Chapter 31
They weren’t entirely useless.
She kept telling herself that, as she climbed the steps up the cliff to the palace, cursing the ache in her joints from too many rounds of duelling.
She must have gone against almost thirty opponents in the hours they had trained, coaching each of them how to use their blades effectively in close combat. It had taken her longer than she would have liked to master using those strange, curved blades Malarye’s soldiers wielded.
They were definitely unfit – too used to standing and firing arrows rather than practising hand-to-hand fighting – but right now, legs aching as she finally entered the castle, Arla felt that way too.
It would be an effort to drag herself back down the cliff tonight to train with Thara, and only the memory of that feeling of the wind in her hair and the weightlessness as her dragon dived, kept her upright.
She wouldn’t be as stupid as to get hurt tonight.
Tomorrow, she would do it all over again, making sure she also improved her skill with a bow, too.
The thought of allowing someone to teach her …
anything, irritated her. She hated not being good at something immediately.
Hated the feeling that someone else had the upper hand while she tried to better her skills.
But for Flambriar she would subject herself to it.
A cavern opened up inside her chest as she thought of Claret Hall and the people inside it. People she loved. Desperately. Gods, she was even missing the sharp snips Kase would send her way. But more importantly, she didn’t yet have her answer.
She knew there were libraries deep beneath the ground in Malarye, that the priestesses guarded them and there was no way that Arla was gaining access without permission.
There was a gnawing though, deep in her bones, that told her she needed to get inside those libraries.
She needed answers from those libraries, and if it meant she had to train and play the part with the army, then she would do it.
Let them like her, let them trust her. Anything to help her figure out how to unite the kingdoms.
Food was delivered to her door whilst she changed into something that might protect her arms more should she not be paying close enough attention …
again. She ate and didn’t give herself time to think about how exhausted she was before returning back outside.
The wind tore at her immediately, and for a split second she imagined she was home at Flambriar, standing on the balcony looking out over their new kingdom.
Instead, there were almost a hundred steps she needed to descend to reach the bottom of the cliff and find her dragon.
‘Not if you jump.’ Thara’s voice in her head had her reeling backwards.
‘You want me to jump? Some of us don’t have wings you know.’
Thara chuckled. ‘And some of us do. Trust me.’
No. No way. Absolutely no way would she jump from the side of this cliff.
‘It didn’t stop you at Larkire, did it?’
No, but… ‘Larkire was completely different,’ she heard herself say out loud. ‘We were about to die. This is just madness.’
‘Why do you not trust I will be there to catch you?’
‘No, I-I know you will, I just…’ Was about to jump off a cliff.
‘Then what’s stopping you, Dragonhart, if not fear that you will fall?’
She knew the answer, could feel it burning on her tongue. Had known it for so long it felt like a betrayal to attempt to voice the words.
So she sent them down the bond instead.
‘Because before I didn’t care if I died. I became King’s Assassin because I didn’t care if I got killed on the jobs I was sent on.’
‘And now?’
‘Now I want to live.’
Thara’s voice was soft, soothing. ‘So live.’
Arla stepped over the edge.
Falling was a foreign feeling, one that even infants recognised as being wrong – or so Halos had told her when the twins were small. It silenced the world, shut everything out so the only thing she knew was the weightlessness of falling through cold, dark air.
It lasted for only a second because the next thing she knew there was the familiar warmth of Thara beneath her, rows and rows of scales digging into her legs as Arla scrabbled for purchase on the dragon’s back.
The dragon soared, higher, higher, higher until the castle looked like a blot on the landscape of the cliff.
The clouds dampened her golden hair and she laughed into the wind, twisting her hands around the spikes of Thara’s shoulders.
This … this was magic. Or as close to it as she thought she could ever get.
‘Is this living enough for you?’ Thara mused.
‘Yes, a million times yes!’ Arla cried out into the night, laughing as Thara swooped low and her stomach dipped too.
It fed her soul, lit her within so that she was sure she radiated enough to light the entire continent.
And dragonhart or not, she knew she had been born for this, felt the thrill in her blood as Thara glided between cliffs, twisting sideways so Arla had to grip with every muscle in her body so as not to go plummeting to the earth.
If Kastonia ever came for them, this would be enough. If she could master a bow too, she would be unstoppable. Nothing would ever threaten her or her people again.
Thara twisted and ducked and soared between the cliffs, dropping lower and lower until Arla could reach out and touch the tops of the trees in that sprawling forest if she wanted.
She kept her body tight against Thara’s, learning every movement of the dragon’s body so she could match it with her own.
By the time Thara landed at the base of the cliff, the weight that had settled in Arla’s chest had all but dissipated, leaving an elation that she was sure she would never be rid of.
She had improved again tonight, had kept up with the way Thara’s body moved beneath her and managed to avoid injuring any part of herself. Gods, she loved flying.
‘Tomorrow you will learn to dismount before we hit the ground. Make sure there is a healer available tomorrow night, Dragonhart.’
Thara didn’t give her the chance to protest before the dragon flapped those enormous emerald wings and launched herself into the sky.
Arla began climbing the steps immediately, a smile so wide her cheeks ached as she marched.
The morning had passed by quicker than blinking. The soldiers had already improved since yesterday, their blades coming quicker, their feet surer.
Arla only hoped she would be just as quick to find her skill with a bow. One of the men had volunteered to train with her for the afternoon, a man who didn’t look at her like she was incapable, but like there was fine-tuning to be done.
Good. She didn’t think she could bear it if any of them looked at her like she was entirely useless.
Hyacinth had arrived at some point, her hair loose around her shoulders as she sat on the ground beside Arla after the soldiers had gone, opening a basket filled with herbed bread and jams made of vegetables.
The princess had brought a carafe of wine, too, and Arla gulped it as they basked in the spring sun, watching as Malarye’s army set to work with whatever occupied them in their afternoons.
‘I’ve not seen them in such good spirits in, well, forever.’ Hyacinth laughed, handing Arla another piece of bread. ‘They’re enjoying the training already. Crea will be livid.’
At that, Arla snorted, unable to contain her delight at the prospect of pissing off the priestess.
‘Good, she tried to kill me.’
Hyacinth laughed, the sound twinkling and lovely. ‘You know it wasn’t personal.’
‘Perhaps. But I’ve been known to hold a grudge.’
The princess burst into laughter again, and, right there, on the floor of a training ring in a foreign queendom, Arla knew she had made a friend.
‘Suppose I turn out to be rubbish at archery…’
‘Oh, don’t be stupid,’ Hyacinth said, smiling as she sipped the remaining wine.
‘You’re Arla Dragonhart! I don’t think there’s a single thing you’re rubbish at.
No one in this queendom has ever dared to upset Hadalyn for fear its king would send you after them.
Your reputation is flawless, even out here.
You’ll be a better archer than my own army in no time at all. ’
My own army.
A small smile settled on Arla’s lips. Finally, the princess was beginning to think of this country, these people, as hers. It was a small, almost imperceptible change, but it was there, nonetheless. And it would be needed if she had any hope of ruling after her mother.
‘Looks like it’s time for your lesson,’ the princess said, rising and shaking the sand from her skirts as a man with deep brown skin approached them.
Arla was embarrassingly poor at firing arrows.
In his defence, Mason had been patient with her, even when her elbow had slipped and she’d caught the edge of his jaw.
He had been careful not to put his hands on her when she held the bow at the wrong angle, and he had stayed calm whilst she cursed every god under the sun and spewed words that would make a king blush.
He hadn’t been shy or scared of her, and because of that she knew he was the right man to teach her.
He’d been handsome, too, which had helped.
His skin gleamed under the sun and the long black hair that ended at the base of his back was the shiniest hair she had ever seen.
Truthfully, she hadn’t thought there was much to firing an arrow – she’d fired enough of them in her eighteen years – but through Mason’s careful teaching, she had begun to understand the subtle art of it.
Perhaps there was a skill to it she simply hadn’t had the time to master.
She’d never admit it, of course.
Hyacinth was never far away, tending to the small flowers that grew along the cliffside or petting the goats kept in pens that were far too friendly to consider eating.
The princess had opted for a soft life, one that spoke of beauty and kindness.
It would be a shame to see the role of monarch batter it out of her.
Arla knew Hyacinth was keeping a close eye on her, but she, too, was observing the princess. It was unexpected to find that the princess’s presence didn’t bother her. In fact, it was almost … nice, to have a friend.
Gods she was getting too soft.
‘There is strength in softness, Dragonhart. Even the hardest of hearts can feel it.’
Hyacinth was at Arla’s side the moment she handed the bow back to Mason. He shook her hand in that odd way, his grip tight and reassuring.
‘It was nice to meet you properly, Dragonhart. You will improve in no time at all.’
She couldn’t help the warmth in her cheeks as Mason walked away.
‘He is handsome, Arla. Perhaps Hark wouldn’t mind sharing you.’
She didn’t know what possessed her to elbow the princess lightly, biting down on the laughter in her throat as Hyacinth erupted into a delighted giggle.
‘Hark would kill him before I got the chance to ask,’ Arla laughed, surprised at the way Hyacinth linked their arms and … Arla let her.
‘Come on, I’ll walk you back to the palace. I have some time before I’m due to help Crea in the libraries.’
Now that was an interesting piece of information indeed.
‘Perhaps we could go back via the libraries? I’ve heard they’re something to behold.’
She expected the princess to tell her it was not possible, or ignore the question completely.
As it was, Hyacinth squeezed their arms together and smiled.
‘Of course, though don’t expect anything special. You can hardly see anything from the outside and you are, regrettably, forbidden from entering.’
‘Why?’
Hyacinth’s smile faltered for only a second. ‘Because the books in those libraries are said to date back to the time of the gods themselves. My mother is … protective of them, to say the very least.’
‘Even against a Dragonhart?’
Hyacinth sighed. ‘Even against a Dragonhart.’
She let the conversation drop. For now that was enough; she had the information she needed.
The underground libraries in Malarye did indeed include texts on the gods and nothing would stop her from getting into those chambers.