Handbook for Dragon Slayers (22 page)

“Yeeessss.”

“All right. Thank you for taking care of me when I was ill,” I said. “What's your name?”

I wasn't really expecting an answer, but she said, “Curschin.”

“Thank you, Curschin.” My tongue only got slightly lost in the soft sounds of the name. “We'll leave you alone now. Come along, Joyeuse.”

The horse did not turn her hindquarters to the dragon, choosing to back out of the treasury cave instead. I would have smiled, for it seemed so clear that Joyeuse's distrust of Curschin was unwarranted, but on the other hand . . . it had not been that many weeks since I had considered all dragons evil. I had assumed that Sir Kunibert didn't rush out and kill all the dragons because there wasn't a reward tied to every single dragon's death. I had, in fact, thought him a selfish man for not killing more dragons.

But I saw now that Sir Kunibert had considered dragons merely animals all along, and he—and other dragon slayers, likely—wasn't going to interfere with dragons unless there were complaints against them. Even in the saints' stories and the bestiaries, there was no reference to dragon slayers who were simply on a mission to exterminate the race.

And now a dragon had spoken to me, and had cared for me when I was sick. I was used to Joyeuse's intelligence and bravery, which far exceeded those of a normal horse; she was a magical creature, through and through. But even Joyeuse could not speak human words or use human tools. Or tell me her name.

Were dragons magical, like Joyeuse, or were they of a higher order, like humans? That was a question worth learning the answer to.

We found ourselves at a dead end. We must have turned the wrong way coming back from the treasury cave. The flickering light of my torch revealed a scattering of white tree trunks and sticks spread around the floor—or at least I thought that was what they were.

I held the torch closer. Those weren't trees and sticks. They were bones. Dragon bones?

I jumped back, slightly horrified; my foot came down onto a bone, which broke beneath my shoe, and I stumbled. I caught myself against a wall and looked down to see what I'd broken. It was some sort of wing bone. I had snapped off the very end of it, which resolved into a long, thin claw.

I picked it up and held it like a pen. It was pointed at the end, though, so it really would be better as a stylus for a wax tablet than for ink and parchment. But it balanced perfectly in my fingers, curving just slightly around the bones of my hand.

It felt like magic.

B
Y THE TIME WE
backed out of the dead-end cave and found our way to the opening, the storm had finally blown over, leaving behind a calm, white world.

We went out right away. It was the first time I'd had a clear view outdoors since we'd arrived.

The cave mouth was at the top of a promontory. To my left stretched endless forest. On my right, the Rhine flowed far below us, almost straight down a steep escarpment. A small waterfall nearby had frozen in the midst of its breakneck descent to the river.

There were no boats down on the icing Rhine, and almost no signs of human habitation anywhere—except for a little building in the bend of the river on the opposite shore, complete with a small tower for setting warning lights at the shoreline.

There was only point on the Rhine where anyone felt the urge to light warning signals, and that was the narrowing at Mount Lorelei—which was famed for its murmuring waterfall. That's where I was, then—in the cave of the dragon at Mount Lorelei.

The dragon was altogether pleasanter than stories would have her seem.

Joyeuse made an uneasy sound.

“Tilda?” a voice said from behind me.

I whirled around, frightened. I saw a figure in the trees, a figure with short, golden hair. Branches obscured him, but there was no mistaking him.

“Parz? Parz!”

I ran to him, planning to throw my arms around him and hoping he'd catch me if I fell—but behind me, Joyeuse screamed a challenge.

I skidded to a stop, almost losing my footing in the snow, bending to catch myself at the last moment.

That's when Egin stepped forward from behind Parz, or maybe Parz had never been there at all, and it was just part of Egin's sorcery, because when I blinked, Parz was gone.

Egin pointed his blade at my neck until a half dozen of his men melted from the trees.

“Hello, Mathilda,” Sir Egin said. “You—horse! Stay back, or she dies.”

I
HAD BEEN BACK IN MY TOWER PRISON AT
T
HORN
Edge for about an hour before the door lock clicked and Frau Dagmar stepped through alone, bearing my crutch.

I couldn't help myself. I ran to hug her. She'd tried to help me in her own prickly way. She had given me
The Sworn Book of Hekate
, too, at some personal risk.

She hugged me back, then pushed me away at the shoulders to look into my face. “I'm sorry to see you've returned,” she said, but when she tried to say more, whatever magic spell choked her set to work, and she strangled on the words until she stopped speaking.

She leaned over, hands on her knees, panting as though she'd run a long race. I stood at her side, rubbing her back. “I'm sorry, too, but I'm glad to see you hale and hearty after my escape—you weren't punished?”

She shook her head and tried to wink one streaming eye at me.

“What happened to Lord Parzifal when Father Ripertus escaped?” I asked.

She shook her head again.

On impulse, I reached behind my neck and untied the horsehair necklace. I held it out to Frau Dagmar. She looked horrified and raised her hands to ward it off.

“Don't go giving me your things, Illustrious. It's not over yet. Not nearly over.”

“Just take it, for a minute.” I hoped it would overcome her enchantments long enough to let her speak clearly, as it had helped me think clearly around Sir Egin.

Dubious, she took it, holding it pinched between her fingers.

“Now—where is Lord Parzifal? And my servant Judith?”

“In the dungeons,” she said readily. “Don't you worry. I've given them extra blankets and good food to shore them up against the cold and damp.”

Frau Dagmar took better care of the prisoners in Thorn Edge than Sir Egin took care of his own people here.

I loved Frau Dagmar in that moment—not in a full, complete way, the way I loved Judith or my mother—or Parz; but there's a kind of love that comes from gratefulness for help that is given to your loved ones. It struck me, then: this was one of the reasons people might love their rulers. It comes from trust and belief and faith in them, that they will take care of the people you love, in ways you cannot.

She had spoken about the dungeon before she thought, but now a look of wonder came over her face, and she clutched the horsehair necklace tightly.

“I'm under a spell,” she whispered. “I cannot speak of Egin or any of his doings. I cannot tell you that my words burn unspoken in my throat whenever I try to speak of him!”

Her broad, ruddy face had drained of color, and she groped for my stool and sat down. “Princess,” she said, catching my hand. “You've broken the enchantment!”

I stared at her. I had known I could think more clearly when I wore it, that I had avoided Sir Egin's persuasions when I wore it; I hadn't been certain it might break the sorcery on the servants. “No,” I said slowly. “It's the necklace, not me.”

“You gave me the necklace, and I can speak freely again—for the first time in years.”

“You once indicated you were a prisoner here, too.”

“We all are, all the servants. When we try to talk of leaving, we can't. When we try to talk of
anything
he would not want us to talk about, we can't! And when we try to leave, we grow confused, and . . . forget to leave. All we can do is dream of leaving—dream in silence.” She stroked the necklace. “Did you find this cure in the book? That's what I hoped would happen, that you'd find the way—”

“No—no. The book was about something else, not his sorceries. The Wild Hunt, mostly, and a little about dragons. I'm sorry you risked so much for me and it came to so little. But thank you. Thank you for the risk. Thank you for helping Judith and Parz.”

She nodded.

“Do you know—do you know when he's going to kill me?” I asked.

“At the dark of the moon, like all the others,” she said.

“All of them?”

Her mouth twisted. “He's says, ‘It's a lucky time to get married.' Every time. And kills them on their wedding night.”

I stared at her, thinking. At the dark of the moon . . . “Take the necklace,” I said on impulse.

“What?”

“Take it. Don't try to figure it out, just use it. Take that necklace and see if it breaks the whole enchantment on you. See if it lets you leave Thorn Edge.”

Dagmar looked stricken. “No. No, I can't.” She held it out to me. “There's no way you can escape again; he has guards posted everywhere, and they're armed to shoot you on sight. You should keep it, to help resist him.”

“He'd kill me that easily?”

“The guards aren't to shoot to kill; just to wound you.”

I laughed helplessly. “Well, you see? In the end, will it matter if I'm under his enchantment or not? He'll still kill me.”

“It might! Maybe his plan—whatever he's killing all these women for—won't work if you aren't willing. All the others were willing.”

“No,” I said. “Willing or unwilling, I'll be dead all the same. You—you take the necklace. Use it to free yourself.”

“I won't,” she said staunchly. “I won't leave you.”

I knew then the exact thing that would get her to take it. She thought like a ruler—a good ruler. “Then try it on one of the others who lives here and is trapped,” I said.

She pursed her lips, her eyes narrow. “That wasn't subtle.”

“I know.”

She embraced me again, and left.

I went to the window and stared out. The moon was not yet dark, as
The Sworn Book of Hekate
described for summoning the Wild Hunt. But . . . why were there full moons on the book's cover?

I went to bed, and fell asleep, mulling it over.

N
O ONE CAME TO
bring me food or to take my night pot the next morning. I paced anxiously, toying with the dragon claw and wishing I had the
Handbook
or at least a wax tablet. I wanted to write down what I had observed of dragons during my time with Curschin.

Hours later, a disheveled and angry Sir Egin brought in a tray of food and a dress. He dropped the tray onto the table and threw the dress of gold and white wool at me, and I caught it, holding it close to my chest.

“Where's Frau Dagmar?” I asked.

“Gone,” Egin said. “She and all of the servants left last night.”

I stared at him. “All of them?”

“All of them. If you want a servant, you'll have to put up with a soldier from my guards.”

I shook my head absently to that, wondering: How had Frau Dagmar freed all the servants with just one necklace? Had she left the castle and tossed the necklace back through the gate to the next person—or was the power of Joyeuse and Durendal's hair so strong that she unwove the necklace and each hair protected a different servant?

He took a deep breath, smoothing his hair, and turned on his charming smile.

“I hope you're ready for our wedding day,” he said smoothly. “
Darling
.”

I gave him a steady look. “We both know that you aren't going to marry me,” I said.

“What are you talking about,
darling
?”

“Tell me, Egin: Why have you killed seven women on the dark of the moon?”

His charming smile contorted into an evil snarl. “
You
,” he said, the word dripping with anger and contempt. “You're the one who took my book.”

“
The Sworn Book of Hekate
,” I said. “I've read it now. But I'll ask you again: Why did you kill seven women at the dark of the moon? Why do you plan to kill an eighth on that night?”

“If you read the book, you know why. Immortality. The Hunt will give me immortality.”

I shook my head. “I don't mean your
reason
. Seven times you failed to call the Wild Hunt. Seven times, and you never truly varied the timing of the ritual. The eighth time, and again you've made no plan to vary it.”

“The fault is not the ritual, the fault is in the women. In my wives. I married among the Illustrious, daughters of princes, but they were never sovereigns. Never true rulers like you, never girls who had sat in judgment of others or given things up for people they barely knew.” His lip curled, as if to say he had nothing but contempt for true rulers.

“You know nothing of what makes a true ruler, Egin.”

“Oh, spare me your preaching. You're not going to redeem me, make me see the error of my ways, turn me into a noble and good—”

“I'm not trying to redeem you!” I said. “I'm
trying
to gloat.”

Finally, finally, I had surprised him. “Gloat about what?” he asked. “I wouldn't think that's in your nature.
A princess doesn't gloat—she is gracious in victory
. Or some nonsense like that.”

“Don't confuse my training with my nature. I wanted to tell you—it's not your wives, Egin. The fault is yours. The time to summon the Wild Hunt is any time
but
the dark of the moon.”

“The book is explicit about the timing of the ritual.”

“The book is wrong! I told you my own story, and I'm sure Judith told you the same one if you asked her: we met the Wild Hunt near the full moon. Not on it, but near it. You never even considered after you heard this that the book was wrong—that some scribe long ago changed something because he didn't like the material, or that the original writer may have decided use a code to hide his secrets. The front of the book is etched with full moon, for example. You've studied the book for years, but never once did you think to try to vary the timing?”