Page 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

A week later, we’re still plodding through the muddy countryside, though at least the rain’s stopped. The sun remains stubbornly absent, however, which means all our things are still damp. I’m fairly certain my bones are damp. All this rain has made me bitterly aware of the limitations of my magic—yes, I could have put a protective bubble over us to keep us dry, but expending that amount of magic for that much time, while moving, would have meant that if we were attacked, I would be already seriously depleted. What’s worse, being waterlogged or being killed by zombies and failing in my mission?

I’m only a little ashamed to say that I gave that question serious consideration.

One concession I did make to comfort was a small, shielded fire the night we had to camp in the rain, to allow us at least an hour of warmth and a hot meal. I also asked everyone to give me a small item they carried on their person, and I charmed them all—with magic, not my personality—to emit steady warmth, just like the teacup I charmed for Chelica, the head cook at the riders’ mess. With the unrelenting rain and this chill that seems to have set in under our skin, it’s something small to make continuing the journey easier.

For me, anyway. Arimen’s spent the last few days switching between his enchantment with all the good the rain is doing and his disappointment in the Temple of Wasianth. Every once in a while he throws in shining determination to “make things better” and “properly serve my god.” When his idealism shows its face, I ride ahead and let the others listen to his youthful zeal.

Coryn doesn’t even seem to notice the discomfort we’re going through. I would have thought the son of a duke would be a little more precious about such things, having grown up in wealth and splendor—gods know I am, and our estate wasn’t all that wealthy or splendid. But I guess he really is a soldier at heart, because as long as he has his horse and his mission, he’s content. Though, the warming charm fascinates him, and every once in a while I’ll see him cupping it in his hand and staring at it in delight. It’s very sweet, and I can’t deny that his solid, uncomplaining presence has been steadying.

The most comforting—and confusing—presence is Jaimin’s. He’s always ready to step in when frustration overcomes me and I get snappish. He knows when I need quiet time and when I want him to talk to me. He’s steady and quiet, but sometimes I’ll catch him in a moment of whimsy—like when we found a chest of old children’s toys in a barn, and he lined up all the little wooden people and gave them names and stories. Sometimes I can’t believe that not so long ago, I barely knew him and was worried about traveling with him.

Now, I couldn’t do this without him. Do anything without him. And that terrifies me.

“It would terrify you less if you acted on your feelings,” Leicht scoffs. “You’re just being stubborn. Tia hated how stubborn you are.”

“She used to say the same thing about you to me,” I retort. I’ve given up on ignoring him. He’s so damn pushy, it was impossible.

He’s also wrong, though. I absolutely would not be less terrified if I acted on the feelings I’m still refusing to acknowledge.

His harrumph is impressive, but since it’s wordless, I can get away with ignoring it. I know I need to explore our bond properly, but I… can’t. Not yet. No matter what Master and Jaimin say.

I’m thankfully distracted from that thought when Jaimin reins in beside me and Sweetie and says in a low voice, “I think I know where we’re headed. I just don’t know why.”

“To find the champion?” I suggest hopefully. Although, out here in the muddy fields, that seems like an impossible task. Unless the champion is some kind of mud monster, which I don’t think I’m ready for.

“It’s possible, but unlikely, since the place has been abandoned for a hundred years.”

I shoot him a sharp glance. “Please don’t say the stone is taking us to the site of a tragic massacre that’s haunted by the ghosts of those murdered.”

Leicht’s snort in my head is echoed by Jaimin’s chuckle. “No. Not a massacre. Have you ever heard of Caimae?”

My brows draw together as I try to remember. It sounds vaguely familiar. Caimae… Caimae… The etymology is Camblish, but I don’t remember a city by that name. Not that there are any cities this far inland anyway, not since?—

“No fucking way,” I burst out. “The dead city? Why? ”

Arimen breaks off midsentence and twists around in his saddle to look at me. “There’s a dead city? How does a city die? Are we going there? Will there be bodies in the streets? If there are, we need to lay them to rest. It’s not right that they’ve just been abandoned there. We’ll do the best we can to give them last rites, and then… I guess it will have to be a mass grave, since there aren’t enough of us to dig all those individual graves. Wait, maybe we should have a pyre instead, so nobody can try to zombify them.”

I stare at him with my mouth agape. Is he serious? How did he build that entire narrative from the three words I said? I turn to Jaimin with a pleading expression, but as always, he just looks amused.

“You’re the one who couldn’t keep your voice down,” he murmurs. “It’s only fair that you be the one to explain.”

Did I say him not being here would be terrible? I’m reconsidering that.

“There are no bodies in the streets,” I call irritably to Arimen. He circles his horse around to join us, much to my displeasure.

“Then why’s it called the dead city? And where is it?”

“It’s not called the dead city; it’s referred to as that. It’s called Caimae, and it’s in the hills closer to the border between Camblin and Laisanne.”

Arimen’s youthful face creases with a frown. “I don’t remember learning about any cities there. Aren’t those hills inhospitable?”

Grudgingly, I mentally applaud whoever educated him in geography. “They are. Caimae is still there, but it hasn’t been populated in a hundred years. And before you jump to any conclusions, it’s not because everyone died. They left.”

His green eyes widen. “Why?”

“Drought. The city was built well into the hills, and it’s almost impossible to get trade goods in and out—including basic supplies like food and clothing. The only point of access for large shipments or heavy goods is the river—it runs from the city all the way to the coast. But after a few years of serious drought?—”

His gasp cuts me off. “You’re talking about the floating city.”

Jaimin must see how thin my patience is wearing, because he says gently, “It doesn’t actually float. It was built into the hills around the source lake for the river.”

“I know that, but all the books say it looks like it’s floating. It’s said that the city was built in Wasianth’s favorite place in the world, and the temple to him there is considered his home.” His eyes shine with renewed religious fervor.

Uh-oh.

I look at Jaimin and raise a brow, wondering if that’s true. He shrugs in return. It seems neither of us paid that much attention to that part of our religious studies… such as they were.

“I’m sure that’s true, but since Wasianth isn’t here to confirm it, let’s put it aside for now and focus on our priority, which is finding the champion. I doubt they’re going to be hanging out in a crumbling, abandoned city.”

“You don’t know that,” Arimen insists stubbornly. “They could be a devotee of Wasianth, there on a pilgrimage to reconnect with their faith.” From the set expression on his face, I have a suspicion that he himself is now planning to do exactly that.

I sigh. “If that’s the case, the stone will take us to them. Gods know, I can’t think of anything else out this way that we might be heading toward—except Laisanne, and if the stone made us trek cross-country to get there when we could have used the perfectly good highway or gone by ship, I’m going to grind it to dust.”

Tsking reprovingly, our acolyte chides, “You shouldn’t speak so of a holy object. I’m going to tell Coryn where we’re going, and you should take a moment to consider your words and actions.” He rides off, leaving me speechless.

Leicht, on the other hand, is laughing. A lot.

“I liked him better when he was afraid of me,” I gripe to a grinning Jaimin. At least he has the courtesy not to laugh out loud.

“No, you didn’t. You’re glad he’s finding a backbone.”

I sniff. Maybe. “If we really are heading for Caimae, I don’t know why the stone didn’t just have us find a ship. We could have sailed down the coast and up the river and been there by now, or very nearly. As it is, we have another, what, three weeks at this pace?”

“We might not be going there after all,” Jaimin concedes, “but…”

“Yeah. There’s really nothing else, unless the stone wants us to meet a farmer along the way.” I give it a mental nudge, hoping for some kind of clue, but it remains silent.

“Look at the bright side,” Jaimin consoles me. “I’m starting to see signs of a farm, which means we might stumble across a homestead tonight. If we’re lucky, the farmer will let us sleep in the barn.”

Yippee.

Jaimin’s right (as he usually is), and we see the main farmhouse on a rise to the south almost two hours later. I’m willing to bet it’s not far from a road of some kind—and possibly even a village. No sooner has the thought entered my head, though, than the stone is blasting me with disapproval.

I peer down at my chest and mutter, “I didn’t say we had to go find the village,” even though that was, in fact, what I was thinking. Stupid rock knows me too well. “Can we at least go to the farmhouse?”

~No~

“Rude.” Sure, it looks like it’s maybe an hour’s ride from here, and we wouldn’t even be able to see it if it weren’t on that hill, but it won’t take us that far out of our way.

The stone is still giving off negative sensations, though, so I sigh and concede defeat. I suppose we’ll be camping again tonight.

“There is some kind of structure ahead of you. Perhaps a mile away,” Leicht reports.

“Is it empty?” And what exactly does “some kind of structure” mean?

In reply, he sends me an image of a cabin. It’s not all that large, but from this angle, I can see it has four walls and a roof that are in decent repair, and there’s even a covered area attached to the back that would shelter the horses. No smoke is coming from the stone chimney, and I can’t see tracks in the mud that would indicate people have been coming or going.

Leicht’s eyesight really is extraordinary.

“Every part of me is extraordinary,” he boasts, and I focus on screening him out.

“Leicht says there’s shelter for us about a mile ahead,” I tell Jaimin, and he nods.

“It’ll be nice not to camp. I think it might rain again tonight.”

Delightful.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Leicht, actually,” he continues, and I wince. No doubt he’s planning to say the same things Master has been—if Leicht and I are bonded, which it appears we are, I need to stop pretending this will all go away and actually explore what that means.

Much like my feelings for Jaimin, which I’m putting true effort into ignoring, the bond with Leicht is something I’d prefer not to think about.

The ghost of Tia’s impatience haunts me, but I push that aside too. I can’t believe she’d truly want this—to be replaced in this way so completely.

So all I say to Jaimin is a vague “Oh?” Hopefully he’ll get the hint that this isn’t up for discussion.

He does not.

Keeping his voice low so the others can’t hear, he says, “Aside from the fact that you’re underutilizing one of the few tactical advantages we have in this fight, have you stopped to consider what the riders and other dragons might do when this is over?”

Leicht’s shock is an echo of my own. “What do you mean?”

Jaimin shrugs. “This bond is completely out of the ordinary. You never went through the riders’ academy and have no training to be a rider. The fact that you’re also a mage is going to make a lot of people very nervous, and there’s going to be political pressure on the riders to act. Leicht was bonded to your sister—the dragons will argue that they can’t allow a precedent to be set where a dragon can be inherited. It gives the impression that dragons are lesser than their riders, or even chattel of some kind.”

Leicht’s growl rumbles through my head. “Relax,” I tell him. “Nobody’s saying that’s true. Only an idiot would believe it.” I heard enough from Tia to know that the dragons take their independence very seriously.

“You think people will try to separate a dragon from his bonded because of politics?” I scoff. “I’d like to see them try. I doubt any of the dragons would allow it.” “Right?” I add privately to Leicht, and get a grunt of agreement.

There’s an edge of uncertainty that worries me, though.

Jaimin shakes his head. “Under normal circumstances, nobody would dare,” he agrees. “But if you and Leicht aren’t showing outward signs of the bond, there are going to be some challenges. There will be people from all three academies who dislike the idea of you having so much additional power. The temples will hate it, and I’m willing to wager some of the monarchs will too.”

“None of them can do anything but talk,” I insist. “Petty envy is something I’ve been subjected to before.”

He sighs. “You’re not listening to me, Talon. Yes, all they can do is talk, but if they talk enough and say the right things, there’s going to be a lot of pressure put on the councils—and the dragons. Bonding a dragon comes with certain responsibilities—military service, for example. If those people start pointing out that you never ride Leicht, that you’re not fulfilling the duties of a rider, that you act more like a mage than a dragon rider?—”

“I am a mage.”

“Right now, you’re both,” he counters. “You’ve bonded a dragon. However that came to be, as much as all of us wish it was different, that’s the truth of it. But you and Leicht aren’t making any effort to deepen the bond, and that will be used against you. Especially since we—all three of us, your master, and the stone—deceived two riders and two dragons. They think this is temporary. That it’s not a full bond. Do you want them investigating ways it could be severed? Do you want them plotting to kill either or both of you?”

I stay silent. Not only do I not have a good answer for that, but I’m also feeling sick to my stomach and somewhat panicky at the thought. I don’t know how much of that is me and how much is Leicht, but it’s fair to say that as much as we antagonize each other, neither of us wants to be forcibly parted—or dead.

“Just think about it,” Jaimin says into the silence. “When this is over and it’s revealed that the bond is permanent, you and Leicht need to be a united front. Solid. Powerful enough that nobody would dare try to separate you—and you need to be prepared for whatever the councils will ask of you. The outcome otherwise isn’t going to be good for anyone except your enemies.”

“I cannot lose another bonded,” Leicht murmurs, almost too softly for me to “hear.” I’m not even sure if he’s talking to me. It doesn’t matter. However we came to be bonded, Leicht is one of my last remaining ties to Tia. She would want us to look after each other, and she would definitely not want us dead.

“I need to think about this.” It’s all I’m willing to commit to right now, even though I know what I have to do.

“That’s fine, but don’t think too long. We don’t know what’s waiting for us, and this idle time while we travel through sparsely populated areas would be ideal for flying lessons.”

My stomach takes a nosedive at the thought. “I said I’d think about it,” I snap. Me? Fly? Up high in the air?

“Yes, but I only mean?—”

“Leave me be, Jaimin. I’ll think about it. That’s the end of the conversation.”

He presses his lips together and looks forward. His face doesn’t otherwise change, but I get the distinct impression he’s upset. Good. I’m not exactly happy right now either.

Flying. Lessons.

On a dragon.

Where it’s cold and windy.

Oh, and let’s not forget the maybe-falling part. Tia spent weeks being taught what to do in case she fell from her dragon before she was allowed to start flying, and then a whole semester actually falling before she got the hang of it. First-year riders die even more than first-year mages, mostly from falling off a dragon.

And here I am, untrained, with nobody to teach me, expected to learn to ride a dragon who still mostly hates me.

“That may be,” Leicht agrees, “but I wouldn’t let you die.”

I suppress my instinctive response, but I’m pretty sure he guessed what it was, because his presence in my mind dims, as though he’s screened himself off. I can’t blame him—even if I never said it, thinking of Tia’s death in that moment was hurtful. To both of us.

It seems like I’m just pissing people off all over the place this afternoon.

As though on cue, Master chooses that moment to reach out to me. “Talon?”

Holding back a sigh, and trying not to sound impatient, I reply, “Yes?”

“The temples have responded at last.”

I straighten in my saddle. We’ve been waiting for this—do the high priests intend to tear the continent apart, or will they concede their wrongdoing?

“And?”

“They apologize most profusely for the accidental death of a dragon rider and will pay reparations. They further apologize for inadvertently endangering Master Kahwyn, for whom they have the greatest respect.”

“Let me guess, they’re not going to offer us lodging and supplies,” I say sardonically. We didn’t really expect that, and it’s not like there’s a temple out here that we can stop in at, but still. It would have been nice.

“Let me finish, Talon.” Master pauses. “However, despite their deep regret over Tia’s death and the danger to Jaimin, they maintain that they had every right to attempt to take the stone into safekeeping, and that in knowingly preventing them from doing so, you thwarted the will of the gods. Talon, they’ve declared you outcast and a fugitive from the temples.”

Well, fuck.