could possibly imagine Sedric needing. The men regarded each other gravely. Carson reached out to touch Sedric's boot, nodded tightly, and then turned away. She saw Sedric swallow and lift his face to stare into the distance. Thymara shook her head sadly for them.

“Kase and Boxter?” she asked Tats.

“Going. Alum isn't. You know how Arbuc loves to show off when he flies. He didn't want to worry about spilling Alum off if he did a back loop.” He sighed and shook his head. “It's going to be very strange to be such a small group here in the city. Especially with Tarman and most of the captives gone.”

She touched his hand. “At least we'll be together,” she reminded him.

He didn't look at her. His eyes were following Fente. She had chosen a bright yellow harness, and once Tats had adjusted it for her, his dragon had dismissed him. “I wish we were both going with them.”

Malta drifted over to stand with them. In silence, they watched Rapskal climb up the straps that dangled from Heeby's harness and take his place in a high-backed saddle almost between her wings. Once settled, he lifted his horn to his lips and blew out a precise ascension of notes. “Tellator.” Thymara growled the name to herself and looked away from the Elderling who had stolen the boy she had known. Heeby gathered herself under him and instead of her familiar trundling takeoff, vaulted into the air, bearing him up with her.