Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Valenna
After her conversation with Evander, Valenna found herself reeling, her stomach in knots. Eager for something to distract her, she decided to revisit the greenhouse.
The woman she’d spoken to when she arrived sat on a bench between two feathery pink ferns, rubbing a steaming salve on the stem of a snapping potted rose. The plant curled cucumber-green petals away from sharp yellow teeth and clamped on her thumb, snagging its fangs on her leather gloves.
“None of that now, you little monster,” the woman scolded. The plant worried her finger, snarling like a puppy.
Seeing the greenhouse in a more placid state of mind, Valenna warmed to its chaotic comfort.
She recognized a system now: carnivorous plants surrounded by poisonous plants they wouldn’t devour.
Shade-loving trees were stored under the sun-drinking shrubs, and vines climbed the green frosted-glass walls.
A bubbling brook trickled down the center aisle, emptying into a frog pond in the domed far wall.
The pond was large enough to swim in and hosted a family of ducks, a carpet of water lilies that looked like they were made of stained glass, and an assortment of colorful frogs.
A turtle with a shell like a porcelain dinner plate basked on the sloped bank.
“I believe you’re Thomasina, the dracorium director,” Valenna said politely, reaching out her hand. “I’m here on behalf of the head dracologist."
The woman gasped. “You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow!”
An underkeeper ran past the open door, shouting, “Someone help! The drowserjaw has eaten Harold again!”
A pile of dung splatted against the glass exterior wall over Thomasina’s left shoulder.
She swallowed. “Have a seat. I’ll make some tea.”
Valenna sat on a white, wrought iron bench tucked between two dead willow trees, while Thomasina bustled over to a little glazed cast-iron stove in the corner and poured their tea.
A breeze from the open door blew a weeping branch against Valenna's shoulder, and a cluster of small white flowers blossomed. She scooted away, startled.
“Are you going to fire me?” Thomasina asked, settling beside her with two chipped porcelain teacups in her hands.
Valenna took hers and sipped it, then set it on the saucer with a business-like click. “I’m not here to fire anyone. I was sent to appoint a new dragon master. That is all.”
Thomasina picked up her cup and took a hasty sip, spilling a few unheeded drops on her soil-smeared blouse. “I know the dracorium’s a mess. It’s all on account of poor Reggie’s death. Dragon masters aren't killed every day, you know, and it does throw things into chaos."
"Aren't you a botanist?" Valenna asked.
"I studied botany and dracology, and how the two disciplines intersect. We rely on this greenhouse for all sorts of medicines and potions for use in the dracorium.”
“Does Evander Trevelyan help you run the dracorium?”
“Evander? Oh, yes. I’d say he does as much work as I do—maybe more.
But he’s bogged down with the trainees from Cobblepine.
They send them every year, and Evander is set on having them comfortable on dreadnoughts.
He’s convinced that 'everyone goes to war eventually'.
He can be a bit nervy. A woodcutter's son indeed.”
“Does Evander Trevelyan’s condition hamper his work?”
“What condition?” Thomasina asked sharply.
Narrowing her eyes, Valenna leaned back. Could Thomasina really not know? Had Evander hidden it that well? Not that it surprised her. He had always been stubborn and stoic—hiding the pain for months before he dropped half-dead in front of her one day and frightened her half out of her mind.
Or perhaps he was doing better?
She couldn’t imagine that. He didn’t look better. Well, Evander always looked beautiful and tragic, but he didn't look healthier.
“Did you ever have a trainer here by the name of Olive?” Valenna asked. She knew Olivette was traveling under this name, and she’d followed her trail as far as Largotia before it went cold.
“Olive?” Thomasina considered. “It doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Do you have any records I could check? She’s a friend of mine, and I lost her address. I’ve been hoping to find her.”
“I do keep records, but I remember everyone who comes through here, and there was never anyone named Olive. I’m so sorry.”
Valenna nodded, choking back her disappointment. This was her last hope. If Olivette wasn’t in Silvanlight, where in Roz’s nest was she?
“We’re having a festival tonight,” Thomasina said with forced brightness. “For the Cobblepine trainees. They leave after the paddocking.”
Valenna frowned. “Isn’t it a little tasteless? Having a festival when the dragon master was so recently eaten?”
“My dear”—Thomasina laid her hand on Valenna’s arm—“if we cancel this festival, the people from Cobblepine will be offended, and if the people from Cobblepine are offended, they might not trade with us anymore. Reggie would understand.”
“Was Reggie well-liked?” Valenna asked. “No one seems very upset over his death.”
“Reggie was not particularly good at what he did, unfortunately. That is why he was eaten. We’re all sorry for him, of course, but it was not unexpected.”
“And how was he able to be dragon master if he was so incompetent?”
Thomasina chuckled. “Because Evander Trevelyan does all the work.”
That, at least, made sense. Evander was nothing if not hard-working, physician’s orders or no physician’s orders.
She'd had to practically tie him to his bed after his accident, just so he wouldn't get up and go feed his wretched pet hydra.
In the end, she'd smuggled the creature into the infirmary just so he would sit still and rest. It was only the size of a dog back then—she wondered if it had grown larger.
“Oh!” Thomasina cried, leaning across Valenna and prodding the willow branch behind her. “The dragon willow has a blossom! How strange.”
“Is that a dragon willow?” Valenna asked.
“Yes,” Thomasina replied, standing and inspecting the dainty white flowers.
“One of the last remaining. They used to grow in abundance in Talwaith—you would know it as the Scathmore Barrens. There are two variations of this kind of willow. The purple and the white. It is said that the sap of the purple willow can wake the dead at a terrible price, and the scent of the white summons the dragons. This one isn’t dead—I’ve cut into it, and it’s green inside—but it won’t bloom. ”
Unnerved, Valenna leaned away, not wanting to touch it again. Something about the tree made her uneasy.
“The old song mentions it," Thomasina continued. "I can’t recall the words. Something about blood and singing birds. Anyhow, they say when the dragon willows bloom in Talwaith, the dragons will return to roost.”
“Well,” Valenna said grimly, “Talwaith is a wasteland now.”
“It’s sad.” Thomasina sighed. “Very sad.”
“Anyway,” Valenna said, a tangle of painful memories tugging at her attention. “If there's a festival, I'll need an appropriate dress. Could you recommend a dressmaker?”
Valenna returned to her room at sunset, her arms laden with new gowns, each one custom-picked for revenge. Never again would Evander see her in torn trousers. He needed to know what he was missing.
Thomasina had prepared an attic bedroom for Valenna in her snug stone cottage at the farthest corner of the dracorium.
From the window, Valenna could see over the rock wall into the Whyspenware forest where the trees changed as abruptly as ocean water fades from sky-blue shallows to green-black depths.
A glistening plum-colored owl, wreathed in mist, watched her from a gnarled oak tree, and a dark, hulking form moved deep in the forest, snapping branches as it went.
Valenna squinted, trying to see what the form was, but the trees shielded the creature from sight.
The flesh on Valenna’s arms prickled, and she turned quickly away and flopped on the cozy bed tucked in an alcove lined with bookshelves.
Closing her eyes, she breathed in the fresh spring breeze.
Her body relaxed, but her mind went for an anxious romp.
Evander rode dragons every day. He meant to be dragon master. No one here knew about his condition, and his pupils were uneven. Did he leave because he was sick of being happy and healthy and having someone look after him, the absolute bloody idiot?
Her anger rose like heat from a stove.
Had he left because she made sure he took his potion regularly so he wouldn’t die?
Had he abandoned her, after swearing he loved her, because she cared enough to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to be flying?
She didn’t nag, just handed him a cup of tea with wyvern bone powder in it and gently reminded him that getting thrown around in the paddocks wasn’t good for him.
She had given up everything for him. Her dreams of retribution, her quest to find her sister, all of it.
Valenna opened her eyes and gasped.
Vines crawled over the walls, their thorns piercing the flowered wallpaper, and a deformed hawthorn tree snarled the curtains in its branches. A nettle stung her ankle, and she jumped with a yelp.
All day, her magic had been little more than a knot of plasma behind her breastbone. Now it had gone wild.
She crossed the room to the vanity, emptied a pitcher of water into the washbasin, and splashed her face.
She’d been so close to finding her sister two years ago.
But when Evander had his fall, she couldn’t bring herself to leave him, not when he needed her.
And she liked looking after him; it awoke a tenderness she thought had been seared out of her in the fires of battle.
It was lovely to discover that her hands, calloused from gripping a sword, could also touch a forehead and sense a fever.
After all that, both Evander and Silvanlight were dead ends, and she felt stranded.
Disappointment suffocated her. Valenna wished she could cry, but she’d long ago forgotten how.
Instead, she took three shuddering breaths and willed the trees to wither away.
The room groaned, the trees protesting like petulant children as they dissolved into a fine sawdust on the floor.
Valenna sank into a little chair by the vanity and inspected her ankle.
The nettle had left behind an angry, swollen welt.
She sucked in her breath, but as she leaned down to wipe the burn, a croak like a raven call crackled through the window.
The hair on Valenna’s arms stood on end, and she slowly straightened, glancing in the vanity mirror.
A massive crow stared at her through the window. It was as big as a double-rider fighter dragon, and covered in smooth, glistening feathers. Valenna spun around, but by the time she turned, it was gone.
She stared at the empty window, wondering if she’d imagined it.
Outside, music and laughter filtered through the trees as the festival commenced.
Valenna crossed the room and snapped the window shut, then closed the curtains.
Her skin was cold, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Shaking herself, she took a deep breath and steadied her nerves.
There was no time for eerie birds and mysterious hauntings. She needed to put on her dress and go torment the man who broke her heart.