Scrivener’s Tale

Cassien’s expression clouded further. ‘That’s my name for her. How do you know it? Loup doesn’t.’

Fynch stared at him. ‘She told me.’

Cassien blinked. ‘You and my wolf talk,’ he said, his tone acerbic.

‘You and my wolf are friends. I respect that. But yes, she and I talk.’

Cassien shifted his gaze to the wolf as she leaned even harder against Fynch’s legs. There was no doubting the bond between the stranger and Romaine. He felt hollow. Even his wolf was in on the betrayal.

‘Romaine is loyal to you,’ Fynch said, as though he’d listened in on Cassien’s thoughts. ‘I am her spiritual leader, you could say, and she has been known to me since she was still in her mother’s womb. I gave her to you. She has looked out for you and kept me informed of your progress.’

‘Romaine is a spy?’ he qualified.

‘No, Romaine is your friend and guard. She would never let anything bad happen — other than Loup and his fists and weapons,’ Fynch said, his tone tinged with regret. ‘She hated how he hurt you and it took all my reassurance to urge her to let it be … that the injuries would heal.’

Cassien shook his dark hair with disbelief. ‘What are you?’

Fynch shrugged. ‘An old man, as you see. A loyalist to the imperial throne. I called Emperor Cailech friend. I knew him when he was a youngster with red hair and freckles. His great-granddaughter is therefore like family — certainly someone I care deeply for — and I will do all in my power to protect her and the Crown.’

Cassien evaluated what had just been said. None of the paintings of Cailech he’d seen as a child had shown red hair. The great King of the Razors of yesteryear and emperor of the three realms had been a fierce, towering bulk of a man with golden hair … not a freckle in sight. But more confusing was the claim that this slight man, old but not aged or infirm, knew Cailech in his youth and was still alive decades beyond his time.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Fynch said.

‘Do you?’

‘I believe I do. Let me ask you this. Do you believe in magic, Cassien?’

It was the last question he could have possibly imagined being asked. Something in the man’s look demanded he be honest. ‘Yes.’

Again Fynch nodded, this time thoughtfully and as though pleased.

‘Do you?’ Cassien threw back at him.

‘Without question,’ the older man replied. ‘I am surely living testimony to it,’ he added with a wink.

‘I need that explained.’

‘I’m sure. You may go, Romaine. I feel your time is far closer than even you realise.’

Romaine obediently departed, first licking Fynch’s hand affectionately before trotting over to lick Cassien’s face as he bent down to ruffle her fur. It felt like an apology.

‘She is now the lead female in her pack,’ Fynch continued conversationally, as they watched her dark tail disappear between the trees. ‘She must keep the family going. Her pups will be the only litter for this year. But then I’m sure you know the salient facts — being so attuned to life in the forest.’

‘Her mate is the big dark wolf. All others fear him for miles around here. But he is as tender as any lover to Romaine.’

‘As he should be,’ Fynch said, ‘or he would answer to me.’

‘I’m not sure I understand why he would.’

‘I know. There is a lot to tell you in a short time. Are you hungry?’

‘No.’

‘Then we shall begin,’ he said, seating himself comfortably on an ancient fallen tree. ‘You know my name, you sense my age is impossible and I have informed you of my connection to the royals. Do you trust what I have told you?’

He didn’t have a choice but also, if he were honest, there was only one answer. ‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because as much as I don’t like it, Romaine trusts you. What are you?’

‘That is probably the hardest question to answer.’

‘Then let’s get it out of the way,’ Cassien offered.

Fynch gave a wry, brief smile. ‘Who is the king of all the beasts in your estimation?’

‘Folklore would say the dragon.’ Cassien frowned. ‘No, wait, I must qualify that. It’s not just folklore. It is at the heart of spiritual belief in Morgravia. The dragon is the beast closest to Shar in our estimation. Plus, the dragon is the creature that belongs only to royalty.’

Fynch nodded his encouragement as Cassien thought back to his early education. ‘All the creatures in the world pay homage to the dragon in the same way that the people in Morgravia would pay homage to their king.’

‘Or queen,’ Fynch corrected. ‘Indeed. The dragon is a fearsome, splendid, majestic beast.’

‘And one of myth,’ Cassien added.

Fynch raised an eyebrow. ‘You haven’t seen one?’ he asked playfully.

‘Have you?’ Cassien challenged without hesitation.

‘Seen, ridden, know well. What’s more, I am bonded to the dragon in a way that no other can be.’

Cassien gave a mirthless snort. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Let me put it another way to you. The dragon and I are one … spiritually and to some extent physically.’

‘Physically?’

‘I ache to be away from him. I also suffer physically. He pines if I’m not near. We are of one flesh almost … not quite.’ Again the apologetic smile. ‘We are Shar’s servants but we are closer to Shar than any other. Why do you think that is?’

Cassien decided to go with the line of thinking and see where it led. ‘The spiritual story we learned from birth is that Shar gave a bone to the dragon.’

‘And the dragon gave a tooth to every other creature,’ Fynch replied.

‘And scales to those without teeth,’ Cassien finished.

‘So?’

It was like being back in one of old Brother Bellamee’s religious instruction classes. ‘So the dragon is of Shar and all the other creatures of the world are of the dragon, hence their homage.’