Chapter 34 Valenna
Chapter thirty-four
Valenna
A steady rain pattered on the cobbles, and thunder rumbled in the distance as Valenna and Evander made their way past pastry shops and butchers, tea sellers and milliners.
Dragons darted out of the billowing clouds overhead, meandered along the streets, and stood outside restaurants with saddles on their backs, awaiting their masters.
Cobblepine’s main street ascended to the center of town and then sloped downward until it piled up against the mountain wall. The road turned sharply here, the buildings on the left of the street free-standing, and those on the right carved into the mountainside.
They had reached the magical district.
Cobblepine proper was young, tidy, thriving. But before Talwaith withered and Ariadne led her people to the mountains to establish a dragon sanctuary, the magical district had hidden in this pass for centuries, cloaked by enchantments, curses, and spells.
Here, the shops were older, the paint chipping, the doors creaking in crooked jambs. No sunbird flags adorned the doorways.
The air sparkled, as if shining embers blew out of the shops—magic debris wafting out of the shops like dust.
Women strolled past in silk dresses, their hair done up in curls, their shoulders bare. The men wore satin coats embroidered with mountain tigers, dragons, snakes, and peacocks. They wore top hats dyed amethyst and ocean-deep blue.
Valenna and Evander passed a shop that sold insects—butterflies with wings like stained glass, beetles that looked like human eyes, caterpillars furred with black velvet.
One jar was edged with frost, and inside fluttered a pure white moth, its wings dropping snow.
A case beside it housed a bee perched on a cactus no larger than a thimble.
Sand showered from its wings. When Valenna’s shadow passed over it, it dove into a tiny dune in the corner and dissolved.
The spice and oil consortium was a crooked building, painted mulberry purple. The door stood open, the scent of rosemary, mint, and camphor curling out into the street. Valenna rushed inside, but Evander hesitated on the stoop.
“Come on,” Valenna urged.
But he stood still, the raindrops wetting his shoulders as he gazed at the shop looking … almost frightened.
“Vander.” Valenna returned to him and searched his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, it’s just …” He ran his fingers through his hair. “We’re happy right now. If we go in there and there’s nothing to help me … well, all this will deflate.”
She squeezed his hand. “They will have something that can help. They have to.”
He swallowed and, with a forced smile, followed her through the open door.
In the center of the shop stood a long table. With no proprietor in sight, Evander and Valenna stopped to study the table’s contents, which were all labeled in a tidy hand on little slate tags.
In a teapot made of some insubstantial material softer than glass, harder than smoke, bubbled a tea to cure anxiety. Beside it, in a kettle shaped like a beehive, simmered another to cause anxiety. A pot overgrown with moss brewed an elixir to chase away the winter blues.
Behind each teapot stood a tiny, ornate cup containing oil or a dusting of spices.
There was an oil that made your food taste delicious even if it was rotten meat, one that would counteract the effects of heartbreak, and a compound of spices to change the color of your hair.
A glass case at the end of the table held a tiny glass phial swirling with iridescent liquid.
The label read: “Rare Tear from the Ransom Tree,” and below that, “NOT FOR SALE.”
A narrow door behind the counter opened, and Valenna drew up short when Lysander stepped out, holding a rusty red tin. He stopped when he saw them, like a child caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. The proprietor followed him.
“That’s the last of it, I believe,” he said.
Valenna made out the faded label on the tin in Lysander’s hand. “You little puddle of dragon spit,” she hissed.
The boy looked between her and Evander, and then he bolted. Valenna charged after him, catching him on the stoop. She grabbed his shoulder and he whipped around, his nostrils flaring.
“What have you got there, Lysander?” she asked.
He held the tin against his chest as if it were a baby.
“You wouldn’t happen to have come and bought out all the wyvern bone powder, would you?”
A twisted grin split Lysander’s narrow face. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know,” Evander said, leaning against the doorframe. The rain rattled on the street, streaming in a rivulet under Lysander’s feet. “Because that would be a petty, cruel thing to do, and you’re not petty and cruel, are you?”
“How do you know I don’t need it?” Lysander spat. “Maybe I fell from a dragon and split my head, same as you.”
Evander snorted. “You have to get on a dragon’s back in order to fall from one.”
The boy’s mouth tightened, then he yanked the lid from the tin and flipped it over.
“No!” Valenna gasped.
The last of the wyvern bone powder fell in a clump into the water and then washed away in a cloudy current.
Valenna stared in blank shock. Then her hand tightened on Lysander’s shoulder. She didn’t speak. The cobbles burst apart as a tree, its trunk oozing and black like it was half decayed, grew behind the boy. He wailed as it reached out and embraced him with its twisted arms.
Valenna’s tenuous tower of hopes crashed around her. She had been so certain they could find a remedy. Impossible that there was no hope. She couldn’t accept it.
“Val, let him go,” Evander said, stepping onto the stoop.
Evander had been right: the rosy glow of their new marriage was gone, and everywhere she looked, she saw pain and sorrow and loss.
Her fury swamped her, her vision fogged.
“Val.” Evander gripped her arm, but she couldn’t hear him. “You need to stop!”
“He poured out that powder,” she hissed. “Well, now he will need it for himself!”
Her magic billowed; vines snaked over the cobbles. A branch covered Lysander’s mouth, muffling his cries. Madly, she imagined he was her father, and a bramble looped over his throat, piercing his skin.
“I failed.” A breeze picked up, swirling leaves around her. “I thought I could save you, but I couldn’t do it. I … I don’t understand. It’s so UNFAIR!”
Evander pulled her toward him. “You’ve lost so much. You’ve suffered so much. It’s not fair, but it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have prevented any of this, and you don’t have to answer for it.”
A small crowd had gathered around the shop, but Valenna didn’t see them. She couldn’t even see Evander anymore—her father’s face filled her mind, and his voice echoed in her ears.
Worthless, weak child! Choke down your silly tears. They are a sign of an untethered will.
“I'm a wretched, wicked woman, and I don’t deserve to be happy!” She ground her teeth.
“My father’s cruelty made me a monster, and I can’t escape who I am.
My magic took everything from me, even you!
” Her voice rose to a shriek; belladonna and stinging nettles spread from her feet in a deadly garden, scattering the crowd.
Lysander wriggled free and ran down the street as poison ivy covered the walls, and glowing firefig trees peeled the cobbles aside and climbed from the earth like monstrous undead crawling from their graves.
“But that is not who you have to be.” Evander held onto her as her zephyrs battered him. “You must fight back or this is going to pull you apart!"
He was right. Hissing tendrils entwined her waist.
“Run, Van,” she rasped.
He hesitated.
“Please!” she pleaded frantically. “RUN!”
Understanding and fear filled Evander’s eyes … but he did not run.
“GO!” she screamed through her teeth. Thorns cut her arms and legs. Her ribs ached, and she felt as though something were winding up her throat, choking her.
Then a wave of purple wind ripped out of her, withering every green thing in its path. It knocked her off her feet. Her back struck the street. People shrieked, windows shattered. And then silence. Only the hiss of the raindrops on the singed ground and the breeze carrying the magic away.
Valenna blinked at the sky, her body stinging. The buildings warped, and the clouds spiraled overhead. Her garden of venom dissolved into dust.
She sat up, her ears ringing. The street was empty—all the onlookers had fled. Evander lay beside her, breathing heavily. Blood turned the water pink as it ran past his head.
She stumbled up, lost her balance, and fell onto her hands and knees. Too dizzy to stand, she crawled to him.
“Are you alright?”
With an effort, he managed to sit up.
Valenna clutched his shoulders. “Are you alright?” she demanded, her voice rough with terror.
“I’m fine,” he said. But his jaw and neck were slicked with bright blood, and more poured down his chin from his nose.
“I hurt you!” she cried, her voice breaking. “My magic hurt you!”
“It’s my own fault; I should have gotten out of the way.”
“No, no!” Valenna clutched him in horror. “Oh, Vander! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to.”
She remembered Torsten’s warning—that her anger was like a disease. She couldn’t control who it infected.
“I’m alright, Val,” he said calmly.
But his pupils looked strange—unequal in size—and he wavered where he knelt, not attempting to stand. She tried to help him to his feet, and he reeled.
It was happening. Right now. The thing she’d dreaded, and she had caused it. Never in her worst nightmares had she imagined that she would be the catalyst for losing him. It was unthinkable. She was a horrible monster, a blight to everything she touched.
She began to shake, and she felt like she was stumbling around in a noxious fog.
“I just need to rest for an hour and I’ll be fine,” Evander assured her. He could hardly lift his head. “Let’s go to the inn and get something to eat, and I’ll sleep it off.”
Her knees weak and her body quaking, Valenna looped his arm around her shoulder, supporting him as they made their way to the inn.