The three of them were eating breakfast together – not that they’d planned it that way. They had just sort of ended up in the kitchen around the same time, and it seemed like no one really knew what to do with each other. All unsure of how to contend with this yawning chasm between them, a nothingness that took up the air and settled on their chests. Every word and motion felt like the wrong one.
“Bleh, more tundra grubs?” Chime groused as she scooped the results of a recent foraging expedition onto her plate. “What I would not give for some actual
meat. I knew a chef in the Cloudsong who could do incredible things with quail. You would not believe. A thousand gems a plate, mind you, but she always cooked for me
sans paiement. Out of the goodness of her heart, of course, not because of the illegally imported spices I was setting her up with. Allegedly setting her up with.”
Chime seemed much like her old self – charming smile on her face, feathered hat tipped jauntily to one side. There was little trace of the broken dragon Raust had found in the tower, several days ago. Nor of the solemnity she’d displayed during the meager funeral proceedings, where they’d carried the little golden dragon to a sheltered pine grove high in the nearby mountains, leaving her to sleep with the sky. Raust had thought this unusual, but according to Shrike, it was ancient iceborn tradition. On the Icefield, the ground never thawed enough to dig a grave. Star-burial, the fae had called it. When she’s at peace, she will follow the map laid out by the constellations above, and there she will find her ancestors.
Clem’s storm seekers had circled the resting place once, twice, and then were gone. Raust had a feeling they wouldn’t be seeing them again.
Shrike had not recovered as quickly as Chime. The fae had turned quiet and grim, keeping up the bare minimum of conversation. Short sentences, one-syllable words. There was a glacial quality to her movement, as if all that kept her going was the rolling weight of the ice behind her. Even so, Raust hadn’t seen her shed a single tear.
She was sitting at the same table as him, but not really
with him, her wings angled just slightly away. Over in the food stores, Chime was still prattling on. “Ah, and she made delectable escargot. The most unusual glaze, with paprika and fresh oranges...”
Shrike got to her feet abruptly, sending her plate clattering. “I’m going hunting,” she said shortly, leaving the room without further explanation.
Raust swallowed his mouthful of food with some difficulty – the void in the room had suddenly darkened, blossomed, sending tendril cracks in every direction. “Should we...” he began haltingly, “is she all right by herself? Those dragons might still be around, I don’t want...”
“Shrike can handle herself,” Chime replied, bending over her food. “Of that I am certain.” Out of the corner of his eye, Raust caught the lack of focus in her eyes, the tremor in her hand as she absentmindedly picked at the grubs. Perhaps not handling this as well as he’d thought, but she seemed steadfastly determined not to show it.
Gods, they were both so
stubborn.
Shrike was having trouble sleeping. She had tried to go back to the nursery the first night – the night the world turned on its head. She’d walked in, seen the impression Clementine had left in the grasses just that morning, and walked right back out. Her mind threw up walls wherever she went – everything reminded her of the young tundra. That bunch of flowers, that empty chair, that discarded stirring spoon. She felt doors slamming closed every time, blocking off more and more of herself as a shield.
If you don’t think about it, it won’t hurt.
And that worked – during the day. She moved around in a strange sort of dream, going through the motions while not feeling much of anything. But at night she could no longer run from herself.
So, she’d taken to pacing the halls when she didn’t have the energy to hunt. It was too quiet at night, and full of ghosts, but anything beat staying still. Tonight, she found herself scrabbling along an unexplored ventilation tunnel, trying to focus on the ancient clawmarks instead of her desire to see a green-tufted tail around every bend.
How long ago were these tunnels made? she forced herself to think.
Who thought up the need for ventilation in the first place? And where does this lead?
She got her answer to the last question as she rounded the last curve, encountering an old reed-woven grate, choked with dust. The thing fell apart at her touch, and she emerged from the tunnel, coughing.
“Ahh!” The sound came from directly in front of her, making her jump. Once the dust had cleared somewhat, a surprised-looking skydancer came into view. “What are you doing here?”
“What are
you doing
here?” Raust replied, sounding disgruntled. You got dirt all over the text I was trying to decipher.”
“Oh, I...sorry.” Looking around, she finally recognized the interior of the temple. Raust had been standing near the engravings, and she’d popped out a few feet away from him. “No, really, what were you doing?” The dragon looked her up and down distastefully – she was probably filthy.
“I was, uh...what were you doing?”
“Before you
interrupted, I was praying, if you must know.”
Shrike scoffed before she could stop herself, and Raust shot her a dirty look. She couldn’t help it – there had been a few religious dragons in her old pack, and they had always been viewed with derision. To a mirror, what could prayer accomplish that teeth and claws could not?
But maybe she wasn’t all mirror anymore. “Does it...does it help?” she found herself asking quietly. The skydancer softened a little, nodding. “It does for me. You’re welcome to join.”
The two of them stood in silence for a while, heads bowed. Shrike’s mind was racing, and before she could stop herself, in the stillness she flashed to the tower, to the storm, to the fight. Oh, gods, what had she done? “It’s my fault,” she heard herself saying, in a tumble of words. Raust gazed up at her, his shoulders dropping a little in defeat. “It’s not,” he said quietly. “The gods had decided that her time had come, and there is nothing you could have done to change that.”
“That’s not true,” she hissed at him. “I drove her away. We argued. I should have noticed she was upset, I should have...”
“Shhh,” he hushed her. “Don’t do that. What’s done is done. Your friend is gone, and I’m very sorry about that, but you can’t blame yourself.”
To her horror, she felt tears springing to her eyes. She half-expected Raust to admonish her, as her father would have
(“Once you show your weakness, you’re done!”), but he just laid a hand lightly on her shoulder. That only made her cry harder, which was mortifying. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t...”
“Shhh,” she heard him say again. “It’s natural. You keep a lot of things bottled up for such a small dragon.” She felt a bite of resentment at that, but couldn’t exactly argue.
Later, she wouldn’t be able to say how long she stood there, with the priest waiting politely at her side. But at some point the tears gave way to sniffling, which was somehow even more embarrassing. Despite that, though, she felt as if something had been lifted from her. She still missed the tundra with all her heart, but the horrible tension had abated. “Get some sleep,” the skydancer told her with an unexpected gentleness, and all she could do was nod.
She thought that tonight, she just might do that.
But once she reached the doorway, she paused. “Raust. Tomorrow, you’re going to tell me everything you know about that egg. If Clementine died for it, I don’t want that to be in vain.”
The skydancer nodded solemnly. “Of course. Everything I know.”
Raust had just curled up in his study when he heard the click of dragon claws yet again.
What could Shrike want now? he thought, poking his head out of the doorway to ask. The words died on his lips, though – it was the spiral, not the fae, who was slinking into the temple. She looked distinctly ill at ease, her coils moving erratically, as if she wasn’t quite sure where she wanted to be. “Hello?” he called out, trying not to sound annoyed. Chime glanced up sharply, as if she hadn’t expected him to be here. “...Oh. Hello.” She dithered for a moment by the entrance. “Would you mind terribly if I came in?”
He sighed through his nose. “I suppose not.” Turning back to his nest, he began to arrange it again. Just as he had gotten comfortable, a small voice rose up from the floor below.
“It’s my fault.”
Raust couldn’t help his flash of irritation – again? he was trying to
sleep – but was that a hint of
sympathy underneath it? No, of course not. Not after everything she’d done. And besides, maybe she was just talking to herself.
“Raust. It’s my fault.”
Well, maybe not. He begrudgingly snaked his head back out of the doorway to peer down at her. “Do you want to talk about it?” What was he saying?
He certainly didn’t want to do any talking. Not with
her. “It’s not worth this,” came her voice from below. “Too many deaths because of me. For me. I use them, they get hurt.”
This conversation was about the last thing he wanted, but he found himself getting to his feet and making his way down to the floor. Chime wasn’t showing any signs of leaving, and it felt strange speaking from his lofty study. The spiral had seated herself in front of the altar, curled in on herself. She didn’t acknowledge Raust’s presence as he came to sit next to her.
Help for the helpless. Comfort for the needy. Forgiveness for the repentant. It was part of the oath of priesthood he’d taken, but he did not want to comfort her. “My mate is dead because of you. My daughter.” The words left his mouth not as accusation, but as weary fact. It was like an epitaph on a gravestone: sad but unchangeable. Beside him, Chime shivered. “I know,” she replied, her voice hollow. “I know. I did not know Vallin was planning to use your family as
appât. As bait. But I knew the danger as soon as they entered the embassy. I should not...I should not have lied to you.” She paused, seemingly at an uncharacteristic loss for words. “No amount of treasure was worth that. I cannot describe how sorry I am.”
He didn’t forgive her. He never would. But he listened.
“If it’s any consolation...” she continued, “my mate was lost too, soon after. Vallin was becoming too cocky, and he had it in his head that he was going to steal the emperor’s seal. The
grand prix of thievery, you know. Hadn’t been stolen in a thousand years...oh, but I went along with it. I was head over heels. And we got in too deep. He paid the price. I could not save him.”
“It’s not a consolation,” he murmured, surprised to discover he really meant it. “Sage was my sun and roots. It’s not something I would wish on my worst enemy...you, even.”
She laughed then, breathy, as though she were holding back tears. “I...no one used to get hurt. Stealing from the
bourgeoisie, no harm. Bring the rich down a few pegs,
oui? But Clementine, she trusted me. I betrayed her and she trusted me. She died, and I...”
Raust wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he was reaching out with his wing, enfolding the distraught spiral in it. She tensed for a moment in surprise, and then relaxed, leaning into him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and his only response was to hold her tighter.
No, this was not forgiveness. But it might be acceptance.
NATURE*DOM
