Page 40 of The Neverfear

The mood was shifting against him. There was a murmuring among the guests. ‘Give it to the girl!’ – ‘Can’t you keep a bargain?’

‘Enough!’ Vigo held up his hand. He drained the wine bottle and kicked it away from him. There was a long and terrible silence. Then he rose from his throne. He swayed slightly as he unbuckled the belt, and threw it on the ground.

‘Get out o’ here, both o’ you. If I meet you on a less festive day I’ll make yer sorry for it. And, Skadi: if I see yer face again I’ll cut yer down where you stand.’

The young half-Berserker said nothing. She picked up her truncated weapon, and stalked away into the desert.

Christopher bent and snatched up the belt. Anya touched the tips of the swords together, and the flames disappeared. She thrust them inside their sheaths, and slung the harness over her back. It was too large – it had been designed for someone taller and broader – but it fitted well enough for the purpose. They exchanged identical looks – and they ran.

They did not stop until they had put several dunes between themselves and Vigo’s camp, Ratwin leading the way over the darkened desert.

Then Anya held out her hand to Jacques and he landed on it.

‘You are,’ she said, ‘the bravest dragon in the Archipelago. Thank you.’ She kissed the back of his head.

‘Unhand me!’ said Jacques. ‘This is most undignified!’ But he did not move, and his tail swished from side to side on her palm.

They walked across the sand by the light of the moon. It was hard going, but every now and then they glanced at each other and exchanged smiles. They spoke little, until they came in sight of the shore.

‘Christopher.’

‘Yes?’

‘That fight.’

‘Yes.’

‘I loved it.’

‘Yeah. I could tell.’

‘But – I wasn’t fully there. Something came over me – the same feeling as before.’

‘Yeah. You had that same look that you had, back in the City of Scholars.’

‘Since I was born, everyone around me – everyone, except my father and the gaganas – told me what I was. I was a princess. My job was to look and behave exactly right at all times. My grandfather once told me that my job was to be watched. “To be seen and admired and envied and coveted.” I remember it – that’s what he said. I used to get so angry: I spat on the floor, once, at his feet. I used to feel like a volcano – like I wanted to explode – I wanted to roar, to run, to bite, to kick things. He said I had to be sweet and good and charming. That I was born to be. But …’

‘But?’

‘What if I was born to be something else?’

‘What?’

‘I know how this sounds.’ She was scowling at the sand as they walked. ‘You’ll laugh.’

‘I won’t.’

‘What if I was born to be brave?’

Understanding is not a single thing: it happens over and over, painfully. It is more like rolling a stone up a hill than it is like a firework. But Anya Argen was on the move.

Hell Hath No Fury

Irian Guinne looked at the advancing sea. The waves lapped at the bars of the cage. The night before they had come in over her knees.

Her main problem was thirst. Koo was able to fly out of the cage and sip at the rainwater in rock pools but he couldn’t bring it back for her, though he did most earnestly try.

‘Thank you, Koo,’ said Irian, as he opened his mouth to spill three drops of beaky liquid into her palm. ‘Delicious.’