Page 34 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon

Chapter Thirty-Four

B ehind the bookcase, there’s a secret room. A room only found when one pulls the correct lever and opens the door hidden behind books and stories. Inside is enough gold to fulfill all the promises Aeron made us: fame, glory, a comfortable life cushioned by enough coin to last the rest of our days.

It’s everything we hoped for and more. Yet the moment is tinged with an ache of bittersweet disappointment. The end of all that we fought for, and the beginning of the journey home.

I drop to sit at the large desk, leaning my elbows on its dusty surface. A glass case on the opposite wall holds a few ancient relics of bygone eras. Most notably, a few giant teeth I can guess are old remnants of a dragon long lost. Once a great power, raw energy, and unbridled chaos, and now? Nothing more than a memory. A memory of a story trapped behind filmy glass.

In the end, that’s what we all become. Someone else’s story, preserved in a memory.

I’ll need to start blocking the fight scene between Aeron and the dragon in my head, but right now my mind won’t cooperate. I’m still stuck in this vicious cycle of relief, disappointment, and disgust.

“So, that’s it then.”

Jaromir examines a map to all the underground tunnels, exits and secret passages, and how to avoid traps and triggers. He drops the map and glances up, watching me with that intense stare I’ve come to know as his search for understanding.

“It’s more than I dared hope for.”

I huff a tight laugh and begin pulling out drawers in search of more stories. Maybe a real name to this moniker of ‘the dragon’. I find a messy scrawl of handwriting, numbers, and symbols that are absolute nonsense to me. Must be the formula for dragon fire. My grip tightens, crinkling the parchment in my hand. I want to burn it. I don’t care that it’s sitting in this dank cave, hundreds of feet beneath the stone. No good can come of this, and I want it stricken from existence.

“Let’s find the others.”

Jaromir’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I swiftly hold the parchment over the flame of the half-melted candle. The edges glow with bright embers before they curl and disintegrate. I drop the page onto the desk, watching the flames consume the alchemical formula for dragon fire. Something tightens in my throat—I’m destroying something that isn’t mine, a memory that isn’t mine, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. When nothing else remains but a pile of ash, I tear my gaze from the sight.

“Lead the way.”

The bags weigh a ton, filled to the brim with gold as they are. And an ancient elven prayer stone in mine. Our horses carry saddlebags filled with coins. It seems a foolish way to travel, but we won’t be returning. There was some debate as to how to prevent anyone from venturing into the cave again, but ultimately, after looting the place of its treasure, we used the blackpowder to collapse the entrance. Perhaps it was a disservice to a forgotten man’s legacy, but I owe no allegiance to the one who calls himself The Dragon . The one who led countless to their deaths for his own sport.

We’ll burn Aeron’s map, along with my translations. Hopefully, that’s enough to keep this secret cave hidden. Should people come looking, all they’ll find is a corpse-eaters nest and a destroyed cave.

I have confiscated the evidence that “the dragon” was ever there. There are still his furnishings and mechanisms in a room deep in the heart of the cave, buried behind rubble and fallen rock, but the contents of his letter remain burned in my mind. We concocted a story of how the dragon was felled by Aeron’s blade, and when the giant body collapsed, as did the cave. How we only just escaped with our lives, having already robbed the dragon of his hoard before the beast awoke to intruders. How Aeron dealt the killing blow, just as he received his own. How we had to drag the brave and mortally wounded Aeron to freedom so he might see the sky one last time before his eyes shuttered closed. The dragon tooth is sharp in my satchel, jabbing its reminder against my thigh.

Lying about Aeron’s death, the circumstances, it never struck me as bothersome until now. Perhaps it’s exhaustion, or hunger, or the reality of the situation finally sinking in, but guilt gnaws against the pit of my stomach.

If I can immortalize his name in all this, it will all be worth it.

The strap of my bag digs into my neck, the weight of the gold bumping against my hip.

The days we spend traveling are different from before. We’re all swimming in riches, and yet there’s an emptiness in it all. When we scorch Aeron’s armor against the campfire at night, the air is heavy with accusation. Perhaps it was always going to feel this way, dragon or no.

Neith offers to train with me, but I don’t have any fight left. None of us do, really. Even Cadoc is quiet, pensive, rather than his boisterous self.

Jaromir keeps to himself, working on something by the fire, and when we all retire, he takes watch. I can see him through the stitches in my tent, his broad shoulders and the way his back ripples with the motions. I turn away from Jaromir and his secrets.

There’s much work to do.

In the stillness of a dark night, I pen the conclusion to Aeron’s ballad. My throat tightens against the words traveling from my mind to the page, never crossing my lips but promising their return when I will share it with the world. Behind the safety of my tent walls, under dwindling lamplight, I write feverishly. When my fingers are stained with ink, and my hand cramps from pressing my quill too hard, I finish the last line with a flourish.

It is done.

The town of Kalinia appears on the horizon. A lump lodges in my throat at the sight, at the knowledge that this really is the end. Until Aeron’s face fades into myth, and the drunken patrons we charmed have forgotten the smile of the man buying their drinks, we must be careful where Cadoc and Jaromir are seen.

Memory is a funny thing. One day, a stranger’s face will hold the familiar resemblance to a hero you once knew, and you’ll wonder if you remembered them wrong or if your mind is projecting an old memory onto a new one.

But not today.

Cadoc can’t set foot in the town, not since he played as Aeron, and I’m going to sing of his heroic demise tonight, so he and Neith will stay in the forest and bypass the town limits, meeting us a mile or so past the gate.

Not us. Me. Just me. Jaromir will stay behind with his family.

Cadoc ruffles my hat and chucks me on the chin. “I wish I could hear the first time you sing his song.” There’s a thickness in his voice I don’t normally hear.

I flash him my stage smile. “The first performance is a dress rehearsal at best. I’ll work out any kinks in time for my next performance, and you’ll be there to witness it all.”

“I can’t wait.” Turning to Jaromir, he pulls him into an embrace. “Take care of yourself.”

Jaromir claps him on the back. “And you. I’ll visit you and Tomas after you’ve settled a bit.”

“I’m holding you to that. I might even offer you a discount.”

“You would charge me to drink the swill in your tavern?”

Cadoc laughs. “You can afford it now.”

Neith shakes her head, approaching me with an amused expression aimed at Cadoc and Jaromir. “Look,” she says, “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get ye wherever ye wish t’go, and I won’t leave ’til ye’re ready.”

How she knew I needed to hear this is a testament to her ability to read people.

Or just how well she knows me.

“Careful. I might keep you forever.”

She shrugs, and it doesn’t feel like a dismissal so much as an invitation. “Oh, and afore I forget—” She unclasps a bronze chain from behind her neck and tugs the intricate necklace free. Twisted branches and raw amethyst laid in bronze greet me. The strangely beautiful design in all its glory. Something about it calls to me, reminds me of something I can’t quite grasp.

“Ye ken what this is?”

I blink at her. “It’s a necklace.” Does she think I’ve suffered a head injury?

Neith holds it closer to me, running her thumb over the stone. “A necklace of elven make. In The Western Isles, elven designs are rare commodities, only worn by the elite with th’coin t’pay for such luxuries.”

Rare, because even the artisans in Smarighad were forced into hiding.

Neith arches a brow. “I chose this piece because my mother hated it, and it was th’most expensive. I didnae ken why I continued t’wear it. Maybe as a reminder. But over time, I believed it was always meant t’find me. Maybe it was a sign t’take courage and follow my true path even when it hurt.”

She slowly lowers it into my palm, closing my fingers over the edge. Bronze branches stab into my fingers. “I want ye t’have it.”

“I can’t accept this—”

A memory flits unbidden to the surface. My ahntan and her long flowing hair, shimmering gold in the sunlight. Her large green eyes, wide with the silly expressions she’d make because it always made me laugh. Mama always said I favored my ahntan Elothwyn. Her simple homespun dresses, cheaper fabrics we could afford because most of the merchants charged heavily for elves. And around her neck—

She had a necklace like this. It had been in the family for generations. The branches were rounder, and the stone was a dark red garnet, but the design was so similar it gives me a funny feeling in my stomach.

“Ye can. Means more t’me that ye have it than I.” Neith watches me patiently, waiting for me to continue my rejection of her gift. But I can’t reject something like this.

“Will you help me put it on?”

Her answering smile is broad and unrestrained as she clasps it around my neck. It’s surprisingly light and warm against my skin. And worth more than all the gold weighing down my pack.

After Cadoc and Neith disappear into the forest, Jaromir and I are finally alone. I’ll likely stay in his guest room, under the same roof as him and his betrothed, like an unwanted relative. I’ll force a smile through my ballad, then be on my way to find Cadoc and Neith, and never see Jaromir again. A fitting end to our disastrous union, but at least we both survived. A silver lining in an otherwise shit storm if I’ve ever seen one.

“Syl,” Jaromir says, pulling one of his packs off his shoulder gently. “There’s something I wanted to give you before we make it into town. Things are… difficult. People know me here; they have certain expectations of my intentions to avoid desertion of inheritance. I still need to handle that and…” His voice trails off as he eyes me with uncertainty.

Before I can respond, he grips me by the jaw, pressing a hard kiss to my lips. It’s a punch to the gut, and a gasp gets trapped in my throat as every emotion I’ve desperately tried to bury rises to the surface. My body reacts before I can think, and I’m gripping his shoulders to keep him from pulling away, deepening the kiss with a sort of urgency that borders on madness.

His arms come around me, surrounding me with his warmth. He invades my senses and leaves my head spinning. Reluctantly, he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine. “That wasn’t what I wanted to give you.” His voice is ragged, and he huffs a laugh against my lips. “I just needed to feel this one last time.”

I step back, already colder without the safety of his body against mine. “Right, you had a present for me, did you?” I aim for a cheerful tone, a great feat since I’m still reeling from the pendulum of emotion resulting in the kiss that still burns against my lips.

Jaromir nods and reaches into his spare pack. “I couldn’t let you go without replacing this.”

It’s a lute. A smaller one than my old one, but the unmistakable body of the gorgeous instrument is enough to catch my breath in my throat. He carved the round shape so perfectly, even whittled tuning pegs attached to gut strings. I pluck a soft tune, blown away by the full sound he’s crafted. Sure, I have enough coin to buy the finest lute in creation, a tavern, too, should I wish it. But this is far and away the most beautiful instrument I’ll ever have occasion to play.

“If you hate it, I can buy you a new one. I could go to one of the larger markets and get you whichever you see fit to replace the one you lost. I’m sure this isn’t nearly as high quality as the one you’re used to playing, but I did scrounge up some of the wood from the old body in case it had sentimental value. You don’t need to play it tonight, but if you wanted something that could work in a pinch, I think this should do the trick.”

Jaromir is rambling. Jaromir doesn’t ramble! I turn my incredulous gaze on his handsome face, only to find his stare darts around wildly, and his large hand rubs the back of his neck.

It’s perfect. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received in my entire life. And that it’s from him makes it even better.

Welkin above, but it hurts how much I care for this man. This time, I welcome the pain and all it means. How deeply it cuts me, my affection for one I can’t have. How in another world, another life, we could have been home for each other.

I yank him down to look at me. “I love it, Jaromir. It’s perfect.” You’re perfect.

“I’m no master craftsman. I had to make this from memories of watching you play.” From the way his cheeks redden, I gather there are a lot of memories.

“It’s perfect,” I repeat and run my hand down the length of his arm, lingering against his palm. “I can carve Aeron’s lasting legacy with this.”

If I’m to really sell Aeron’s ballad, the story of how he faced down the dragon, I need this lute. I need to pull out every advantage I have to captivate my audience and keep his memory alive. The power of stories is in the telling, and I intend to tell his story with everything I’ve got.

Jaromir closes his hand over mine. “The story of Aeron’s fate was altered by the tales you spun.” A sad smile steals across his mouth, and he tugs me against his chest, against his heartbeat, and inhales deeply. “If only our fates could be so easily changed.” His arms tighten. “I’m not sure I can let you go, even though I have to.”

I’m not certain I’ll remain standing when he finally pulls away, so I cling to him tighter, savoring this moment. Once we cross into town, everything will change. He won’t be mine, and I can’t be his. Did I squander our remaining time with my anger? For the sake of protecting my heart? Should we have pretended we had forever until the very last moment? All I wanted was to build up my defenses and keep my heart from bruising, but the way it squeezes in my chest proves I did nothing of the sort. If anything, I poorly patched the broken thing and now it’s being ripped open anew.

If only I could change our fates with the scratch of a quill and a convincing story. Aeron will be immortalized, not as the man who forfeited his life to protect his friend, but as the great hero who defeated a dragon. Perhaps his true story is the better one… but who’s to say where the line between truth and fiction lies? ‘The dragon’ managed to sell the tale of a dragon, all in pursuit of protecting his wealth from the town laws. A well-spun story has the power to change everything.

Yet here we are. Trapped in an impossible situation.

“I’m not marrying her.” He says it so softly, I’m not sure I hear him correctly. “Not that it makes any difference, nor would I expect it to. But I can’t… not after this. Not after us.”

“What about Damir’s home? Your family’s land?”

“I’ll give her my share of the hoard. It will be more than enough to grant her and my nieces a comfortable life. Somewhere.” More than a comfortable life, by my estimation. I had mentioned to Rhosyn about paying off the magistrate in exchange for him looking the other way, but she said he’d made false promises before, pocketing coin and feigning ignorance of his bargain with widows in the past. He always refused to sign anything, claiming it a conflict of legality, and leaving anyone who dealt with him vulnerable to his changing whims. The scheming bastard.

“You would live in her home? Work her lands?”

Jaromir grimaces. “Ah. No. After I persuade her to take the gold, I’ll sign the deed over to the magistrate. Or sell it. It matters naught.” Because he wasn’t built for a life tethered to one place, all the memories of his brother echoing against empty walls, or the knowledge that he let Rhosyn and her daughters lose their last piece of Damir. This isn’t a resolution to anything.

It feels like a penance.

“And you walk away with nothing?”

“Not nothing. I’ll have memories of you, and that’s worth more than all the gold in this world.” Jaromir’s expression is etched in such sorrow. He’s throwing everything away and expecting nothing from me. I’m not trying to punish him for lying, but how can I be complicit in tossing Rhosyn out of the home her husband built? The life she and Damir built together?

It would always hang above us, the sharp blade of loss.

“Are you sure there aren’t any bastards of yours running around? Someone we can dote on and bond with so Rhosyn wouldn’t have to sign her home away? You certainly sowed your wild oats far and wide before I came along.” I force a laugh.

Jaromir offers me the barest of smiles. “You know that isn’t possible. I made sure of it.”

Of course. The brew Cadoc keeps him supplied with. Jaromir would never be so irresponsible as to leave one of his partners facing the consequences of their actions alone. He, unlike some men, has honor and integrity and—

It hits me. The answer to everything.

I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it sooner. Welkin above, words can wield all the power of the world, and I plan on seeing how far the power of my words extend.

I grab Jaromir’s arm, excitement flooding me like a torrential storm. How did I not think of this sooner? The answer is right in front of me—has been the whole time!

“Jaromir, what if we could protect Rhosyn, grant her ownership of her home, and you didn’t have to marry her?”

His eyes widen in alarm, his mouth parting in surprise. “How… what would we do?”

I’m practically vibrating with excitement. “We pay a visit to the town magistrate.”