Chapter 23 The Trove
"I want to see them," I demand, for the twentieth or the hundredth time.
Araine, seated by the fire in the sheltered mountain pass that has become our camp and meeting area for the past two evenings, shakes her head.
"You know why it is not possible.
"
"I know why you say it is not possible.
" I cross my arms where I lean against the wall of the pass.
On the other side of the camp, Marton is deep in discussion with the brothers.
Raku is gesturing excitably with his hands, seeming to describe something to Marton which interests them both greatly.
It has been like this for days. Any time we have a spare moment in which we are not making plans, Marton is plying the brothers for information on the kin of the Trove, which they agreeably give to him.
They seem to have accepted him as an honorary Dragomira, on account of him belonging to me.
And they trust me, on account of how they've accepted that Araine and I are sisters.
Araine and I, as it happens, are the only two who do not use that word.
I already have a sister, and she's locked up inside the Trove.
And this other woman won't let me see her.
"It is too dangerous," says Araine.
"The night of the arena battles is the only time the lookouts' attention will be diverted.
It is the only chance you have of getting into the Trove unnoticed.
"
"And the only chance we have of getting them out," I repeat the plan I've heard a dozen times by now, "is later that same night, after everyone has celebrated themselves into a drunken stupor.
After Vakhrin has been beaten for their entertainment again.
"
Araine doesn't even flinch.
"Yes."
I make an enraged noise, fuming at her flippancy.
Well, it isn't really flippancy, I'll admit.
More like a grim determination that reminds me—somehow, incredibly—of my mother.
I don't have any memories of my father to say if Araine has any mannerisms like him.
But I do wonder about her mother.
Gyandra. Was she something like my own? Was there something about my mother that once reminded the man who sired me, in all his grief, of his dearly departed mate?
Is that the reason I exist?
It is maddening to think that the only people who could have answered these questions for me are dead.
I could ask Araine. But everything in me—my pride most of all—shies away from the thought.
"A rescue mission will be completely pointless if one of the people we plan to rescue is dead," I seethe.
"They will not kill him," says Araine.
"They are always careful not to. It would be a waste, when he is only valuable to them as he can be used to hurt the princess. "
There's that word again. Value.
The truth of it.
Vakhrin is only valuable to Araine as he is part of the package deal for getting the Ithymian princess out of the Trove and out of her hair.
What does she care if he is beaten one more or ten more times?
She doesn't.
"His death would hurt the princess," I hiss.
"Only once," Araine says severely.
"And they plan to hurt her many more times than that.
"
Yes, talking to my sister is always such a joy.
"Tomorrow night," Araine reminds me.
"You will see them tomorrow night. Is that not soon enough for you?
"
I don't have to think about it for an instant.
"No."
Araine sighs, dusting her trousers off as she climbs to her feet.
"Well, I'm sorry, but that's the best we can do.
This isn't all about what you want, you know?
"
I snort. Has anything ever been about what I want?
Abruptly, her comment seems dreadfully funny to me, and I break out into crackling laughter.
"Shhh!" Araine hisses angrily.
We are meant to be quiet in the pass, so as not to draw the attention of any scouts nearby.
But it is a moment before I can get my grim, hysterical laughter in check.
"About—what—I—want—" I slide down the stone wall until I am sitting on my backside in the dirt, gasping for breath.
Araine eyes me warily from her stance beside the fire.
There is silence from the spot where the boys were talking before.
"No, you're right," I say with another drunken laugh up at Araine.
"Why would anything be about that?"
Her face is blank when she turns away from me.
She waves a hand to summon Raku and Jeksu, and then the three of them are making their farewells for the night, headed back to the Trove.
I stay where I am, hardly attending to the activity around me as they trickle out of the narrow pass.
Marton and I are left alone.
"Are you alright?" he asks, coming over to me.
And I have to sigh. "I long for a time when you don't feel the need to ask me that multiple times a day.
"
He's quiet for a beat, dropping down to sit beside me against the wall.
"Maybe the day after next?" he offers hopefully.
And I have to laugh again, though the sound is shaky.
We're both quiet, listening to the crackling fire and the wind through the narrow canyon pass.
Imagining what that future might look like.
I can't imagine what he's imagining.
I don't even know what I'm imagining.
What will we do when this business with the Trove is done and our friends are safe?
Where will we go?
The choice I had been imagining for myself, to return with Cherry to Ithyma or go with Marton somewhere else.
..it does not seem to apply anymore. Ithyma is no good option, for me or Cherry.
I don't think the king would want her back, even if the wyverns offered, or if I brought her to him with a harem of Dragomira husbands in tow.
I don't know what the king wants, and the thought is frightening.
I feel that Cherry will not be safe in Ithyma while he's on the throne.
I don't know if he wants her dead, or only gone, but his actions make it clear he doesn't care about her in the way people want to be cared about by their parents.
I wonder if he's a basilisk, or only a human with some mad plan that we can't understand.
There are as many unanswerable questions in my head as ever, and the future is the biggest one of all.
"Where would you go?
" I ask Marton quietly. "If you could go anywhere—do anything?
"
He thinks about it, eyes on the distant fire.
A little smile creeps across his face, skin golden in the firelight as the sun goes down.
"I suppose I would go anywhere. Everywhere.
And do exactly what we have been doing all this time.
Seeing the world. Meeting more of the kin.
Learning what there is to know. Just...with less life-threatening fear involved.
"
A sigh slips out of me.
Somehow, that is exactly what I knew he'd say.
"What about you?" he asks.
A few weeks ago, I would have answered immediately that I would go wherever Cherry went.
That that was the only future I wanted.
But I know that would not satisfy him, and it doesn't quite satisfy me either.
Not anymore. Even if I am still dedicated to that course, I know I have it in me to want other things.
But what do I want? I have never spent any time thinking about it.
"I think—I think I would want to.
..help people, somehow. People like me. Like Vakh.
Like you and Cherry. People who just...need helping.
People who need the truth, or they need protecting, or they just need a friend.
Someone to be on their side for once. I know it's a strange dream, and it doesn't really make any sense.
I don't know how it could actually be accomplished, but.
.." I trail off.
"I think it's a beautiful dream," Marton says quietly.
"Yeah?" My throat feels tight.
Unconsciously, my hackles had been rising while I spoke, expecting to be mocked.
Not that Marton has ever mocked me. At least not in a cruel way.
I'm just not used to sharing things like that.
I'm not even used to thinking them.
"Yeah," Marton whispers.
"And why couldn't you do it? You've been doing it.
You did help me and Vakh and Cherry.
"
"But how would I even know how to find anyone else, to help them?
It's just a silly thought."
"It isn't silly.
" His tone is resolute, and when I glance over at him, his face is, too.
"You could find them the same way I found you.
The way we found Vakh. By following the stories.
"
"That's also the way we found the wyverns," I say drily.
"Well, we know to avoid that valley now.
And we know where the Trove is now, too.
And we would learn more. More about the world and where was safe and who we could trust. We could—"
"I'm sorry, are you going with me on this fantasy adventure?
" I mean for the words to be in jest, but Marton clamps his mouth shut automatically, face flushing.
And I feel terrible.
Before I can take it back or apologize, Marton clears his throat.
He doesn't meet my gaze when he says, "I would, yeah.
I'd go with you. Your dream is a lot like my dream.
" The last part is so hushed I barely hear it, and it makes my heart swells.
So of course I make a flippant remark.
"At least in terms of geography, if nothing else.
"
Marton's mouth tightens.
"I guess my dream is a lot more selfish than yours.
"
"That wasn't what I—"
"It's fine.
I get it. Your dream—"
"I meant," I say loudly, "that your dream is a lot like mine, in terms of location, and travel.
So that of course you should come with me.
Because you could learn everything you wanted, and I could too.
And we both could help people."
My heart races as the words float out on the air.
Because I really just said them. Made an offer. Planned a future of my own. With him.
And I want it, suddenly, so badly that it hurts.
But Marton doesn't say anything.
His body is held with rigid tension, hands braced against his thighs, eyes straight ahead.
"Marton?" I whisper.
Was that too much for him? Did I freak him out?
"Are you—What are you thinking?"
Marton makes an unintelligible noise.
And then, still not looking at me, he speaks.
"I am trying," he says tautly, "really hard.
..not to kiss you." He takes a deep, deep breath, letting it out slowly.
A moment passes in which I desperately wish I had the courage to tell him to kiss me.
But then it's gone, and Marton clears his throat, relaxing.
"Sure, that sounds nice," he says casually.
I burst out laughing.
A heartbeat later, he does too. And we're just two idiots laughing in the mountain pass where we're supposed to be camping in secret, lit by the glow of the fire and the distant stars overhead, on the eve of our important rescue mission.
The next day—after hours of restless pacing and speculating and fretting about everything that is about to happen, everything that could go wrong—the afternoon, finally, finally begins to wane into late afternoon.
And a resounding trumpet's call breaks out over the mountains.
A high, clear noise that echoes back and forth across peaks near and far, till the sound seems to fill the whole world.
It takes me a moment to realize Marton hasn't heard it, and then a moment more to figure out why.
As loud as it was, even human ears should have been able to pick it up.
And then I remember another mountain, another canyon, another lifetime ago.
Vakhrin opening his mouth to emit a high, clear note as he called to his grandfather's spirit.
So he might lay him to rest.
The auria, Vakhrin called it.
A sound only the manticore can make.
A chill walks down my spine when I think of the reason why Vakhrin is making that noise now.
It was not a gentle sound like the one I heard before.
It was a bellowing, desperate cry. Like someone charging into battle.
Someone laying their own soul on the line.
The arena battles are about to begin, or they already have.
Filled with new, horrible tension, I begin to pace once more, wearing the same dusty track into the earth I have already walked a hundred times today.
Raku and Jeksu should be here soon to usher us into the Trove.
And then the rush will be on. Any moment, we might be discovered.
Any moment, we might be killed.
I would be less worried if it was only me going in.
I am a dragon, and I could make a case for my own right to be present in the Trove.
But Marton has resolutely maintained that he is going with me.
And somehow, I didn't win that argument.
Marton is too clever by half.
What he lacks in the brute strength to enforce his will on others, he makes up for with cold reason.
I don't even remember what the reasons were.
Something about his knowledge of anatomy in case Vakhrin is injured.
Something flimsy at best, that I should have been able to overcome by reiterating the sheer danger our mission involves. But that didn't happen.
The thought makes me frown, but before I can reopen the conversation, there are wingbeats on the air. After a few moments, I hear the two booming thuds that mean Raku and Jeksu have touched down outside our narrow canyon.
I look to Marton, and he meets my eyes calmly. We have nothing with us but our clothes, since we don't currently own any useful supplies. Marton nods to me, and then we are slipping out of the pass into the wider forest beyond, where Jeksu and Raku wait in dragon form.
This is another part I do not like. The lookouts are not supposed to be paying attention to visitors coming and going from the Trove tonight—their raptor eyesight instead focused on the open-air arena nestled between the two mountains that make up the body of the Trove.
But just in case any glance our way, Marton and I will both be going in as humans.
Carried covertly in the brothers' claws.
The thought of being carried makes me ill in a way I can't very well explain.
I am a dragon. When I fly, I do it of my own power.
This feels...wrong.
As Marton and I approach, Raku, the greener dragon, gives me a lazy, draconic grin.
Like he can see my discomfort and finds it funny.
Swallowing uncomfortably, I approach him as Marton goes over to Jeksu.
I hold myself stiffly as Raku wraps his front claws around my waist, holding me firmly but carefully.
This is okay, this is fine. I can do this.
I look over at Marton once more, being held similarly by Jeksu, and he offers me a reassuring smile.
I try to smile back—
And then Raku launches us into the sky.
It feels like my stomach stays behind on the ground.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hands clamping hard against the scaly fingers that hold me.
This feels awful. Flying through the air like a rag doll, buffeted up and down with the force of another's wingbeats.
I open my eyes as Raku tucks me in close to his chest, hopefully hiding me from view.
Down below, the jagged, rocky slopes and lush greenery of the mountain terrain flies by at a haphazard angle.
Not at all the way it looks when I'm flying.
This is awful, this is awful, this is awful.