The Draykon Series (1-3)

Chapter Thirteen

Llandry lifted her cordial to her lips. A tremor wracked her and the bottle slipped, spilling the oily herbal concoction over her chin. She set the vessel down quickly, wiping at her face with a handkerchief. She was up to twice the usual dose, but still the attacks came. Most of her night had been spent wide awake, staring into the darkness feeling panic on the edge of her awareness, waiting for the medicine to wear off.

   She didn't even know what she was afraid of. Normally the attacks came when she found herself surrounded, buried in a crowd of people. Sometimes, on her worst days, she couldn't address so much as a syllable to a stranger without succumbing to a bout of trembling and hyperventilation. It had been a lamentably common occurrence since her early teenage years.

   The experience shouldn't be remarkable, then, even if the attacks did seem to be happening more frequently. But something was different. Added to the embarrassing loss of control over her own limbs, to the humiliating inability to speak or breathe, was a sensation of struggle, as if her mind was trying to claw its way out of her body. Or as if her body wished to invert itself. It was growing increasingly difficult to hide it from her mother, or even from Devary, who had a habit of appearing noiselessly and unexpectedly at times when she might definitely prefer to be alone.

   At the moment he was downstairs, working on his new song. The familiar melody drifted up to her bedchamber, calming her a little. At least while he was playing, he wouldn't walk in on her. She was free to restore her appearance to order, remove all signs of her torturous night before she ventured down. At length she stepped out of her room, hair brushed and clothing neat, hoping she might make it to the kitchen without being stopped.

   Apparently he was on the watch, for as soon as she reached the bottom of the winding stairs he set down his lyre and approached, wearing the usual smile.

   'Is everything well with you? It is unusually late.'

   Since when was he paying attention to her daily routine? 'I'm fine,' she said curtly, belatedly noticing that he wore a bandage wrapped around one arm. 'What happened to you?'

   'There was another intruder in the night,' he replied.

   'You killed it, didn't you?'

   'You were not around.'

   Llandry shook her head in disgust, stalking into the kitchen. To her dismay he followed, seating himself at the table while she prepared tea. She knew she ought to eat but her stomach rebelled at the notion. She filled a teapot, with very poor grace, and gave him a cup.

   'Thanks,' he smiled. 'Llandry, why are you not employed as a summoner? Your ability was quite apparent yesterday.'

   She scowled into her tea, refusing to look at him. 'That is private.'

   'Is it? I am sorry. It is not my intention to pry.'

   Llandry sighed inwardly. If he'd only pushed, it would have been much easier to continue being ungracious and rude. His habitual courtesy was disarming.

   'I'm sorry. I'm just... in a poor mood. I wanted to train as a summoner, but my father forbade it.'

   'Forbade?'

   'Well.' She reconsidered. 'That is not the right word. He... talked me out of it.'

   'That, I do not understand. The profession is highly respected in all the Seven Realms, along with sorcery. You would be guaranteed a well-paid position. Why would he discourage you?'

   'Pa's never trusted the Off-Worlds. He thinks they're too dangerous. If I'd insisted, he would have been terrified every time I was sent to the Uppers, and that's an important part of training.'