The Color of Dragons Read online

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The draignoch was headed to the Walled City. Not a place I could ever get into. But I had to see her again. I touched the scar that still throbbed, though a tiny bit less the more time passed. Laughter and bellowing broke the evening’s silence. I was exhausted, covered in mud from head to toe. And I had to be onstage in moments. The very last thing I wanted to do was stand on a raised platform for all the world to look at me.

  Before I reached the side door, Xavier stormed out, his long gray hair clacking from the animal bones he’d tied into it. I noticed he’d added yet another layer.

  For some reason he believed they were a source of real magic. He was always picking up bits, declaring them powerful. Handing over our precious coins to charlatans in exchange for anything they could spin a magical tale about. He’d traded our last coin for a wooden cup after the farmer who possessed it said it came from the fairies. Claimed anyone who drank from it had to tell the truth. Xavier made me drink from it so many times, trying to unlock the magical mysteries the ridiculous thing possessed. But there was no magic. Lies rolled as freely off my tongue as they had so many times beforehand. Xavier had never found real magic, and yet, here he was, with more bones in his head than sense.

  The hems of Xavier’s blue robe were edged with silver beads that came from the smooth sandy beaches below the cliffs in the northernmost corner of the Hinterlands. Frigid waters he made me dive into repeatedly until he had enough to cover every inch. Strapped to the back of his hands were two red jewels, round and smoothed. His only valuable purchase, not for their previous owner’s professed transformative gifts but rather because they were ruby gems. He could’ve sold them this month for more money than we’d ever seen, but he foolishly refused.

  “Where have you been?” Xavier’s eyes grew impossibly wide at the sight of me. “What happened to you?”

  “I had a run-in with the soldiers.”

  The old barkeep, Porchie, poked his fat head out the door and chortled. “Ooof. I’ll get the buckets.”

  “Clean up as much as you can.” Xavier shoved me toward the barn. “And hurry! There’s a room in there filled with very heavy pockets! We can’t have them spending it all on drink before we start!”

  Porchie returned to the barn with water-filled buckets and a stack of rags, and left without another word. After him came his pig-nosed stock boy, delivering my costume from Xavier. He tried to linger. A threatening manure-filled shovel chased him off.

  I tore off my cloak and trousers, shivering from the cold night air, but set to washing. My dress was a welcome change tonight. Made from old blankets, the simple woolen dress was worn but warm. I finished using my fingers to comb out my raven curls the best I could, letting them drape over my shoulders.

  Unable to do anything about my mud-covered shoes, I left a trail of caked brown bits as I came through the tavern’s side door, earning me a nasty look from the same stock boy who was now sweeping the floors.

  The place smelled as all the taverns did, of stale ale and smoke and unwashed men. Round chandeliers hung low, bathing the patrons in a dim orange hue. Xavier wasn’t kidding about the tavern being full. There wasn’t an empty table in the place.

  Rowdy, well-served patrons hopped up, blocking my path.

  Porchie saved me, appearing with a full tray, stealing their attentions.

  I made a mad dash for the stage.

  “Oh, don’t go . . . ,” I heard one of them whine.

  A few families with children crammed into the front of the wooden platform that served as a stage. As I reached it, a movement caught my eye, and my heart fell to my muddy shoes. Prince Jori was seated in the front row. His eyes fell on me, then on my boots, and narrowed.

  I tried to look away. Conceal my face. But there was nowhere to hide. His mouth fell open, and then he smiled.

  He recognized me.

  I darted behind the long opaque traveler curtains, trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. Had they followed me here? All to arrest me? But why? According to the prince, the whole party were in a rush to get back to the Walled City with the draignoch.

  Xavier came up behind me. He peeled back the cloth enough to glimpse the audience.

  “That fair-haired young man—did you see?”

  “Oh, I saw.”

  “His drawstring pouch looked very heavy. He carries coins. Probably gold, from the looks of his clothes.” His hand fell on my shoulder. “The pot will be worth something tonight for a change.”

  I chanced a look over Xavier’s shoulders and caught the prince staring in our direction. I dipped farther behind the curtain, backing up several steps until I bumped into the wall.

  “What’s wrong?” Xavier asked.

  Telling him that the man in his sights was the real Prince Jori would only serve to make him as nervous as I felt. Then he would flub the act, thereby reducing our take, and we needed the money. Badly.

  “Nothing. You’re right. Going to be a banner night.”

  He arched his bushy silver brow. He knew I was hiding something.

  A whisper slithered by my ear. Startled, I turned, reaching for my knife. But there was no soldier. Only a round window. The thumbnail moon dipped inside one of its panes like it was trying to catch falling stars.

  The noise of the crowd escalated, drowning out everything else, but then I heard it again. The faintest of whispers, a whistling breeze, but there was no wind. Was it coming from outside?

  I stood on my tiptoes and stretched to push open the window, but it proved unnecessary. A moonbeam, fine as a spider’s silk, shot down from the dark sky. Hitting the pane, it shattered the glass, finding its target, my hand.

  I scooted back. The light came with me. A startled gasp escaped. Torn between fear and fascination, I flicked my wrist, trying to shake it off, but it did no good. The light was stuck to me.

  Light could do no such thing.

  This couldn’t be real. I was losing my mind.

  A frightening chill swept through me.

  All the while the subtle whisper persisted, growing louder. It no longer sounded like it was coming from outside the window, but from inside me.

  I couldn’t move.

  Couldn’t breathe.

  “Time for introductions,” Xavier called to me.

  I lifted onto my toes, moving away from the window. The string of light stretched all the way from the moon to me. It was the most beautiful, magical, terrifying thing I ever saw. “Xavier . . .”

  “Maggie, tell me after the show!” Xavier hissed.

  Ignore it, I told myself. I had a job to do, and if I didn’t do it, I would go hungry tonight.

  A few more steps away from the window, the moonbeam flickered off. But then, it wasn’t completely gone. I could still feel the cold burn of its light dead center in the palm of my hand.

  Utterly confused, I stepped out from behind the curtain, singing the refrain I had sung so many times before.

  “Hear me, hear me, weary travelers!”

  The tavern’s drowning chatter dulled.

  I walked upstage, making eye contact with several, but none near the prince. “Keep your lids from blinking, I warn! For sorry indeed will be he or she who misses a moment of the wonder of Xavier, the true Ambrosius!”

  Xavier’s arrival onstage was met with sporadic clapping. “Thank you for your kind welcome.” He paced, as he always did, taking in the excitement level of the audience, which proved lackluster. He would have a difficult job tonight.

  “I’ve heard tell that those in this village have never seen magic before.” He drew out a silver coin from inside his sleeve and held it up for all to see. “I’ve even heard that some here might not believe. Indulge me with your attention, I beg, and learn the truth.” He folded his hand and opened it again, the coin seemingly vanishing.

  The children in front oohed in astonishment. A table of drunken men in the back grumbled.

  “E-even I ca’ do dat,” one boasted.

  Xavier would
soon shut them up. He always started with simple. As I moved beside the prop table, I could feel the prince’s eyes on me. I risked a glance and he caught me. Smirking, he arched an irritating brow.

  I scanned the patrons for soldiers. Sir Raleigh was supposed to be traveling with Jori. Sure enough, Raleigh’s sweaty, balding head emerged from the back. He had another soldier with him. They wove through the tables and sat on either side of the prince.

  Raleigh’s lip lifted into a snarl as his eyes fell on the stage. My heart hammered. Run. I would, but now it would draw attention. I would have to wait until the show was over.

  Xavier folded his hands together like a collapsing clamshell. When he opened them, he showed not one but two silver coins. This impressed. Making silver multiply was worth a rousing cheer. Then Xavier tossed them to the boasting drunk man in the back, silencing him for the rest of the show.

  “A simple trick, a sleight of hand. Or was it? Argue as you will, but how about something that none can refute?” A few clapped. “Oh my. You’ll have to do better than that if you want the magic to work.”

  The few children in the tavern stood up, slapping their hands together.

  “Very well then. Maggie?”

  Looking unimpressed, Prince Jori got up from his table. Raleigh and the soldier followed him. Perhaps they would leave. But the prince leaned his shoulder against a post in the middle of the room and continued to watch.

  I set ceramic bowls on the table in order of smallest to largest. Xavier held each up, turning them upside down. “Empty. But for how long?”

  Xavier handed me the smallest bowl. Prince Jori’s eyes shifted in my direction. Fear tightened its grip, numbing my hands. I felt the slick surface slip from my fingertips too late.

  Xavier caught the bowl midair. “What’s wrong with you?” he muttered. He lifted the lip, making sure all could see the bowl empty, then cradled it in the crook of his arm. “I will now make sand appear from nothing!”

  The room fell silent in expectation.

  Xavier closed his eyes, mumbling in a language I never understood, and one I always suspected was little more than improvised gibberish.

  He rotated the bowl while running his fingers along the edge so that, unseen by the audience, he could open a small compartment. And like that, sand poured into the bowl.

  Still tricks. No real magic.

  With deft agility, Xavier flipped the compartment closed at the same time he tilted the bowl. He showed off sand, turning in all directions to be sure everyone could see. “Yes! I, the great Xavier, the one true Ambrosius, turned air to sand, but only true magic would have me pouring mead from my fingertips.” His proclamation was met with a round of applause.

  “That I’d pay to see!” a man called from the back.

  Prince Jori pushed off the post, curious, and moved a little closer to the stage.

  I spun, putting my back to him.

  “Would you, now?” Xavier nudged me. “Maggie . . .”

  I passed him a larger bowl, which he placed on the stage to catch the spill. “Then I suppose that will have to be the next feat, and I will hold you to your word.”

  Xavier waved his free hand over the bowl, humming, repeating the mumblings. He tipped the bowl forward, allowing the sand to spill out. As it crested the lip, another unseen shaft opened beneath his well-placed hand. Mead poured through his cupped fingers and into the bowl below.

  The audience stood from their seats, trying to get a good look at the magic. A mixture of laughter and applause began in the back with the table of besotted men and spread throughout the tavern.

  Over the next twenty minutes, Xavier kept all engaged with dissolving rope knots, disappearing and reappearing flowers, and more. As he prepared to end the show with his final trick, he asked, “Have I convinced you all that magic really does exist?”

  A fat sweaty man whistled, stumbling toward the stage. “That’s what I call a piece of magic.” He aimed his finger at me. “Come sit on my lap, lass. I’ll give you a lovely piece of gold for your trouble.”

  “Remain in your seat,” Prince Jori growled.

  Raleigh shoved the fat arse.

  The man fell backward, into a chair.

  Xavier picked up our jittery gray rabbit and lifted her out of her cage, clutching her tightly as she squirmed in protest at being held like a prop.

  “A simple rabbit. But is it? Perhaps this is something else in disguise. . . .” Xavier returned her to the box, swiftly closing the lid.

  Waiting to crawl out from behind the slat that divided the box into halves was a twitchy red squirrel. He started a nervous chirp. The damn squirrel hated being carted around in the box as much as I hated to have to keep him there, but if he ruined our show and I got no supper, he would be roasting over a spit tonight.

  I snuck a comforting hand inside. The evil rascal bit me. I bit my lip, hiding my bleeding finger behind my back.

  Xavier covered the box with a blanket. He waved his staff, jerking his head so the bones clacked, spewing an incantation.

  As my bloody finger fumbled for the button to drop the slat, the drunken ass from the audience leaped up onstage.

  He slurred, “Hello, lovely . . .”

  The latch gave way. The squirrel exited at the same time he grabbed me, capturing my arms, lifting me off my feet. I kicked him as hard as I could. My heel collided with his knee at the perfect angle. It buckled and he fell forward, landing on top of me and the squirrel, crushing me under his immense weight.

  I let out an unflattering “Ooof.”

  Xavier grumbled, “You are an idiot!”

  Bombarded by audience laughter, I felt the idiot’s hands roam my sides. Our squirrel, squished beside me, bit him hard enough for the fat slob to feel it through his drunken stupor. He bolted to all fours. To my shock and horror, and that of the children in the audience, he jammed his knee down on the squirrel. His little ribs snapped like breaking twigs.

  The audience collectively gasped. The poor rodent screeched. Its tiny limbs struggling but going nowhere. A chorus of booing erupted.

  The fat sot sniggered, attempting to get up and lunge again, but he never made it. The prince, Sir Raleigh, and the soldier stormed the stage. They heaved him off the edge of the platform. Xavier moved to stand over the squirrel, his staff raised, about to drive the bottom down onto the wailing rodent. I groaned at the stupidity. The Ambrosius crushing the animal to death while visible onstage would earn us less than nothing!

  Moonlight shot through the broken pane, finding my hand at the same time I grabbed Xavier’s staff to stop him. My veins turned ice-cold—so cold they burned. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the pain before I screamed. In the darkness, I saw the draignoch’s claw dangling in the air just before me. My free hand ached as if someone was trying to punch a nail through it—from the inside out. The cold shot through me like an arrow released from its bow.

  Gasps rang out.

  “Do you see that?” Porchie called out.

  “Is that the moon doing that?” a woman cried.

  “I think he’s doing that! Xavier! Calling to the moon!” another retorted.

  I opened my eyes and found the moonbeams traveling the staff, striking the blue sapphire at the top, casting the room in frenetic azure droplets. Xavier glanced at the source, moonlight streaming through the busted windowpane. He began a slow chant, as if unsure what to do other than look magical.

  The squirrel wheezed. Within reach, I slid my hand down the staff, planning to yank him offstage. My hand fell on his tiny chest. Broken ribs the size of toothpicks, one stabbed into his tiny heart. All this, I saw. Then I saw the light fuse the bones back together, guiding the last out of his tiny failing heart. Xavier’s singing reached a fevered pitch. He slammed the staff on the stage so hard I felt the jolt deep down inside.

  The squirrel jumped up with a start.

  There was no time to ruminate over what had happened. I let go of the shaft to scoop him up before he could get away. As
soon as I did, the blue glow went out, and the little rascal bit me again.

  “Ow!”

  “Did you see that?” someone called.

  “Xavier the Ambrosius brought the squirrel back to life!” the little girl in the front row exclaimed. She clapped furiously.

  The audience rose to their feet to get a good look at the vermin. I wanted to break the wretched thing’s neck but knew the pot would be full tonight so long as we finished the show in spectacular fashion. I lifted the squirrel over my head.

  “You all bore witness! Xavier the Ambrosius brought this dying animal back to life!” I declared.

  Xavier’s head lifted high, meeting every admiring gaze. I turned around, finding Prince Jori staring into the empty box. “I don’t understand. I expected another squirrel, but is that the same squirrel? Did Xavier really heal him?”

  My eyes darted to the heavy coin pouch on his belt. I smiled and held the struggling animal out to him. “Oh yes. He did. He healed him, and now, if he doesn’t stop biting me, I’m going to eat him for dinner.”

  He gaped in obvious astonishment as I dropped the snapping squirrel into the box and slammed the lid shut.

  All hailed Xavier’s name, giving him the loudest round of applause I had ever heard. I couldn’t fathom what had truly happened. Xavier had never touched the squirrel. I had. And the power still pulsed like a heartbeat in the center of my palm.

  Xavier stepped offstage. He set the bowl on the table where the prince had been sitting. Coins clinked as patrons emptied their pockets. They touched Xavier’s robe as if a god stood before them, wearing mirroring expressions of fear blended with awe. Some even kissed his robe, handing over their tokens for a blessing.

  All that coin. My stomach began to grumble, anticipating the meal my share would buy. Then I turned and saw the prince, standing behind me, nod to Raleigh in the crowd. Raleigh said something to the soldier, who dashed through the throngs around Xavier. Raleigh paced toward the stage to join the prince.

  Run.

  I started to, jumping off the stage, making it halfway there, but Xavier caught my arm. “Where do you think you’re going, lass? Get the props. Clean up the mead from the floor. I’ll tend to the pot before someone makes off with it. We’re not foraging for watercress tonight!”