Page 59 of Silverbow (The Godsung Saga #1)

thirty

Enya

“ W hy do you need to go in person?”

“It was what was asked of me.”

Colm’s brow furrowed. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Enya, how exactly did she ask anything of you? The dead cannot speak. Not even the witches can break that barrier.”

The cold she’d felt in that strange place between the worlds had certainly felt like death’s embrace, but she shook her head. “I was seeing a memory, I think. She couldn’t see me.”

The Dreamwalker seemed to relax at that. “But your mother spoke to you?”

“A telling of a telling, she said.”

It was still foreign to think of Maia Trakbatten as her mother, but one look at the woman had her convinced.

The name sounded wrong on her tongue, but what Hylee had shown her filled in all the gaps and answered all the unanswered questions.

An old Captain of the Queen’s Guard arriving with a bundle in his arms. Rhiannon and her child lost to fever.

Originally recorded as dark of hair and eye.

“What can you tell me about the visions?”

“The witch’s magic is foreign to our own and there are differences in dreaming and foretelling and seeing, but in general, you can think of the world, and everyone in it like a great symphony.

Lives and events are intertwined as the melody, harmony, and rhythm.

She showed you past, present, and future? ”

Enya nodded.

“The past has already been played. It is often clearer in the dream or the telling.”

“Is it all true?” She asked.

Colm sighed. “Probably. Hylee is a Seer and I doubt even she can warp the chords of the past. But use caution, Enya, in interpreting the visions. Hylee’s intent is pain and suffering. She chose which to show you and which to leave out.”

She didn’t miss the look he darted at Oryn.

“The present can seem chaotic. The playing all happening in a rush. But it is the future you must be wary of.”

She huffed a laugh. He didn’t know the half of it.

“The future is often murkier, incomplete, harder to read. There is a pattern to the music, the gods have plans for where the tune is going, but the composition changes all the time. Thousands, perhaps millions of choices cause lives to shift and bend. They can become dissonant and have to be muted. You see, men have risked their lives, confident they will see some future event, only to have their part snipped early for their own foolishness.”

“My days are numbered as it is,” she muttered.

“What did you see?” Oryn demanded.

Colm gave her a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Enya.”

She shook away the burning that pricked at her eyes.

“What do you know of dragons? And Drulougan? What is not written in A History of Dragonkind .”

“Do not even think of going near Blackash Keep,” Oryn growled.

Colm sighed. “Dragons are as complex and unique as their riders, perhaps more. There is not much known about Drulougan. He was already a mature dragon when I was a boy, and he rarely appears in lore or the Vale’s records before he took Pallas Davolier as his rider, or rather, was bonded against his will, as we now know.

He was a solitary creature, kept to himself in the high passes except when he came down to court a mate. ”

“Preya,” Enya said. She had seen flashes of her mother’s sapphire dragon. Sacred are the songs of our bonds, of our love. “Why is she called the Protector? ”

“She was fiercest amongst the guardians of the nests in the hatching grounds,” he answered. “Until she flew to Misthol, where she remained until her death.”

“And why is he called the Dread?”

“No one really knows. Despite the name, he’s never been much of a battle dragon. Few realize not all are. They all have flame and claw, of course, but he is big and that makes him slow. But it doesn’t much matter when he’s the only one left in Estryia.”

“Why do you want to know about dragons?” Oryn demanded.

“Because it’s what your power bought,” she hissed. “What about the dragons in the Vale? Why don’t they do anything about it?”

Colm scratched at his jaw. “I don’t know. Until now, we didn’t know Drulougan was bonded against his will. It’s possible they remain ignorant to it, though I’ve always thought it strange they didn’t retaliate for Pallas breaking the covenant-”

“What covenant?”

“The Davoliers allied themselves with Ryland in the war. When Ryland House was wiped from Estryian nobility, the Davoliers managed to emerge from the war with their fortunes mostly intact, but they were forbidden from ever sending one of their blood to the Vale to ask another bonding.”

Enya nodded. She had seen a vision, or a memory, of Pallas beseeching Hylee’s grandmother for a dragon and the witch had needled him about trying his hand in the Vale. “‘The little problem of treachery’,” Enya muttered.

“I suppose it’s possible the Vale knows what the witches are capable of and they’ve retreated,” Colm mused.

“How many are there in the Vale?”

“Hardly more than the Nine with bonded riders. At their peak, there were almost fifty. The dragons dwindle, the well is drying up.”

She furrowed her brow. “The well?”

“Reservoirs of the gods’ power. There are five. Nimala’s in Oyamor, Solignis’s in the Vale, Simdeni’s in Drozia, and Mosphaera’s and Sakaala’s were in Templeton.”

“Were?” She watched the demi-elves shift uncomfortably.

“Templeton was swallowed up by Covwood long ago,” Oryn answered. “It was the start of Godfall. ”

Enya had more questions about what the bloody hell Godfall was, but she turned back to trying to puzzle out what she had seen. “Why do you need a Treesinger?”

“‘For scarred ground and salted land, salvation lies in the song’,” Oryn quoted.

“Foresight was your mother’s Talent, was it not?” Colm asked after a pause. “I have always wondered if it was a telling that drove her from the throne.”

It was a statement, not a question. He left room for her to side step it if she wished, but she didn’t. “It was. That and Pallas’s treachery. Do they understand speech? The dragons?”

“I never asked,” Colm said slowly. “It’s very rude to approach a dragon, Enya. Very dangerous.”

“But they communicate with their riders?”

“Through their bond, yes. It’s something like speaking directly into the mind, I understand,” Colm said.

“How does one approach a dragon?”

“You don’t,” Oryn snapped.

Colm

When Colm rose before dawn, Oryn was already brewing a pot of tea over hot coals, staring at where Enya tossed in her blanket roll.

Despite another dream ward, she’d been muttering all night in her sleep.

That troubled him as he lowered himself to sit in the dirt as did the look of agony on Oryn’s face.

“When did you know?” His prince asked softly enough not to rouse the others.

Colm had been waiting for this question, but still, he sighed. “When I went looking for her in the dream.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw as Oryn prodded at the fire, refusing to meet his gaze.

Colm couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret.

Oryn was the closest thing he had to a son and he knew he would feel the omission as a personal slight, but it was not a secret that belonged to either of them. It was not his to share.

He sat back, studying the man who looked more like Elred with each passing decade. “You know, I’ve always wondered why Hylee chose the price she did. I’ve always wondered how she would wield it against you later. ”

Oryn let out a breath in a huff. “My regret wasn’t enough?”

“What you bargain away never is. She’s important, isn’t she?”

That muscle in Oryn’s jaw ticked again. “She is.”

“In what way?”

He rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Do you know what it is Maia would have asked her to do?”

Colm had never known the girl queen, but he was fairly certain he knew where Enya was headed once they got to Misthol.

That omission might very well land his head on a pike once Oryn worked it out.

But Enya had made a bargain she had to see through, and if he knew, Oryn wouldn’t let her within fifty miles of the city.

He blew out a long breath. “I can’t say. ”

“Can’t or won’t?” By the look in his glacial gaze, Colm knew he didn’t have to answer. Oryn already knew. He went back to prodding at the fire. “Just don’t let her get herself killed, Colm.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

Oryn rubbed at his eyes again. “How big exactly do you think a dragon-sized debt is?”

Colm sighed. “A hundred years and you’re still making shit bargains, Oryn.”

***

Colm stood in Valdosonos, studying the brilliant green and silver ribbon that belonged to the Silverbow.

It shouldn’t be here at all, yet it was, and it carried the residue of his dream ward.

It coated the aurora like a shimmering silver net.

It was perfectly intact, but he’d never seen a warded dream in Valdosonos before.

He’d been hesitant to return after Hylee revealed she could access this place, lest he find the witch waiting for him in the shadows.

Meeting her here would be like meeting her naked and defenseless, though he supposed with how her power had swelled, it was the same as meeting her anywhere else.

Still, he made his visits brief and found himself tiptoeing between the dreams of his companions, holding his breath.

He bent again to study the netting around the ribbon.

He had learned all he could by looking. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch the aurora.

Where the ward should have kept him out, the light suddenly pulsed, reaching for him.

Colm tried to scramble back, but it had already seized hold of him and sucked him into her dream.

His boots crunched over the charred remnants of a battlefield.

Acrid smoke still billowed into the air and the cries of dying men rose up all around him.

He had seen charred land like this once before, but this vision had the warped and blurred edges of the future.

His stomach churned as he strode for where Enya stood.

She held a quarterstaff pressed to the chest of a girl sprawled on the ground, seemingly locked in some battle with herself.

Colm peered down at the girl and gave a start. Violet eyes stared up out of the face of a girl with moon white hair. Blood, both red and black, was spattered across the delicate features of her face. Smoke still curled from her singed clothes.

“Sanctuary,” she coughed.

He turned his gaze up to Enya. Her eyes had the vacant, haunted look he’d seen on battlefields time and time again.

Whatever had happened here had shocked her into numbness.

She too wore the remnants of battle on her skin.

Her braid ended in a burnt nub at her shoulder, but it was her garb that made his breath catch. Another title for the list.

Around him, the vision swirled in a kaleidoscope of color.

The smoky battlefield was replaced by the dim interior of a finely furnished tent.

His boots sank into the layered rugs underfoot.

A mountain of furs and blankets made up a plush bed and a full length mirror with a gilded frame sat beside a dressing table.

Enya gazed into it as she ran a brush through her hair.

Her eyes searched the dim corners of the tent as if looking for something.

Colm cast a look around, frowning. And then he saw it.

The shadowy form of a man drifted forward on silent feet.

He blinked, trying to puzzle out what exactly he was seeing, and then he caught the flash of silver in the dim lamplight. The shadow wielded a dagger.

Colm tried to pull away from the dream, tried to open his door to step back to the waking world and found himself trapped in this strangely warded nightmare. Panic seized hold of him when Enya’s blood sprayed.

Oryn

Thousands of stars glittered overhead as he lay awake listening to Enya mutter in her sleep. It was her usual list and sometimes Liam’s name. Hylee had mentioned him bleeding somewhere, and he was again wondering who the stablemaster’s son was to her when a scream suddenly shattered the silence.

Oryn shot from his blanket roll, closing the distance between them in a single stride.

He grabbed her by the shoulders as she kicked and thrashed.

She clawed for his face, her nails raking a path through his skin.

Reluctantly, he clamped a hand over her mouth to quiet her, grunting as an elbow connected with his middle.

“Enya,” he said softly as she struggled against him. “Enya, it was only a dream.”

His companions sat up, scanning the night for signs of trouble.

She stopped thrashing and it took Oryn a moment to register the warm wetness that met his palm where it lay against her skin.

Tears were streaming down her face in a rush.

He released the hand over her mouth, but not the one gripping her shoulder.

When she didn’t recoil, he hoped that marked some sign of progress.

He peered around at Colm. Three spears of silver spirit stretched toward her, probing. The oily feeling of unease coated his insides. If Colm was delving her without asking, something had gone terribly wrong.

“What happened?” He asked gruffly.

“The dream ward snapped,” he answered hoarsely, his face pale. “I…I was pulled in.”

Oryn held Enya out at arm’s length, scanning her face. The severing of a wielding could have devastating consequences, and one touching her mind could be disastrous. “Are you alright, Enya?”

She blinked, letting two more fat tears fall before she looked down at the hands he had wrapped around her arms. Her eyes rose slowly back to his face. “Have you run out of uses for your hands, Gargoyle?”

She was alright enough, it seemed.