Kastali Dun

Claire watched Reyr pace back and forth, muttering. Rather than stop him, she took another opportunity to admire her surroundings. The large chamber she found herself in was one of three allotted to her. The large sitting room was opulent, with plush couches and oversized arm chairs, little end tables topped with flower vases, a dining area, and a marble fireplace. At its back stood a wall of glass windows and doors that opened outward to a terraced balcony overlooking the sea.

A second chamber adjoined the first through a wide set of double doors and housed sleeping accommodations in the form of a giant four-poster bed outfitted with cream and gold fabric hangings. Like the first, this room had elegant, hand-crafted wooden furniture upholstered with matching material. Its large walk-in closet was empty. Yet, the space was capable of holding more gowns than she could ever possibly count.

At the back of the bedroom stood another set of double doors leading to the final chamber. A bathroom of marble and pearlescent tile. Not only was there a private pit toilet, but her own bathing pool. It was heated like all the other bathing pools in the keep, with water that circulated, pushing out the dirty and pulling in the clean.

A loud knock forced Reyr’s pacing to a halt. She stood to answer the door but he beat her to it, motioning for her to sit. Scowling at his newfound bossiness, she followed orders.

“Claire’s dinner, m’lord,” said the servant. She recognized Sarah’s voice. Why hadn’t Desaree come? Since that afternoon, she’d tried to visit Desaree to make sure she was okay, only to have Reyr forbid it.

Reyr sent Sarah away without permitting her entry and entered the room with their dinner. “I imagine you’re hungry,” he said. She nodded. Hungry was an understatement after the events that transpired.

After serving herself and scarfing down a few bites, she broke their silence. “I want to go see Desaree tonight—I want to go check on her.”

Reyr frowned. “We’ve been through this, Claire. King Talon says you are to remain out of sight for the next few days until this whole debacle blows over, until he can inform the council and court of your new position.”

She ground her teeth together. “I don’t like being a prisoner. I don’t like being cooped up.”

“Cooped up? Gods, Claire. You have one of the largest accommodations in the keep!” He spread his arms wide. He was right, it was the size of a large hotel suite.

“You know what I mean,” she grumbled.

“You’re worried about Desaree, I understand. Verath informed me that she is fine. Shaken up, but fine.” He grabbed his goblet and leaned back to watch her. His food went untouched. “Besides, I thought you wanted to spend tonight practicing. You want to block the Drengr voices, do you not?”

“You’re mad that I didn’t tell the king about my ability, aren’t you.” Perhaps that was why he was so tense.

The creases in his forehead immediately disappeared. “What makes you think that?”

She rolled her eyes. “I know you. And besides, I told you that I would tell him. Just not yet.” She sighed. “Look, I do want to practice tonight, if you’re willing to help me.”

“Good. Finish your food and we will get started.”

“You know, you’ve gotten pretty bossy lately.” She crossed her arms and pretended to glare at him. “Like this whole not letting me leave my room business.”

“Claire, I am only following orders. I know you do not like being bossed around, especially by King Talon. Please do not treat me like the enemy.”

She regarded him for several moments before exhaling. “Sorry,” she mumbled, pushing the remainder of her food around with a fork. “It’s been a really long day.”

“Don’t I know it. You have gone from servant to royal. You have gone from believing yourself ordinary to learning you are extraordinary. It is a lot for one day.”

She grunted in agreement. When put that way, it was no wonder she felt frazzled. And it was also no wonder that Reyr was so touchy. She was silly to pretend he didn’t care about her. He did.

“Now finish up. I am going to run to my room and retrieve something. Then we can get started.”

She finished the remainder of food while Reyr disappeared. He was back a few minutes later with a small leather book, which he plopped down on the table before her. She studied it, picking it up and flipping through its pages.

“It looks like a journal of some sort,” she said. The scrolling handwriting was archaic, but legible.

“Correct. It took me a few days to find that, and quite a lot of convincing to borrow it.”

“Whose is it?”

“It belongs to Grand Mage Marcel now. But the journal was once the property of Grand Mage Orin’s.”

“And who was he?” She wasn’t sure what this had to do with blocking Drengr voices.

Reyr explained that Grand Mage Orin was the first grand mage. His fascination with the Drengr, a newly created race, led him to conduct extensive research about their existence. He specifically focused on their telepathic abilities because the idea of telepathy during the early years of the Drengr was all but foreign to anyone of non-draconic descent. Even new Riders found it utterly perplexing that they could converse with their mates.

“Many in the Society were envious of our propensity for communication and still are. Rightfully so, as it is a useful capability.” Perhaps that was the case for some, unless it meant hearing all of them at once, in which case it was more of a curse. “It is said,” Reyr added, “that many of the Asarlaí sorcerers possessed the ability. So did some of the Sprites.”

“Like Queen Isabella?” She remembered the story about the woman responsible for creating the race of Drengr. The mysterious Sprite queen was someone she was eager to learn more about.

“Ah, yes. Queen Isabella could communicate with those of draconic blood, but not like you. You are unique.”

“Because I can hear all of them even when they don’t intend for it?”

“Exactly.” Reyr took a seat and watched her with curious eyes. He was still trying to figure her out—something he’d been doing since their first meeting. No doubt her newfound gift only complicated the task. Before this, she was merely a woman with a unique ability. Knowing what Cyrus had done, and that Cyrus did everything with intention, indicated that she was meant for some unique purpose. Reyr was desperate to find out what, which was evident by his curious scrutiny.

“So, do you think there is a chance I might block them out? Will this journal help?”

His shoulders fell. “I had hoped it would, but the explanations are vague. I imagine Grand Mage Orin never succeeded in his quest for telepathy.”

It quickly became clear that the journal explained as much as Reyr could, which was very little and mostly unhelpful. All of Mage Orin’s interviews with various Drengr quoted explanations similar to what Reyr gave her. They combed through its pages looking for ideas. Each time she thought she might have found a way to succeed, the result was the same. She still heard Reyr’s voice. If she focused intently on something, like the color of the table or the honey pot, his voice was there. If she pretended not to hear him, imagining her mind to be one of rock, solid and unyielding, his voice was there. If she used frustration to block him out, allowing herself to get angry over the difficulty of the task, his voice was still there. It was exhausting and fruitless.

“Maybe we are going about this wrong,” she exhaled long after darkness had fallen, when the candles burned lower in their holders.

“How so?”

Her forehead furrowed. “Well, when you try to explain how to block the Drengr out, you can’t. Why? Because it’s instinctual.”

Instinct requires no thought. You must simply believe you can do it.

Her mouth fell open. “That’s it!”

Reyr scowled, obviously confused by her sudden excitement.

“Cyrus is right! Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“Cyrus is right about what?”

“Maybe this is something that I shouldn’t overthink.” The wheels of her mind were spinning. “I’ve tried so hard to block the voices in my mind.” She was no longer looking at Reyr but instead, gazing unseeingly at the dishes on the table. “I grit my teeth. I strain to ignore them. I curse with frustration that they are still there. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut hoping that if I stare into blackness I can forget about them. Maybe it’s just something that—I don’t know—needs to happen without me thinking about it. Cyrus says that instinct requires no thought. That you must believe you can do it.”

Reyr blew out a breath. “I admit that I am envious of your ability to converse with him.” He slumped back in his chair. She hadn’t the heart to tell him that sometimes Cyrus’s asides were frustrating and impossible to understand. “Anyway, his advice does not really explain how to do it.”

“Because it’s instinctual.” How was one supposed to explain the mechanisms behind instinct? Even she struggled to wrap her head around the concept. “What Cyrus meant—I think—is that I must believe I can do it. It’s a confidence thing, don’t you see? You already know you can do it. You take it for granted.”

She worried at her lower lip. There were plenty of things innate in nature—reactions to stimuli that happened outside of thoughtful control.

“For you, you simply choose to ignore the voices and your body knows how to do it. You don’t try to think about it. You don’t force it. You just do it because you know you can.”

Her heart began beating a little faster the more she thought about it. The voices had assaulted her so often. Was there ever a time that she simply relaxed and accepted them? No, she fought them at every turn. The Aegean helped her to relax, and that dialed down the noise to an ebb. Was that it?

Reyr watched her but said nothing.

Preparing for another attempt, she rolled her shoulders and rotated her neck, easing her tense muscles. Cyrus, I’m going to need your help on this one, she said, hoping he listened. Taking several deep breaths, she focused on her breathing as if she were meditating. Closing her eyes, she let the darkness comfort her. She could do this because Cyrus was there. He was a Drengr, and all Drengr knew how to block the voices. If he could do it, and his soul was truly with her, then she could do it too. Perhaps he was the missing variable in the equation. She simply needed to pull him from the depths and call upon his abilities.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she whispered. She kept her eyes sealed tight. Keeping her mind relaxed, she waited. She could do this. In the darkness, she confidently anticipated Reyr’s voice while simultaneously desiring and knowing she could block it out. She had to believe she would hear nothing as a result, or it wouldn’t work. Keeping all of this in mind, she waited.

“Whenever your ready,” she added, peeling open an eye to glare at him.

“Wait…you didn’t hear that?” His forehead furrowed. “You did not hear the thought I sent?”

“I heard that one.”

“But the first?” he asked.

“What first? What did you say?” Her eyes grew wide. “Wait—it worked?!” she shrieked.

A grin stole across his face. “It must have. You did not hear my comment about the time—about it getting late?”

She shook her head. Eager to prove that it wasn’t a fluke, she insisted he try again. So they did several more times. Just like before, she didn’t force it. She accepted that her desire to block voices was intrinsic, that if she wanted it, it would happen. Each time he failed to say something in her mind, a little brightness, a little more hope, seeped back into her. “It’s working!” she gasped after their fourth success. It was hard to tell how much of her victory came from Cyrus and how much came from herself. But did it matter? The fragments of his existence were with her now, and she had better get used to it.

At last, Reyr called it quits. It was well past midnight. “I think we have made good progress for tonight,” he said, pleased by the quick improvement. “I admit I had not expected such rapid results. Then again, you never cease to surprise me.”

“Do you think it was Cyrus who helped me block the voices?” she asked.

“Who can say?” The side of his mouth twitched. “I like to think Cyrus is in there helping you.” He stood and pushed his chair in. She was still too excited to relax, let alone sleep.

“Reyr?” She stopped him before he could leave the table. “Do you think you could stay a little longer.”

“You ought to get some sleep. So should I. Tomorrow we execute Stefan Rosen and Euen Doyle. It will be a long day—one I should be rested for.”

She gave him a hard stare. There was no way she could sleep just yet and he knew it.

“Very well,” he sighed. Refilling his goblet, he left her for the balcony. She followed after him, inhaling the sea breeze. The darkness below was lit by tiny dots from the ships coming and going from the Bay of Bandu. Reyr gazed out into the blackness. She followed suit.

Knowing that the king’s betrayers were near death, it was difficult to put into words the way she felt. She loved Cyrus. He’d been taken from the world way too early. Those involved in the madness responsible for his death deserved the punishment they earned. Yet, she never liked killing. Knowing that she was responsible for what was to come was a strange responsibility to bear. Tonight it was too much to think about, so she gazed out, inhaling the salty smell of the ocean, letting it calm her. The only sounds were the breeze, whispering over the cliffs below, warning her of the lurking danger just beyond.

The empty void stretching out beyond her hid the complexity of Dragonwall’s world, disguising the inevitable future that awaited it, a future she was now bound to through Cyrus and his actions. The subtle sounds and smells, deceitfully calming, were a facade for the chaos that was sure to come. She sighed, taking it all in.

“Considering what awaits us,” she said, “sometimes I feel like running away.”

Reyr turned to her. Even in the dark she could see his surprise.

“Sometimes I am tempted to slip away in secret, cowardly as it is. It tempts me now more than ever. Going back home is easier than what we must confront.”

“You are not alone, Claire. You have us. You have Cyrus. Nor are you to believe that the future’s burdens are yours to bear. We are all in this together.”

She shrugged, attempting to minimize it. “What if I’m not supposed to be involved at all? Dragonwall isn’t my home.”

“Isn’t it?”

She opened her mouth but stopped, taking a moment to think about his question. Was her old home really home? Despite all the challenges she had faced, something about this place felt…right. In her world, she didn’t know her place, she struggled to plot her future, she battled to find her footing. Here, she finally knew where she stood, or at least, she was getting closer to that. “Maybe you’re correct,” she admitted at last. “Maybe this is more my home than I realized.”

That both scared and thrilled her.

“From the moment I met you, Claire, I have noticed strange things about you, a few of them easily explained by the Gift. But what about your ability to hear the Drengr? That was no result of Cyrus. You heard my voice before he breathed his last. That alone means the gods have given you a purpose. Did Cyrus know of your destiny? Did he see your importance? I like to think that he did. And then,” he said, “what about the Gable Forest?”

Her mind was suddenly filled with longing as it swept back to Esterpine. “I miss it,” she breathed. “I want to go back. I never wanted to leave.”

“See? Is that not strange? You alone located the Sprite stronghold. Perhaps Jovari and Koldis did not question it, but I did.”

“What are you saying?” She feared his answer.

Reyr shrugged. “Cyrus knew something we did not. All I can say is, the bonds of this world are tied tightly to you, perhaps tighter than any of us realize.” After that, he fell silent.

She placed her forearms against the parapet and leaned over it until her hair hung down, stretching towards the white foam created by the collision of salt-water against rock. The wind caressed her skin. It tried to calm her nerves. She wished it could, but too much uncertainty waged war on her psyche.

Knowing her position in society, in Dragonwall, did nothing to explain her purpose. What did Cyrus know that she didn’t? What had he seen in Saffra’s mind? Saffra believed she was meant to defeat Kane based on a mere vision. The training necessary to get to that level of magic seemed impossible. Not to mention the fear of Kane. He was the only person who scared her more than Talon did.

“It isn’t going to be easy, is it?” she said at last.

“Life is always difficult before it is easy, Claire.” Reyr took her hand and kissed her knuckles before dropping it. “It is life’s challenges that allow us to grow.” At that, he retreated back into her chambers. She snorted before following after him. He stood near the door.

“You’re starting to sound like Cyrus, you know.”

The side of his mouth twitched. “I am afraid I must leave you now.” His hand was on the doorknob. Still, she was reluctant for him to leave.

“Reyr?” She paused. “Thank you for staying with me today, and for keeping my secret. I know it goes against what you are, your honor and all that. I hope you know I appreciate it, and your willingness to help me.” She didn’t want to tell him, but Reyr had become her rock. His allegiance was important and she was glad to have it.

He nodded. “You’re welcome, Claire. Good night.” And with that, he disappeared out into the corridor, quietly closing the door behind him.