Page 27 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I pack my things with a detached numbness. I refuse to glance at Jaromir or my ruined lute in the corner.
Dawn threatens its approach on the horizon, and we best be gone before anyone reports those men as missing. I’ll go back to Hollowden. There’s nothing else for me out here. I’ll work in Kingsley’s tavern, washing dishes or serving, until I earn enough coin for a new lute… however long that may take. The fabled hoard sits unclaimed, if it ever even existed in the first place. The dragon of stories remains undefeated, while I try my best not to count my losses. Folding my short pants, I tuck them into my pack. I’ve swapped my brightly colored stockings for a pair of sensible trousers.
I reach for my bright red cap, running my fingers over the crumpled plume.
We all have our armor. Whether it’s a brightly polished chest plate or the hat of a bard. We guard ourselves against dangers both blatant and hidden, building our impregnable fortresses, and just trying our best to survive. But something always gets in. There is no such thing as infallibility. I thought, perhaps in stories I could create the invincible hero. The one who lives on while everyone else falls. But eventually, we all fall. To time, to the nature of life. There is no life without death, and the death of a dream—
I shove my hat into my pack. There’s no use waxing poetic about this. It’s done. I shoulder my pack, and I walk out the door, leaving Jaromir and my broken lute behind.
Neith waits just outside the inn door, leaning against the stone cladding, and picking her nails with her dagger. When she catches sight of my face, her expression turns murderous. Reaching out, she tilts my chin and examines my cheek.
“If only we could put them in th’ground twice.”
I pull away. “Could be worse. It appears no one has found them yet. We should probably hit the road before they do.”
Neith’s brows draw together. “Whit do ye mean?”
I keep my voice low, though the street remains empty. “Even if you hid the corpses well, someone’s bound to find their remains eventually, and even if they don’t, their disappearance is bad enough. It’s suspicious that three of their men die after newcomers arrive in town.” I don’t mention that I’m sure I’ll be blamed first. Any excuse to paint elves as the monsters of ancient tales.
Neith leans in close. “Cadoc and I burned th’bodies last night. There’s nothing t’find.” At my astonished expression, she continues, “We couldnae risk luring th’corpse-eaters. Once they find food, it’s difficult t’get rid o’ them.” Her hand falls onto my shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection. “And we willnae let that trace back t’ye.”
I don’t know which idea I’m more stunned by. The casual mentioning of something called a ‘corpse-eater’ or how far their care for me extends.
“Corpse-eaters?”
Neith cringes. “Nasty blighters, but dinnae fash over them. It’s done.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze before releasing me.
“Those men still disappeared. They’ll know something happened to them, and they’ll blame us. Aeron.” Me.
Giving me a funny look, Neith shakes her head. “Aye, they’ll ken somethin’ happened all right. We left their shoes and valuables by th’lake. People will assume th’drunk fellas drowned.”
“Oh.” I try and fail to come up with a proper response. It was fast thinking on their part to devise a strategy of proper disposal and plausible cause of death.
Why didn’t I think of something like that?
Neith glances over my shoulder. “I was wonderin’ where ye were.”
I can feel Jaromir’s overwhelming presence at my back. He grunts some noncommittal noise before stalking past. His presence washes over me as he steps far too close, setting every nerve alight. I want nothing more than to reach for him—but there’s no use in prolonging what can’t be. Whatever passed between us last night, it’s over. The final thread severed until all that remains is regret and an echo of longing.
Neith misses nothing. Her eyes flick between my face and his retreating form. She doesn’t press.
“Cadoc readied our mounts. We should make it t’Kalinia by nightfall tomorrow.” She’s already turning away to follow Jaromir to the stables.
“We’re still continuing on?” Even after everything? After I foolishly allowed myself to want something that wasn’t mine? After we murdered those men? I refuse to regret it, they deserved what they got, but I won’t call it something other than what it is. I won’t dress it in pretty trappings and call us heroes. It was an execution. There was nothing heroic about it. I may not have held the sword, but I didn’t defend them either.
Nor did I want to.
Neith stills, studying me with careful consideration. “Do ye wish t’turn back?”
All last night, I didn’t think I had a choice. I took it as fact, one I already mourned. The rest of the journey will be painful, Jaromir’s presence a constant reminder. My lute is destroyed, and where I once found strength, a gaping hole has made its home. It would be easier to slink back to Hollowden, tail tucked between my legs. Kingsley would never judge me. He might even be glad to see me. Everything could go back to the way it was before.
Except I’m not really that foolish. Things can never go back, can they?
“Just say th’word.” Neith is still waiting for my answer. “No one would fault ye for it.”
But I would.
I might not have much left, but dammit, Aeron deserves this. He deserves whatever I can give him.
His ballad will be finished. And I will be the bard to write it.
There it is. The only truth I need. Not Jaromir’s promises, or a hope for a fairer, better world. But the truth of who and what I am.
I am a storyteller, and Aeron’s story will be told.
How strange, that in the cold light of a new morning, what once seemed so lost might still be found.
“Absolutely not,” I say, dropping to one knee and yanking my familiar velvet cap from my pack. I pull it on, blowing the low-hanging feather out of my face. “We have a dragon to slay.”
Cadoc gazes thoughtfully at the sky, rubbing my quill against the underside of his chin. I lent him some spare vellum, and he’s been working on something terribly mysterious for most of the evening.
“Syl, how would you phrase, ‘I miss your tight hole’ but in a romantic way?”
Jaromir chokes on his water—he’s filled everyone’s waterskins without asking—and launches into a full-bodied cough.
“I would say,” I begin, trying to ignore Jaromir as he recovers, “something that goes beyond the immediate of what you’re communicating. Something like, ‘I miss how perfectly we fit.’ It gets the message across while offering a bit of restraint for interpretation.”
Cadoc scribbles furiously.
“What about, ‘I miss how you whimper my name?’” His expression is so earnest as he awaits my response.
“Perhaps you should write in your own voice, so it sounds like you. There’s nothing more romantic than hearing unbridled truths from the one you trust.”
He nods, his brow furrowing as the quill dances across his parchment.
I don’t have to glance at Jaromir to know he’s staring. I feel it in the way the back of my neck prickles. My hands itch to pluck my lute, but the memory of its ruined body sagging in my room at the inn dashes my impulse, and a fresh wave of regret washes over me.
I should have brought it with me, even if it is broken.
“So… Tomas finally wrote t’ye?” Neith tosses a knowing grin at Cadoc.
“He”—Cadoc’s tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth while he scribbles another line or so—“did.”
That explains much. His chipper moods, his request for my writing materials, even his incessant humming.
If I still had my lute, I’d play the tune I wrote to represent him and Tomas while I draft their ballad. Even if I’m a touch bitter that I have no occasion to write my own love sonnet.
“Arnorr still hasnae answered any o’ Aeron’s letters,” Neith says. “My letters.”
This snags my attention. I hadn’t given Aeron’s brother much thought lately… any thought, really. “You’ve been writing him?”
“Each town we stop at, I send off a message from Aeron.” Neith shrugs. “He used t’have me pen his letters t’his brother anyway.”
“What have you told him?”
A sad smile crosses her face. “Just assuring him that I, Aeron, am still alive. I tell him of our adventures, th’ones ye write, so he has nae reason t’believe Aeron has fallen. Nae ’til it’s time.”
We all fall silent at that. I wonder what Aeron would make of all this. He never got to truly bask in any measure of fame. He spent one night, early on, in the tavern after I sang his praises while he was still recovering. But he never had the chance to reap the benefits of what we set out to do. He would have liked the attention, but most of all, he would have loved how he brought us together. He was easy to love, an easy friend to make. I didn’t know him very long, and yet I feel his loss. Cadoc and Neith—they cared for him greatly. And Jaromir—
Jaromir never told me how he met Aeron. They seemed true friends, but I have no idea how that came to be.
I clear my throat and force my gaze to the man I’ve been avoiding for hours.
It shouldn’t shock me when I find he’s already watching me, but it leaves me stunned. His dark hair is tied back save for a few strands that hang in his face. His brows are drawn together, and his mouth is tight beneath his beard. The top laces of his tunic are loose, and the firelight dances along the firm edges of the top of his chest.
He’s searing to look at, but I keep my stare trained on him, even as it hurts.
“How did you meet Aeron?”
Jaromir’s eyes widen, likely because these are the first words I’ve spoken to him since I poured all my anger into his body back at the inn. He sits up as if he’s going to stand, and if he did, what would I do? If he stood and offered me his hand, I would surely take it, and lose every ounce of control I’ve tried so hard to maintain. I would fall into his arms and forget everything that hurts and focus on how the rightness of his touch sings in my veins. Or would I retreat? Would I flee from his touch and protect myself, guarding my heart and my sanity until we complete this quest and I am forever free of his dark stare?
These questions go unanswered. He doesn’t stand, or come to me, or offer me his hand. He clears his throat and says, “He hired me to train him with a sword, about two weeks before he posted for recruits. He paid for each session with coin, so I could send…” He trails off, a crease forming between his brows.
Right. To his betrothed.
“That makes sense.” I hear myself say the words. “And then he asked you to come along?”
Jaromir nods, his eyes devouring every reaction I try to hide. “Initially, I declined, but when I caught sight of his ridiculous notice calling for recruits, I changed my mind. It was a good way to make quick money.”
Fast coin, faster route to marriage.
“Well,” I force myself to say, “good thing we’re seeing this job through, huh?”
His face shutters, and his chest hitches.
The night is too quiet. Only the crackle of the fire and the distant hum of crickets fill the air. For what feels like the hundredth time, I wish for my lute.
“I’m tired.” I stand, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. I retreat to my tent like the coward I am, grateful that sleep finds me before any tears can fall.
We reach our destination when the sun is high in the sky. Beneath its glow, my clothing is hot against my skin, but when I shove my sleeves to my elbows, a light breeze instantly cools me. I normally love this time of year when the seasons duel for dominance. Autumn claims the night, but under the hot sun, summer has not relinquished its grip.
I shove my sleeves up again, knowing it’s only a matter of moments before I’ll tug them down to cover my arms once more.
The town of Kalinia is a bustle of activity. When we arrive, all the shops are open, people milling about. The market overflows with vendors, fruit stands, even a bard performing for the crowded square. He wears a black oversized muffin cap, strumming away on his lute as he croons about a lost love. I pause to watch, fascinated at being in the audience for once. He catches my attention, and winks, pulling a laugh from my lips.
Jaromir tenses beside me.
I angle my head to address Cadoc. “Is that what I look like?”
Cadoc studies the bard, who is delighted at our attentions. “Yes. It’s eerie, actually. A perfect mirror image—especially the mustache.”
I laugh again, and goddess, it feels good to laugh. Even if it’s a fleeting sensation that remains surface level before evaporating almost instantly.
Jaromir watches me with an unreadable expression. Unreadable, because I refuse to glance back at him, so I must rely on my periphery.
I stare at the bard, clapping in time with his playing. He’s begun to bounce along with his song.
Not bad. Not bad at all. Although, I can dance circles around him without losing the rhythm of my playing—
The memory of my broken lute interrupts my thoughts. No… I won’t be impressing anyone with my playing for a while. I still haven’t sorted how I’m to gain an audience without my instrument. I suppose spoken word and acapella singing will have to suffice. I could potentially stomp out a tune while I sing. It would be dreadfully amateur compared to what I normally perform, but desperate times and all that.
I bow and toss a silver into his cup.
“Much obliged, fair one,” he says with a grin, completely dropping the pretense of his song and his persona. “Your name, my lady?”
I flash him my brightest stage smile. “Don’t worry, sir. By tonight, you’ll know my name.”
A bold proclamation from a bard without an instrument, but I’ve always favored confidence over logic. From the way he grins, I may have accidentally propositioned the man.
“Because everyone here will know my name,” I say quickly. “I’ll be the talk of this town for some time, and if you don’t believe me, just wait and see. I come bearing news of a great hero. The bravest hero of our age—”
“Ugh, you’re one of those.” The bard ceases playing, slinging his lute to his back, and quickly retrieving his cup of meager coins. His shoulders slump, and he yanks his hat off his head to fan himself. Sweat glimmers off the hairless spot in the center of his head. “Look, sweetheart, this town isn’t as impressed by our talents as you seem to think. Save your speech for your performance and have a good stiff drink on hand for when you finish. Better yet, preempt your performance with enough spirits you don’t care when they shout at you to play ‘Unfettered Wings’ for the hundredth time.”
I nod as if I’m considering his advice. “Good to know. Well, I best be off. Places to go, hearts of the masses to win over, you understand.” I give a short wave and leave him to his work.
Jaromir scowls at him, falling into step behind me.
He rarely walks at my side anymore.
I don’t have the space in my mind to examine the meaning of that or how I feel about it. I need to prepare for tonight and try my best not to weigh the likelihood we run into Jaromir’s betrothed.
“Shall we settle in, then?” Neith’s voice is a welcome distraction from the dangerous turn my thoughts have taken. She and I will share a room tonight. I don’t know where Jaromir plans to stay. Likely at his betrothed’s home.
I am not faring well with avoiding these thoughts.
One night, and we’ll be on our way to the fabled lair of Aeron’s dragon. One more night, and then we begin the final leg of our journey before Jaromir can go live out his life and I can claim my place in history.
One more night.
Unwillingly, I turn to find Jaromir’s intent stare burning into me. He quickly looks away, but for an instant, that flash of longing slices through me, ripping open my poorly sutured heart.
It’s going to be a long night.