Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to do this, given … everything?
Gwen’s whole body tightened. Isobelle had witnessed the aftermath of her battle against the dragon, and knewthere were aspects of that fight that Gwen had not shared. Some unspoken terror that would not let Gwen go.
I can’t let Isobelle know I’m afraid. The thought roiled, sickening and heavy.That isn’t the person she fell for.
Gwen’s sword hand felt numb against Isobelle’s. For months, they’d been riding out to chase down rumours of monsters. For months, Gwen had awakened thinking she’d be facing another dragon, another life-and-death struggle for her very soul, and had gone to bed again with no way to tell her nerves to stand down, no way to tell her body she was safe.
Coward, thought Gwen, the word eclipsing all else, leaving her blinking, trying to regain control of her body and mind.
Behind Orson and Sylvie, the townsfolk stood in a ragged semicircle. Some wide-eyed, some fearful, some excited – but every single one of them was watching her.
She cleared her throat, and banished the thought deep into the same pit where she kept her fear.
‘You’re right. This is what I do,’ she murmured, squeezing Isobelle’s hand and smiling the way she’d learned from watching the master of fake smiles. ‘This should be fun.’
8
Don’t shut me out
Gwen slipped away after dinner while Isobelle was busy charming a young ship’s captain into taking them to fight the sea monster in the morning. It was unlike Gwen not to at least bid her goodnight.
‘She said she was tired and going to bed,’ Jane said, when she caught Isobelle hunting for her knight. ‘It wasn’t long ago.’
The stairs creaked as Isobelle made her way up them, but there was a sliver of light visible from beneath Gwen’s door. As Isobelle approached, the light went out.
Isobelle tapped lightly on the door, then carefully eased it open, peeking inside. She expected that Gwen would be pulling the covers up – she could imagine the other girl’s smile as she turned towards her.
They would talk about this sea monster – the townsfolk had been overflowing with stories to share, and one of them had even presented her with a scroll borrowed from Lord Bingleton’s library, written by someone purporting to be an expert in sea monsters. She would remind Gwen thatthis was no dragon, that nothing from here on out could be as bad as that. She would remind Gwen that she was the bravest, strongest person Isobelle had ever met.
But Gwen was a still lump in bed, not moving at all.
‘Gwen?’ Isobelle whispered, by way of announcing that it wasn’t anybody she needed to pretend to be asleep for.
Gwen didn’t move, save for the slight shift of her slow breathing.
Isobelle remained where she was, studying the other girl as she feigned sleep. And then she slowly closed the door once more.
Isobelle woke abruptly, panting for breath, as startled as if someone had jumped on her bed. But there was only the moon, high in the sky and casting a brilliant silver square across the floor, and the occasional hiss of the coals in her fireplace.
She knew what had woken her, though. Even two rooms away, she knew, although she couldn’t have explained how. There was no sound, but a wordless call pulled her out of bed and onto her feet. In a lighter mood, she’d compare it to the way she could sense it at a banquet when the servants carried out the platters of refreshments – even if she couldn’t see them through the crowd, she knew they were there. This urge, though, came with an unpleasant tug in the pit of her stomach.
It had been months since Gwen had stopped having nightmares about the battle with the dragon. Isobelle told herself it was her own anxiety, her own worries about Gwen, her old habit of waking the instant Gwen began to dream. After all, how could she know, from the other end of the corridor?
Isobelle slipped into the hallway and hurried down towards the Dragonslayer’s Suite. She didn’t bother to knock, but lifted the latch and pushed the door open.
Her heart sank.
Gwen was huddled against the headboard, arms around her knees. The moonlight streaming through her window made it hard to see her face in the comparative darkness, but Isobelle caught the glitter of wide eyes, the gleam of perspiration on her brow.
‘Gwen?’ Isobelle managed, her heart pounding. Gwen’s sheets were tangled, her hair a wild ruin. One of her hands shifted from her knee, coming to rest on the sheets, as if half reaching towards Isobelle.
Isobelle made it one step before Gwen recoiled and shook her head.
‘I’m fine,’ Gwen said. Her voice was taut and smooth, like coiled metal. ‘Really. Go back to sleep.’
Isobelle’s mouth had gone dry. ‘Were you having a nightmare?’ It was a foolish, useless question; she’d known it from the instant she woke.
Gwen glanced at her and bit her lip. Then sheshrugged and looked away, and Isobelle felt a strange, cold feeling seeping through her veins. ‘No,’ said Gwen. ‘The moonlight is making it hard to sleep, that’s all.’
