An Affinity For Fire

55. Tarragon

Forty-eight.

That was how many people the assassins had managed to murder before being defeated. Forty-eight. It had only been forty-three at first, but five more had succumbed to injuries in the two days following the attack. Over half the survivors had sustained wounds, either from being directly targetted themselves or from joining the fight to defend others. Some would take months to recover. Others would suffer from their injuries for the rest of their lives.

None of them would be magically healed.

While the Dormisians had managed to sweep the fire in the stables under the rug and continue with the festivities, this was too much. For everyone's safety, it was agreed that all guests should return home, a decision which absolutely no-one objected to. The issue was that most of the horses and half-breeds were dead or still missing. It took a week to round up enough horses, mules, donkeys, reindeer and even cows from the nearest villages to carry everyone home. The Toritrels had even lent out three of their griffins, one to each visiting royal family. Tarragon could only imagine how thrilling it would be to fly home on the back of such a magnificent creature.

His own journey would be far less glamorous.

As a Lord on the mid to lower end of the Ortusian hierarchy, he had been assigned a donkey, which he'd offered to share with Clover to spare her from being crammed on the back of a cattle-drawn grain cart with the other far lower born Ortusians. The poor animal wouldn't be able to carry them both the whole distance, so they would have to alternate between riding and walking. It was going to be a very long few weeks.

On the morning of their departure, the air was still, with small, sparce flakes of snow tumbling gently from the sky. Gazing up into the hazy expanse of white, Tarragon could just about make out the shadowed figure of a griffin soaring south.

So the Serassi's had left.

He watched the creature fly away until the clouds obscured it from view, absently rubbing his thumb across the tightly wound bandage covering his right wrist.

I suppose this an unusual way of saying I forgive you.

She'd saved him. If the wound had been left open any longer, he was sure he would have bled out. As much as the blistered, oozing mess of melted flesh hurt like all Hells, it was the only thing that had kept him from death. At a loss for what to say to express his appreciation, He hadn't yet approached Calio. Try as he might, he couldn't find the words to properly thank her for literally causing him to still be alive, and now it was too late, even if he could think of something to say.

Or so he had thought.

"How's the wrist?"

Tarragon shot round to see Calio atop her mottled grey half-breed, bundled in layers of fleece and leather. She pulled the half-breed to a stop next to him.

"What are you- Why aren't you- What?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Intelligible as always, I see."

Tarragon cleared his throat. "I just mean, I thought I saw the Serassi's griffin flying South just now."

"You probably did, I just didn't fancy a long journey in close proximity to my parents. Besides, I don't really trust anyone else with Ash." She scratched her half-breed between its ears. "How are you getting back?"

"Donkey," he said. "Clover's just getting it ready."

She nodded. "So. You never answered my other question." She tipped her head towards his wrist.

"Oh." He lifted his arm, pulling back his sleeve for her to see the bandage. "It's been treated and covered, so it should be alright in a few weeks. Obviously, it'll scar, but I'll live, which, I have to say, I'm pretty pleased about."

She frowned. "I'm sorry."

"You're... sorry that I'll live?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. I'm sorry that it'll scar. I wish I hadn't had to do it."

Tarragon's brow creased. "Calio... you saved my life. I don't care that you left a mark. I don't even know how to thank you."

I flicker of an unplaceable emotion crossed her features. "You're not bothered by it?"

"Bothered?" He almost laughed. "I'm breathing! I'm standing! I'm going home and living the rest of my life, and I'm only doing all of those things because of you. I've been hiding from you for the past week because I don't have a clue how to adequately express how grateful I am."

He noticed her throat bobbing. She blinked, hiding whatever it was she was feeling with a smirk. "You should get me a gift. How about an apple?"

He bit his lip, heat rising to his cheeks. "Yes, alright, can people stop bringing that up?"

Her smirk broke into a fully-fledged smile, and Tarragon swallowed. He wasn't used to seeing that much warmth on her face. It practically made his insides melt.

"So..." he said, wringing his sweating hands behind his back where she couldn't see the nervous gesture. "I was wondering if the Aestasan court might have any political reason to visit Ortus any time soon?"

Her smile faltered. "You want to know if we're going to see each other again."

He gave her an awkward smile.

From the gates of the Mouth of Dormis, Dallas Akari trotted towards them, lying on his stomach on the back of a mule. Tarragon winced, remembering Clover's grim description of his injuries.

"Cal!" he called out, flailing an arm in her direction. "Ready to go?"

"Coming," she called back, whirling Ash around.

Before trotting off, she turned over her shoulder, giving Tarragon a final glance.

"I hope so."

With that, she and Dallas disappeared into the woods.

Watching them ride off, Tarragon spotted a rustle of movement between the trees. Squinting, he stared through the falling snow to a cluster of shrubs. For a moment, he thought he'd imagined it, until they rustled again, snow shaking free from the dark leaves. Through the branches, he could just about make out the flicker of a white tail, and a pair of golden eyes rising to meet his.

"Weyra," he said. The wolf lifted her head. He laughed, taking a step towards her. She stepped out from behind the shrubs, but didn't approach him. He bent down, stretching out his hand. "Come on, Weyra. Or do you prefer Chalcedony?"

The wolf pricked up her ears, but still didn't approach.

When he realised why, Tarragon lowered his outstretched hand, a sad smile rising to his lips. "Alright. Off you go."

She blinked at him, before turning and scampering silently away.

He stood, watching the white wolf disappear into the Dormisian woods. Woods which she must have known. Merith was Dormisian, after all.

Weyra was home. And soon, he would be too.