Season’s Dragons: Winter, page 10
“Actually, this is quite fun. I can see why you do it.”
My mind was already being dragged to an enchanted sleep as her fingers lifted themselves from my face.
The last thing I felt was a soft kiss on my forehead.
Chapter 9: Through Jeweled Eyes
I waited for a few minutes for Charlotte to drift to sleep before draping a blanket over her. She was still in her winter coat, so there was no need, but it was a gesture. If I was being honest, it was for my own satisfaction as well.
After I was done, I placed a soft hand on Charlotte’s forehead. Another symbolic gesture. I could tell that her core body heat was going down; there was no need to try and feel it. Yet it was still important to go through the motions…A lesson I was privy to time and time again as I grew up. I also didn’t want all their eyes gazing up at me whenever I did something out of the norm, something which I felt was more and more of a lost cause as I grew up.
I had a lot of feelings about her. Unresolved feelings. I could only wonder if what I was doing was what she wanted to see, if I was getting it right. I know that’s not what she would say, but it was a habit at this point. She made it look so easy; do and say whatever as long as it was right. But I couldn’t do that! I had no real way to tell her that sometimes it was a little too much. What if I untangled all my feelings and I found that I didn’t love her like the way she loved me? What if it was the other way around? Would it be selfish? Would she mind?
I’d been staring at Charlotte’s sleeping body for several minutes. Great.
There was also the matter of the church. They had been expecting me, which was a pleasant surprise. In all likelihood that meant they had expected the Pact Mage I had murdered to show up instead. That meant I had a unique advantage, one that was contingent on time. I was not prepared to lose a town because I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
I wiped the exhaustion from my face and proceeded to open the door. I must’ve looked positively frightening, because the bishop recoiled almost immediately. Whoops.
For a bishop, he was surprisingly down to earth. None of the pomp and circumstance that bishops in my past life loved to adorn themselves with. His hair was rough, natural, and spoke of a humble life despite his position. Reminded me of Charlotte’s hair, in a way, though not quite as pretty color-wise. More of a dull brown. Also, less of an adorable curly mess. Okay, his hair was nothing like Charlotte’s.
My frown softened and I widened my eyes. Was I glowering at him? Or maybe if I wasn’t trying to look cute, I looked like a monster. I knew I was an open book, but at least I wanted to be an accurate book.
I let out a sign, hoping to disperse the tension.
“I apologize if I have caused offense, but I thought it would be…” he began, formal as ever as I gave a dismissive wave.
“Do not worry too much. I’m a little tired and a lot hungry.” That part was true. Distance flying was something new that I hadn’t calculated for, because I had never needed to before. Now it was catching up to me in waves. My dragon form may not actually be suited for long distance flights, considering my massive size and armor. Flying against the wind meant that my entire upper body and back were sore.
“Oh! Of course! I’ll get you something for you to eat right away!” He rushed off, surprisingly fast for someone of his age. So different from Uncle Caen.
“It’s Aria,” I added as I made my way to the front foyer trailing behind him and trying not to think about it. About what happened.
“Aria. I won’t forget!” he shouted back as I was left alone in my own thoughts.
Caen.
Things were happening too fast, so fast that I didn’t have time to cry about it. The first few times stuff like this happened, I was a weeping mess for weeks. Yet, as time went on, I found myself crying about people dying less and less. Now, I felt a deep void in my heart, as if Caen had ripped a hole in it, and took it with him to the grave.
Maybe that’s why I latched onto Charlotte so hard.
I gave a tired sigh and placed myself on the first bench I could see. Seeing the dazzling but faded mural reminded me of her. Cestra. The dragon that left herself behind to ensure that humans would never fight among themselves again. My mother.
I held the title close to heart, since my own adopted mother always treated me like a second-hand child. I couldn’t blame her either. The one child born out of wedlock was the one that became a Pact Mage.
My personal head canon was that Cestra foresaw this and took me in as one of her children instead. Sometimes I would have short dreams of her. Sometimes I would feel her tug, like a mother guiding a child. As I stared up at the mural on the wall, I wondered if she was watching? Was she up there, smiling with approval or snarling with disdain? Or maybe she was the kind of mother that wished the best for her children, with no kind of burdensome expectations.
I wanted so badly for that to be true.
Soon enough, the bishop emerged with a large basket of bread and a pot of stew. A large tray was placed right beside me, the warm smell of tomatoes and spiced meat flowing through the air.
“It’s the food we have left over from…” the bishop began as I picked up the bowl of stew and began drinking it down. Suddenly having food right by my side made me realize how famished I was. With a lick of my lips, I put down the bowl only to be met with his amused gaze.
Despite my upbringing, I’ve always liked commoner food. Fancy spices and such never sat right on my tongue, but a simple stew was something that I’d never turn down. I could gulp down the stuff by the bowlful. I sure hope that Mother knew how annoying it was to be perpetually mistaken for a child.
Then a laugh rang through the church as the bishop tried to stop himself from doubling over in laughter. I looked up at him, before brushing my cheeks and lips with the back of my hands. Did I leave a stain somewhere?
“You remind me of some of the kids here.” His laughter died down as I placed the bowl back onto the tray. “It puts some things into perspective. That’s all.” He nodded as I grabbed a loaf of bread and stuffed it into my gullet. I was too hungry to care.
“You can call me Buryan. As you can see, I’m the bishop of this place. Been here for many years. Mithil didn’t put me here, but I was voted in instead. It’s just how we do it here.” He seemed proud of the fact, but also cautious. Guarded. I could see hints of uncertainty as I stuffed more loaves of bread into my mouth.
I put down my half-eaten loaf for a moment, analyzing his expressions.
“I suspect not all has gone well? Mother has guided me here, but as you can see, it has not been a smooth journey.”
When I spoke, I could see the surprise emerge on his face, before disappearing again. I was right on point. I imagine that being occupied by the inquisitors didn’t sit well with anyone, but from what I could see the issue was more deep-seated. Good news for me.
“I see that. You’re young, Aria.” What he didn’t say was that he thought I was too young. I narrowed my eyes. People calling me too young always annoyed me, for so many reasons. “I wouldn’t send you on the same trial that has been forced upon you, but you’re right. Cestra did seem to guide you to us. I suppose the church was correct this time around.” I could see his expression. Dissatisfaction. Conflict. Doubt.
I had to make a quick estimate. He trusted me, or even if he didn’t trust me, I didn’t see a reason for conflict. Not yet. I needed a cautious way to weed out the truth.
“So you disagree with the church’s decision?” I asked, as I watched his gaze waver.
It was a trick question, one of the many I had learned in my father’s court. I’m sure it must’ve sounded terrifying in my lower-pitched voice. Nobody wanted to be the one to make a child cry.
“No, I’m worried about your well-being, that’s all.” He frowned.
I could see beads of sweat dripping on his brow. Good. I picked up the bowl to finish off the stew, watching him as I sipped it down to the last drop. He was still sweating nervously. With a soft clang I placed the empty bowl back onto the tray.
“So you do disagree with the church’s decision. Good, because so do I.” I left the last line open for him to interpret as he wished, returning to my softer, more chirpy voice.
I wished I had that voice naturally. My actual voice was too harsh, too sharp, too low. It had its uses though. It could drop people silent, command a room, or be the voice that shook people to their core. Now was such a time.
Indeed, the silence in the room turned Buryan’s face to one of pleasant surprise. We were supposed to be the highest members of the church, at least on paper. How did a Pact Mage disagree when it was she who made the rules?
“I can sense it. Mother says you’re not happy with the church either,” I lied, but that’s a better explanation than the truth. “The church does not like me either. In fact, they did everything they could do to stop me from getting here.” I was using my regular voice again, as I watched his posture relax. Or it was the relief from knowing that I was a fellow dissentient of the church.
I swiveled my draconic eyes around, watching the nun taking her time washing up dishes for the day. She was almost done, so I should make it quick. Else she might hear us.
“There’s a ploy by the church to trap the town of Arlond by breaking the bridge. Their Pact Mage was supposed to arrive and give the order, but as you see that hasn’t happened.”
He narrowed his eyes as I felt the blood rush into my cheeks. Did I say something wrong? Was I incorrect in my calculations?
“We call it Armis. The foreign charts still have Arlond,” Buryan added as I sighed in relief. Nothing to note, though he did look irritated.
“Duly noted. I’m trying to stop them. Mother does not approve of their actions, at least not the mother I know.” I glanced down at my clenched left hand, then back at him. “You shouldn’t take my word for it. Go to the bridge. The church will be there.”
His voice was a ghostly whisper as his hand approached mine. “Why are you telling me all this?”
At first, I flinched a little, but his hand drifted away from me upon seeing my reaction. It was as if he wanted to confirm that I was real. That I could even exist.
“Because it’s the right thing to do.” I stared up at him, a faint smile emerging. I watched as his expression softened in turn, mirroring my own. Instead of reading what they felt, they felt what I felt. It was a tiny distinction, but a wonderful one. A connection without words.
I felt his hands pause midair, unsure if he should approach. He stood dazzled, unsure what to say. I frowned, unsure myself of what to expect.
“Do you hear her? Cestra?” he finally whispered, his entire body awaiting my response.
“She watches over us all. I merely happen to hear her voice.” I thought back to my own church in the south. To the other Pact Mages that grew jealous of me. The squabbles and ostracization.
“It is not the only reason, but I believe that us Pact Mages have a responsibility to the people. One many of us have forgotten.” I thought back to that night.
They forced my hand, that misty night. They forced me to turn into a dragon before I even knew what that meant. When I looked back, I could see my own distress mirrored across his face. I was quick to drop that anger for a sullen sideways glance. Sadness was always better to express than anger.
“Could I ask you for a favor then?” Buryan’s eyes were one of reverence. He saw something in me that he didn’t see in anyone else. I think he saw Mother in my eyes, speaking through my lips.
“Could you deliver a sermon?” I was taken aback at the suggestion, recoiling, but he continued. “Our weekly sermon is coming up, and I admit, I’ve not been doing so well at placating the town’s worries. All I can do is assure them that the inquisitors are nothing but a passing trial, and that things will return to normal. They’re scared.” His eyes had a hopeful flicker. Expectation. I felt my own heart sink a little, trying to wrap my mind around the responsibility.
“But in you I see Cestra. You can inspire them.” There was a pause as he picked up on my terrified expression. Disappointment. “Actually, don’t worry about it. Maybe that’s too much to ask for someone as young as you…” I gritted my teeth as I reined in my emotions. Even if I was terrified, I had to buckle down and do this. I had a responsibility to the people. I was a dragon, and no matter how scared I was, I could not and would not run from challenges. Not when people’s lives were on the line.
“It’s fine. My feelings on the matter cannot trump what the people require.” Perhaps it was a phrase I spoke to myself to make me feel better. Perhaps it was what I felt. Perhaps it was the duty I felt, bound by who I was.
Regardless, when I tried to get up, I felt a soft hand on my own, beckoning, but not forcing me to remain seated.
“You are still a child, Aria. You ought to take your feelings into consideration.”
That statement stung a little bit more than I knew what to do with. With a sharp twist of my hand, I reeled upright, imposing my glare over him. The anger passed quickly. There was no need to shoot the messenger. If it wasn’t him, it was going to be Charlotte.
“My point stands.” I realized that I was being too grim, which meant I must’ve looked absolutely depressing. With a sigh, I lightened my tone, my expression softening in kind. Maybe it would be better to admit defeat and say that I was tired. To fight someone I had already convinced was petty at best.
“Sorry.” I tried to chirp it out, but it still came out a bit glum. To my surprise I was met with chuckles.
“Oh I agree, but I believe there was a bit of a misunderstanding! I’m saying that there’s a free day tomorrow, and that despite the dire circumstances, you ought to unwind a bit.”
My eyes lit up at the prospect. He wasn’t wrong. It was my fault for getting all defensive while he was being considerate.
“I know our town isn’t much compared to the great cities in the south or the capital, but I promise we’ll try to accommodate you.” His smile was soft and disarming, a practiced look of reassurance, fit for one of his station.
“I know you have your duty first, but you’re still human.” I wanted to say that I wasn’t, to settle the score, but there was no need to be spiteful. “I have my own duties to perform, after all.” He crossed his arms, leaning back into the wooden bench.
“Chapter 22:27. Fools, Cestra spoke, are those too enraptured a personal truth,” he gleefully preached as I raised an eyebrow. He was preaching to the wrong audience.
“I told you to check it out yourself at the beginning…” I turned around as the nun returned, a soft robe in her hand.
At first, I was trying to parse the reason. It was too thick to be a coat, and too light to be of any practical use during our winter travels. Then as she approached, my eyes widened. I had worn one just like it before, in a past life that I was being constantly reminded of.
“I apologize in advance, Pact Mage, but we could not find one of your size.” She reached out, handing me the robes.
I could see the beautiful stitching in the fabric. Scenes of the three founding dragons were sown into valuable bolts of white cloth. Black trim and gold stitching were etched into the fabric. A walking memorial to the divine, a woven monument to Mother and her fellow dragons.
I wasn’t sure what to say, but I held out my hand to receive the beautiful robe. Back in my past life, just a few short months ago, I had my own. When I was younger, I loathed to wear the robe, feeling that it hid my hair and dragged me down. Funny how things change when you’re gifted one instead.
“Thank you.” My voice was soft as I held back the tears. I watched their faces turn to shock as I brushed my cheek. Tears, as I feared. I wiped them away as I thought back to that time, before I knew I was a dragon, but after my abilities as a Pact Mage emerged. Pampered. Endeared. Guilt-free.
“No, it’s okay. I’m…it’s been a while since I’ve held one. Hah. I’m not supposed to be crying.” I felt my voice dropping softer and softer, before returning to a murmur.
The two of them exchanged a smile and a nod as I retreated to my room, robes in hand. It was an overcoat, much like Buryan’s. Not thick enough to be worn by itself, but light enough to be worn inside without the weight of a winter jacket.
I locked the deadbolt on the door as I returned to a sleeping Charlotte. She always slept so silently, so serene.
I sighed as I threw off my old jacket, donning the robes instead. Soft silk that I had sworn never to touch ever again adorned me once more. Well, that was a lie too. If I returned to Mithil, I was going to wear courtly dress one way or another. I just wasn’t expecting to be gifted Pact Mage robes on some random destination to Mithil.
There were no mirrors nearby, but they looked good on the bishop. It would be a pretty good assumption that it looked good on me. The long sleeves were a shame and the robes dragged behind me, though. I did not like the thought of dragging these things through the snow either…
Maybe I should cut off the dragging part? I shook my head at the idea. I didn’t know the first thing about fine fabrics, nor did I sew much. The most I did was stitch close a tear with thread.
I could hear the two of them outside, walking about. They were discussing plans for tomorrow. Practical considerations. Who was best to ask.
I pulled up a chair to sit by Charlotte’s side, and placed my hand on hers. Symbolic again, but more for me than for her. I was going to be here until she woke up, to make sure nothing happened to her. It was unlikely, but the prospect still terrified me.
She was it. I had gone through and burned through so many people that I loved, and now it was the two of us. The thought of growing more attached to her both delighted and terrified me.
It wasn’t that I didn’t know what love was, but it was always so one-sided. A clueless boy asking younger me for a hand. A few letters of love. I had no doubt many of my suitors would see me as the ultimate prize; blessed by Cestra herself.
Yet I never felt like I wanted to give more of myself to them. On the contrary. All the dozens of suitors and the hundreds of love letters did was convince me that none of them were right for me.
