Firemouth

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Once, long before Nell’s time, the dragons were everywhere else.

Nella traced her finger along the thin, jagged line on the map. The flickering light of the candlestick caused the markings to jump and dance on the old parchment, as if the peaks around the Valley were restless, edging away from their posts. The Thorns, they were called, sharp and deadly, woven around their prize. Rumour claimed they could not be traversed.

Nella knew better. It wasn’t that the Thorns couldn’t be crossed. It was that no one in their right mind would ever choose to.

The candle had burned low, nearly down to its end, but it still cast enough light to give the painted dragon an unearthly glow, its faded scales alive with fire once more. On the map, the creature’s body extended long enough to nearly encircle the Valley, as if guarding it from any traveller foolish enough to brave the mountains. A pair of thin, oversized wings rose from the dragon’s back, and the valley depicted below seemed darker, like the wings had blocked the sun from reaching it. Nella had stared at the map every night for as long as she could remember, but even now, she couldn’t tell if that darkness was real or just a trick of the sputtering light.

Movement from the bed caught the corner of her eye, and Nell dragged her gaze away from the map and back to where Hattie had turned over in her sleep, an expression like concern twisting her round face. Holding her breath, Nell waited for her sister’s eyes to open, to focus on her standing by the door, to ask why she hadn’t come to bed yet. Instead, Hattie gave a long sigh, her features going smooth gradually, her eyes still firmly shut. Just dreaming, then. Nell released the breath slowly, soundlessly.

The candlelight began to dance violently, as if caught on a breeze, and Nell watched as the flame lowered against the wax, clinging desperately to the wick. The feather of light changed from yellow to blue, shrinking to the size of a droplet, and with a final sputter, it went out, a thin stream of smoke rising from the blackened stub. Nell’s eyes returned to her sister one more time, searching for movement, almost expecting Hattie to sit up and…

And what? Stop her? Beg her to stay? Shout for their father?

Or would she let Nella go?

Nell forced herself to blink, the dark stinging at the corners of her eyes. The candle had burned out. It was time.

Reaching a hand into the pocket of her dress, Nell’s knuckles bumped against the cold, rough iron of the key hidden there, and she wrapped her fingers around it to keep it from bumping on anything as she moved, or perhaps to steady her nerves. Stepping carefully, in all the spots she knew the floorboards wouldn’t creak, Nell backed out of the room, making her silent way through the cottage and to the back door. The handle scraped as it turned, releasing a shrill squeak that set her heart pounding, but nothing stirred through the house.

Outside, the night air was still and pleasant, warm enough to enjoy without a shawl, but Nell wrapped hers tighter around her shoulders anyway. Night bugs chirped in the grass as she walked, a reminder that summer was advancing on the cold, wet spring. It was almost a shame to leave now, just before the warmth set in and the gardens settled into the fruitful season. Father would be busier than ever managing the grounds, and he always needed her help at this time of year.

Nell set her jaw against the doubt that nibbled at her stomach. Father wouldn’t be alone, he would have Jacob, and Hattie was certainly old enough to start helping. They would be fine without her.

The stables were at the other end of the grounds, shaded by a pair of willow trees that always had to be cut back when the branches reached too low and concealed the doorway. Nell dipped under the leaves and pushed the door open, grateful for how quietly it moved. The time spent mucking out stalls as an excuse to grease the hinges two days ago had been a worthwhile sacrifice. Inside, the warm, dusty smell of the hay and the horses made Nell smile in spite of herself, and for a moment she simply breathed it in. There were memories in these stables. She wondered if this would be the last time she ever stood in that place, listening to the animals shift and whicker in their sleep, bathed in that lazy straw scent.

The black mare awoke the moment Nell opened the gate to her stall, standing slowly and moving closer to nose at Nell’s hands and pockets for treats. Nell showed the horse her empty hands and went to work, letting the animal sniff the bridle before easing the bit into the horse’s mouth and strapping it into place. The saddle she chose was worn and faded in patches, but Nella couldn’t bring herself to steal of the nicer ones, not when she was already taking Monarch. Cassius had always loved that horse, and to take her felt like the biggest betrayal of all, but Nella hardly had a choice. Monarch was the only Fenn horse who would tolerate her, and Nell couldn’t afford to be thrown by one of the other mounts at a time like this.

Stashing the saddlebags in the hay pile in Monarch’s stall had been easy, but filling them with supplies unnoticed was perhaps the most difficult part of her escape thus far. After all, how did one explain away the loss of several months’ worth of dried fruit and meat from the larder without giving oneself away? Nella had known she couldn’t take it all at once, but hiding a handful of supplies in her dress every day for a month, stockpiling slowly and packing it away for this moment, was apparently beneath the cook’s notice. Besides, no one was going to raise the alarm if a servant took a little extra for her family, especially not one who had been working for the Fenns as long as Nella had.

It was in the same moment as Nell swung the saddlebags over Monarch’s back that she heard the straw on the ground shift behind her, and the mare’s ears trained forward towards the stall gate. “What are you doing?”

It was a small voice, unfamiliar, and not one of the voices Nell was dreading. She turned, and in the entrance to the stall stood a young girl in a worn-out nightgown. Her hair was long and tangled, and even in the dark Nella could tell that it was the kind of blonde that was nearly white. The girl was maybe six or seven, and she rubbed her eyes with her fists like she had just awoken.

Nell took a step back from Monarch’s side. “Where’s Matthew?”

“Hurt himself,” the girl replied, “he got kicked.”

“Are you his sister?” Nell asked, eyeing the familiar white-blonde hair.

She nodded. “I’m Ina.”

“Will Matthew be okay?”

“Father says he will be. The doctor came to our house.”

That was good. The Fenns took care of their servants, even the stable boys. “Are you watching the horses for him tonight?”

Ina came closer, holding out a palm for Monarch to sniff. Her hand was so small that it almost seemed to disappear into the horse’s muzzle, but the girl didn’t shy or draw back. “Father says I’m old enough to start working, and if I do good here tonight the Fenns might take me on.”

Nell swallowed her guilt. “I’m sure they will.”

Ina peered around Monarch’s broad head at the saddlebags. “Are you stealing the master’s horse?” she asked, her small voice more curious than concerned.

“No,” Nell lied, “just taking her out for an early ride.”

“But the sun’s not even out yet.”

“That’s the best time for it.”

“Will you bring the horse back?”

She hoped it was dark enough that Ina wouldn’t see the remorse in her face. “Of course,” she made herself say, “but not until later.”

Ina just ran her hands over the soft, velvety fuzz of Monarch’s face. “Okay.”

“You should go back to sleep.”

The girl nodded, withdrawing from the stall and standing aside to watch as Nell led Monarch through the stable door and into the warm night. The moon wasn’t full, but even the half-disc gave enough light to illuminate the buckles on the bridle, the dew gathering in the grass, the light frizz on Ina’s hair. As Nell swung herself up into the saddle, Ina drew closer again. “Where are you going to ride?”

Nell hesitated. In the morning, her family would know she was gone. Hattie would awake to an empty bed and a cold pillow. If they searched their house, they would find their copy of the gate key missing. Monarch’s absence would be discovered next, and then they would question Ina, the last person to see Nella before she disappeared. Didn’t you know she was stealing that horse, they would ask the girl. Did she say where she was going?

“I think I’ll go to the mountains,” she replied.

Ina blinked, her eyes still bleary from interrupted sleep. “That’s a long way.”

“We’ll be okay.” She patted Monarch’s neck with what she hoped looked like assurance.

“What about the dragons?”

Nell couldn’t help smiling. “There aren’t any dragons in the mountains.”

“My father says there are,” Ina argued, “he says the Valley of Roses is where the dragons come from.”

Your father is wrong, Nell thought, but she didn’t say it. “Well, then I’ll make sure not to go to the Valley of Roses.”

“Dragons will eat you if they catch you,” warned Ina gravely, “even your horse.”

“I doubt it,” Nell gave the mare’s shoulder another pat, “Monarch is too big for a dragon to eat. She’ll protect me.”

Ina looked at Monarch again, taking in her size for what may have been the first time. “I guess so,” she agreed eventually.

“Go back inside, Ina,” Nell told her, “don’t worry about us.”

“Okay,” the girl yawned wide, “goodnight.” She tiptoed back towards the stables and disappeared inside. Poor thing, Nell thought as she dug her heels into Monarch’s sides, I hope the Fenns don’t blame her for this.

The mare’s gait was long and smooth, lulling Nella’s nerves into the background as she made her way across the grounds and towards the front gate. The Fenn house was not the largest in the town, but it had a simple kind of grandness that the other merchants’ homes lacked. The front of the house was walled in brick, differing it from the more popular, more elegant stone preferred by the richest families, but Nella had always liked how the ivy climbed the bricks of the Fenn house, finding purchase between each piece and growing so thick that it nearly obscured the rich red tone entirely. Lining the front walls were rose bushes of every colour, and while only a few of them bloomed this early in the year, within a few months they would be bursting with flowers, painting the grounds in blush pinks and warm peach tones, with the occasional white bush to keep the whole ensemble looking light and airy. Nella’s father was known for his way with roses, and his handiwork could be found throughout the city, but his finest work was here in the Fenn gardens. Buds had only just begun to open on a handful of the bushes, but Nell could still smell the sweet floral aroma on the nighttime breeze.

When she reached the gate, Nell slid down from Monarch’s back and pulled the iron key out of her dress pocket. The road on the other side was empty, unsurprisingly for such a late hour, and she breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to explain herself to anyone else that night. Convincing a child was one thing, but any man who caught sight of a servant girl riding out of an estate on her master’s horse before the stars had even begun to dim would be remiss not to raise the alarm, or at least ask questions. Pardon me, miss, but are you not one of the Fenn household? Where are you off to at this time of night? Bless me, the boy’s getting married tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to miss the big scandal, would you?

Maybe it was this thought that caused Nell to turn and take one final look at the Fenn house after unlocking the gate and leading Monarch through, or maybe it was the growing sense of remorse in her belly the closer she came to leaving. Whatever the reason, as she pushed the gate closed and replaced the key in her pocket, Nell turned back one final time.

There was a light in one of the windows.

Not just a light. A figure.

Not just a window. His window.

Nella felt her stomach sink as she froze, as if going still would stop him from seeing her. Why was he still up? And what was he doing at the window?

The truth was as cold as the iron bars beneath her palms when it sank in. He had known she would run. Her own family had trusted her to sleep through the night, to wake in the morning and put on her finest gown and go to the house, to where the priest would be waiting, but he had known better. No one knew her as well as Cassius Fenn.

She couldn’t see his face from this distance, but she didn’t need to. She could picture his expression, his eyes narrowed as he watched to see what she would do, not a hint of surprise in his cool blue gaze. That same lock of dark hair would fall forward into his face like always, but he wouldn’t push it aside, he never did. When he was younger, he thought his unruly hair made him look roguish, and over the years he had never developed the habit to swipe it back. Cassius Fenn could do whatever he wanted. He could keep a candle burning long into the night if he wanted to, look messy if he wanted to, marry a servant girl if he wanted to, no matter how far below his status she was. His choice was law. Hers was not.

The figure in the window cocked its head slightly, and Nell felt her grip on the bars tighten involuntarily. He wasn’t just watching her, he knew. She had spotted him and he knew.

She could almost hear him, murmuring under his breath as if she were in the room with him. Go on, Nellinore. Break my heart, if you wish. Don’t let me stop you.

The rough iron left indents in her palms when she released the bars, and she flexed her fingers as she backed away from the gate. Monarch shook her mane out, the bridle jingling with her movement. Nell climbed back up into the saddle, gathering the reins in her hands. The shadow at the window shifted, like it had leaned forward. Even from here, his gaze seemed to pin her down, waiting for her next move. He had expected her to run. Would he be more disappointed by her choice or her predictability, she wondered?

With a click of her tongue, Nell prodded Monarch’s sides and turned her eyes from the window, focusing them forward, between the mare’s ears, toward what lay ahead. She didn’t see the candle go out, but she had little doubt that he would extinguish it now. He had seen all he had been waiting to see, after all. The sharp scent of candle smoke would fill his chamber as she left him behind.

That’s my girl, he would say to himself.