Moth and Spark (41 page)

He had been approaching the question from the wrong direction. Instead of trying to find a way to free the dragons, he should try to find out how they had been taken in the first place. And he should not divorce the problem from the war. The dragons wanted to be freed, and they wanted the Empire to fall. He had said as much to Tam. If all it took to free them was magic, they could have picked a wizard centuries ago.

Perhaps they had, and that had failed. He might only be the latest in a series of would-be liberators as the dragons tried new routes. He did not think so, though. They had bided their time until a weakness in the Empire emerged. But he needed to go backward, to their taking.

He thought of the north, the Dragon Valleys. They made this valley look like a paradise. He had been there once, a dozen years ago now, a counterweight to luxury and ease. It had been late summer. He and his companions had walked on narrow twisting paths that vanished entirely at times among slabs of granite, loose scree, and chimney-like crags of jagged black rock. The only trees were conifers. Small grasses and mosses and tiny flowers snuggled into nooks on the stones. Here and there sulfurous steam came out of cracks on the mountainside, staining the grey rocks yellow. Dirty patches of old and crusty snow that had melted and refrozen several times lay in the shadiest parts.

He labored along with the others, breathing thin air and watching carefully where his feet landed. The paths dipped sometimes, or skirted small clear mountain ponds, but it was always an ascent after that. There was life—birds and rabbits and ground squirrels, even foxes. Meadows with bright purple and white flowers surprised them. As they went higher the plants and animals became sparser, the ground stonier and greyer. At night the stars were close and sharp. He slept fitfully, shivering.

Finally, after five or six days—he had lost count—they came to a large looming rough black crag. The mountain rose steeply to one side of it and dropped sharply on the other. The only way past the outcropping was over it. The last feet were more a climb than a walk. The stone was painfully sharp-edged and rough. By the time Corin reached the top his hands were chafed and sore. Lungs aching, he pulled himself up to a stand on the broad flat surface and sucked at a scrape on the heel of his hand, then looked out.

Below were the Dragon Valleys. The earth looked as though some vast dragon had raked its talons through it for miles, slashing across ridges and mountainsides with no regard for stone. In the distance were the white-capped peaks of higher mountains, impossibly close in the clear air. The wind was strong and smelled cold. The Valleys were black glass, shiny and sharp and straight. Even this high he could not see into the bottom of the nearest one. The topland looked barren and lifeless.

They pulled him. The descent from the crag seemed manageable. He traced a path out and, when it was fixed well in his mind, took a step down. Almost immediately he was grabbed and hauled most unroyally back up. He endured a tongue-lashing that made him turn red weeks later. He had done his very best to forget about it entirely.

At the time he had wondered what the soldiers thought would happen. The steepness of the descent was no greater than the one back down the way he had come. They could not really think he was going to run off into such desolation. It unfolded clearly to him now: Aram had feared if he went into those Valleys, the dragons would somehow seize him. He must have commanded an extraordinarily strict watch. But he had permitted the sight. Perhaps even intended it.

Corin knew he could not go there, at least not dragonback. Kelvan had said and the dragons had shown that the Valleys were outside the bounds of their prison. Tam, though, Tam had seen them in trance.

I can’t use her so, he thought. You must, she would say.

He watched a line of pelicans glide low over the water, dipping occasionally to scoop up a fish. She would say it because she was brave, because she loved him. And because she was his subject. He had told her enough times that he used people, she would not want him to make an exception out of love. They had managed to avoid the conversation, to play at equality, but at the very deepest part she would obey him, just as he obeyed his father.

Tam, he thought, Tam. This was why he had never wanted to be in love. But he could not forsake it. And if he loved her, he had to set the choice before her.

He walked grimly back toward the hut. When he came to the sleeping dragon, he stopped. Then he leaned against it.

Its mind was asleep, and he traveled through strange dragon dreams before it roused enough to speak to him. It was cold, alien, inhuman. There was sound, thunder or breaking ice and bells and gongs. Wind. The crackle of fire. Everything was black. Then opal light. Vertigo. He was pulled, tossed. He plummeted downward into darkness while wind rushed over him and cold air stung his skin. Red light. The flickering shadow of a dragon writhed on Hadon’s throne. Hadon stood before him, hands outstretched, and his eyes were the blackness of the void.

Go, the dragon was telling him. Go. You know what to do.

He broke the contact with his mind and simply felt the dragon. Its
bulk, its heat, its scales. He ran the tips of his fingers along a scale over and over. So smooth. Water would bead on it and fall, a blade would crack, an arrow would bounce. He ventured the briefest of touches to the edge of the scale and pulled his finger back at once, bleeding.

There, he thought. Now you have my blood.

Then he hit it with his fist. Over and over, until his shoulder ached.

He leaned against it again, panting. It slept on. His rage died out of him. He hoped Tam had not witnessed the tantrum. When this is over, he thought as he sometimes did. He had no words to complete it.

T
am could tell that Corin wanted to talk privately with her, but he waited until after the evening meal. It had been a simple supper of fish and beans and nuts. Corin made it, and did a far better job than she could have. She decided not to tease him about cooking again. Then, feeling that it was her turn to do a little work, she washed the dishes while Corin made the fire. Kelvan left the hut.

“He won’t be back for hours,” Corin said. “He has his own lover to see.” He spread a blanket in front of the fire. “Sit here and pretend we’re in the palace. The guards will keep everyone out.”

She did not understand how he had been able to maintain his sense of irony through everything that had happened. Perhaps that was what kept him from brooding. Her back and legs still ached from riding the dragon, and the floor looked hard and far away. Carefully, wincing a little, she lowered herself down onto the blanket. She was glad to have clean hair again.

Corin sat, moved her foot into his lap, and began to massage it. His hands were warm. “It will ease,” he said. “Walking is the best thing for it, you won’t stiffen so much. Unfortunately good wine is hard to come by in the village. You have very nice feet.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It was one of the first things I noticed.”

“Why did you fall in love with me?” she asked. It was a dangerous question. She might well not like the answer, but she could not resist.

“Who couldn’t?”

“You are ridiculously besotted,” she said. “Mind you, I’m not complaining. But truly, why me? By all accounts you’ve been avoiding it for years.”

“Because you are the first woman who paid me the honor of actually seeing me,” he said. It was unexpectedly sober. “I’ll concede I didn’t give many women much of a chance to, but none of them were interested in it.”

“I had no intent to lay you bare.”

“That’s why you could.”

She turned Mari’s ring a few times on her finger. If there had been no war, would Corin have continued to abide by the rules? Would Aram have agreed to the marriage? Or had it all come about because there was no real chance of winning the war and the rules no longer mattered?

“Without the war we never would have met,” she said.

“I would have seen you at the ball. And without the war there would have been time aplenty to woo you.”

“But not to marry me.”

“Who knows,” he said.

There was a hint of bitterness to his tone that made her sad. She looked at the fire. He had built it quite skillfully, and the flames were even and steady. His touch felt good on her foot, but it seemed absent of desire. Whatever was on his mind, he did not seem to know how to raise it. It was very unlike him. She had no idea how to break his silence.

It had turned cool with evening, and she was wearing his cloak again. She touched the pin and said, “I should give you this back.”

He leaned forward a little, then relaxed. “Did I leave that in?”

“Yes. I wondered if your father saw it.”

“I’m sure he did. It’s no matter. Keep it, you have the right to wear it now. But it’s a damn good thing no Mycenean saw you with it.”

Tam nodded. She had thought of the possibilities many times, but it had seemed more dangerous to put it someplace where it could be lost. “I was careful. I don’t know what I would have done with it if I’d made it back to Dalrinia.”

“Joce could have kept it.” He grinned suddenly. “What did you intend to tell your father?”

“Nothing, until I had to.” It had seemed impossible.
Hello, Father, I married a man I had known only five days. Yes, we love each other. But you see, he’s the prince, and the king was overthrown, and I don’t know where he is and the Myceneans may come looking for me.

“Tam?” He sounded worried. She realized that only now, safe, was she allowing herself to admit what had happened.

“I’m all right,” she said softly. She forced a smile.

He rubbed her foot some more, not speaking. The calluses on his palms from holding a sword were rough. He said quietly, “I can see how
it would have been complicated. But if we win the war you will have to tell him.”

“In that case I think you can tell him yourself.” He would be much less awkward.

“If that’s what you wish, love, of course.”

“I wish my parents knew that I am safe,” she said. “They’ll be worried sick.”

“There’s no way to get a message to them. It would have to pass between too many hands. I’m sorry.” He moved his fingers over the bones of her ankle. “Your skin is so smooth.”

“What about your sister? Will we hear about her?” She had watched Corin’s face go completely blank for an instant when Kelvan said that Tai was free. He had not been ready at all for that news.

“I hope we don’t,” he said vehemently. “I hope the rider delivers her safely someplace and she stays hidden.”

There was anger in his voice, and pain, and she realized that was part of what he was struggling with. She reclaimed her foot and moved closer to him. “But that’s not enough. What is it, Corin?” she asked carefully.

Instead of looking at her he stared into the fire. She watched the light shift on his face.

He said, “Tam, we won’t escape Mycene even if the Sarians fall. Even if Hadon himself dies. Caithen will remain vassal as long as the dragons are held. That’s why I must go on.” He seemed to know something now that he had not earlier.

“Do the dragons mean to free Caithen or themselves?”

“Or,” he said, and then went very quiet. She waited. At last he took her hand. “It’s the same thing,” he said. “There’s no ‘or’ about it. I realized that this afternoon.”

It was not fair. It made the stakes much higher, the burden heavier on him. If he failed the dragons he failed his kingdom, his father, his self. She put her other hand over his, so that his hand was clasped between her two. There was nothing she could think of to say. She hoped again that Aram wasn’t dead.

He was very still, his hand motionless in hers. She closed her eyes and listened. His breathing was steady. She could hear the rush of hot air going up the chimney. She swallowed.

“Corin,” she said, “tell me what you need.”

He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “Tam,” he said. He took a deep breath. He pulled his hand free of hers and faced her. “Tam, will you go into trance again?”

She had not anticipated that. He had been so opposed to it before. “What are you trying to do?” she asked.

“You saw the Dragon Valleys before. I want you to See into the past. See what happened when they were taken.”

“That can’t be done,” she said, and heard the foolishness of it as the words came out. If she could See any thing, then why not any time? Especially when dragons were involved. “You can’t do it?”

“God, Tam, if I could, do you think I would ask you?”

He was still avoiding whatever he needed to say. She gathered herself for a quarrel. “You’re holding something back,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, full of fury. He got up and went to the door, jerked it open. The draft made the fire surge. All she could see beyond his body was darkness. It was like watching him that night on the steps. One wrong move and he would crack. She was afraid to either speak or touch him.

He swore a few times and slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. Then something seemed to go out of him. He slumped a little, turned. He came back to her and lifted her hand. Gently, he brought it to his lips. She bit the inside of her own lip with sadness for him.

“I think it will be very dangerous,” he said. He was sterner than she had ever seen him. “You could be lost, or you might set something free. I don’t want you to do it at all. I think we were lucky last time.”

“But you’re asking me.”

“You might say it’s my duty to ask,” he said, with a small, bitter laugh. He let go of her hand. “I can’t let love protect you. But it is absolutely not a command. You can say no. I hope you do.”

How hard that must have been for him to say, all of it. “You know I won’t,” she said gently.

“I do know that,” he said. “I’m letting you choose your risk, because that is the only thing I have to give you. But please, Tam, don’t do it just because you think it would be cowardly not to. Use your reason. Make a decision that would make your father proud.”

The danger seemed unreal, a storybook danger, nothing to actually fear. She had to do him the justice of weighing everything carefully. “Come closer,” she said.

He shook his head. “I don’t get to be your husband in this.”

There it was, that was the pain. She knew he did not want to be touched, but there had to be a way to ease him. She picked up the poker and used it to carefully reposition a log that did not need to be repositioned.

“What if I don’t do it, or it doesn’t help?”

“Then I’ll have to think of something else,” he said.

For a long while they were silent. Tam got hot and removed the cloak. Corin stirred at that, and when she had folded it into a neat square she put a tentative hand on his knee. He did not shake it off, and she moved it a few inches farther along his thigh. When he still did not react she brought her whole body closer.

He shifted. At first she thought he was retreating, but he took hold of her and pulled her in. She slipped her shirt over her head. The air on her back was cold. She watched the firelight on her body, then finally looked at him. “You are my husband,” she said. “Always.”

His lips moved. He put one hand on her side. She pushed him slowly down onto the blanket. It made a muscle in her back ache, and she winced.

“Thrice in one day?” he whispered.

“I could just be teasing.”

“I dare you.”

Tam lay awake long after Corin had fallen asleep. The bed was not really big enough for both of them. She was still wide awake when she heard Kelvan come back. She crept out of bed, dressed, and went into the other room.

He glanced at her from where he sat beside the fire. A single log still burned low. She raised her finger to her lips and dropped down beside him so that they could whisper. “My lady,” he breathed.

“Do you know where the king is?” she asked. He hesitated, and she added quickly, “I’m not asking you where, I just want to know if you know.”

“I do.”

“How long would it take to bring him here?”

“Five hours each way in fair weather.”

Ten hours. That was too long. She sighed.

“What do you want with him, my lady?”

“Nothing particular. It’s just—if Corin dies—” She could not finish. The man she would really need was her own father, but there was no sending a dragonrider to get him. He would not be permitted in this valley. “Do you think there’s a chance to win?”

“With the war, aye. The dragons will do their part, and the soldiers will go home.”

“What will you do?” She was not sure why she asked.

He looked startled. “I can’t go back to Mycene. I will do what the king asks of me, I expect.”

“And if he asks nothing?”

“I don’t know. I’m not fit for much other than what I am.” There was a guardedness to his tone that told her not to pry further. He had spent years keeping himself hidden, as a wizard and as a spy, and he was not about to break that silence for her. She wondered if he approved, of her, of the match.

“Did you know about Corin and the dragons when Aram sent you?”

“Aye. He came in fall, not long after the prince was born. There was snow high up already, I remember that. He and Rois tested me, and then he said that what he wanted from me amounted to exile, and I asked him why. Then he told me.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

It seemed absurdly young. It told her something about Aram, that he would entrust such a mission to a boy. He must have been a good judge of character even then. And able to think deeply and deliberately, even when taking risks. He would have been not much older than Corin was now; he had been crowned when he was only twenty-two. It made her feel inadequate.

As though he had heard her thoughts, Kelvan said, “I’ve known the king to be wrong about things, but never about a person.”

Tam supposed it was both a rebuke and encouragement.
Trust yourself.
She remembered watching Corin in the drugged sleep, the king beside her. The room had been very still and cold but Aram’s presence had managed to fill it. And from that Aram had decided she was worthy to marry his son. Had he known then that she had power? He had said that had nothing to do with it, but she was not naïve. He might have accepted her without it, but he certainly intended to make use of it.