Talon the Black (Dragonwall Series # 1)

Chapter 47 - The Verekblot

Kastali Dun

Claire crinkled her nose before stripping away a set of linens. The feather mattress fell back into place with a poof, sending up clouds of dust. She tossed the bedding onto the floor then moved away to straighten the furniture in the room. Fresh flowers from her cart replaced dried bouquets, which she threw into a cloth bag for disposal.

She and Desaree were assigned to the third-floor apartments on the west wing. These were some of the best in the keep, with stunning views of the Dragonfire Sea. She glanced out the open window to watch several ships.

"Phew," Desaree uttered with disgust. "Some of these nobles need to bathe more."

She turned to Desaree and smiled. "Then perhaps they might go sparingly on the perfume."

Desaree laughed and tossed away a smelly chemise. She was a godsend, if Dragonwall's gods were indeed real. The two had become the best of friends, spending most of their waking moments together. Much of it was done cleaning, but to her surprise, she enjoyed the work. It was exhausting, yes, but she was drawn to the busyness of it. The tasks were mindless enough to keep her occupied while allowing plenty of time to think. Although, thinking was increasingly difficult as her headaches worsened.

Twice she was confined to bed-rest when the migraines became unbearable. Whenever that happened, Tess was there, fawning over her the way her mother would. "Just keep them eyes closed, dearie," she would say, sponging a damp cloth over her forehead and feeding her broth.

Reyr visited too, but he never stayed long. It was difficult to converse when her head pounded and words brought stars to her eyes. "I worry about you, Claire," he often said. "Are you sure you will be all right?"

"You frown too much, Reyr. You're going to get wrinkles," she joked in return, trying to lighten his mood. "I'm sure I'll be fine." Despite her reassurances, he always left with a grim expression.

Sometimes, when her misery overwhelmed her, Cyrus showed himself. You must learn to block the voices out, he'd advised. If you choose which to hear and which to ignore, you will feel better.

The problem was, she didn't know how to do that. Worse still, any amount of intermittent coaching only increased the pain.

It was during her darkest days that her conscience whispered to her, telling her to run away, to leave Dragonwall forever, coaxing her to find her way back home, back to a world where dragons were only found in storybooks and not skies. Cyrus hated the idea. It was cowardly. The kingdom needed her. He never bothered explaining why.

Despite her struggles, there were good days too. Some days the voices came less frequently, giving her mind a small break. She saw these time-outs as islands of mercy amidst a treacherous sea, a sea she was forced to traverse daily.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she stood to survey her work. Desaree was finishing up. She watched her place fresh candles into their holders before declaring the room finished. The two of them moved to the next, and the day flew by like all the others.

That night, much to her relief, Saffra came to see her. Three weeks had passed since their first visit in the dungeons. She had just gotten into bed when Saffra's knock came.

"Tess told me about your headaches," Saffra said, entering the room. She frowned. "What is the reason for the chair?" She eyed the security device with suspicion while she replaced it under the doorknob. They both plopped down on the bed.

After she detailed her paranoia and the use of the chair, Saffra said, "You are right to be careful. I have witnessed firsthand what Kane is capable of. To think he manipulated my visions...it makes me sick."