The Crown and the Dragon (12 page)

“You mock those virtues only because they have little meaning in a life like yours,” she said hotly.

Aedin grinned. “Had to practice all three from time to time. Never thought of them as virtues.”

“Maybe you should,” she said.

Aedin laughed.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded.

“Thinking of how grateful the poor knave is,” he said, “who’s been spared the awful duty of taking you to wife.”

“You have no respect,” said Elenn, “for anything.” She stalked off into the darkness.

Aedin let her go. He didn’t chase after wounded bears or angry women. But the truth was that, temper or no temper, Elenn and her dowry were a great prize. If she told the truth, she was the last of her house, and looked to be close to twenty-one, the age of inheritance. So whoever married her would shortly gain the rights to her family’s titles, lands, and fortune.

He glanced over at Elenn’s battered chest, sitting at the edge of the fire light. From the look of the humble little tub-cart they had pushed off the road two days ago, the Adair fortune was expended. There was nothing of value the leather sack slung over Elenn’s back or in the chest he carried, unless there were some cunning secret compartment. So far, he had not found one.

This left only the mysterious wooden case. He had spent the last two days thinking of what might fit in a little box that size: precious gems, a magical elixir, or perhaps a cache of secret documents. It would be locked, of course, but if he could just get it off her he was sure he could have it open in a matter of minutes.

Elenn returned to the fire, her hands on her hips. “I just don’t understand you,” she said. “I would think you would understand how someone could dedicate himself, could sacrifice his life for a higher purpose.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Right there,” she said, lifting her hand to gesture vaguely in the direction of his right shoulder, “you’ve got that … ” Trailing off, she put her hand down and shrugged. “Forget it. Never mind.”

“No,” said Aedin, standing. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Elenn.

“This?” he asked, pointing to the scar of the brand on his right shoulder. “How’s this a sign of self-sacrifice? You can’t be stupid enough to think every outlaw is a rebel, just because that’s what the Vitalion say when they hang us.”

“No,” she said.

“What kind of idiot,” he continued, “would join the rebellion anyway? Why would I fight to get free of the Vitalion Emperor so I can bow down to Garrick the Goon?”

“I was pointing at your stupid bird-face sword!” said Elenn.

Puzzled, he pulled the Sithian saber from its sheath and brandished it at her. “This? Blade I stole off a dead man? How does this mark me as some kind of noble numpty?”

“You swore an oath to me,” she said, “on that sword.”

Aedin opened his mouth for a clever retort, but came up empty.

She rose and approached him. “Most people would call me a fool to have anything to do with you, let alone trust you. But when you spoke those words … I knew they meant something to you. That’s why I accepted your oath.” She shook her head. “Was I wrong?”

“Keep my end of the bargain,” he said, sheathing the sword.

“I know you will,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “I see now. You’re a harsh judge of others, but even sterner with yourself.”

He rolled his eyes. “Merciful gods, but you’re credulous. Please tell me you don’t say this to every bandit.”

She smiled. “It really does bother you do be thought a man of honor. Why? You were a soldier once. You swore an oath then, too. What happened?”

“Another life,” said Aedin, “another man. Died years ago. No sense talking about it now.”

“No matter how painful, our pasts are part of who we are.” She reached one hand up toward his chest. Unsure what was happening, Aedin hesitated long enough for her to reach into his shirt and pull out the gold ring still hanging from a chain around his neck.

“This was my mother’s,” Elenn said, “and my sister’s. They’re gone now, like my aunt Ethelind. I feel those losses every day, like wounds.”

Aedin cleared his throat.

“But they’re part of who I am,” she said. “I embrace them.” She looked up at him with tears running down her cheeks and a sad smile on her lips.

“Done talking about this,” he said. “Good night.”

Elenn talked for a while after that, about the weather and food and the road ahead. Aedin ignored her. After a long while, she fell silent. By the time the fire died down to coals, Aedin was asleep.

***

Chapter Seventeen

Elenn woke up shivering. She was covered in dew, and as they ascended toward the highlands of Ghel, it was getting colder.

She turned her eyes toward the fire. It was out. And Aedin was gone. Had he abandoned her while she slept? Elenn stood and looked around, but she saw no sign of him in the brush.

“Aedin,” she said aloud. “Aedin, where are you?”

No reply came back but the calls of songbirds in the trees.

Fear, anger, and puzzlement all fought for primacy in her heart. Why had he been so upset last night? The man was a mystery. When she treated him with gentle forbearance and kindness, he treated her with callous indifference. When she lost her patience and accused him of knavish behavior—thievery, brawling, cursing, drunkenness, wantonness—he laughed.

Elenn sighed. Every time she thought he was opening up to her, he pushed her away. In retrospect, she saw that it had not been wise to pour out her heart to him last night. But she needed someone to talk to, and who else was there?

He was not a bad man, despite what he, himself, might think. Years ago, he had selflessly pledged his sword to the king. And still he fought, in his own way, to cleanse Deira of the Vitalion invaders. It was almost admirable.

“Aedin!” she called, her hands cupped. No answer.

She sat down on a log near the fire. It seemed cold, and she wasn’t sure how to restart it. She poked idly at the coals with a stick. Seeing some signs of life, she went to look for tinder. Everything Aedin had gathered the previous evening was used up.

She couldn’t blame him for wanting to hide his hurts. However, he had no right to treat her as he did. He had ignored her for the rest of the evening, despite her best attempts to rekindle a conversation. Apologies, entreaties, promises, accusations—all had fallen on deaf ears. It was she, not he, who had been wronged last night.

Returning with arms full of dead sticks, Elenn found Aedin already rebuilding the fire. Arranging small twigs into the shape of a cone atop the not-quite-dead coals, he didn’t so much as look up.

Hot anger welled up inside her, but she mastered it and placed her tinder on the ground next to him. “Aedin,” she began, “I’m glad to see you.”

Saying nothing, he selected a few of her sticks and added them to his cone.

“I hope you slept well,” said Elenn, sitting down on a log, so that she would be at eye level with him. She smiled graciously.

Aedin blew on the coals and the twigs began to smolder and smoke.

“I slept well. Like a rock,” Elenn added.

“I know,” Aedin said with a snort.

Elenn started to demand what he meant. But instead she gritted her teeth into the semblance of a smile. “Thank you for getting the fire going again,” she said. “It’s a lovely way to wake up.”

Aedin shrugged. “Wanted something to cook my fish,” he said.

Behind him, Elenn saw a forked stick propped against a nearby shrub. From the stick hung three redfin roaches that each looked to weigh half a pound or more.

“Got them while you were still snoring,” he said, smirking slightly. “Had to go stroll quite a ways. Fish don’t like loud noises.”

“I do not—” She swallowed the words, with difficulty. “I wondered if I might talk to you,” said Elenn, “about what I said last night—”

Aedin rolled his eyes. “Give you half a fish to stop talking,” he said, reaching for the first redfin.

Elenn stood, her face flushed and her mouth open to rebuke him. Was he trying to provoke her? She narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips, and drew a deep breath. But Aedin ignored her, the brute. He just gutted the fish and tossed their innards into the fire, where they hissed.

Aunt Ethelind had once said, “the only way to avoid the hook is to eschew the bait, no matter how delicious.” If Aedin was baiting her into a fight, Elenn was determined to deny him. She would not give him the satisfaction of pulling her down to his level.

Smiling to herself, Elenn sat down again and silently savored the aroma of broiled redfin. Soon he would apologize. How could he not? Her gentle rebuke for his cruel words hung in the air, all the more powerful for being unspoken. She would not prolong the torture, of course. The very instant he admitted his guilt, she would forgive him freely and frankly. The generosity of her pardon would both shame him and show him how civilized people behaved.

Breakfast concluded without a word spoken, however, and Elenn could not help but think that Aedin looked not tormented but pleased. Elenn decided that she would not be the one to speak first.

All that morning, she walked head of Aedin. He seemed happy to let her do so, or at least he did not complain, which is what Elenn had been hoping for.

The country they were passing through was so wet as to be misty, even hours after dawn. Peat moss was so thickly layered that the ground felt springy under Elenn’s feet. It made her slightly unsteady. The trees grew close together, and old man’s beard hung from many of the branches.

Perhaps because she could not see far, the air seemed very close and oppressive. The bog smelled of rot and of waste. And Elenn heard crows, which reminded her of the hideous feathered thing which had menaced her aunt Ethelind. She reached inside her kirtle to reassure herself that she still carried the Falarica in its case, but this merely reminded her that she had no idea how to use the relic if she were attacked.

To take her mind off her worries and fears, Elenn listened for the calls of other birds. She heard songbirds—warblers, robins, skylarks—and thought of her parrot finch, Gawaine. She wondered where he had flown, and hoped he had made his way home. As she strode on through the bog, she recognized ducks, red grouse, and what she thought was a heron.

Her step grew lighter, and her disagreement with Aedin began to seem less important. If he didn’t want to talk to her, that was his problem. She wasn’t going to let it spoil her day.

Elenn smiled, pushed her way through a curtain of hanging moss, and walked right into a dead body, dangling on a rope.

She screamed and ran, but in her heedless flight she collided with another body. Looking up from the ground, it seemed the whole stand of willows was full of corpses, hung from the branches.

Before she knew it, Aedin had scooped her up in his arms. He crushed her close to him, and whispered to her.

“Hush, hush, it’ll be all right, girl.” He turned her head away from the horrible scene, pushing her face into his chest. “Hush, now, hush. Bring the whole Vitalion army down on our heads.”

Elenn soon regained control of herself. She found her feet and pushed Aedin away. The awful cawing of crows in the trees all around sounded like a harbinger of evil things to come. But no foul wind swirled, no darkness gathered, and the crows remained perched on their branches.

“Keep an eye on those crows,” she said, shivering.

“What for?” he asked.

“Just watch them!” she said. Then, steeling herself, Elenn again pushed back the curtain of old man’s beard and stepped into the stand of willows.

Four bodies hung from the trees, with their feet about the height of her waist. The four men were still dressed, their rough cloaks swaying gently in the breeze. Their faces were a gruesome sight—bloated and missing their eyes. Elenn shuddered.

At her side, Aedin bent down. Elenn looked, and realized that in her momentary panic Aunt Ethelind’s wooden case had slipped out of her kirtle and fallen to the ground. She snatched it up quickly, before Aedin could touch it.

He rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t going to steal it.”

“I know,” she said, tucking the case away. “I’m sorry.”

Aedin stepped in front of her, walking from one body to the other. He prodded them with his scabbarded saber, regarding each one as they slowly turned, the ropes creaking faintly.

“Who were they?” she asked. “And who did this?”

“Can’t say for sure,” he said, replacing his saber and re-adjusting the straps on his sword harness. “Looks like Vitalion work to me.”

“Are they the ones who…” She swallowed. “Is that what happened to their eyes?”

He glanced up at the bodies. “No. The crows.”

“The crows?” she asked. A sudden terror gripped her as she imagined a shadowy, cloaked figure reaching out to stab out her eyes with its great talons. She spun around, but the crows sat on their branches still, croaking at her impudently.

“Scavengers,” he said. “The Vitalion just hoist the bodies up. Let nature take its course.”

“But why? What was their crime?” Elenn asked.

Aedin pointed to one man’s right hand, and Elenn saw that his fingers had been cut off. “Looks like this one had done some thieving. But there’s more to it than that.”

He reached up and pulled a dagger from the belt of the man missing his fingers. He took it out of its sheath and examined it closely.

“My guess, they were rebels,” he said. Using the dagger, he gestured at the corpses. “What you get for believing in causes.”

“You can tell that from the dagger?” she asked.

“What? No.” He sheathed it and tucked it into his own belt. “Just stands to reason. The Vitalion wouldn’t come all the way up here in dragon country for ordinary highwaymen. So either they’re infamous master criminals, or they’re part of the rebellion. And I never heard of them, so they can’t be that notorious.” He shrugged.

Elenn frowned, finding it hard to believe that he could know any of this. “You’re that well-connected among outlaws?”

“I hear things,” said Aedin. “Keep my eyes open.” He reached up and began rummaging through the pockets of one of the corpses.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“The Vitalion usually lift the coins and such,” he said, “but sometimes you get lucky. Not this time, more’s the pity.”

He walked over to another man and pulled off his boots, comparing it to his own foot for size. Frowning, he tossed the boots aside and walked to another body.

“Mostly when you get a new officer in the patrol,” he continued. “Doesn’t want the men to see him stealing yet. Men don’t want him to see them stealing, either.”

The second man’s boots seemed a better match, and Aedin sat down to pull off the boots he had taken from the Sithian.

“Kind of sweet,” he said, “when you think about it. Like young love.”

He put on the new pair, and stood with a smile. “Now that’s a lot better,” he said happily, pacing back and forth to test them out.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Elenn. She turned and walked .out of the stand of willows.

“If he was a thief,” he called after her, “he deserved what he got. We owe him nothing. If he was a rebel, he died for Deira. Be happy to sacrifice his boots to help a brother Deiran.”

“At least cut them down,” she called back. “We should give these men a proper burial, whoever they were.”

“Burying rebels is an act of rebellion,” said Aedin, “according to Vitalion law. Bury someone the Vitalion have hanged, they hang you, too. Just like this.”

“But how would they know who did it?” said Elenn suspiciously.

Aedin laughed. “They don’t care. If no one confesses—or names a convenient neighbor—the Scales’ll just hang whoever they can get their hands on. So if seeing these men swinging is too much for your delicate stomach, just think of the poor farmers who’ll be swinging in their place if you take them down.”

Elenn put her hand over her mouth.

“Oh,” Aedin added, “and they dig the bodies up and hang them again. And if you think this is a gruesome sight—” He raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle.

Elenn shook her head in disbelief. “I heard that the Vitalion hung bandits, of course, but I never could have imagined…”

“Well, once you see it a few times, it’s not so hard to imagine,” said Aedin. “Sometimes it’s pretty hard not to imagine it,” he muttered.

“But to deny burial to anyone… It’s appalling,” said Elenn. Almost as appalling as stealing from a corpse. “It’s just uncivilized.”

“Don’t make the rules,” he said. “Vitalion do. From the look of these bodies, they were here no more than three days ago. We should be on our way.”

Elenn walked back and found Aedin removing a cloak from one of the bodies. “Leave those poor things alone, and let’s get out of here,” she said.

He laughed, grimly. “Oh, they don’t hang men for stealing from dead rebels. Just for burying them.” He held up the cloak to examine it in the sunlight. Nodding, he rolled it up and tucked it under his arm.

“Want one?” he said.

“I’ll not rob the dead,” said Elenn emphatically.

“Don’t want to get your hands dirty, Lady Adair?” said Aedin with a slight smile. “That’s fine. Happy to do it for you.” He circled around, examining the other three bodies.

“It’s obscene,” she said, “and I want no part of it.”

“Death isn’t obscene,” he said, “any more than birth is. Both messy; both part of life.” He nodded up at the crows. “They know that. Someday you will, too.” He removed a second man’s cloak and rolled it up with the first.

“You and those carrion eaters think far too much alike for my taste,” Elenn said, striding out of the trees. As she walked, she removed the Sithian dagger from her belt and dropped it on the ground. Aedin would surely think her foolish, but she would not profit from some other man’s cruel death.

When they camped that evening, she sat by the fire and watched as Aedin built a crude lean-to using the cloaks from the dead men. Standing back from it, he gave the shelter a satisfied nod, and then turned to Elenn.

“What do you think?” he said. “Pretty good, right?”

“I’m sure it’s very well made,” she said.

“But you still don’t want to sleep under it.”

Elenn shook her head, suppressing an involuntary shudder. She pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

“Getting close to Ghel,” said Aedin. “Almost reached the Cataracts today. Higher up we get, colder it is. You need to keep warm.”

“I have the fire,” she said quietly.

“Fire won’t keep the dew off you,” he said, sitting down next to her. He took a deep breath. “Look, there’s room for both of us in the shelter, if we sleep close. Warmer that way, anyway.”