The Dragon of Despair (29 page)

And would the Beasts make a truce? Looking at Firekeeper, sitting there on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, her dark eyes as unreadable as a cloudless night sky, Derian wasn’t certain they would. They might just prefer to fight until their enemy was destroyed and trust the land to heal after the battle was ended. And if the war of Beasts and humans crossed the Iron Mountains, then the same scenario would be repeated over and over again—even to the walls of this city and these quiet castle gardens.

After a pause, clearly offered to provide a chance for the king or his heirs to reply, Firekeeper went on:

“But even if they not like what would come, I think there will be those who will start the fight unless they are given reason not to fight. My people will be dying, my pack nearest to the front. Why would I wish to go to New Kelvin?”

There, as clear as the sunlight on water, was Firekeeper’s declaration of what side she would join. A potential enemy—all the more deadly for the knowledge she had gained over the past year—she sat there upon the king’s floor, waiting for him to offer her an answer.

“If I promise to send troops to make Ewen Brooks and his colonists leave,” the king said. “If I promise to declare that venturing beyond the Iron Mountains is forbidden on pain of death. If I dig into my treasuries to build a keep on the eastern side of the gap through the mountains, will that be enough to free you to go to New Kelvin?”

Firekeeper visibly relaxed, but her dark eyes remained watchful. Obviously, she suspected a trick, making Derian, at least, think that her upbringing among the wolves must not have been as straightforward as she claimed.

“For me, yes.”

She frowned, freeing her legs from the circle of her arms and rolling onto her belly on the floor, rather like Blind Seer—until, that is, she propped her elbows on the floor and her chin in her hands.

“Maybe it not enough for the Beasts, though, those who are most angry and most afraid. They may still wish to prey on humankind.”

Sapphire drew in her breath rather sharply. Derian had the impression she was annoyed by Firekeeper’s informality, even in this most informal of councils.

“Why should they?” Sapphire said. “Wouldn’t we be keeping to our side of the mountains?”

Firekeeper looked at her, somber and sad.

“They not see it that way, Princess. To them there is no human side. Our tales tell when all sides were for Beasts and humans lived in humans lands.”

Sapphire snorted, quite unladylike.

“That was long ago. My people don’t remember a time when we didn’t live here. Where would we go? Back to the Old Country? We don’t even know where it is or if anyone is alive there.”

Firekeeper shrugged, pivoting around to sit upright again.

“I not know. I not even know if the Beasts know.”

“I wonder,” Shad said softly, “if they do. Birds can fly, can’t they? I wonder if the bigger ones fly across the oceans and know what is on the other side?”

Firekeeper looked surprised.

“I not know. No one ever telled me.”

“Told,” Derian murmured under his breath.

Firekeeper glowered at him.

King Tedric cleared his throat.

“Speculation must wait until later,” he said. “Unfortunately, there is a formal banquet tonight, and soon we will need to go and prepare.”

“Not me!” Firekeeper exclaimed.

“No, not you,” the king said. “That would be showing you rather too much favor, I fear. Firekeeper, the truth of the matter is, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“At dinner?”

“No.” King Tedric smiled. “No, if matters between humans and Beasts become as ugly as you think they might, I don’t want you hurt by humans who will see you as an instigator.”

“A what?”

“A troublemaker,” the king clarified, “a problem, a starter of bad things. They won’t see you as a friend of humanity—which I think you are, or you wouldn’t bother to give me this warning. They would see you as an enemy. I would like to send you somewhere far away, yet somewhere where there will be no doubt of your presence for others will be able to swear to it.

“Then, if indeed there are those among the Beasts who will not accept Ewen Brooks’s departure as our acknowledgment of the Beasts’ sovereignty to the west, then you at least will not be blamed.”

Firekeeper nodded.

“I see and I am happy that you protect me. Is kind.”

“Kind, but self-serving, too,” Tedric said bluntly. “Not only will you serve me by putting your singular talents at Lady Archer’s disposal, but you will serve me by staying alive. Someday we may need you to help us treat with the Beasts.”

“Treat?”

“To talk to them for us, for Hawk Haven and Bright Bay, maybe for all humankind.”

A strange look passed over Firekeeper’s face. For a moment she looked so distant and so disoriented that Derian thought she was about to be sick.

“Need me to talk…,” she muttered almost inaudibly.

The wolf-woman shook her head.

“I have heared that thought before,” she said, “but I not remember where. No matter. It is wise. I will go to New Kelvin.”

She directed her dark gaze to Sapphire.

“I promise to help your sister, Princess,” she said, “but I not promise to help your mother.”

Sapphire straightened and not all the flush in her cheeks was from the heat.

“My mother is Queen Elexa,” she said proudly. “This other woman only gave me birth.”

“And I,” Firekeeper replied thoughtfully, “think I give her death.”

Derian didn’t know what unsettled him more: Firekeeper’s statement or the fact that none of the other three so much as raised an eyebrow in reproof.

XI

ELISE BALANCED THE PAINTBRUSH
in the join between thumb and forefinger and leaned back on her heels to inspect her work. Satisfied, she held up a hand mirror so Citrine could see the stylized drawing now adorning one cheek—two slanting eyes, a hint of whiskers, and an outline of pricked ears.

“That’s the mark of the Sodality of Beast Lorists,” Elise explained. “Grateful Peace says that they study many animals. They also raise some exotics kept from the days before the Plague and brought here from other lands.”

“Neat!” Citrine said, raising her hand to touch the design then lowering it, clearly remembering just in time that this one gesture was the most to be avoided if an outlander wished to pass as New Kelvinese. They never touched their faces if it could be avoided lest they smear the elaborate designs almost everyone wore.

“Now if you were raised to the highest rank, like Peace was in the Illuminators,” Elise went on, “then you could have the design tattooed on. Until then, you’d need to paint it on every day.”

“
Every
day?” Citrine asked.

“I think so,” Elise said, “at least if you were going out of your house. Peace says that a New Kelvinese would no more go out without at least some basic designs in place than we would go out without clothes.”

Citrine giggled and Elise gave her an impulsive hug.

The little girl was doing much better since their arrival in the North Woods. Her sense of humor had returned and she hadn’t had a screaming fit for days. Elise wondered if the very delicacy with which Citrine had been handled since her rescue had contributed to her moodiness. Maybe if she had been thrown in with a bunch of children her own age and left to fend for herself she would have done better.

Maybe not, though. Children could be quite cruel, especially to someone who was different, and Citrine with her maimed left hand and her exiled mother was different indeed.

“What’s a sodality?” Citrine asked.

Elise ran her hand through her hair trying to find the best way to answer.

“It’s sort of a very important guild,” she said. “The sodalities do what our guilds do—monitor quality of work, set rules for educating apprentices, punish bad work. That sort of stuff.”

Citrine nodded. She seemed genuinely interested and for the first time Elise wondered how much Citrine knew about things like guilds. Elise herself had learned about them quite young, since a grant holder often had to work with the local guild representatives. Citrine, however, had neither that reason to learn, nor the reason most common folk would—the fact that future employment and education lay within the guilds.

How many are there like Citrine?
Elise thought.
Too related to the noble class to bother with education and employment, too unconnected to the responsibilities of running a grant or House to need to bother with much at all. I wonder if this is precisely what Queen Zorana the Great was trying to avoid when she refused to allow a proliferation of titles?

Elise made a mental note to share her insight with Sapphire and Shad—preferably by letter in case she accidently offended one of them. She knew that many of the Hawk Haven nobles had started gently agitating for more titles so they could compete with their Bright Bay neighbors. If those titles came with responsibilities—real ones, not created—then maybe they would be a good idea. If they did not, however, they would just add to the proliferation of useless semi-nobility.

Shifting to a low chair, Elise motioned Citrine over and went back to work on her facial ornamentation, continuing her explanation at the same time.

“But the sodalities don’t match our guilds. There are sodalities for things we don’t have at all, like sericulture, which is the art of growing silk. And there are sodalities for things that we deal with much more informally, like these Beast lore people.

“And the sodalities have a lot more power than our guilds do because even though the guilds are very important to trade, they have no say in how the kingdom is governed. That is left to our monarch in consultation with the royal advisors, many of whom are nobles.”

Citrine piped up, “But not all! Derian isn’t a noble. Neither is Firekeeper.”

“Firekeeper isn’t a royal advisor,” Elise corrected, but even as she spoke she wondered if that was true.

Certainly the wolf-woman had a great deal more access to the Crown than many of the lower-ranked nobility. She was allowed a lot more leniency in matters of decorum and etiquette, too. Was this another of Citrine’s oddly incisive insights?

“Maybe you’re right,” Elise said. “Maybe Firekeeper just doesn’t have the ring.”

“She’d lose it anyhow.” Citrine giggled, then became more serious. “So are the sodalities more important than the king of New Kelvin?”

Elise licked her lips, aware that she was treading close to sensitive matters.

“I’m not sure,” she hedged. “However, they are very important to the running of the government. The Primes are elected from the most important members of the sodalities, and they in turn elect the Dragon Speaker, who takes care of all the day-to-day business of government.”

“Does that mean the king doesn’t have to go to meetings?” Citrine asked. “I know that Sapphire hates going to meetings. She told me that if she knew that she’d need to go to so many meetings and receptions and things she wouldn’t have wanted to be queen nearly so much.”

Elise smiled. “I don’t know if the king—the New Kelvinese call him the Healed One—has to go to meetings, Citrine. I know he has duties dating back to the days before the Plague. Maybe those keep him quite busy.”

“And his wife?” Citrine asked, a guarded glitter in her eyes. “What does she do?”

Elise tried to be casual, but feared that she failed completely.

“I don’t know, cousin. I guess that’s one of the things we’ll be going to New Kelvin to find out.”

FIREKEEPER SLEPT OUT
on the castle grounds that night, in a broad meadow beyond the first wall.

Ever since the wolf-woman’s meeting with the king and his heirs, the castle walls had seemed to close in on her. Firekeeper was smart enough to know that the walls were not the problem. The press she felt was that of obligation and duty—not to one group, but to many.

Sensing her mood—or perhaps responding to a similar sense of pressure on his own behalf—Blind Seer took himself off to hunt. Maybe his sense of bondage was even worse, for he, unlike her, could not pass in human society.

Alone, Firekeeper lay on the grass staring up at the sky. For the first time the comet didn’t seem like an ominous intrusion against the star field. Its glowing white head and streaming tail seemed friendly, familiar—and very free.