Dragonoak: The Complete History of Kastelir (25 page)

All attention turned to Claire. She placed her hands flat on the table and pointedly looked between Michael and myself. With a wave of his hand, King Atthis had us cleared away like so many dirtied dishes.

“The guest rooms on the next level,” he said to the guards who'd stepped out of the darkness, and I regretted not having done much more than chew on a lettuce leaf for appearances' sake.

“Thank you—thank you for dinner and your time, Your Highnesses,” Michael said, placing his cutlery across his plate as he rose to his feet. I nodded, hoping I seemed enthusiastic in my agreement.

“
Well
,” Michael exhaled as we were ushered out of the dining hall, shoulders relaxing as though his latest performance had gone off without a hitch. I turned my head, trying to catch sight of Claire, but from the doorway, the candles lent me little aid. “No one's ever going to believe what just happened.”

I was glad he was content with his lot, and had we not recently lost Rán, I might've seen them as more than just people and be awed as he was. The guards had no reason to crowd around us this time, but it was already late, and not much more of the castle was revealed to me. It was all arching shadows and dark alcoves, torches flickering and not carrying the light far.

We were taken up a spiralling staircase of stone and I grazed my fingertips across the wall until we reached a floor that seemed less travelled. The corridor was narrower, but by no means narrow; there were paintings on the walls, paintings I couldn't make much more out of than the vague shapes of faces, and a dark blue carpet sprang beneath the soles of my boots.

“Here we are,” one of the guards said to me halfway down the corridor, pushing a door to. A short distance on, Michael was taken to a room of his own. “If there's anything you need, let us know.”

Moonlight hit the window, and under the soft, eerie glow, I found a drawer full of candles and matches. I didn't light enough for the entire chamber; the room was enormous, draped in shadow and wealth beyond anything I'd ever experienced. The bed stood as an island in the centre of the room, curtains hiding the mattress, blankets and all else, making it into a room of its own.

There were armchairs in one corner, as fine as the ones in the first room we'd been forced into, and I crouched by the table between the chairs, leafing through the supplies set out there. Everything I needed to make blends of tea I'd never heard of sat in small, silvery pots, as well as a stack of sugary biscuits.

I took one of them and nibbled on it as I explored the rest of the room. There was a bookcase twice my height, brimming with books bound in leather, titles embossed in gold and silver on the spines, glinting as I moved the candle I carried. If Michael's room was anything like mine, I doubted he was going to get any sleep tonight.

A mirror and basin stood next to a painting of what I assumed was an important point in Kastelir's creation, though I recognised none of the figures in it, and beyond that, there was space. More space than I knew what to do with. Putting the candle on the table, I leapt through the curtains and onto the bed.

The mattress gave beneath me, sinking down to accommodate my weight, so soft that I immediately thought it might swallow me whole. All at once, the impact of sleeping on the hard ground caught up with me, and I sunk my fingertips into the pillow, forgiving Michael for all the whining he'd done.

I drifted in and out of sleep for what felt like an entire night while I laid there with my eyes closed, but when I bolted upright, I knew it couldn't have been longer than an hour or two. A knock at the door woke me up, and when I didn't move, there it was again; it didn't seem as loud, once I was fully awake. It couldn't have been Kouris.

It definitely couldn't have been Rán.

I poked my head between the curtains, having forgotten about the room beyond the bed, and scrambled over to the door, opening it an inch. I don't know who I was expecting – the Kings would never have bothered with me in person – but under the slowly-fading candlelight, I saw Claire on the other side and hurried to pull the door wide.

“Is something wrong?” I asked as she stepped into the room and proceeded to look around as though she wasn't entirely certain how she'd got there.

“No...” she mumbled, then furrowed her brow. “Perhaps.”

She wasn't avoiding the question, trying to leave me in the dark: she genuinely didn't know how to answer. She stood there, lips slightly parted, and everything about her was heavy. The way her shoulders slumped, the darkness beneath her eyes. I placed a hand between her shoulder blades, thinking words might not reach her, and pointed towards one of the armchairs.

Claire moved clunkily into the seat, convinced that she was still confined to her armour or something more rigid. I hovered, but only for a moment, and busied myself with pouring a glass of water from the pitcher by the basin.

I returned, placed it on the table in front of her, and she said, “I apologise,” rubbing the heel of her palm beneath her eye. “I seem to be tired.”

“It's alright, Claire,” I reassured her. “Did you—did the Kings hear you out? That's what you came for, isn't it?”

“They listened, but I do not know if it will stir them to action. Kouris is with me, but—” Claire paused, bringing the glass to her lips without taking a sip. “They will not act either way until they have consulted with Queen Kidira.”

The other armchair proved to be heavier than it looked, but once its arm was pressed against the side of Claire's chair, I fell against the cushions. Claire kept her eyes fixed on me, and they threatened to stay closed each time she blinked.

“Are you going to Kering... something? The place King Atthis was talking about?”

“Kyrindval,” Claire clarified. “And I am. I do not wish to delay my meeting with Queen Kidira, and Kouris has agreed to wait until sunrise to leave.”

I tucked my knees up against my chest, finding it difficult to be angry at Claire for not having told me about Kouris; I should've been angry at Kouris for lying to me, I decided. Claire had far more to worry about than what I did and didn't know and was likely only allowed to remain within the castle because of Kouris. She needed her to get this far, and she needed her to secure her position.

I couldn't compromise that.

“Where is Kyrindval?” I asked, sounding the name out slowly. “What's there for the Queen, anyway?”

“Kyrindval is in the mountains. It's one of the larger pane tribes. There are some nineteen-hundred of them, I believe,” she explained, drinking in earnest. I wondered if the wine from dinner was taking its toll on her. “From my understanding, Kastelir was formed on the basis that there would always be a pane on the throne. But none would take the position, after Kouris, and thus Queen Kidira consults with various tribes on relevant matters.”

The only lasting impression I had of Queen Kidira was as the woman who'd ordered the death of a necromancer, but the thought of a pane tribe – the thought of anything so close to the Bloodless Lands – quelled any of the gaping discomfort thoughts of her would've otherwise dredged up.

“How far away is it... ?”

“It should take around a week to reach,” Claire told me, and without missing a beat, said, “Do you wish to come?”

I froze, certain it had to be a trick question. Claire rested her head against her propped up palm, eyes closed, and there was no doubt in my mind that nonsense had escaped her lips on the way to falling asleep. I'd been operating under the impression that she'd come to tell me she was leaving, and that I was to stay here in the castle, in this room, keeping to myself, not saying anything to anyone.

When I didn't answer, Claire kept on talking, eyes closed.

“I suppose this is the part where I tell you you're to stay here. You ask me to come, I say no; you ask again, I reluctantly mull it over, and grudgingly say yes. I thought I'd save us both time,” she said, and I huffed out a laugh, nodding though she couldn't see it.

“Does this mean we have to bring Michael?” I asked. “We'll never hear the end of it if we go to a place like that without him.”

Claire forced her eyes open, squinting at the low flame burning above the last inch of wax. She tried to sit up straight and succeeded the second time, gripping one of the arms for support.

“I suppose we'll have to, lest the Kings fail to overlook his next slight,” Claire said, and just as I thought she was about to stand and excuse herself, she slumped back into the chair, bit the back of her hand and murmured, “I am—there is much to do, and yet...”

I rose to my feet, crouching down in front of her in an effort to meet her gaze. I placed my hands on her knees when she continued to stare into the middle distance, and said, as gently as I could, “You should sleep, Claire.” She was doing what she could to bite back her secrets, and I wasn't going to pry. I was there and she knew that; I didn't need to say as much.

“I might...” she began, looking away, to the darkness beyond the window. “I might stay here.”

“Here?”

I didn't give her time to rethink what she'd said. I hopped to my feet, gesturing to the bed. The blankets were a little crumpled and there was a dip in one of the pillows, but it was still good. Better than sleeping outside, where she'd force herself to keep watch; worlds better than not sleeping at all.

“I'll be fine here,” she said, patting the arm of the chair. I hesitated, about to say something else, and she pointed towards the bed. “Go on. Please.”

There was no arguing with her. Any sleep was an improvement over no sleep, and with how tired she was, she was more likely to feel as though she was floating than cramped into an armchair.

“Goodnight, Claire,” I said as I headed towards the bed, not wanting to drag this out any further. She nodded in reply, disappearing into the darkness as I snuffed the candles out between my finger and thumb.

I awoke, and I was still in Kastelir. Still in Isin, in the castle. Night hadn't given up entirely, but the first signs of sunlight on the horizon were doing what they could to push through the curtains. I threw them aside and found both armchairs empty. I assured myself that Claire was preparing for the road ahead of us, and wasted no time washing myself at the basin and heading off to collect Michael.

There were guards posted outside my room, but they didn't cross their spears when I stepped through the doorway. I lingered for a moment, and one of them said, “Know where you're off to, miss?” I pointed to Michael's room, and while they were content to let me make my own way there, I could feel their eyes on my back.

I knocked and it didn't get me anywhere. I wasn't surprised. I pushed the door open and saw exactly what I expected to: Michael had pulled near-enough every book off the shelves and made a fort of them around himself. He sat on the floor, surrounded by candles, and probably hadn't slept at all. There he was, finally granted access to a bed, and he'd spent all night poring over a dozen texts.

His shoulders hunched as he leant over something with a red cover, and he didn't seem to hear me come in.

“Michael, we're—”

“
Shhh
!”

He waved a hand, knocking my words out of the air. I stood with my arms folded across my chest, waiting for him to be done with the page he was on, but he leafed over to the next one and carried on. I cleared my throat and he scowled at the page.

“Take a moment to appreciate this, would you? It makes everything I've read before sound like it was scrawled by an infant, listen—”

He thumbed back to the start of whatever marvel he was reading, and I took the opportunity to interrupt him.

“We're going to Kyrindval!”

That
got his attention. Finally tearing his eyes off the page, Michael's expression leapt between excitement and caution, and I was frustrated with myself, not certain what had possessed me to invite him along.

“And how do you know
that
?” he asked, carefully placing the book down as he rose to his feet. Either he already knew what and where it was, or had read up on it throughout the night.

“Claire told me,” I said, and he raised his brow. He wasn't going to believe it unless he heard it directly from Claire, but I pressed on. “After dinner, she came and spoke to me. She said that she's going with—going to speak with Queen Kidira.”

If nothing else, he
wanted
to believe me. In a flash, he was snapping books shut, pushing them onto shelves and shoving as many as he could fit into his bag.

“If you're winding me up...” he muttered as he hurried to get himself ready, though I could tell he was dying to burst at the seams with talk of
Kyrindval this, Kyrindval that,
and
Can you really believe that we're going—?

“You ought to be careful, you know,” he said, hoisting his bag onto his back and swigging down half a glass of water. I stared at him blankly, and with a long-suffering sigh, he was kind enough to explain himself. “
Sir Ightham
. She's a Knight—you should be calling her
Sir Ightham
, Rowan. Surely that level of decorum isn't beyond your grasp. We might not be in Felheim any longer, but that's all the more reason to go about this
properly
. You're toeing a fine line. Don't jeopardise our place here by stepping out of bounds.”

“What?” I tried to form fists, but my hands were too clammy. “She
told
me her name. And besides, I'm the one who got you invited to Kyrindval!”

Michael shook his head, debating whether or not I was worth dignifying with a response.

“Yes, and you got our village all sorts of prosperity, too, but look how
that
turned out,” he said. “And Sir Ightham would've brought me along with or without your suggestion. Leaving a Felheimer alone in a Kastelirian castle? Unthinkable. Well, which way are we headed?”

He opened the door and peered out into the corridor, looking left and right, as though the guards weren't there. I shoved him out of the way, though I had no answer for him, and caught sight of Claire standing outside my door, about to knock. I briefly contemplated rushing over and asking her to make Michael stay behind, but couldn't find a way to do so without coming off as petty. Siblings squabbled, I reminded myself. It was just Michael being Michael.