Chapter 97
Neville adjusted the Eslarian’s stirrups. He was worried.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Thaila. Then she gave a little laugh because what wasn’t wrong?
Neville didn’t know what worried him more. Pierre in a coma? Frederico missing? Vivianne and Menior on the way to Deran with no warning of what they would find there?
‘I think Líran worries me the most,’ he said.
The Eslarian took up the reins. His arm was cured, his face was back to normal. The fast recovery, Vivianne said, was due to Fregósbor’s magic.
‘It seems to me,’ said the baker, ‘that Líran has something of a mystery to herself. Maybe she is the only one of us who stands a chance against that dragon. She seemed to know what she was doing.’
‘When I got lost in darknes,’ said Neville, ‘I met a mystery,’ how to describe that frog by the creek? ‘He saved me.’
‘What mystery was it?’ asked the Eslarian.
‘I don’t know. But I felt his presence again when Pierre faced the dragon. Ask me no more questions. I don’t know, I don’t understand. The mystery wasn’t there, but I felt something similar to his power surrounding Pierre. I never felt it on Líran.’
The storyteller was just walking by the stables when he said that.
I never felt it on Líran.
Not yet, she thought. Not yet.
Vivianne was wating at Líran’s door, her arms crossed. They went into the room together and Líran had barely closed the door when Vivianne started:
‘I don’t know what you have in mind, but think it through.’
She was angry, Líran realised. Aside from Pierre Vivianne was the person who came closer to Líran. THey explored parts of Chambert together when Vivianne was mapping it, they had meals together and, when they wanted company, they looked for each other and Pierre. The three of them sat together, sometimes in silence, reading, sometimes Líran told them stories. There were nights when they just looked at the fire, the three of them together.
Was Vivianne angry because she was worried about Líran?
‘It’s a dragon, Líran! How can I not be worried?’
So that was what it felt like to have human friends. Líran had friends when she was a mystery, but nobody worried about her well-being. What could go wrong with a mystery of her proportions? Vivianne’s worry was cozy and also contagious. Vivianne was going North with Menior the messenger.
‘We are all at risk,’ said Líran. ‘Mine is in the shape of a dragon, that is all.’
‘That is all! Pierre would never allow you to face that beast.’
Líran smiled, folded a shirt and put it in her backpack.
‘Are you talking about Pierre, who ran to the dragon? Twice?’
Vivianne threw herself in a plush chair.
‘I’m surrounded by lunatics.’
For a couple of minutes, Líran packed in silence.
‘How does he do it, Líran?’
‘Pierre?’
‘How does he remain strong? I feel that, if somebody blows a kiss in my direction, I might break.’
‘I am afraid too,’ said Líran. ‘As for the others: Frederico, Neville… they’ve been avoiding the story foryears. It was Pierre who put it in motion. In a way, accpeting a story is the same as putting a crown over one’s head. Once it’s there, you can’t get rid of its weight.’
‘Líran, what do you plan to do about that dragon?’
Líran turned from her packing and knelt by Vivianne.
‘Vivianne, have you ever been kissed?’
‘Huh? Well... no. Not yet.’ What did that have to do with dragons?
Líran stood up and opened a drawer where she found a little ink bottle and paper. She wrote one single word and gave the piece of paper to Vivianne.
‘Take this name with you. And save your first kiss for him.’
‘Why?’
‘He is the mystery that made me mortal.’
‘Why did he do that to you?’
‘I wished for it. He makes wishes come true, for a price: a last kiss or a first kiss.’
‘How do I find him?’
‘You can’t find him, you call him.’
Vivianne put Nuille’s name in her pocket.
‘What if he doesn’t come?’
Líran’s eyes were deep and purple.
‘He will come. She will come.’
‘She?’ was what Vivianne wanted to ask, but the conversation was beginning to sound like one of those interminable talks she and Marcus had with the Wraith. Questions led to even more questions, never to answers. If mysteries made any sense, they wouldn’t be mysteries. So, instead, Vivianne asked:
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Find Nuille.’
‘You said you can’t.’
‘I have na idea.’
Many questions came to Vivianne’s mind, and once again she quieted them. The Wraith had taught her too well. Dear Wraith. Where was he now?
Vivianne stood up and hugged her friend.
‘Take care.’
Alone in her room, Líran finished packing and distractedly put the little ink bottle inside her backpack. The ink she had used to write Nuille.