Dragonoak (15 page)

I moved
cautiously into the living area, trusting Reis, but not knowing
Varn and Atalanta nearly well enough to trust that they wouldn't
burst in through the open windows. Reis returned to the table and
continued where they'd left off on their leg, pushing their glasses
atop their head and then trying to readjust them on the bridge of
their nose.

“What
did they want?” I asked, slumped in a chair opposite them. “Other
than me, I mean.”

“They
just wanna talk to you. Or the Queen does, anyway,” Reis
said.

“Do you
really believe that's all they want?”

“Aye,” Reis said, and because they'd always been able to spot
a threat a mile off, I listened. “It's like we've been telling you
all along, kid. This ain't Asar. We've got a lot of problems, but
we ain't so backwards as to think that there's something
wrong
with necromancers.
There'll be a lot of pressure on you, that's for sure, but people
will respect what you do. I've no doubt that the Queen just wants
to meet you, to have you as an acquaintance. Might be good for
Mahon.”

The
thought of people knowing what I was had become more and more
appealing, until it was scrawled across my skin. If I headed into
Port Mahon, the choice was no longer mine to make. I didn't want
praise, didn't want to be held in awe. All I wanted was for people
to treat me as Reis and Kouris did; for them to know that I was a
necromancer, in the same way that they knew what my favourite fruit
was or what sort of animals I liked the best. I wanted it to be
part of me, not all I was.

“You
think I should go with them?”

“Like I
said, it's up to you,” Reis said, shrugging. They'd never asked
anything of me before, and I trusted that they weren't about to
start now. “They said they're gonna be in town until tomorrow
morning. You wanna go with 'em, then go. If not, I'll get 'em to
clear off.”

I
clutched my hands together under the table. I didn't know why I was
acting as though what I had to do wasn't clear enough. I'd said it
myself: the only way we were going to leave Asar was if we managed
to befriend the Queen, and we weren't going to get a better chance
than this.

There
was only one thing for it. I'd go to Varn and Atalanta, have them
take me away and let the Queen ask anything of me, so long as she
was willing to return the favour. I could do it; all I had to do
was march into Mahon and the sight of me alone would be enough to
make my intentions clear.

Standing
up, I stared at the door and knew that if I went into Mahon now,
all eyes would be on me. I found it wasn't being seen as a
necromancer that frightened me; rather, I was convinced that one
glance my way would tell everyone exactly what had happened to make
me that bright.

“Was that really
the
Varn everyone's always talking about?” I asked
Reis as I retreated back to my room. “She seemed kind of... Are you
sure she'll be okay in Mahon?”

Reis
looked up from their woodwork, grinning.

“Oh,
aye. That's Varn alright. Don't go underestimating her, just 'cause
she's a complete brat,” they said. “You know how everyone's always
looking at Akela? Like they gotta hire her, in case someone else
does and they end up working against her? That's who Varn used to
be. She only left a few months before you turned up. Everyone's a
little bitter, that's all.”

Doubting
that the woman I'd seen slumped against the door frame could best
Kouris in a fight, I headed back into my room and wondered what was
to be done about all of this. I'd found myself with two options:
either I faced Mahon and got to meet the Queen, or I stayed in my
room day after day, waiting for something to change. What I had to
do was obvious, and the option that terrified me the most happened
to be the easiest one.

Late
that night, as the full moon stared out over the sea, Varn and
Atalanta came to me.

Or they
strolled across the beach and came within earshot of me, at any
rate. Creeping over to the window, I hooked my fingers around the
sill and watched them idly traipse across the sand. Perhaps Varn
really was all people had made her out to be if she dared to come
so close to Reis' hut.

“Why
haven't you brought me here before?” Atalanta asked. “It really is
quite a charming port, and as close to a home as you can profess to
have.”

Atalanta
held her arm out to Varn, who dug her hands into her pockets and
stepped to the side.

“What are you on about? We
met
here, Lanta.”

“Oh, certainly. But we never come here
together
,” Atalanta said, and I
climbed through the window, dropping almost silently onto the
beach. “Are you embarrassed of me? Is that it? Worried your pirate
companions will think less of you for being entangled with a keeper
of the peace?”

Varn
laughed flatly, swayed towards Atalanta and bumped the side of her
arm with her shoulder.

“Peace
in Canth? Didn't know you were so funny—or so bad at your
job.”

Atalanta
feigned a look of pure indignation, but before I could eavesdrop
any further, I blurted out, “Excuse me. I think you're looking for
me.”

Spinning
around, they reached for their weapons, but at the sight of me,
they relaxed so quickly that I didn't have time to take in the
enormity of what I'd just done.

“Finally
!” Varn said, falling back
onto the sand. “This means we can head back to Chandaran,
right?”

Ignoring
her, Atalanta rushed towards me, offering out her hand. At no point
did she reached out to touch me, and not because the light caused
her to hesitate; she waited for me to reciprocate the gesture out
of respect, never seeming predatory, no matter how close she
drew.

I shook
her hand, bemused by the formality of it all. The standard greeting
in Mahon was a slap on the back or an elbow to the side, and though
Atalanta's gesture was no less hearty, I hadn't felt the need to
stand that straight since being in Isin's castle.

“You're the one, there's no doubting that,” Atalanta said.
“You must forgive me. I've grown accustomed to thinking of you
as
the necromancer.
Afraid we didn't have much more than that to go on for a
while. I am Atalanta of the Sworn Blades, and this charming
creature is Varn, belonging to the same order. It's a real honour
to meet you, truly it is.”

“Rowan.
Rowan Northwood,” I said, translating my surname into Canthian when
Varn pulled a face. I'd prepared myself for a lot of things, but I
hadn't been expecting the degree of civility Atalanta paid me. “Not
exactly linked to anything like your, um. Order.”

“Whatever,” Varn scoffed. “You're a necromancer living with a
dragon-born
and
Reis. I'd say that makes you wrapped up in plenty
already.”

Atlanta
sighed, distraught by Varn's behaviour, and started walking along
the beach, gesturing for me to join her. Varn scrambled to her feet
and caught up a few moments later, and as we walked across the
sand, I was convinced they'd seize hold of me from either side and
drag me all the way back to the capital. Atalanta, however, seemed
more interested in staring out at the horizon, and Varn kept
glancing back at the town she'd left behind.

“We knew
you were staying with the good Captain, of course. They were rather
eager to protect someone they claimed not to know,” Atalanta
explained, “Well, what do you say? Would you like to come back with
us?”

“Do I
really
have a choice?” I blurted out, wanting to believe
them.

“You do,
indeed you do! Her Majesty has simply extended an invitation to
you, Rowan. Nobody's going to force you to do anything you don't
want to, if that's what's concerning you.”

I looked
away from her, teeth grit, and only then did Atalanta realise that
I'd expected them to take me away by force. Her face fell, wounded
that her intentions had come across as anything other than
honourable, but Varn was decidedly less interested in the whole
ordeal. She'd taken to digging the toe of her boot into the sand,
prying shells free.

“I'm not
from around here. You can probably tell by my accent, but before I
came here, I was in Kastelir. Do you know what they did to
necromancers there? They burnt them, no questions asked,” I said,
trying to explain my reservations, “People say it's different in
Canth, in Ridgeth – in the rest of the world, really – but it's
hard to believe, after being in Asar for twenty-three
years.”

I'd
expected Atalanta to offer me words of comfort, but it was Varn who
took the task upon herself.

“Oi,
Isjin would have our guts for garters if any of us messed with
you,” she said, slapping a hand against my back. “Sorry you had to
grow up with heathens, but don't tar us all with the same brush,
alright?”

I
smiled, earning a wink out of Varn, and my mind was already made
up. I couldn't stay in Mahon, not when there was the slightest
chance I could do something to help. There was a resistance in
Kastelir. Returning wouldn't be for nothing, and we wouldn't stand
alone.

“I'll really be able to come back here whenever I want to? I
won't
have
to
stay?”

“Well
. Chandaran takes three days to
reach, and it would be rude to spend no more than an hour in Her
Majesty's presence. Let us say, then, that you shall be back in
Mahon whenever you wish to be, so long as a week has passed,”
Atalanta said.

I was
giddy with something I hadn't felt in a long time.

“Okay,”
I said, biting back my excitement. “I'll go with you.”

Varn was
in no mood to waste any time. Practically dragging Atalanta off the
beach, she led us through the quieter streets on the edge of Mahon,
until the paved roads gave way to dry, cracked ground, and Canth
opened up, flat and waterless. The town's animals were tended to on
its outskirts, fenced in to patches of land where grass stubbornly
grew in spite of the sun, and Varn headed directly into the
stables.

After a
fair amount of grumbling with the stable-hand, she returned with
two jet-black horses and led them to a carriage stowed by the side
of a dirt path. It had been a luxurious thing, once upon a time,
but Varn and Atalanta had certainly got their money's worth from
it; the red paint was cracked and peeling, and the royal family's
sigil – the head of a hyena – had all but flaked off.

Varn
harnessed the horses and Atalanta said, “Musashi and Fiennes. Two
faster horses you won't find. Fiennes is mine; a gift from Her
Majesty when I officially came into her service. Varn pretends not
to pay extra attention to Musashi.”

I
greeted them both with a pat on the muzzle, and as I saw Atalanta
climb into the box-seat, I began to wonder what I was doing. I
couldn't leave.

I
couldn't disappear for days upon days again.

I'd been
so eager to make myself useful that I'd almost gone about it in the
most thoughtless way imaginable.

“Wait,”
I said, drawing a deeper scowl out of Varn. “I can't go, not yet. I
need to tell Kouris I'm leaving.”

Any
momentary worry drained from Atalanta's features. Smiling in
relief, she said, “Go, go! Do what you need to. We'll be waiting
here,” taking me at my word.

I didn't
move. Couldn't. No doubt Kouris would be at one of the taverns in
the heart of Mahon, and though I'd dulled considerably over the
last month, light still claimed me.

“I...”

I
swallowed a lump in my throat and Varn put her hands on her hips,
gawking at me.

“You've
gotta be kidding,” she said, turning to Atalanta. “She's kidding,
right? No way I'm going in there with her.”

“Nobody
knows,” I said. “They've not seen me like this before.”

Varn pressed her palm to her face, groaned, and said,
“
Fine
. Ain't
gonna be anyone looking at
me
while I'm parading a necromancer through the
streets. Let's get this over with.”

Atalanta
placed a hand on my shoulder, heading off with a reassuring
squeeze. Varn had been right. No one paid her any heed when they
could stare at me instead, bemused, not certain of what they were
seeing. The roar of taverns and restaurants and brothels died down,
turned to murmurs that could only revolve around me, and the only
reason I didn't turn and flee was because I was too afraid
to.

Had Atalanta and Varn not been at my side I likely would've
bolted through the first open door and hid myself. It wasn't until
someone wondered out loud, said “Necromancer... ?” loudly enough
for others to hear it that the pirates of Port Mahon started to
understand what was before them. The murmur became a rumble and
that rumble resolved itself as a roar; people drummed their hands
against table tops, began shouting
necromancer, necromancer
for those
who hadn't figure it out yet; and then people even began to whoop
and cheer.