34. Avoidable Things
Avoidable Things
Supper is an awkward, stilted affair.
The spread of food is generous, as always, and I eat until my belly is uncomfortably full, determined to make this last meal in the pride sustain me for as long as possible and fortify me on my journey.
Even so, I finish long before the others, who tackle eating with the same zeal and intensity as every other task in their lives.
Conversation is light between the gluttonous bites and swallows, but I glean more of what happened in the Crags while I was left with Cyphus.
For the humans it had been a bloody clash on both sides with more casualties suffered for the army of Veturland. This gives me some comfort. I’m of the north. I need the Borderlands to remain a safe place. Not just for me, but for my family, too.
The army of the Lord of the Borderlands succeeded in pushing the army from Veturland back, north of the Crags. In the aftermath, soldiers on both sides had gathered their wounded and left.
“Their dead will be buried beneath snow by now,” Danhy mused.
“More like food for the wolves,” Merik counters.
“They didn’t even take their dead with them?” I ask tentatively, still uncertain of my voice in this company of dragons. “That doesn’t seem usual.” No matter the colors they wear, whether from the north or south, soldiers always collected their dead and gave them proper rites.
“They can’t endure the Crags long enough to do that. It’s too cold for their frail, vulnerable bodies.” Danhy looks me over consideringly. “You seem to tolerate it well enough, though.”
“We keep the cave warm.” Tage nods to the great fire, as though this is explanation enough of my tolerance of the cold.
“I live in the Borderlands.” Lived in the Borderlands. “It gets pretty cold there, too.”
“Not like here,” Danhy counters.
I nod in awkward agreement. Nothing I’ve ever experienced is like here.
I look at Tage beneath my lashes as I tear a bit of bread and pop it in my mouth, chewing despite my fullness.
Merik speaks up. “Maybe your spell helps.”
As much as I want to change the subject from me and all the things that make me different—the enemy in their midst—his suggestion makes me ponder, and I can’t help asking, “As in helps me withstand the cold, you mean?”
Merik shrugs and motions to the air surrounding me with a hunk of mutton between his fingers. “Your spell haloes you. We all see her aura, right? Yellow and pink?” He pops the meat into his mouth, speaking as he chews. He arches a quizzical eyebrow.
Viggo murmurs acknowledgment.
Danhy nods.
Tage looks suddenly cross, as though resenting the topic. It must be the reminder of what I am . . . and my incongruence here, with them, with him, that he dislikes.
I glance at myself as though I can see what they’re talking about, but I see nothing. No pale glow. No hint of yellow or pink. Just air.
“I was telling Arden the skelm used to keep a witch, but she escaped. I’m sure there are others in these mountains. Oh, and there are the harpies. I know where we can find them. They have a nest not far from here. Perhaps they—”
“Harpies are not the same as witches,” Tage says dismissively.
“But aren’t they distantly related? Centuries ago? The first harpies were witches cursed in some spat by other witches, no?”
Viggo nods thoughtfully. “I heard something like that.” He shrugs as though it’s of little matter. “Harpies are vicious creatures.” He shudders. “A pack of them can take down a dragon.”
“Why do you think I know where their nest is?” Merik agrees with wide eyes. “I’m careful to avoid their territory.”
“Rumors. Myth.” Tage dips a piece of crusty bread into a rich oil swimming with herbs and verdaberries that is so delicious I could drink the stuff straight from the bowl.
His tongue darts to snatch a drop of sauce off his lip and my stomach quivers for reasons that have nothing to do with hunger.
At least not the kind of hunger associated with food.
“They’re older than mere centuries. Harpies have been around as long as dragons.
Only the Old Ones could tell us of their origin, and they’re not around anymore. ”
“The Old Ones?” I whisper.
“The original dragons, our ancestors. They went to ground, burying themselves deep beneath the mountains following our defeat in the Threshing and the shadow witch’s curse.
They won’t be surfacing again. They’ve left this world to us.
This is our era now.” Danhy’s lip curls a bit, as though even she is disgusted with her existence, a watered-down dragon where once only full dragons dominated this world.
“We could still find a witch,” Merik suggests a touch eagerly. “We can detect them, after all. It wouldn’t be that hard.”
I sit up a little straighter at the offer, looking from Merik to Tage.
Tage merely grunts as he continues to eat, his big hand reaching for more bread.
“We could travel down to the Borg, walk and blend in among them. In a city that large, we would be bound to discover a witch that we could—”
“We’re not traveling to the Borg to find a witch,” Tage cuts in smoothly with a hard finality that makes me blink. “Put the idea from your head.”
Merik looks a fraction disappointed to be shut down so decisively. His newness to the group clearly makes him unsure of his place.
“Why would you want to invite a witch into our sphere?” Danhy looks horrified at the suggestion. “They’re monsters.”
I blink at that, knowing I had thought the same thing about dragons not very long ago.
Even Viggo shakes his head. “No good ever came out of dealing with a witch.”
I give a small huff of a laugh, supposing I am proof of that.
Tage then turns the subject to tasks they need to complete in the coming days, quizzing everyone on their duties. With winter deepening its hold, there is much to do.
I angle my head, studying Tage’s profile, wondering why he would not even consider the merit of Merik’s idea.
It’s like he doesn’t want to consider the possibility of finding a witch, as though he’s deliberately avoiding the subject of my curse and finally ending it—ending the spell that makes it impossible to shade my memory.
I let that thought sink into me, realizing that if the spell were to be broken, they would have to shade me.
Arvos would succeed in doing what he does—wiping the memory of humans. My memory.
My memory would be wiped. Erased forever. It would be as though none of this ever happened.
They could let me go and turn me free with no memory of dragons.
With no memory of Tage.
My stomach cramps at the idea.
It’s a terrible prospect.
It would be like I never met Tage. The story of him would be lost to me. I would never remember the delicious flush that suffuses my body at his nearness—his voice, his touch, his kiss, the lovely weight of him bearing me down on luxurious furs.
I quickly assure myself that won’t happen. There is no witch (or even harpy) around to break my spell. It’s all supposition that they even could. I’m safe with my memories.
It’s a strange thing. For the first time in my life, I wish to keep my curse so that when I’m gone from here and among humans again, I can cling to the memory of the time I spent with a dragon, and the impossible, decadent way he makes me feel.
The reality of him, of us, so much like a dream . . . except it’s not.
It’s a truth I want to keep with me forever.
I have a decided lack of sweet memories. My time with Tage will be one of the precious few I keep, pulling out and dusting off for reflection in my coming years.
I’m quiet with my thoughts as we finish supper.
I collect my plate. I’ll not have it said I expected anyone to wait upon me.
The others do the same. We carry the dirty dishes into the kitchen and stack our plates on the table beside the wash bowl.
From there Viggo takes over the washing.
Danhy and Merik beat a hasty retreat and leave as though afraid they’ll be strong-armed into chores.
“Go on,” Viggo directs me with an encouraging jut of his chin. “I have this.”
I leave the kitchen. Entering the central room, I glance around for Tage. I’d assumed we would retire together. Maybe presumptuous of me, but if tonight is my last night, I want it to be with him. I want to collect one final memory.
He’s nowhere around, but I hear the familiar rumble of his voice on the air coming from one of the tunnels.
The words are indecipherable. I inch in that direction.
It’s the tunnel that leads to Arvos’s chamber.
I slowly advance down the narrow passageway, listening, following along its path, stopping when it turns sharply. The hushed voices are louder now.
I peek around the corner, peering into the corridor.
One of the sconces on the wall flickers with amber light, revealing the two shadowy figures.
Incredibly, I see that one of them is Arvos.
He’s awake. Standing straight as a pillar, hale and hearty, talking with no evidence of injury.
A little more ashen and hollow-cheeked, but a huge improvement since the last time I saw him.
They look earnest and intense as they converse, energy vibrating from their big bodies in a way that makes the tiny hairs on my arms prickle. My ears burn, catching snatches of words. I hear Cyphus’s name, then mine. Tage is undoubtedly apprising Arvos on all he missed.
There is no doubt in my mind of this from the way Arvos shakes his head side to side, as though he cannot believe what Tage is telling him. His world is not the same one he left since succumbing to his svefn.
I must make a sound or movement to give away my presence.
Arvos looks over his shoulder at me with flashing frost eyes, and my mouth dries at the coldness reflected there.
His gaze snaps back to Tage and whatever he says next has Tage looking at me, too, a crease forming between his brows at finding me there lurking, eavesdropping so shamelessly. “Arden, go on to bed.”