4. Harper
4
HARPER
“ W here to now then?” Harper asked. They had fulfilled their task to find a cure for the sickness sweeping the remote village. Now that that obligation had been fulfilled, her thoughts had once more strayed to Caledan and Betta—with not a small amount of guilt at what she had left behind, no matter how impossible it would be to return. The group looked to Aedon, the unspoken leader of their mismatched troupe.
Aedon blew a long exhale and spread his arms wide. “We have a whole world of potential. Now we wander until we find our next calling, as we always do—but far from Tournai.” He grinned and winked.
Warmth bloomed in Harper’s chest at his infectious optimism. They had left the village a much better place than they had found it, cured of the spreading sickness that had ailed the folk there, although there had been no time to enjoy the hospitality insisted upon by the villagers. They dallied far too close to the Winged Kingsguard’s might—and none had forgotten the threat of the Tir-na-Alathean elves that haunted their steps. Their ways had parted, but neither Aedon nor his companions trusted that the wood elves had given up their hunt. Harper and her new companions had fled south, past the heart of Pelenor and toward the spur of mountains that cleaved the kingdom apart, and within which sat the dwarven realm of Valtivar.
“We can find shelter in the mountains. And perhaps even some respite at Keldheim or another hold,” Brand suggested, though his gaze darted to Ragnar when he mentioned the dwarf’s homelands.
“We would be safe from Toroth’s reach there,” acknowledged Aedon.
“If they will have us.” Ragnar’s quiet voice caught them all.
“You are not an exile or a criminal, as the rest of us are,” said Aedon gently. “You are welcome there.”
Ragnar scoffed. “ Welcome is not the word I would use.”
Aedon pursed his lips. “Perhaps. But we must lay low for a while. Tir-na-Alathea is closed to us now, and all in the realm of Pelenor or near it, save for the dwarves of Valtivar, are loyal to the king and his riders. There is nothing for us in the wilds beyond the mountains. Not with the coming of winter.”
“I did not say I disagreed with the logic of it,” Ragnar said, an uncharacteristic snap to his voice.
Harper looked between them. Ragnar had once told her he missed his home, and his sadness had been visceral. Yet he did not want to return? The outlaws’ histories were as complex as a woven cloak. She wondered at his reluctance to visit Keldheim, the dwarven stronghold.
“We do not have to go if you do not wish it.” Aedon’s tone was sympathetic, though his sharp eyes watched Ragnar for any trace of his will. “It just means we’ll have a rougher exile this time than what I dare say any of us fancy!” His roguish grin returned. “Not that we’re not used to the splendour of nature’s bed, of course.”
“Mmm… Rocks and roots in my back. I love it so,” said Erika with an eye roll.
Harper chuckled at the nomad woman’s rare humour.
“No. We shall go. If I— we —are to visit Valtivar at all, I must present myself in Keldheim,” Ragnar said, though the grim set of his mouth said he did not want to at all.
“Then it’s done!” Aedon grinned and clapped him on the back. Ragnar glowered at him. “Oho. I have missed dwarven feasts. And the drinks! Oh, especially the drinks. Come, come. There’s not a moment to waste!” He scurried off.
Harper raised an eyebrow and looked at Brand. “Are we close to Valtivar?” she whispered to him. He bent to hear her, ruffling his wing feathers. The way Aedon had scampered off, it seemed as though they would be there in no time.
“Depends how you define ‘close’.” The Aerian pursed his lips. “If you have a dragon, then yes. If you’re a mere commoner like us, some weeks.”
“ Weeks ?” Harper gawked at him.
“Yes.”
She groaned—already fed up after weeks in the saddle, and besides which, her body had still not recovered from her ordeal in Tournai. With a sigh, she hefted her pack, a gift from the grateful villagers, onto her back and followed her companions down the winding trails of the forested foothills.
Now they had left the village and the Well of Life behind, there was little to gossip about around the fire. Harper swallowed. She had not dared broach the subject yet. But her curiosity had only grown with her mountain of unanswered questions. How had he summoned such a magnitude of power?
“Aedon?” she said in a small voice.
“Yes?” Aedon blinked at her, as if surprised she had spoken at all, for they sat in a comfortable silence about the fire, all staring into the abyss of the flames, surrounded by a circle of thick trees. Their attention flicked to her.
She cleared her throat. “I wondered… The fire in the vaults. What was that?” Heat seared her cheeks, and she felt certain he would tell her to mind her own business, but Aedon simply stared at her. She did not break her gaze and he stirred, meeting her scrutiny with an imperturbable expression.
After a long pause, he sighed. “I suppose I ought to tell you the truth. That was a special gift of mine.”
The others looked at him, then hurriedly looked away, as though they invaded on a private moment. Harper did not speak, waiting.
“It was a gift from my dragon,” he added in a soft, pained voice.
Harper’s eyes widened. A dragon? Surely, she had misheard.
“Valyrea,” he said, even more softly. He had not spoken her name in such a long time, but it still cut him. She could see the pain etched into his face. He shook his head, and his hands balled into fists. “She was the most beautiful soul I have ever known. I have never loved anyone so fiercely as I loved her. She was my partner in heart and mind. Together, we were one. Together, we ruled the skies. I was the youngest general of the Winged Kingsguard of Tournai who had ever ascended. I was the strongest, the best, the smartest.”
Harper’s lips parted. First a dragon, now… she could not reconcile the outlaw criminal with one of the red-cloaked and dragon-mounted members of the Winged Kingsguard. Aedon? It made no sense.
His voice soured. “I was young, arrogant, and foolish. Thought I could take on the world. Together, we were so strong, who could overcome us? Certainly not goblin scum.” He spat upon the fireside at the word. “I was wrong. I should have returned to Tournai, sought backup. But I did not. We flew into battle alone. Valyrea was strong, but she was not invincible. She died, yet I lived. I think this is the greater torture, a punishment I deserve, for leading her to her demise. Every day without her is agony. I have a few of our bonded gifts, including affinity with fire, to thank her for, but I would rather have her instead.”
Harper’s mouth hung open. “I had no idea,” she breathed, barely audible. “I’m sorry.”
Aedon shrugged, a tight, sharp jerk of his shoulders. “You were not to know.”
“Is that why you were exiled?” she dared to ask.
Aedon shook his head. “That was the beginning, but no. For that, I was not exiled, merely disgraced. My elder brother now holds the position of general. He’s welcome to it. If nothing else, I’m glad to have no part in Toroth’s business.”
Harper fell quiet, her mind alight. Aedon had been a dragon rider—one of the Winged Kingsguard of Pelenor—and their leader, no less. He had never given the barest hint of a clue, and the revelation was shocking. Unease curled within her. If her companions held secrets of this magnitude—what else remained untold? Could she trust them as much as she thought? She dared not spread her attention around her new friends. For as much as they had saved her life on several occasions, she had to remind herself that she still did not really know them enough to trust them intimately.
Life was very different in Pelenor. With each passing day, it only seemed more so. She looked to the dell of trees sheltering them, keeping the dark night at bay. There was so much more out there. For all Aedon’s sorrow, she could not help but feel a thrill of anticipation and anxiety at the thought.
As they stirred to make their resting places for the night, Harper stepped close to Aedon and placed a gentle hand upon his. “Thank you for sharing that.” Her heart thundered so loudly, she could barely hear her own whisper. He was just as handsome with grief, though in a different way. To her own annoyance, her attraction to him had only grown after their adventures, though she berated herself for it every time she thought of him with infatuation—for he was nothing like the thrill of that pair of violet eyes and the sharp sneer that she so desperately tried to distract herself from.
His fingers squeezed hers in silent thanks, and he smiled sadly as his green eyes, golden in the fire’s light, met hers. “Good night, Harper,” he said softly. She wanted and hated the way that her stomach swooped at his words.