To Marry a Dragon

12. Chivalry in the Back Alley

Elvira didn't know if she should be flattered or dismayed by Theopile's chivalry. She wouldn't have given it a second thought before, but since admitting her feelings for Ferrante, she became increasingly curious about love.

She even tried to remember the words of minstrels' songs on the ship. To counteract the dreadful shanties, she told herself. But who was she kidding! The ballades' sentimental words now resonated with her, and the more heart-wrenching, the better. It used to be that the marching songs had that effect on her and epic sagas. Now, it was the ballads.

And why shouldn't I dream of love?

The anonymity of her new station permitted her enjoy love—save for occasional freak lightning storms that blew in from her Princess' past. Fortunately, just like with the sailors' less courteous attentions, no tempest broke out to strike Theophil down the moment he set his eyes on her and thought... who knew what he thought. Apparently, the curse must have required her to reciprocate the feelings to the degree she had reciprocated Ferrante's feelings. Or, perhaps, her maidenhood and Sigvart's rights to it had to be endangered against her will. Neither was the case, so she could proceed without delay.

She scouted the buildings and found two close enough together that she could press her back into it and use her arms and legs on the opposite wall to prop herself up.

About half way through the laborious ascent, a green shoot stretched out of her neck pouch, and felt the wall. It found a purchase, then the acorn popped out of her pouch. The fresh section of the shoot stretched out from the anchoring spot, pulled the acorn up, and so forth and so on, and in no time, Cerne dangled her feet, sitting at the edge of the roof.

"Great job," Elvira grated.

Cerne dipped her head forward and her emerald tresses wrapped themselves around Elvira's arms and whisked her to the tiled rooftop. "I had no idea I could do that!" she exclaimed with an enthusiasm that stopped all further complaints from Elvira.

"You learn a lot of things about yourself on the road," she said instead.

"Uh-huh," Cerne replied. "Now give me a moment to talk to the locals," she splayed her hands of the mossy tiles, and her fingers blended into the green film over the red of clay. With her other hand, she pointed toward the east where the Vesper Star was fading before the pink and orange rays of the rising sun.

Elvira ran across the roof, her heels pounding on the tiles. But, if the inhabitants of the rooms below were not aroused from their sleep by the fire and the fighting on the streets, her thumping wouldn't matter.

Luckily, the roofs of Antikapey didn't slope steeply, as snow was almost never a concern this far south. Elvira picked up speed and leapt the gap to the next house. She landed safely a half-body length away from the edge, her knees absorbing the impact.

Cerne did the same, and with less noise. The lighter landing, however, was negated by giggling. She didn't hit the brakes after the jump, taking the lead. Elvira charged after the skipping dryad. Maybe after the turbulent night, the guards would choose to mistake them for overgrown kids playing tag.

Running and leaping, leaping and running, she chased Sigvart.

The roofs made an incredible pathway, convenient pavement one moment, a chilling thrill the next, with a drop gaping below her feet.

Sometimes Cerne stopped to confer with moss and change direction, giving Elvira a breather.

The roof-hopping could have been fun, if she didn't spot the bodies left in the streets or people lingering like shadows in the burned-down quarter. Theophil and his cohorts will find the Deadfisher, Elvira promised herself.

She didn't know why she was so sure that the fire wasn't Raul's doing. She just wanted to believe that Sigvart wouldn't tangle with someone who'd torch houses of the less fortunate. At least she was sure it was not Sigvart himself who set the houses ablaze, or she wouldn't have caught him in the battle's hotspot by the Cockerel.

The houses grew smaller, first two, then only one storey tall. The pigs and chickens spilled out into the yards and streets as the morning dawned. Elvira hopped off the roof and waved for Cerne to jump too. "I know where they are going."

They already climbed over the section of the city wall a few blocks back. It badly needed repair, but at least the dwellings within its perimeter would be protected if an attack came. These poor huts would be destroyed and their inhabitants would beg to be sheltered in the castle... But the slum dwellers did their best to fortify the exit into the surrounding hills against lone murderers or thieves, with palisades and hedges woven with brambles. Hopefully, Sigvart left a few shreds of his precious cloak on those thorns...

Elvira surveyed the hedge and winced. She didn't fancy climbing it, even with vambraces and greaves for protection.

"The men we are tracking mounted the horses and took that road," Cerne said after touching the thorny tangles.

A thin trail popped into view and disappeared again in the prickly grass. A lark sung, invisible, high in the sky and cicadas answered from the ground, equally hidden from sight. A herd of sheep rolled out of the gates to Elvira's right, adding the excited bleating to the early morning's symphony.

There was no sign of Sigvart's hasty flight, no matter how hard Elara squinted at the trampled dirt and worn out grass, but she trusted Cerne's tracking. He came through here, riding hard for a hideout somewhere in the countryside.

"I need a horse," Elvira said. "Let's see if the Order can spare one."