With the return of the doves came a relative peace, reflected in the dusting of sunlit snow that was Lharmeval’s winter. It now sugared the leaves of every tree and the petal of every flower, as frost marbled the ground.
Life was likewise turning to a relative normal. Normal, until someone showed up, the kind of someone who hung on the fringe, like a half-acknowledged shadow, invisible until suddenly he was there and no one knew how he hadn’t been seen.
He was a knight from Marén, the mainland to the southeast, the country Lharmeval was content to be away from. His armor was the rusted black and verdigris of crucible steel and coppered bronze, stabbed with an engraving of a writhing snake, ebony fangs bared.
He was a black knight, true to legends, yet he watched with a silent passiveness. Passive yet disturbing as his eyes followed Alandis about her works, and somehow, every time she turned from a dragon, he was there in the distance on a ridge, black horse and all. The scythe on his back marked the clouds with its silhouette like a talon against a tattered pennant.
Disturbed, since there was no information on him and nothing to be said, Alandis ignored him, a skill she’d only recently acquired.
Solavier, however, did not, and made a point of blocking the knight’s view even from a distance; the Zain found that whenever he rode towards the knight, the latter horse and rider would make their exeunt, albeit without running.
With disgust, the Ahren heard him singing songs of bloodshed as he rode through the trees alone, the kind of song forbidden among the people of Lharmeval, but they were loath to try to cease his voice, for he was tall and far too strong of build, and thickly plated by dragon-skin and armor.
It was two weeks after the incident with the Vanaile when Alandis finally had a breather to take stock of the damage for restitution. She knew Solavier was likely already with the horses as she slammed the aschura writing case closed, capped the little enameled pen, and shooed the dove out the window, with one last try.
Just one more time.
She bent her head a moment as the amber fluttered painfully, recalling the day of the doves so long ago. Now that the doves had returned, the next sunrise would see another group of doves released, the first since that spring. There would be no Trys to hurt this time. There was, however, a Solavier, and the fear of causing some form of repeat weighed on her.
Why the doves had returned was still a mystery - the skies had been oddly quiet, with only occasionally forays from Draco and Mother. Wind was irregular, but the shadows seemed oddly deep.
The dove drew her back as it chirped, fluttering anxiously, and darted away from the balcony around toward the back of the House. The doves always flew straight to the east when she released them.
Alandis jerked the door of her suite open with the distinctive sense that there was someone waiting for her. As suspected, it wasn’t Solavier.
“I wondered when you’d show up. So, who are you?” she asked, as the door slammed behind her.
The knight moved languidly from the side of the alcove, where he’d stood in the shadows.
“Dlam U’Dell. Like you, I’m here to fight the dragons.”
“I’m not here to fight the dragons, I’m here to protect the people.”
“Same thing.”
“No, they’re vastly different. You’re here for the dragons, I’m here for the people. I fight the dragons, but they know I won’t harm them, so they respect me. You, on the other hand, appear to mean business -” she looked at the scythe. “The more fear you put into them, the less they’ll listen to me, and they can choose to override any fight to put against them.”
“You sound as though you like dragons.”
“I dislike dragons as I dislike rain - they’re beautiful but sometimes a disturbance as the season goes. I don’t choose to be a destroyer.”
“My Lady Adrastėja!”
Solavier’s voice was sharp as he hailed from the path crossing over the veranda and approached.
He condescended to drop a single glance at the intruder and took Alandis’ arm.
“We’re needed in the village, Dragandrea. As for you,” he said to U’Dell without bothering to learn his name, “you’d do better not to hang around private doorways unannounced. It might call a dragon down on your head. . .so to speak.”
He pulled Alandis aside and whispered the news to her. More omens were floating in from sea: broken ships, not only of Lharmeval, but also of the islands.
Chills struck through Alandis’s heart. She strove not to show it, though she reached for Sol’s hand once, and they rode at once down to the village to hold council and take stock for restitution.
No survivors had been found, they were told, but given the ships’ paths inland, they could easily have been picked up elsewhere along the coastline or among the islands. Alandis prayed that this was the case. Until they knew, all that could be done was focus on receipt-making.
With an outward peace she didn’t feel, she called anyone forward whose livelihoods had sustained damage.
The man whose barque had been crushed by the Vanaile’s attack pushed his way ahead of the others and chose to take it out on Alandis, regardless of any gratitude he’d had previously for her protection.
Alandis listened patiently against his tirade, and when he had finished, spoke.
“I understand that even though you know that if we had done otherwise, the dragon may have killed all, you need an outlet for all of this. Please, write out a receipt of all it cost you, and I will send it to the council in Erenni so that they might gauge what might be done for you.”
The man settled down, quieted at her understanding, and did as she asked. Many more followed, some wrongfully, writing false charges out of greed, but many were the ones who knew the truth of these receipts and that they could be discarded.
The black knight came and dropped his hands in the edge of the table, leaning over her.
“And how many lives have been lost, Dragandrea? How will you pay for those?”
Alandis stopped.
“We do not know, U’Dell. They cannot be repaid, and while there may not have been a great many, even one was too much.”
“Then kill the dragons. If you won’t -” He straightened and faced the people gathered about. “I will! In Marén we fear not the unconquerable dragons. I will be your dragon-fighter so that you will not suffer again!”
Solavier grabbed the man’s shoulder and forced him into the nearest seat.
“Move against the dragons, and you’ll make a mess for the entire kingdom. Wait in patience and mind your tongue. The Dragandrea has been given her title by the people and it cannot be taken away.”
Alandis touched Sol’s arm and turned to Dlam U’Dell.
“Dragons have a strange sense of propriety. They know I can’t kill them, but they will accept my tenacity against them as any dragon would. As far as they are concerned, I am a dragon and this is my territory.”
She stood.
“I will defend it as best I can, and these dragons will not spread to the rest of Lharmeval. If that is why it has been quiet of late, I will find them. Tomorrow after the releasing of the doves, I hunt for the dragons in their own territory, particularly that of the Vanaile. Solavier will remain here to defend from any wyrms that may arrive in my absence. You, U’Dell, may remain here, but don’t raise your weapons against anything unless given leave by Solavier.”
“We’ll need to discuss this further,” Solavier replied. His eyes sparked a warning.
“Agreed.”
As soon as U’Dell would let them past, Solavier pulled Alandis outside into the icy blue of the snowflake-blooms. Sissi and Sendoa were in the garden behind the longhouse, pawing aside the snow to reach the sweet crimson roots of the blossoms.
“Alandis, what are you thinking?” Solavier charged reproachfully. “After what you did the first time we met the Vanaile, I can’t leave you alone again. Besides, you told me yourself you wouldn’t know how to fight it a second time. Just how do you expect me to protect from dragons in your absence? Raising my sword against them will do little! I couldn’t have held back even the drake by blade alone.”
“It’s not so problematic.” Alandis patiently dusted snow from Sissi’s shoulders. “You must remember that the dragons have been scarcely seen besides the effects of the Vanaile, and they will be drawn to my movement. I don’t believe you shall have any trouble while I’m away. You always have clever ideas when I need you, Sol,” she reminded him. “I trust you.”
“Clever like releasing that barque that you then decided to jump on? I’m not sure about that,” Solavier snorted.
“Sol. . .regardless of my own decision, that was necessary. There’s the time you lured the firedrakes into the lake during the tzaidra’s thunderstorms, and got both pairs half-shocked into sleep, or when you drew the swamp wyrms into quicksand -”
“Funny how often I lure them with food,” Sol replied darkly, “and we don’t have enough of that to play with anymore.”
“Sol. . .you asked me to trust you. I do trust you. Trust yourself. I know you can’t speak to dragons, I know you can’t kill them, but I know that you can protect from them, and that the dragons have respect for you. They’ve told me so, in case I’ve never told you.”
“What?”
“They call you the ‘Anbaerra-gaerattza,’ sometimes the ‘Anbaerr-èskalak.”
She smiled as he translated that into their own language. A little smile started, met by Alandis’, for Solavier was, indeed, the “amber’s whetstone”, or more specifically to the dragons, the amber’s scales.
Just as he pulled her out of her own dragons’ mouths, he was her only way to keep fighting the dragons; and just as the only material sharp enough to strengthen a dragon’s claws were its own scales, he was the only one strong enough to strengthen her.
“Well enough, then,” he surrendered, “but you haven’t answered the first of my questions.”
“I’ll make every promise that I can to not risk throwing away my life.”
“Yet you tell me you aren’t certain you were fully of your own mind the first time. Alandis, that’s not helping.”
“You can’t leave U’Dell to his own devices,” Alandis reminded him. “You can’t come with me, Sol.”
He exhaled as he warmed Sendoa’s nose, by now covered with snow and icing-over nectar.
“Promise me for my sake, then, that you won’t make me believe it was my fault.”
Alandis laid her gloved hand on his face and the wounded look softened.
“I promise, Sol.”
The following morning dawned the coldest yet, the air shivering with silver and pearl, and the sun shone like a watered reflection through misty clouds that bode of another dappling of snow.
Alandis’ eyes picked out all the discrepancies between the Erevale tradition and the Ahren.
There were no tents, but carved canopies, lightweight that sprang open and closed at will like a string of paper snowflakes. White doves were nowhere to be seen within the violet ivied cages, for they would be lost against the snow; instead feathers of glaucous haze and misty cameo-rose glinted between the leaves.
Christmas roses were twined in wreaths of wisteria-wood and berries, and the icy sparkling of winter forget-me-nots was strewn everywhere, tied with twine and ribbons of rose. Winter aconite popped through the ice with the buttery gold of a sunrise, crushing underfoot as Alandis and Solavier made their way across the meadow to the star-hung birches on the other side, which formed a wall against the sea-wind.
While the people grew lighthearted once more, there was an undercurrent of unease as U’Dell stomped his way through the snow amid the gathering, and the thoughts of doubt which he had introduced still flitted through everyone’s minds.
Alandis had found a perch in the low branches of one of the birches, from whence she was content to watch, fingers stoking the crucifix ever slung at her side. Sol occupied himself with shifting back and forth behind the icicles, letting them distort his view of U’Dell.
Alandis was humming the Dove’s song under her breath, and by the trembling of the amber’s glow, which she kept instinctively covering, Solavier knew she was still struggling. He released U’Dell from his study.
“What’s wrong, Alandis?”
She shook her head without glancing at him, gazing at the sky.
“I need to keep the dragons on my mind and nothing else.”
“Alandis. There are dragons within you, too. What dragons are you fighting now?”
“U’Dell. . . the Vanaile. . . but mostly Trys. The sky always makes me think of him, when it’s all blue and gold,” she murmured. She beat her hand against the branch, knocking snow down onto Sol’s shoulder.
“I’m so confused! He’s never tried to contact me, not once! I think you and my family are all wrong that he would come for me. He cares, but not that much.”
“If he knows why you ran away, as Ahren seem to sense such things even if he was not told, it’s possible he shies from coming after you, fearing that he’ll make it worse and possibly repel you further.”
Alandis dropped her head against the birch.
“I didn’t want you to say that,” she groaned. “It doesn’t help, Sol -”
“For goodness sakes, why have you never contacted him, then?”
“I tried! I tried,” she faltered. “Each time there was no reply, but I was never quite sure where he was; whether at home in Erevale or on shoring duties in any number of places along the coast. I sent a last note yesterday. If there’s no reply, I won’t try again.”
“Well. Then. . . could he possibly not be receiving them? The doves may simply have missed him. Besides, with the wind so common in our kingdom now, they could easily be blown off course.”
“I want a yes or a no! I don’t want to think of the might haves or ifs at this point. I’m so confused, I’m so scared to let go even though I logically think I ought to - if the voice in my head wasn’t true, so many other things might only be sand - he’s been my anchor,” she finished miserably. “That voice always says to love him as God loves me. I - counted on him for so long, I’ve loved him since I met him-”
She found Sol giving her a side-hug, the way Ean and Trys always did.
“Perhaps, Alandis, it’s to love even if Trys isn’t choosing to be with you; as the first bride rejected God and lost its place to the second. Yet He still loves the first and waits patiently for it to turn. I don’t say this in my own favor, only in that there may be more to that call than simple confusion.”
“I know you realize Trys shouldn’t be your anchor, and I know you fear these other promises that may tumble down if you remove what you’ve built on your love for him, but it’s alright to let go. It’s alright not to feel alright, to drift and to find a different shore. It doesn’t mean you forget the harbor you came from, only that maybe you followed a Star lesser than the Northern.”
“It doesn’t mean not to love him, but to be willing to release him, so that both of you can fulfill whatever Deo’s will is. It doesn’t mean that Trys will never come for you; it doesn’t mean that you’re lost if he doesn’t come, because you can always go to him, and if he isn’t waiting, I’m here; and if I’m not the one, then there will be someone else. I promise you, you aren’t lost, even if you wander.”
“It’s - alright?”
“It’s alright.” He held her hand, curled tightly around the reins.
“I. . . have been afraid that I would hurt you today, the way I hurt Trys at the last releasing.”
Sol’s eyes smiled gently.
“You haven’t, and if you did, remember: I’ll never force you, nor will I run away.”
A call went up, and with it, the music paused. A cloud of misty moonlight wings fluttered into the trees, swarming for a minute, bobbing as it considered a flight to the east.
“Here,” Solavier said, and lifted a last cage that had been settled in the snow. A lone dove, far too small and iridescent, nestled inside.
“They gave me this one, the handlers,” he explained. “She was the odd one out of her group, and even doves sometimes can be cruel. She’s yours to keep. . . or to release.”
Slowly Alandis took the cage from him, and hanging it on the bough beside her, unlatched the door and took the nestling dove in her hands.
Her breath shivered on the air for a space, in time with the amber; then she let go.
The dove hesitated. It was only for a moment, until two glaucous doves, as small as she, called her up into the branches. Alandis looked to her empty hands and a sigh escaped her lips.
“I . . . feel I’m seeing things for the first time and I’m frightened,” she admitted. “I don’t know if I’ve truly let go. Yet…it feels good, to release him, for I worried so that I had hurt him and that I’d been inappropriate, and clung too hard!”
She hesitantly looked at him as he took the now-empty and chilled hands in his.
“I guess -” she began, uncertainly.
“Don’t rush into it, Alandis. This wasn’t for my gain. Take the time to love yourself the way you haven’t been able to with this weight. Keep choosing to let go, but if God makes it clear that He wants you to be with Trys, then you’ll know.”
He pressed her hand and withdrew as she smiled, at once like the Dove, and yet not - a trifle lighter, if more vulnerable.
If the Adrastėjas contacted Trys, would he come? Sol mulled, uncertain whether Trys’ arrival would overjoy Alandis, send her scrambling after a dragon, or precipitating herself into the sea a second time. That was one reason he didn’t want to let her go after the Vanaile alone.
It was nearing noon when Solavier rode with the Dragandrea to the ridge and reluctantly took his leave of her. He agreed to stay behind to watch U’Dell, but only if Alandis gave every possible promise not to lose herself.
“I fear he will make his intentions against the dragons good,” Alandis said. “That’s one reason I need you to stay. He’ll bring fire down on Lharmeval if he tries anything.”
She glanced up at the sky, which still showed no sign of storm.
With a little smile, she added, “I expect you wouldn’t stay behind if he follows me.”
“He’d better not follow,” Sol growled, then paused, twisted. “At least if he did I’d be able to keep watch over you.”
He watched snowflakes pearling on Alandis’ hair for a minute.
“You’re sure you know where you’re going?”
“Verily. Close enough, at least. The Vanaile resides somewhere in the glacial seas.”
“That might have been a trap for it to tell you so. Lana, please -”
“Dearest Èskalak, you’ve already rethought it with me. I’ve got to stop the Vanaile! We’ve likely lost too many lives because of its attack on the ships. I’ve got to convince it somehow.”
What that somehow might be, she had no idea, and Solavier’s brow was creased fit to remain so. She put her frozen fingers against the marks.
“I have the Lady Maia and her Son, Scier, with me,” she reminded him, drawing on the bravery she wasn’t feeling. “There will be a way. Keep U’Dell from making matters worse.”
She was pulling Sissi away when Solavier put his hands on the reins.
“The last time I said this, it made it worse, Alandis. But I cherish you, and I pray that this time, it makes you think twice before you let anything draw you to your death.”
He stooped and kissed her hand. Alandis reached up and hugged him for a moment.
“I shouldn’t be letting you go,” Solavier groaned softly as the girl turned away. “I shouldn’t!”
“It can’t be helped right now, Sol. I need you to let me go and trust that I can fly, at least once.”
“Deo keep you, little Dove!”
Alandis squeezed his hand and left the Zain there, watching as the Dragandrea disappeared across the snowy plains.
Read the next chapter.
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