Page 25 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon

Chapter Twenty-Five

J aromir’s betrothed.

I laugh, for what else can one do when their heart shatters in their chest? I laugh, and it’s a cold, brutal sound. The chipping of ice. A broken sound of anger and pain.

“That’s just… that’s brilliant.” I shake my head. My knees wobble, and I’m certain the world is slowly shifting so the ground might leap up to me.

Jaromir appears before me, a pained expression on his face. “I’m sorry, it’s not—please let me explain.”

I pull away from him, his touch searing now that I know he isn’t mine.

He isn’t mine.

He never was.

Thalon darts terrified glances between the two of us.

Neith and Cadoc haven’t waited for us. And why would they? For all they know we’ve already retired to our room, ripping each other’s clothes off exploring the depths of our pleasures. But no, we stand frozen on the road, frozen in time.

Did they know of his betrothal? Cadoc’s uneasy expression flits through my memory. When we first shared a room at the inn, and when I stayed with Jaromir during his fever.

Of course they knew. I’m the only one who was left in the dark.

Goddess, what a fool I am. A dimwitted, gullible fool.

I press my palms against my eyes, shoving every image of his smile, his intent stare, out of my mind. The memories of heated kisses and soft touches. Of buttercups tucked in my bag, in my lute. Every time he ran his fingers along my ear, loving every part of me. But they creep back in, and each stolen moment we shared is tinged with betrayal.

“How could you… to her? If you’re betrothed to another—” I take a deep breath, calming myself, even as the sharp pain in my chest remains. “How could you betray someone you’re planning to marry?”

Jaromir shakes his head, reaching for me. But I can’t stomach his touch. Not for one instant. He lets his hands fall, fists clenching at his side. “It isn’t like that.”

“It is, though. You’ve sworn vows to another and betrayed those vows each night with me.”

His face twists, and I swear my stomach twists alongside the visceral pain reflected there. “What we share is not a betrayal. It’s the most truth I’ve had in—”

“Truth?” I laugh again, but it comes out as a sob. “You withheld your truth. You can’t tell me otherwise while confirming your attachment to another.”

Thalon tries to step between us, but at Jaromir’s glare, he scurries back. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Not now, Thalon.” Jaromir’s voice carries the threatening rumble of thunder, and Thalon has the good sense to shut his mouth and nod as he puts more and more distance between himself and the storm of this revelation. I might feel sorry for the man as he slowly retreats with the caution of skittish prey, but right now I only have room to feel the betrayal Jaromir has committed against me. Against her. Against every moment he whispered lies in my ear and upon my skin, making me think I could actually have this.

“I have no attachment to anyone but you,” Jaromir says. “My agreement with Rhosyn is not based on anything deeper than paperwork.”

My heart is a battering ram, and I’m sure it’ll bust through my chest soon. Just hearing her name on his lips is enough to twist the knife in my gut. “That doesn’t make it any less so. You. Are. Pledged.”

“I never wanted this! I was prepared to live with it. To do what’s right, after how much I’ve failed.” Jaromir reaches for me again, and I step back. “But then there was you. And I’ve made a mess of everything. Had I known what I’d find with you, honor and duty to Damir be damned, I never would have sworn any vows to her.”

Something clicks into place. The last piece of a puzzle, finally fitting. I’m normally so good at reading people. I should have picked up on it when he told me of his brother. “Damir’s widow?”

Jaromir nods.

That makes this so much worse. And even if he didn’t know what we’d turn into, he was openly seeking his pleasures before me. All while knowing he was bound to another. That day in the forest, when I pushed, and he met me with eager hunger, floats into the back of my mind. He could have said no. He could have told me then, but he didn’t. Rage roils in me, bubbling up until I can’t stay silent anymore.

“So, what? You figured you’d have your fun before you settled down? Have a little tryst with the knife-ear before you had to attend to your honorable duties?”

His brows draw together, anger finally stealing the defeated look from his face. “Don’t say that. You know that isn’t true.”

“Don’t I? You said yourself there was something about me two years ago, the first time you saw me play. Was this your chance to play out your little fetish before marrying the human like a man ought to?”

“No!” He cuts his hand through the air. “I know I can’t atone for what I've done. For the hurt I’ve caused. But don’t you dare downplay what we have.”

“What we have?” I laugh again, and the brittle sound echoes through the night. “We have nothing, Jaromir. You’re marrying your brother’s widow.”

Just speaking the words aloud pierces deep in my chest, and tears spring to my eyes. I can’t seem to catch my breath, and I swear, if the panics set in now—

I shove past him, needing movement. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth, and I can’t stand being near him right now.

“Syl, wait.”

I turn long enough to say, “Just, leave me be. I need—” My voice cracks, and damn him for making me speak when all I want is to get away. “I need you out of my sight.”

He nods, hands clenched into fists at his side.

I turn back and walk down the road to the fields.

He doesn’t follow.

With each step, my anger dims, and something dangerously close to despair sets in. It’s a dull sort of pain, spreading like ice through my chest and hollowing my legs. Without my anger, the night is quieter. Colder. I wrap my arms around my shoulders as the tears finally fall. They skirt down my cheeks, settling into the crook of my neck beneath my collar.

It was always borrowed time, wasn’t it? How foolish I was to think it was real. And when I asked him if he was mine… he said for as long as I’d have him. Was that another joke? A clever dodge of my question? The easy answer after a night spent exploring each other’s bodies?

Ice spears through me at the memory. It was more than carnal attraction, wasn’t it? It felt like more. It felt like it was the beginning, a promise, and finally coming home.

I sniff, wiping my nose.

But it had to be real. On some level. And maybe I took him by surprise. Maybe what we felt wasn’t part of the plan, and he hadn’t realized until he had already fallen in deep with me. Tangled in where his feelings began, and his duty ended.

He should have told me. There is no excusing that. He lied to me and hid something so important—and yet I feel like the dirty secret. A mistaken detour. The side quest before he starts his real adventure.

I hate him. I hate him. I fucking hate him.

And what hurts the most is, even now, I can't wholly hate him. It's intertwined with so many other feelings. Most inconvenient of all is how much I… how I've come to...

Damn it all the deepest pits of the shades.

I love the way he studies everything with impossible focus. How attentive he is when one speaks to him. How quiet and surly he seems, only to surprise you with a quick retort. How thoughtful, and strong, and selfless he is. I love how generous a lover he is, and how he saw me, understood me, beyond the showmanship I hide behind.

And he’s going to be hers.

I never should have come on this journey. Aeron is gone. I can’t stomach being around Jaromir. How will we ever finish what we started?

I slump to the ground, finally spent from every gut-wrenching emotion. I’ve wandered into a nearby pasture, and one lone oak, ancient and towering, stands vigil over the field. I pull my lute off my back, and lean against the thick trunk, wiping my wet cheeks.

In the quiet of a lonely night, I can’t even find it in me to play a single note.

Voices rouse me, and I jolt awake.

Has Jaromir had enough of waiting for my anger to cool? Fresh despair rips through my chest anew at the mere thought of him. At the mere thought that his presence no longer offers me joy and relief.

Multiple voices float over to where I sit against the tree. None of them are Jaromir. None of them are even familiar.

“I pissed through last month’s wages.”

“You know you can always ask me for help.”

“I know, but I don’t want it to be strange. Never borrow nor lend coin.”

“Sure, but if you need it—”

“You never offer me coin when my pockets are empty.”

“That’s because you never pay anyone back.”

Their voices carry, growing closer and closer. I’m not paranoid, but the idea of being caught alone in a field in the middle of the night with strangers seems a terrible idea. I can’t run, not if I don’t want them to see me. So, I sling my lute on my back and climb. Higher and higher, until I reach a thick branch hidden by leaves.

Three men stride into view. They look like some of the patrons from the tavern. The rowdy ones in the corner. They hadn’t caused any trouble, but groups of loud men always put me on edge. Normally, I make it a point not to be caught alone and far from any witnesses. It’s a wretched truth I’ve come to accept, even as it fills me with bitterness.

I touch a hand to the short sword Neith insisted I carry, and the shepherd’s sling in my pocket.

The men tarry beneath my tree, showing no signs of leaving. From up here I can study each of them. The one with a stocky build wears a linen coif atop his head. At his side, he carries a wooden haft. Though he lacks the head of an axe or the tip of a spear, the fact that he still carries the useless lumber tells me only one thing—it’s a bludgeon. The tallest one wears his blond hair loose, barely touching the top of his narrow shoulders. Though I’m above, I can make out the sharp line of his prominent nose. Lastly, is a dark-haired fellow decked out in a crushed velvet doublet.

“You see how quickly Oliver’s barn is coming along?”

“Bit dodgy that he hired that fellow from Kalinia, though, innit?”

“Nah. That’s family. You do right by your family so when they croak, they remember you in their wills.”

“Shame about that armorer, though. I heard she lost everything.”

“You couldn’t afford her elfy leather pieces anyway.”

“True. But she was pretty in places.”

The coif wearing fellow—the one carrying a haft—pulls out his prick and starts urinating on the tree. The tallest one bumps into him.

“Fuck, Aiden. You made me piss on my shoe.”

Laughter breaks out, and the sound sets my teeth on edge.

I shouldn’t have to hide. I shouldn’t fear a group of friends out for a walk.

But I’m alone. I’m alone and outnumbered, and even if they’re perfectly pleasant—I don’t like being an easy target.

The pissing man tilts his head back, gazing up into the tree.

I don’t move. I don’t breathe. Goddess and guardians willing, he’s too drunk and it’s too dark for him to make out my shape.

I catch the precise moment he sees me. A confused smile lights up his face. “What have we got here?” He shakes himself, his grin only widening. “You’re that bard, yeah? Havin’ a peek at me, are ya?”

Perhaps the goddess doesn’t hear the silent prayers of elves.

Bile rises in my throat, and a freezing panic constricts in my chest.

The others step to the base of the tree, craning their necks to get a good look.

I know what it looks like when a group of bastards get a rotten idea at the same time. In this case, it’s a trio of sharp smiles and narrowed eyes.

I project my voice, lacing it with as much confidence I can muster. “I was merely out for a stroll and took a nap. You be on your way, and I’ll be on mine.”

The three of them seem to exchange confused glances, before they all break out into laughter.

“An elfy lass sleeping in a tree? Sounds about right!”

I grind my teeth. Momentary anger takes the edge off my fear, but I’m no fool.

They are not the vulnerable party.

I squeeze my eyes shut, scraping my reserves for courage and strength. I’m not a helpless child.

And I am armed.

I pull the shepherd’s sling from my pocket, careful not to drop it, and yank the small bag of stones I’ve collected. There aren’t many—only six. I wasn’t planning on needing them tonight. Tears burn my eyes, and I quickly blink them away.

“How’s about the lot of you head on back to the tavern. Have a drink on Aeron’s tab.” One last chance at peace. One last chance.

“Tavern’s closed, girlie. Come on down, I’ll teach you all about what it means to be human.”

I shake my head, loading the first stone with shaking fingers.

“Guess I’m climbin’ a tree tonight.”

The sound of muffled grunts rise to where I’m waiting as the pissing drunk climbs up. Cadoc’s instructions from the day he spent teaching me to shoot echo in my head.

Aiming should be instinctive, not exact.

I yank back the leather strap, the groan of the stretching bands filling the air. My aim is a guess—where I anticipate him to appear. His coif-covered head jumps into view, and I release. The stone strikes him square between the eyes, and he falls back, his body landing on the ground with a heavy thud.

Silence.

Then shouting.

“Donnick!”

“You filthy knife-ear!”

Two men start climbing, the branches shaking under their weight and leaves shivering. I load another stone, yanking back just enough to feel tension. The tall blond with the sharp nose comes into view, and I pull back hard before releasing. Blood blooms from his nose before he howls and falls, disappearing from view.

A sharp tug against my back—my lute—and I’m ripped out of my spot. My cap flies off my head, and I scream, falling, falling until I land hard on my back. The shocking sensation of snapping wood and strings shudders through me. Coughing, I roll away, freeing my short sword at my side. But hands are already on me, yanking me back. I claw at the earth, dirt filling my nails, my mouth, as I scream and kick.

Neith’s voice rings in my head.

Turn th’blade.

I slice at the grip on my ankle, pulling free when he lets go and cries out in pain. A burst of pain erupts against my back, and I turn, catching the next blow from the haft with my sword. His strikes are messy, tactless, but the strength and anger of his attack makes my arms tremble against the force.

I block, parrying and disarming. His haft goes sailing through the air, and I want to cheer. To jump for joy and shout.

But there are still three of them and one of me.

I want to ensure you come back to me.

The lesson of Jaromir’s training session springs to mind. They’re larger, stronger, and the aggressing party—so their intent is aimed on control and overpowering.

I run. Faster than I’ve ever run before. There are no trees, no obstacles for me to leap over. Only a wide, open expanse. My ruined lute bounces against my back, and still I run. My lungs burn, sharp pinpricks lighting up my sides as I begin to cramp.

And still I run.

‘Faster, stóirín. Don’t let me catch you.’

The day my ahntan chased me through the forest. The day I laughed and ran and leapt over fallen trees and moss softened ground. When I made it past the river and turned to boast—she wasn’t there. I’d thought her tricky and still playing our game. It wasn’t until later, when I found Mama sobbing into Da’s chest, falling into his arms and sinking to the floor, that I even knew something was wrong. It wasn’t until Tanniv told me his da had found her, her ears cut off and her innards on the forest floor, that I even knew she was dead.

Tears roll down my face, and still I run. My legs tighten, aches rippling all the way down to the soles of my feet. The road isn’t far. It isn’t far. If I can make it within shouting range, I can call for Neith, for Cadoc, for Jaromir. I can shout for help. I can—

Something hard collides with the back of my head, and I land hard on the ground. Grass and dirt fill my mouth, and my skull throbs. Pushing myself up onto my shaking arms, I try to stand—

Three sets of hands seize me. Tugging and ripping and grasping. My sword is twisted free from my grip.

Someone grabs my chin, and I pull free and bite down on his hand hard, spitting his blood on the ground. A sharp crack against my cheek, and hot pain blooms against my skin, my eyes watering.

My vision spots, and nausea rolls through me.

“Hold still,” someone hisses. I shake my head, screaming and biting and clawing and kicking. The world tilts, and my stomach churns with the movement. The sharp edges of my broken lute stab into my back. My cap appears, crumpled in a tight fist, and he stuffs it into my mouth. The feather tickles the inside of my nose. The blond man looms above me, shoving my legs apart. He glares down at me, down his bloodied prominent nose. I try to brace my feet outside his legs, to prepare to flip him—

Someone grabs my feet, holding them apart. I’m clawing, punching and aiming the heel of my palm for his wounded nose—

Hands find my wrists, holding them down against the ground.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

The back of my head feels wet. Someone tugs at my trousers, and I almost wish to lose consciousness.

I have nothing left in me. My lungs burn from exertion, and a hazy oblivion awaits along the edges of my vision.

My mind cleaves itself from my body, distancing from what is about to happen. If part of me can float away, I can survive this.

There is value in learning t’find strength when there’s none left. It’s often then, when we need it most.

Neith’s words ring in my memory, beckoning.

My dagger. The one I was never meant to rely on. They haven’t found it yet.

I twist, angling toward my ankle, spreading my legs even wider to help me reach it—a move they don’t anticipate. Clawing at the edge of my boot, I rip my dagger free and thrash with every shred of fight I can dredge from the bottom of my reserves. The edge of my blade slices through his cheek. A howl of pain, and the man trying to force his way between my thighs lets go to staunch the bleeding. His fist flies faster than I can react, and pain explodes along my mouth and jaw. My vision spots, and the coppery taste of blood coats my tongue. The tight grip returns to circle my wrist, dragging my arm out to free the dagger from my grasp.

My eyes squeeze shut as I tighten my hold on the last weapon I have, a noise I hardly recognize escaping my chest. It’s the sound of anger, of enough anger to last two lifetimes. Of all the pain I hide behind smiles and jokes and songs and fuck this world that would let bastards like this survive while those I love are gone.

Another animalistic noise of rage, muffled by my hat, slips free.

I will not go gently.

I open my eyes just in time to see the sharp tip of a sword protruding from the blond man’s chest above me. It pushes through, skewering him, and we both stare dumbly at the sight. In the span of two heartbeats, he is dragged away from me, and the gurgling sounds of his last bloody breaths fill the air.

The rapid pounding in my chest nearly drowns out the shouts of my remaining attackers. I don’t even bother glancing over to see who they’re fighting. I can’t tear my eyes away from the convulsing man on the ground. As if I need to witness his final breath to be sure he won’t leap up and attack me again.

Gentle hands graze my chin, pulling my hat from my mouth. Jaromir’s face fills my vision. His dark eyes survey me with a mixture of rage and heartbreaking sadness.

“Syl.” His voice breaks on my name. At once, the anger flees my body like it was barely held by a thread. The dagger slips from my shaking hand and falls to the earth. I sob and slump into his arms, burying my face in his chest. Seeing him doesn’t spark a fresh reminder of pain, not in this instant. There is only a flood of relief. He holds me tightly to him, his body vibrating.

“Syl, look at me.”

I lift my gaze, only to find Jaromir’s brows drawn together. He runs his stare over my face. Again and again.

Neith and Cadoc hover above, their swords aimed at where two men wait on their knees, their hands behind their heads. The one in the coif and the one in the doublet. I wipe my cheeks, and rise on unsteady feet. Jaromir’s touch gradually falls away. Despite the tremors, I stand tall over the men in the dirt.

Jaromir is a storm of rage. He unsheathes his sword, kicking the one in the velvet doublet to lay flat on his back. Without hesitating, he drives his blade home in the center of his gut, twisting before yanking it free. He moves on to the next one, and I touch a hand to his arm.

“Wait,” I say before he can object. I grab my short sword from the wet grass and approach the man. The one who first spotted me when I hid in the tree. The one who refused to walk away.

Crouching, I make sure to catch his wide-eyed stare. Of course he’s afraid. He never thought there might be consequences for his actions.

My fear is still with me. I still fear what almost happened. I fear that I was right to hide when they appeared. That I’ll never know safety.

I wet my lips, flinching when my tongue touches a tender spot where they hit me. “Your name is Donnick.”

He nods, tears staining his cheeks.

“What did you say when I asked you to leave me alone? To go your separate way and allow me to go mine, what did you say, Donnick?”

His gaze darts around wildly, as if searching each face for help, compassion.

He will find none.

“You told me,” I say, “you would teach me what it means to be human.” My voice cracks, and I blink back the threat of tears.

Behind me, Jaromir hisses.

“I’m s-sorry. We were only foolin’ around.”

I nod. I’m still afraid. My anger is far safer, but the fear always creeps back in. I’m holding the sword; he kneels in the dirt. He sobs and whimpers, his breath stuttering as fresh tears roll down his filthy cheeks—and yet I’m still afraid. Something writhes in my gut, burning and twisting. My pulse pounds in my head, and all I want is to not be afraid anymore. To live and trust that this won’t happen again.

But it can. It can, and I’ll always fear men like him.

For this one, fleeting moment, I have the power. I’ve lived powerless for so long, but now is my chance. I have the blade poised at his pulse. I can end his life knowing it was my turn to command fear in the heart of another.

I aim my sword lower and press deeper, nearly burrowing into the soft skin of his belly—

But I halt.

This is not the way. I wish it was, and a small voice still whispers in the back of my mind to push the blade through.

I don’t want to be afraid. I want his blood on my hands even less.

I will not keep his death as my constant companion.

“I’m not human,” I say, swallowing against a tight throat. “Nor do I want to be.”

I slowly back away, and something dips in my stomach.

Shame.

It threatens to make me heave, the weakness in my muscles that stays my hand when I could easily take his life.

But I don’t have it in me, the strength of the final inches between mercy and justice.

Jaromir and the others make it look so easy, their swords parting flesh like a hot knife through butter. The weight of death, a negligible thing.

But I cannot bring myself to test the lengths of my anger.

“Does that mean”—Donnick sniffles—“you’re lettin’ me go?”

Jaromir angles his body to block mine, a low growl escaping his chest. “Not in this fucking life.”

His sword meets Donnick’s chest in a violent thrust.

The noises Donnick makes should frighten me. I should feel remorse from the way he cries, before he slumps over, eyes glassing over. But I can’t find it in me to regret his death.

I only wonder if the others recognize my weakness. If they finally realize what a liability I am in all my failures thus far.

I lay down my sword on the dewy grass. I have no right to carry it.