Talon the Black (Dragonwall Series # 1)

Chapter 34 - A Daring Plan

Kastali Dun

Saffra pulled an arrow from her quiver. Though her movements were well-practiced, today they betrayed her true feelings. Anyone who knew her would easily note that she was not herself. Most were still gathered in the lower courtyard to witness the highly-anticipated arrival of the king's Drengr Fairtheoir.

She had been on edge all day, but now, in the aftermath of the city's trumpets, her nerves were unbearable. Rule breaking was quite unlike her. Moreover, the idea of deceit was wholly foreign. But what choice did she have?

Whoosh. She let her arrow fly, squinting against the setting sun as she followed its arc to the target. Thud. It met its mark. Whoosh. She repeated the motion. Thud. Over and over she drew and fired. Whoosh. Thud. Whoosh. Thud. The sound was soothing.

With every shaft dispensed, she felt calmer and more collected. Archery was her tonic. It allowed her to gather her thoughts and think clearly. Moreover, it was the only skill she possessed beyond her abilities with magic.

Although sunset approached, it was still warm. She found it refreshing to feel the sun's heat upon her face. The air was not stale as it was indoors. As of late, venturing into the open was both rare and difficult. Since the death of Cyrus, she often tucked herself away within her chambers. Too many questions followed her footsteps. Be it handmaiden, kitchen wench, or noble, everyone within the keep had an insatiable desire to discover the scraps of truth behind the free-flowing gossip feeding their appetites.

Despite her desire to avoid the inevitable, she could not stay locked away forever. With so much happening, this was the best way to pass the time before nightfall, for nightfall was when her mission would commence.

Her plan was not long in the making, and rather risky, but necessary. During court, the king had announced the latest news. The woman named Claire would be thrown in a cell within the dungeons. "Put her where she belongs!" many cried in response. Their shouts rang through the throne room. Others called for death. And worse. She lurked in the shadows, shrouded beneath a silken cloak. In those moments, she'd been ashamed to be a part of the crowd.

"In the dungeons," the king had announced, "this woman will be out of our way. We must honor Cyrus." A cheer echoed from the walls. "This is my command to you. Clear your minds from the distractions she has brought upon us. Turn your attention where it is deserved."

"To Cyrus!" many cried, as a frenzy took over. "To Cyrus," they chanted. It was more than she could take—using Cyrus as an excuse to behave inhospitably towards this young woman. Finding her way through the crowd, she crept from the hall. More cheers followed in her wake. She did her best to ignore them.

How could the people be so cruel towards someone they knew nothing about? They were hasty in their judgement. Grief and anger were fickle fiends, but it was not the people she truly blamed. If the king would not speak to Claire then she would, and that meant she needed a plan, but going behind the king's back scared her. Admittedly, her own selfish desires were stronger than her fear, for it was Claire's face that haunted her mind, and she was determined to know why.

Walking over to the target, she removed her arrows and returned to her chambers.

"My lady, welcome back." Jocelyn greeted her. "Desaree will be along shortly with our evening tea. Shall I ready your gown for the procession?" The gown Jocelyn spoke of was a special one. The dressmaker, Lady Rosanne, had made it for her from a light gray velvet. It matched the tunics to be worn by the king's Drengr Fairtheoir. Like their attire, her dress had a silver dragon's head embroidered on the left breast—the king's sigil.