Rise of the Dragon Moon Page 4

  “But that’s—”

  “Hush. You’ll collect lizards and beetle eggs. You’ll learn to drill the holes for fishing so that when the dragons hibernate again you can participate in that work.”

  Petal nodded. “And we can go out and dig ice root in the forest together—like we do every year, Toli.”

  “But—”

  “You may have until I return from the Tithing to do as you choose. Then I will expect you to be as close to me as Nya’s light is to the ice.” She moved to leave.

  Toli stepped closer as if she might block her path. “The dragons will awake anytime.”

  “Exactly. The time to hunt is over. Your time to hunt … is over.”

  “What about Petal?” Toli pleaded. “I need to be able to protect her.”

  Petal frowned. “I can take care of myself.”

  The queen gave Petal a gentle smile. “No one’s asking you to do that, Anatolia. Your sister knows her duty, and she’s stronger than she looks.”

  Toli stood a little taller, fear etching her words. “And if the dragons attack again?”

  Their mother’s small smile faded to nothing. “And if the dragons attack,” she said without looking away, “what I’ve told you to do or not to do won’t matter anymore, but I’ll expect you to do your duty and provide for the Queendom to your last breath. Let the grown hunters do the fighting.” She brushed her hands against the rows of black scale on her thighs, as if to say she was done with the discussion.

  Toli looked up at the paintings across the beams of the ceiling, tears pricking at the backs of her eyes. She gritted her teeth, hating the quaver in her voice. “Fine.”

  Spar understood. Dragons were not to be trusted. It didn’t matter what the Telling and the old tales said. They were vile and vicious. Why couldn’t her mother, of all people, see that simple truth?

  Disappointment crept like frost, numbing her from the inside out. How could she do the Telling? How could she tell the story of her people—a story full of gratitude to the creatures that killed her father? She couldn’t. Nor could she give a tithe to them. And if she couldn’t keep the Telling, and wouldn’t do the Tithing, she couldn’t be queen. Not now, and not ever.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Wix knew her well. Toli hadn’t seen him leave the Great Hall, but he was waiting for her in front of the Hunters’ Shrine. He must have left well before her to beat her there. Maybe he even ran the whole way, despite the narrow, slippery pathways through the Queendom—all the way to the eastern edge of the ridge where it stretched up to cover the leatherleaf houses.

  He had known that after that conversation with her mother, she would be missing her father.

  Above the houses, stars winked and sparkled like dragon scales shed across black ice. The wind whistled its warnings over the ridge.

  Toli slowed as she came toward the two round buildings made of alternating blocks of stonetree and ice. In one, the House of Remembrance, there were life-size statues carved in ice of the Queendom’s citizens who had died in the past year. The statues would remain there for a full dragon cycle, then be towed far out onto the ice fields to stand in the Necropolis, taking their place on the Queendom’s memorial ground. Toli’s father’s had already been moved there.

  Toli had never been that far out on the deep ice—had never seen the great field of statues, the ancestors of her people, going back centuries. From what she had heard, all the statues stood together, facing Nya’s rise, until the wind and frost wore them down, first defacing and then destroying them.

  The second building at the eastern edge of the Queendom was the Hunters’ Shrine. It held the statues of the hunters, five men and four women, who had fallen in the dragon attack. It stood as a permanent memorial, as a way for people to pay their respects. Wix’s father, Belgar Walerian, had carved the second statue of Toli’s father.

  She lifted her hand as she walked toward Wix, the snow creaking under her feet.

  Wix exhaled. “Figured you’d head here. You okay?”

  Toli shrugged.

  He hopped down from the top of the two steps in front of the shrine to land next to her, knocking her sideways. “You’re fine. Don’t be stupid.”

  She caught her balance but couldn’t help laughing.

  He grinned. “So, you’ll do the Telling tonight?”

  Her smile faded. “It looks that way.”

  “You’re not worried about it, are you? You know that story better than you know the ice.”

  “It’s not that.” She lowered her voice. “I just don’t want to celebrate them. The dragons aren’t a gift. They’re a curse.”

  Wix’s brow furrowed as he studied her. He gave a small nod. “I have something to show you. It might even cheer you up.” He pulled a small sack off his shoulder and dropped back down to sit on the step.

  Toli moved to sit next to him. “What is it?”

  “You’re going to love this.” From the bag he pulled a wide stonetree goblet. Across its face, a long-tailed fox chased a hare.

  Toli’s eyes widened. Wix was always trying to pull some kind of prank. “That’s Pendar’s cup. What are you up to?”

  He pointed inside the cup, where Toli could just make out a small hole. Wix flipped it over. The hole opened into the stem of the goblet, which Wix had sealed at the bottom with an ice cork.

  Toli pulled a face. “I don’t get it.”

  Wix waggled his eyebrows. “When Pendar goes to fill it with honeywine, it will all drain into the stem. He’ll think it’s empty.”

  She nodded. “Annnnd? Won’t he just fill it again?”

  No one was around, but Wix leaned in to whisper anyway. “Annnnd that’s the best part.” He spun the cup and pointed to a second tiny hole. “See, the extra liquid will pressurize the wine in the stem. When I add the little ice tube I’m making on the other side … the wine will shoot right out of the cup at him!”

  Toli stared at him. “How are you going to make an ice tube that small?”

  He shrugged. “Hollow out an icicle.”

  “One of the tiny ones? How?”

  “Easy. Drops of hot water … and patience.”

  A slow smile spread across Toli’s face. “He’ll see it.”

  “No he won’t. He’s going to be thinking about the honeywine.”

  “Okay, well, he’s going to be madder than when you rigged his feast chair.”

  Wix wheezed a laugh. “I almost forgot about that one.”

  Toli joined him. “Maybe his … face will … turn purple again,” she said between laughs.

  When she caught her breath, her throat burned from the cold night air. She was warmer now, as if some icy thing inside her chest had thawed and loosened. “Seriously though, Wix. He’ll be expecting you to pull something. You always mess with him at the Telling feast.”

  Wix smiled. “Yeah, but this is the best yet. He won’t be expecting this.”

  Toli turned the goblet in her hands, admiring his work. “He really won’t. It’s genius.”

  Wix’s cheeks colored. He reached up and snapped an icicle from the roof line. A thin blade appeared in his other hand. “Everybody needs a hobby. Messing with Pendar is mine.”

  She snorted. Wix’s cheeks reddened as Toli watched him shave and etch the icicle in his hand, then spin it around to work the other side. “Will the queen make you judge the carving this year too?”

  “Maybe.” Toli sighed. “Probably.” Laughing with Wix had helped a little, but the thought of the evening in front of her made Toli’s heart sink.

  He bumped her with his shoulder. “Well, do me a favor. If she does make you judge, don’t pick my father’s work. His ego is unbearable as it is. There are hardly any statues on the wall that aren’t his.” Wix dropped his voice to imitate the deep rumble of his father. “Carver’s wisdom, Wix. Carver’s instinct. Our lore never lies.”

  She laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  They fell quiet. After a minute, Wix looked at her, his hazel eyes
thoughtful. “Remember the first time we played together?”

  Toli nodded. “If by play you mean when the pack of wild foxes attacked us while we were gathering lichens at the edge of the forest. Yeah, pretty sure I remember that.”

  One corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah, well, we were collecting tree conks, but other than that, you’ve got it right. Anyway, we had each other’s backs then, didn’t we?”

  “We were only seven, Wix.”

  He whittled away more ice at one end of the icicle, and for a moment they sat in silence; then he bumped her again with his shoulder. “Still. We had each other’s backs.”

  She bumped him back. “Yeah. We did.”

  He etched a last sliver of ice from the back of a small carved fox. “Okay, then,” he whispered. “Good talk.” Wix held the fox up for both of them to admire, turning it in the starlight. Rising from the step, he settled the little creature neatly on the low edge of the shrine’s roof where the icicle had once been. “Ready?”

  Toli stood up with a frown and brushed the snowflakes from her pants. “As I’ll ever be.” She stretched her arms up and out as if she could invite all the stars of Ire to gather in her embrace. The rich scent of the bison being cooked over the fire wafted through the air like an invitation. Her body ached from sitting in the cold. She had steeped in her own worry for too long, and now her thoughts were near-frozen too.

  Wix sniffed the air. “I smell Rasca’s bitter lichen-and-deer-berry sauce.”

  When they reached the Great Hall, Wix hustled to replace Pendar’s cup among the others on the hunters’ shelf, and Toli took a seat at one of the long tables along the far end of the room. Bowls of hard-boiled beetle eggs had been set out, and she popped one of the thumb-length eggs into her mouth, rolling her eyes with a sigh at the sweet burst of flavor.

  Some of the Queendom’s musicians had come in and stood unbundling their instruments at the back of the hall. Mistra Fen emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room, her dark skin glowing. She’d already tied back her coiled black hair, and now she began tuning up her bone fiddle. Banta Ru, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration, rested the edge of his largest drum against the even larger curve of his belly and tapped a lively beat. He moved to stand next to Mistra, his round face so pale that he glowed like the Daughter Moon.

  Toli searched the hall for her mother, wanting to gauge her mood. The queen was seated at the head of one of the long tables, with room on either side for Petal and Toli. She wore her red scale dress, as she always did for the Telling. There were no signs to indicate her mother’s thoughts or feelings—and Toli knew better than to try to guess.

  As people came in out of the night, cheerful voices called across the huge rectangular hall, glad to get out of the cold. A couple of people linked hands to stomp and swing to the music. Most, like Toli, watched them with bemused expressions. Wix danced past, lifting his knees laughably high. On his second time around, he grinned at Toli. “Come on. It will make you feel better.”

  Toli shook her head but couldn’t help smiling as he shrugged and grabbed hold of Petal as she passed, whirling her toward her friend Willa.

  She should be anxious and excited about her first Telling. It was a way to show her people who she was and who she would become. Instead, her whole body was heavy, as though it were having its own quiet revolt. A year ago she would have jumped at the chance to feel the warmth of her parents’ pride. Now there was just an overwhelming sense of uneasiness—and a little nausea.

  She knew every word of the story by heart. But to go before them all and tell the story of their beginnings, and to praise the coming of the dragons, seemed wrong when. Because of them, her father wasn’t there to hear the tale—when all that was left of his laughter was an echo in her head.

  Dancing next to Willa, Petal looked like a small piece of the night sky, her long, dark hair swaying. The light from the oil lamps sparked on the smattering of dragon scales in her dress. Petal, laughing, caught hold of her friend, and the two of them stomped a merry counter-rhythm that encouraged a few others to join them. Toli dropped her eyes at the little pang in her chest. Maybe one day, she would laugh like that with her sister.

  Dust sifted down from the rafters from the force of all the jumps, lifts, and hollers. Across the hall, Rasca’s white hair glowed in the light from the hearth. The meat sizzled.

  “Food’s ready,” the old woman hollered over her shoulder as if she were calling them all to war.

  Toli sighed and moved to take her place next to the queen. She and her family had their own narrow table and bench nearest to the main hearth, where they could look out across the room. A young boy brought their plates.

  Once the Strongarm royals had been served, everyone else could gather around the serving table to collect their portions and find a place at one of the long tables or, failing that, on the floor. Dinner was a cacophony of grunts and sighs punctuated by the rattle of knives on plates.

  The silence between Toli and the queen thickened as the noise around them grew louder. As she ate, Toli listened to the hollow wails of the wind picking up outside. Around the huge gathering room, adults sat elbow to elbow. Children gathered on the floor around all three hearth fires that stretched down the middle of the room. Toli’s gaze fell on Pendar, elbow-deep in his plate and surrounded by hunters.

  Petal shifted in her seat, her star-blue eyes traveling from Toli to their mother and back again. The queen glanced at Toli and her eyes hardened. “The Telling is yours tonight, Anatolia.” She rose to refill her plate. “No excuses.”

  Toli could feel Petal’s eyes on her as the queen walked away. She avoided her sister’s gaze, but couldn’t avoid the extra portion of bison Petal took from her own plate and plunked down on Toli’s.

  “You should eat it, Petal. I don’t need it.”

  “No. It’s yours. You don’t want your stomach to growl in the middle of the Telling.” She watched until Toli gave up the fight and took a bite, then a brief smile brightened her face. There was a long pause as Petal thought through whatever it was that she wanted to say. Toli could almost feel the weight of her sister measuring her words.

  Petal cleared her throat. “You could teach me to hunt in your place.”

  Toli stopped chewing and looked up. “You want to hunt?”

  “Why not? You’d be free to help Mother. Let me help. I can do it.” Petal folded her arms, spots of color darkening her cheeks. “You think I can’t.”

  Toli picked up her cup and downed some water, trying to think of what to say. She met her sister’s eyes. “It’s my job, and anyway … it doesn’t seem like your thing, Petal.”

  Her lips thinned. “My thing.”

  “Yeah, you know. It doesn’t seem like something you’d enjoy … or … be good at…” Toli wanted to snatch the words back, but it was too late.

  “Fine. Spar can teach me, then, if you won’t. I bet I’ll be a great hunter.”

  Toli stared at her. “Petal.” She struggled to keep the agitation out of her voice. “You won’t even step on spiders.”

  “We don’t eat spiders, Toli,” she growled.

  Toli raised an eyebrow. “Right. That’s why you don’t like to step on them. Because we don’t eat them.”

  “You’re just mad because you know if I asked, she’d let me.”

  Toli’s heart pinched. “Of course she would. You’re the youngest. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want.”

  “Is that what you think?” Petal hissed.

  The queen returned, setting her plate down with a crash. “What are you two bickering about now?”

  “Toli says she doesn’t think I’m capable of hunting.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “It might as well have been.”

  The queen pinched the bridge of her nose. “Toli, your sister has never trained as a hunter.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And, Petal, since when have you wanted to learn to hunt?”

&n
bsp; Petal bit her lip. “I don’t know. Why does that matter?”

  The queen put her hand on top of Petal’s. “Since before or after I said Toli couldn’t?”

  Petal gritted her teeth, then exhaled. “I’m just trying to help! And I could if I wanted to.”

  Toli scoffed, “Look at your dress!”

  “I wouldn’t hunt in my dress, Toli. I’m not stupid.”

  A shout from across the room made everyone jump, and Toli spun to see Pendar, sputtering and dripping with honeywine. It ran out of his hair and eyebrows and streamed from his beard. He was staring at his cup like it had a monster in it. Around him the hunters roared with delight. Wix rocked gleefully.

  Pendar took one hand and drew it across his face, scattering drops of wine everywhere. Luca smacked him as the droplets rained down on her. He turned the cup over, poking at the plug of ice wedged into the stem. His eyes fell on Wix.

  “Uh-oh,” Petal whispered, reaching across the table to grab Toli’s arm.

  With a roar like one of Nya’s bear-cats, Pendar charged. Wix stumbled backward off the bench and ran to the far side of the table. Pendar followed.

  The queen sighed.

  “I’ve got to distract him,” Toli muttered.

  “The Telling,” her sister mouthed. “Do the Telling.”

  She would have to do it anyway, so it was as good a time as any. Before she could change her mind, Toli rose and smashed her cup down on the table. “Gather!” she cried. “Gather, and hear the Telling—the tale of our people—the tale of creation.”

  Pendar froze, then moved slowly toward his place at the table, but not before shooting Wix a “you’ll pay for this later” look. Wix gave her a grateful nod as he returned to his seat.