Song of the Dragoons

It was a long walk back.

Arthur could hardly stand, so Griffin and Brand had to carry him and Rosalie. We started in the morning and beat a path straight to the castle, not wasting any time following the road. We just wanted to get home.

It was a mostly silent journey. Everyone but Arthur had their heads down in quiet contemplation of what had happened. Rosalie kept crying, the tears slowing but never fully stopping, all the way back to civilised lands. I kept wondering if I had made a terrible mistake back there. If it was my fault for Arthur being the way he was now. I wanted to say that I couldn't blame myself, that I had no idea that this would be the consequences of severing the Fiend's connection. But we'd been speculating about whether our Fiends were integral to us before now. It was true that I hadn't thought about it at the time, but in hindsight, it just seemed so obvious. I should have known better.

But what else could I do? Let him suffer as his self slowly drained away? Let him become a murderer? All the same points I had made to Rosalie to justify myself came back into my head.

But when I looked back and saw him blissfully smiling with nothing behind his eyes, I felt like he was already no longer him. I had only met him after he became an ersatz dragon, but Rosalie barely seemed to recognise him anymore. He didn't even seem to be acting like a normal human at all.

I sighed as we reached the dry moat that ringed the castle's outer wall. I needed a good sleep. We all did. Maybe Arthur would recover by morning. Maybe.

I hung my hopes on that tiny thread as we went to our rooms for the night.

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Despite my wishes, things did not improve the next day. In fact, we needed to move Arthur to the medical room because his condition had visibly deteriorated. He still wasn't bleeding, and his skin seemed to be getting drier, more pallid, and more gaunt, like he was being mummified alive. He didn't report any pain, but he was incredibly weak, unable to stand on his own, and barely able to talk.

His words in the cage replayed in my mind over and over. He said he'd die if we let him out. I had thought that he meant the Fiend would just take him over, but….

I had to report his condition to Rosalie as soon as she was up. Like Emrys, I had no idea how he was still alive in the first place with seemingly no blood in his body, so I couldn't make any concrete predictions about where he was headed, but it definitely…didn't look good, to say the least.

Rosalie was quiet for a long time before she let her head sink into her hands. "I just don't understand," she mumbled. "How did this hurt him so badly?"

«Maybe it has something to do with how he had cinereal rot before he transformed?» I suggested, searching for anything that might give us a real answer to settle on.

"Or perhaps the Fiend is simply a curse with a vicious counter-cure," mused Emrys.

Rosalie shook her head. "That doesn't explain why he's…why he has changed so much." She sat up. "Perhaps we should go back. If he went back into the Pool, then maybe he could reconnect with the Fiend? If only to preserve his life and his mind."

Emrys shook his head. "If it is a curse, it can't be so easily redone," he said. "He'd need another one of those gemstones to inflict it again, like the first time."

Rosalie face went right back into her hands. "This is horrible…" she muttered. She suddenly shot to her feet. "I hate this. I can't stand it anymore. I need to go and clear my head."

She abruptly stormed out of the room. I heard the front door of the residence hall slam behind her as she went outside. I glanced at Grace. «If she's going outside the castle, someone should go with her,» I said.

Grace nodded. "I'll go talk to her," she said softly, and more gently went after Rosalie.

Yura looked out the door after her, his hands steepled in front of his face. Brand bent down to his side to support him with her head and he gave her a grateful smile before turning to the rest of us. "Should we not be concerned with how Arthur feels about all this?" he asked. "He's said that he does not want to be returned to how he was before, and that he's happy now."

«It's false happiness,» whispered Griffin.

"He clearly isn't in his right mind," concurred Ingo.

Yura gave Ingo a quizzical look. "So are we to leave him unhappy for the remainder of his life? Assuming we can't find a cure, that is, of course. Even if his emotions are being manipulated by a curse, he still must feel them, and if us trying to fix what's been broken is causing him distress, that distress is as real as matters. We can't simply ignore it, surely."

"It's not what I would do," said Ingo.

"What would you do, then?" asked Yura. "We're in uncharted territory. Any suggestion would be helpful right now."

"Kill him," said Ingo.

Everyone stared at him, horrified, even Griffin. «What!?» I said, honestly unsure if I had misheard him.

"What?" he responded, unfazed.

«Are you insane?» I pressed. «Kill him? Really?»

"I—" Ingo started, before sharply cutting himself off. His expression changed from its usual dour sternness for once, and he seemed…deeply sorrowful. "My family has a history of people losing their wits in old age. It's common enough that most people make it clear while they're sane that if they decline like that, they want the rest of us to put them out of their misery."

«That's barbaric,» I said.

"It's a mercy," argued Ingo. "Living like that is a unique kind of hell. It's like how you would rather die than become a demon, only they're less likely to kill people. Once you lose something crucial about yourself, it's agony to live with that gap in your soul."

«You're not going to tell me you've actually gone through with this before, are you?» I said.

"Only with the people who have directly asked for it," said Ingo. "We don't just kill people for being elderly."

Ingo put his hands up, clearly sensing that this was getting heated. "I think this is a different situation entirely, Ingo," he said. "There's no cure for the addling that comes with old age, but there may be hope for Arthur to return to his senses. There's no use in giving him the mercy of release if truer mercy can be found in the future, yes?"

Ingo stared straight ahead as he thought about that. "You're right," he eventually agreed.

"Right," said Yura. "Perhaps we can ask the Lynnmore scholars about it. Although he doesn't look terribly healthy, he has shown no real symptoms of poor health apart from weakness, yes?"

«That's right,» I said.

"Then there should be no reason to assume he's on death's door if he hasn't passed already. We clearly have at least some time. We can wait until tomorrow for your wing to finish healing, and then head to the college. It will give us an opportunity to check on how their search for the serpent is going as well." He stood up. "Now. We can't spend all day fretting. We need to tend to our guests and ensure the food has been distributed appropriately. I would like to fix the roof on the old smithy as well; one of the refugees is an ironworker, and may be able to help us fix the place and get the forges lit once again."

I lingered a little longer, but Yura was right. Arthur wouldn't get any better if I stood around worrying all day, and we had other people to look out for. So I went with them to help repair the foundation of the forge.

It was a truly frigid day, one that reminded me of blizzards up in the mountains, even though there hadn't been any snow here yet. The sky was gloomy with dark clouds, but the rain had stopped after about midnight last night, leaving the air perilously misty. It was another thing to remind me of that palace. Everything that turned my mind back there just drove the nail of guilt deeper and deeper into my heart. I wished so fervently that I could go back and change things, or at least just clear my head and think rationally about this moving forward, but I couldn't.

The exterior of the smithy was almost finished being fixed by the time I heard the trundle of carriage wheels at the gate. My ears flicked back at the sound and I popped my head up from my work, so immensely glad for a distraction. It was the same fancy carriage that had brought Florence before, and sure enough, she stepped out at the entrance to the western courtyard.

«I need to go greet another guest,» I told the others. «I'll see you again later.»

I hurried off to meet Florence. She was in much more formal dress today, oddly, and was looking around at all the other people in the castle with what seemed to be a mixture of unease and fear, emotions that did not dampen when she saw me coming.

"Good day," she said stiffly.

«You too,» I said. «To what do I owe the pleasure?»

It was tough to read her because of how still she was keeping herself. It reminded me of Rosalie's poise when we first met, and was nothing like the usual slightly hesitant casual air she had taken the last time she visited the castle. My brow furrowed in concern.

"I apologise, there is no pleasure here today," she said. "I must inform you that my family must withdraw their support of your order. Immediately."

I blinked. «What? Wait, why? They haven't even done anything yet.»

"I am aware," said Florence. "I am not at liberty to give any explicit details about the workings of our diplomatic affairs." She glanced back at the carriage driver, who had stepped away to rest against the wall near the stable. "But suffice to say that we do not have full control over the situation. There is the matter of…leverage, that must be attended to before we could take an offensive stance."

«By "leverage", I assume you mean some that Barbosa has over you,» I observed, trying to shuffle us closer to the garden outside the residence in hopes of luring Florence into a longer conversation. Surely she didn't come here only to serve as an elaborate one-line letter, anyway.

"Yes," she said, easily following my lead. "Again, I can not say too much. I am an agent and representative of my house. I would prefer to be open with you, but…." She spread her hands. "Others don't share my opinion."

«Do your people at least know what Barbosa is actually planning?» I asked. «As in, the specifics? We only found out recently, and it doesn't paint a picture that seems like it would be that vulnerable to tampering with "leverage".»

She flinched. "…No," she said after a long while.

I let out a long sigh. She was practised at deception, but this situation clearly had her flustered and more than a little upset. I could sense the anxiety spilling out of that one word. She was telling the truth about herself at least, and she didn't like it.

«I feel that they should know, if they're going to be making themselves arbiters of who does and does not receive aid,» I said. «And you have a right to know yourself, as someone who will be directly impacted if our plan to stop him fails.»

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

I sat down, looking her in the eye. «It's a summoning ritual, essentially. A big one, that he's going to sacrifice a good portion of the city for, and which is supposed to bring the thing that started the Scourge here to Yorving.»

It was a little bit of a stretch of our knowledge, but not that much. Her eyes briefly widened before she reasserted control over her expression. "I…see," she said. "How horrifying."

I tilted my head. «Horrifying, yes. Do you think that will make the difference? I'm not sure how much leverage matters if the price of failure here is worse than death for everyone in the region.»

"It matters," said Florence. "I…." She paused and thought carefully about her phrasing. "I fear that even if my house did know the truth, they would either refuse to believe it or simply not care."

«How could they not care?» I asked.

It was a genuine question, but her hesitance to answer made me wary. The implication was clear: if the vicar got his way, the Scourge would sweep through the vale. I knew that nobility had a tendency to be disconnected from the world and naïve in shocking ways, but surely, surely, none of them were stupid enough to think that they wouldn't be harmed by that. Unless…unless they really did stand to benefit from the spread of the Scourge, somehow. But how could that be? To my knowledge, all they did was make wine.

"Easily," said Florence, seemingly on impulse, before she quickly added, "but it's more complicated than that. They, ah…don't tend to care about most things, and must be brought to do so. They've heard so many words spoken in falsity and in hopes of impressing them that I feel they have grown to see words as temporal things, easily twisted and broken. If they are to believe something, they must be shown it. And I doubt that they would put much stock in a doomsday prophecy, no matter how dire the times."

The way she said it made it sound like another half-truth. Her eyes shifted, her thin smile wavered. Maybe she had tacked on a truth she believed about her house at the end to distract from her fumble at the start of her explanation. If they could "easily" not care, they must either again believe themselves to somehow be above the Scourge, or believe that they would stand to benefit from it. My mind ran wild with possibilities, suddenly alert to the fact that House val Lunedor may be an enemy, not just thoughtless bystanders. Maybe they had discovered how powerful fiend blood was, and wanted to begin harvesting it on a larger scale. Maybe they had discovered the cure, and weren't sharing it out of malice or a desire to only give when they could extract a profit from doing so. Maybe they were even like Kyrie, and were already infected but somehow stayed sane, so they wouldn't be vulnerable to the Scourge spreading further. All seemed possible, few were good.

«I understand,» I said. «Well, actually, I don't understand the thought process at all, but I understand the meaning of what you're saying.»

Florence gave a hollow bow. "I am glad for that. I am sorry to be the bearer of this sad news, and truly do wish you and your flight the best of luck in your work."

Before she turned, I reached out. «Just one more thing,» I said. «Can you give me some assurance that your family won't intervene on behalf of the vicar?»

She paused. "I don't have the authority to make that promise," she said. "But it is my genuine belief that they would require some enormous incentive to do so. While their hands are tied in striking against him, I can assure you that they have no love for the man, and would prefer to see him dethroned."

«That's good enough,» I said. «Thank you.»

Florence nodded once more and returned to her carriage before it trundled away back down the hill and across the dry moat. I looked after them for a long while, thinking. I supposed that was one possible alliance dead, and so suddenly. I wondered what had changed their minds.

It took me a minute to think back to the letter from Mrs. Malvina. Was there something in there that constituted a threat to the house? It seemed odd to me that a little elderly laundry owner would be the vector for that kind of targeted disruption. I knew there were many people in Yorving still enamoured with the vicar, but making a threat somehow credible to major noble house would be a step much further beyond any length I'd seen anyone go to thus far.

But there had been that peculiar symbol on it, and Florence had clearly been distressed when she saw it…. Maybe the old lady was affiliated with a criminal organisation. Like the Skinners that I'd heard about in the palace. Or the League.

That was a path to pursue another day, though. We still had the ritual before us to worry about, and as long as House val Lunedor wasn't interfering with that, we could investigate them when we ha less on our plate.

I went inside to check on Arthur again before evening came. His condition had noticeably worsened since the morning. His bleached skin was so dry, that when I touched it, it felt like paper. I didn't even trust the dexterity of my dragon paws to do anymore than lightly touch his hand. If I accidentally caught a claw, he'd be torn open.

Not that it seemed there was much inside him left to spill out if he was. His skin was so weak and his muscles so atrophied that his skin had tightened enough on his shoulder to pull open, and expose grey, cadaver-like flesh underneath. His resemblance to the dead creatures I had encountered in the palace was actually uncanny, but he still obviously had a lot more life in him than those things did. For now, at least.

He tried to smile before I left the room. "You're too kind," he managed to say, his voice so scratchy and ragged it hurt just imagining how it felt to speak.

I sighed. «It's the least I can do,» I said. Guilt washed over me again, and I felt my breath seize as I thought again about my part in this. «I'm not going to lose you this easily.»

His smile faded. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, then," he murmured.

«Don't say that,» I lightly chastised him. «None of this is your fault, and you're not disappointing anyone. We'll get you up and healthy and walking around again before the vicar's ritual, and then we'll all go face him together. And then we'll have a party to celebrate, and you'll be there to share it with us. Don't talk like you're already gone.»

"But I am," mumbled Arthur.

I couldn't stop a growl from rising out of my throat as I abruptly stormed away. It was so frustrating to talk to him like this. I knew he wasn't in his right mind, but that didn't make it any easier to interact with his circular trains of thought or push back against his newfound total lack of value for his own life.

Evening fell. We had a silent, tense meal without him, and then I decided to sleep outside again. It was starting to feel ever more natural to me, and I was finding that I quite enjoyed feeling the night air and early morning dew when I had dragon hide to keep me a little warmer. I wouldn't be able to do it for much longer with summer out the door and winter on its way, so I wanted to enjoy it while I could.

Juniper was still laying down outside the keep, and I laid beside her that night. I made sure to give her some food and water where she was so she didn't have to move, but she barely ate anything. It was sad to see, and looking at her made that worse, but I'd feel horrible if I just abandoned her here to wither away without me. Even if she was old, her company still helped lessen the stress of everything that had come our way.

«I'm glad you don't know anything about all this,» I whispered to Juniper shortly after the sun set. «It must be a lot more comfortable to be able to just not think about the curse, or the vicar, or any of that.»

She let out a big sigh and closed her eyes to sleep. I let my wing fall over her like a blanket, and stared ahead at the castle wall. I found myself still talking, but corralling my thoughts to make sure they weren't projected to Juniper. She deserved to sleep, even if I still had some things I felt I needed to talk about.

«I wonder…I wonder what Mr. Lawcrest would think about all this,» I thought. «Would he be proud? I bet he'd be proud of Grace. Maybe. The dragoons are different from the cuirassiers, but I guess I'll never know whether he would appreciate their turn away from the old empire. Me…I don't know. I wish I could ask. I don't feel like I've been a good daughter, I….»

I looked down at my hands. «He wouldn't even recognise me if he saw me.» I let out a long, long breath. «I doubt he'd think it was me if he heard about all the things I was doing even before the temple, anyway. He wouldn't have wanted a bandit for a child. Not that a thief really belonged under his roof in the first place.»

No. I shouldn't think like that. It would upset Grace if she heard me.

«It's my fault that Arthur's broken now, anyway,» I argued with myself. «I made an impulsive decision, and forced something worse than death on a friend. If we can't find a way to cure him…. I can hardly stand my reflection as it is. I feel like I've lost so much of myself already, and I don't know how much of that is the damn demon in my head.»

It's not like I could have known what would happen after cutting that cord. If someone was bitten by a tick, my instinct would be to cut it out, wouldn't it? That seems the only natural way to deal with a parasite.

«But I still should have known better.»

How?

«I—we know that the Fiends are more than just parasites.»

Even now, that's how we've discussed what happened to Arthur, like it was a parasite that ripped part of him out with it when cut out. Even if I've thought differently, how much can I really blame myself when everyone has been saying something else?

I slapped my hand to the side of my head. «This is a stupid line of logic. There's other things that I should be doing right now than trying to escape blame.»

I managed to quieten my thoughts for a few minutes, and listened to the sounds of wind blowing over the battlements.

…It wasn't my fault at the monastery, either.

«Oh no, it was absolutely my fault. If I had just said "no", none of this would have happened!»

Then Grace would have gone in alone and died. Then I'd be having this same conversation with myself, beating myself over and over with the thought that if only I had just gone with her, then none of this would have happened. That I could have saved her.

«That's a terrible hypothetical. Even if it were true, there's still a lot of room for things to get worse here. She could still suffer something worse than death. And then that hypothetical wouldn't even matter.»

I can't just attack myself forever over things I can't change.

«But I can still remember it to try and do better in the future.»

That would take a little bit of pride. I need more confidence in my abilities for that.

«I can't let myself have any pride. If I did, the Fiend would try to take over, and if things got as bad for me as they were for Arthur, I-I don't know if I could keep control as well as he did. I don't know if I have that kind of self-discipline.»

Nothing will get better without the willpower to change things, and getting that willpower means I need to have some pride. I don't need to boast, I don't need to lord over others, but I do need to believe that I have the power to act. That's a small bit of pride, but it's still pride. And I could hold me back if I took over. I haven't—

—wait, what?

I snapped up, almost jumping to my feet in sheer panic. Did I just think of the Fiend in the first-person? No, no, no, that couldn't be true. It wasn't me, it wasn't even a part of me, it was just some magical mosquito latched onto my blood and shoving evil thoughts into my brain, it couldn't be true.

I never thought about it as me. Only it had ever said that. But I was only conversing with myself. Right?

I shook my head vigorously. No. It was just a little slip-up. I should still stay cautious, but the Fiend was right where it belonged in the far corners of my head, confined out of sight and out of mind. I just accidentally made a mistake in my words. It was fine.

«Sorry if I scared you Juni,» I said. «I scared myself, too.»

I lifted my wing a little to smile at her. Her eyes were open, staring forward. She was sagging a little to the side. Unmoving.

Some part of me knew immediately, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it. A yawning pit of dread opened in my stomach. I nudged her with my wing. She didn't respond.

«Juni…?» I prompted. «Are you there?»

Nothing. I stumbled backwards, my breath quickening. Without my support, Juniper's head lolled to the side, completely limp. I fell to my elbows, pressing my head against the ground like I could make reality go away, but every time I glanced up, she was still gone.

I felt numb in my fingers and wings. I felt like my throat was going to close up and keep me from breathing. I wanted to scream and roar, but I couldn't bear to wake all the innocent refugees. I couldn't do anything but stare for a long time before I forced myself to start moving. I headed inside the residence, my steps stiff and awkward as I looked for a blanket. My mind was elsewhere, not focussed on walking.

I found one eventually. I half-wished it had taken longer, so I didn't have to go back out and look again. I stopped at Grace's door. I didn't want to talk about it, I didn't want to hear anyone else's grief amplifying my own, but she deserved to know.

I pushed the door open with a low creak. Grace blinked and sat up in bed at the sound, and stared at me standing in the doorway.

"Bel?" she mumbled. "I just fell asleep. What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

«Grace—» I choked. «Grace. It's Juni. She…I was laying down to sleep beside her tonight, and then I looked up and she was just….» I couldn't say it. I fully intended to, I wanted to, but the time came to get the word out and I couldn't. I could barely think it. My words strangled on that point, unable to get past.

Grace rubbed her eyes, but then they widened, and she seemed to grasp what I was saying even if I couldn't finish the thought. "Oh. Oh shit." She jumped up, throwing on just enough to count as dressed before rushing past me into the hall. "Where?"

«In the garden,» I said. «There's nothing you can do. It's already over. She's gone.»

She didn't respond. She just ran out the door, not caring to let it close quietly behind her. I stood still in the doorway for a long time before following. Walking was still hard. It felt like it was out of my control, like I was just spectating the scene through my own eyes, not like I was a part of it.

I saw Grace out in the garden when I walked out the door, leaning over Juniper where she laid on the dirt. I heard quiet sobs. It took me a long time to approach. Grace was hugging our dog close to her chest. It was a gesture of love, but from where I stood, the way Juniper's head hung over Grace's shoulder made me feel sick to look at.

I stood at Grace's side and spread out the blanket on the ground. It took her a long time to let Juniper go, but once she did, she laid her on the blanket. The motion made Juni's eyes close. If anyone saw her right now, they might have thought she was sleeping.

Grace stood slowly, her knees wobbling as she did. "I'll get a shovel." Her voice was fragile and monotonous. I could hear her holding her tears back. "Do you…is there a place you want?"

I nodded towards the far end of the garden, where we had planted a juniper bush that was just starting to sprout above the soil. «She really did like this little garden,» I said. «And…I want to make sure I always have a reminder that she was with me her whole life.»

Grace nodded. "That's a good choice." She took two hesitant steps backwards, before she finally turned around. "I'll be right back."

As she went to go get the tools, I knelt down over Juniper, putting a hand on her side and stroking her fur one last time. I felt how still her chest was, and how cold her skin was too.

«Poor girl…» I mumbled. «I'm sorry…I'm so sorry….»

I had a lot that I thought about, so much that I couldn't say it all now. Right then, all I could do was grieve.