72

Heads and Biscuits

Candle soared out over the castle, the crosswinds buffeting the leathery skin between her outstretched wings. She followed Asher into the sky, gaining height until the white walls of Angarrack were toy-sized beneath them, and the foam-capped breakers mere ripples on the ocean below. It was good to be flying. It had been too long since she had flown for the sheer enjoyment of it, and she careened after Asher with more enthusiasm than grace. The air above Angarrack was filled with energy. Spirals of magic drifted around the high spires like the ebb and flow of the tide. Little wind spirits drifted in the currents, glimmering in Candle's magical sight as they flashed by.

Spirits and dragons shared the air above the castle. The wind spirits were like thin ribbons of broken light that twinkled as they spun, before disappearing into nothing. The dragons were all shapes and sizes – bronze, copper, grey, black and blue they soared, riding the currents that flowed through the great ocean of the sky. Candle's stomach somersaulted, as they drew near, and she tried not to stare. Some of them greeted Asher, roaring their salutations and casting curious glances at Candle as they passed. Too nervous to speak, anxiety nibbled at her core until she realised most of the dragons were young, and most of them were playing. The young ones were riding the updrafts, darting through the clouds, before diving down into the dark waters of the ocean below.

She glanced sideways, at Asher. His eyes were bright, and he grinned at her, his serpent's tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

"Do you see the whirlpool?" he asked.

Candle narrowed her eyes, searching the dark waters below. The seas around Angarrack were dark, with only the light of the moon skimming the surface to make the shade a deep iron grey. Directly below was a ragged circle of black, so dense it reminded her of Jotham's forbidden rune.

It was easily a thousand feet across. The waters around it were moon flecked and rough, but the waters inside the ring were a different beast altogether. Candle shivered, although the air was warm.

"Yes, I see it."

"Watch." Asher shook his neck in anticipation, as they coasted in a wide circle. All the other dragons were watching as well and Candle felt a tingle of excitement.

"Here it comes!"

The ocean rumbled, and a violent eruption of water flew high into the air. With a whoop the dragons dove, wings tucked into their sides.

"Come on!" cried Asher, diving with them. "Pull up before you hit the ocean!"

Candle, hesitated, before plunging down in a controlled dive. The air rushed past her cheeks, and she sucked in a gasping breath. Before she could think, Asher had smashed directly into the intense plume of water. She followed him in, blinking, as water streamed from her eyes. It was surprisingly hot, but not unpleasant. Droplets cascaded over her body in a wave and she gasped with delight. Moments later, she was out the other side, shaking the water from her scales Laughing, she chased Asher up again, beating her wings to regain the lost height.

"What is it?" she asked. Below them, the gush of water below dropped, as violently as it had erupted. The sea sloshed and roiled, before returning within minutes to the still, calm pool of midnight black it had been before. Asher shrugged, his eyes on the water.

"An oddity," he said. "At certain times of day, it turns into a vortex and sucks everything into it. But when the tide turns, like now, it blows the water out."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Yes," he said, amusement sparkling in his golden eyes, as he turned to look at her. The ocean below them rumbled, shock lines rippling out from the epicentre of the hole. "Let's go again!" he cried, diving as the water exploded upwards in a shimmering jet.

They played in the stream of water for a time before growing tired. At Asher's suggestion, they then coasted down to Angarrack's spires to take a seat on the roof. Play was the only word for it, Candle decided, as she did her best to land on the roof without crashing. She was keenly aware that her flying was uncontrolled compared to Asher's. After all, he had been flying since he was a child, while she had taken her first flight less than four months previously. Her instincts were still developing. She managed to land without toppling over or smashing her face into the tiles, but the descent was far from graceful. Blushing, she turned her head to the horizon.

"That was fun," she said. And to her surprise, she found she meant it. Playfulness was not something she had experienced much of in her life. Games had not been a feature of her childhood, but once she had got over the awkwardness she had enjoyed the experience.

Asher was sitting much too close to her, and his eyes were very gold.

"The gallery," she blurted, "with all the...heads... who does it belong to?"

"Oh, my mother's collection," he said, leaning back. He shrugged, the movement strangely human on his muscular dragon shoulders. "She is very proud of it. She's... rather old fashioned but she has a gripping tale to account for each trophy," he paused, "except for the human heads, of course, they are merely decorative. She likes to remind us all that she is undefeated in battle."

"Undefeated?"

He nodded.

"Who... who does the dragon's head belong too?" Candle was almost too afraid to ask.

"Her sister," Asher turned his golden eyes on her. They shone like burnished copper in the cold light of the stars. "My aunt."

Candle blinked, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. She was having trouble processing this information.

"Your mother... Lady Hezekiah... killed her own sister?" And then mounted her head on the wall?

"In battle," said Asher, a trifle defensively. He shifted his weight on the rooftop ledge, not meeting Candle's eye. "She keeps it up as a warning. So the clans can see the evidence, so they will see what happens if they are stupid enough to cross her. Aunt Jowanet was a fool, unhinged, really it was self defence, she was mad, she ... "

He kept talking but Candle stopped listening. There was roaring inside her ears. Cold fingers crawled their way up her spine. Jowanet, he had said Jowanet. He was talking about Jotham's fabled sister, Candle's ultimate grandmother. Jowanet's head was hung on the chalk-white walls of Angarrack – Jowanet of the Black Dawn, the founder of Dawn Watch, the ultimate mother of Candle's line and the first Gate Guardian of Hanternos. Candle's ultimate Ancestor. The woman who had fled the Night Nation for the sin of loving a human. The woman to whom Candle owed her ability to fly.

She swallowed, another thought occurring to her. If Jowanet was Asher's aunt that meant Jotham was Asher's uncle. And Asher and his siblings were distant cousins to Candle herself.

"Candle?"

She shook her head, realising that Asher was trying to get her attention.

"Yes?"

"Is something wrong?"

She dug a talon into the roof. It left a deep gouge, and she shifted her weight, hoping it wasn't noticeable. Time, she needed time to process this information. And she should say something. Anything. Something innocuous.

"No. I was just surprised. Do you have a collection?"

Gulping, she cursed herself for asking, but she had to know. Did he keep heads on walls?

"Yes, of course," he said, "would you like to see it? How about you? What do you collect?"

"Me?"

"I mean, besides waifs and strays," he laughed, turning his gaze on her again.

"No," she said. "I don't have many things. Nothing like a collection."

"You are not like any dragon I have ever met, Candle of East Midnight. And yet there is something familiar about you..."

He leaned towards her, sniffing. Candle clamped her teeth together so that a growl wouldn't escape, leaning away. "And you smell strange. Like frost and brine and something else...something I know–"

A snarl escaped her lips, before she could help herself. He pulled back, instantly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just, you smell... really unusual."

"Unusual, " she retorted before she could help herself. "You smell unusual!"

Asher's personal smell was warm and spicy – amber with a hint of vanilla. It wasn't unpleasant but she wasn't sure if she liked it. She wasn't sure if she liked him, especially when he was sitting so close to her, looking at her with those eyes that were so like Jotham's. And a collection of heads in his bedroom.

"Do you want to see it?" He asked, and for a moment she was worried he could read her mind.

"See what?"

"My collection?"

Candle's heart sank at the thought of inspecting a wall of grisly trophies and having to pretend she found the sight anything other than horrifying.

"Sure," she said, as casually as she could, arranging her face into a pleasant mask. Asher's eyes brightened and he leapt off the roof, sweeping around the tower in a wide arc.

She followed him around to an adjacent tower, landing on a wide open ledge fully three times the size of the one in Candle's suite. The cave-like room was distinctly masculine in appearance, with very little furniture. Spartan and practical, it reminded Candle a little of the Mester's office back home at Gwavas. A few chests stood against one craggy, and a thick, rough rug lay next to an open fire pit. Along the other wall was a wide open bathing pool, large enough for a dragon to splash in. The wall behind it was damp and hung with bright green moss, vivid against the bone-white of the walls. A surprisingly sweet floral scent hung in the air.

Candle looked around warily, as Asher transformed into his human form. "It's through here," he said. "I'm sorry, but you will have to change... it's too difficult to –"

She transformed instantly, her curiosity piqued by his obvious discomfort. She muttered a silent prayer to her Ancestors that his collection would not include heads or any other body parts. Asher smiled weakly, and a bead of sweat glimmered on his forehead as he crossed the room. He threw open a wooden door on the far side. Small and nondescript, Candle had not noticed it before.

Inside was a small, rough cave, one side open to the elements with moonlight pouring in. The rest of the cave was a riot of green. Plants of all shapes and sizes lined the walls and spilled down over shelves cleverly built into the rough walls. Ferns and large-leafed shrubs stood to one side, while the back of the room was colonised by mushrooms sprouting out of large compost filled tubs. Delicate pales blooms and bold black night roses shared a shelf to the right. The whole room was fragrant. Sweet smells wafted through the warm air with an undercurrent of earthy growing things.

Asher watched Candle anxiously as she reached out a hand to touch the pale white petal of a nearby flower. It felt like velvet and glimmered softly with veins of magic.

"This is your collection?" He nodded, eyes locked on her, as she stepped deeper into the room and bent to inspect a large potted night rose. "It's beautiful," she said, and his face split into a wide grin.

"Do you really think so?" He came to stand next to her, so close she could feel the warmth from his skin. "This is my favourite," he said, turning a small, shy orchid towards her. The plant itself was nondescript, the green leaves flat and uninspiring, but the bloom itself was exquisite – pale white flecked with greens and smattering of vivid pinks. Sprinkles of bioluminescence clung to the stamen like silver stars. "From the slopes of the Midnight Queens," he said, staring at it fondly. "I grew her from a seed."

"It's really lovely," said Candle, in wonder. "I had no idea."

"No idea?"

"No idea, that you... liked this sort of thing."

Asher flushed.

"Mother doesn't approve," he said, looking away. "But she's so old fashioned in her ideas. I mean she would prefer I–"

The door burst open and Zebulon spilled into the room, a broad smile on his face, and his hair on end.

"Can't you knock," said Asher, with a glare.

"I could," said Zeb, "but I didn't. I'm looking for Candle, not you. I've been looking everywhere – the Night Market has started, are you coming?"

"We were just on our way," said Asher.

"Oh, were you showing Candle your collection? What does she think? I bet she thinks it's stupid. Do you want to see mine? It's much more interesting."

"She hasn't had a chance to tell me properly," Asher said through gritted teeth. "Before you barged in."

Candle looked from one brother to the other.

"What do you collect?" she asked Zeb, after a moment.

"Come and see!" He grabbed her hand and towed her vigorously through the door, his eyes alight. Candle looked back at Asher and shrugged. The older brother scowled and then followed along, his face tight with annoyance. Zeb led them at breakneck speed through numerous bone pale passages and took a right turn at the end of a long gallery. This part of the castle was even more magnificent than the parts Candle had already seen, which wasn't surprising, as it was where the family lived all year round.

While Asher's suites had been plain and functional, Zebulon's rooms were bursting with furniture and colour. It was also a terrible mess, with objects strewn everywhere. Candle blinked, trying to take in the sight. Various brightly coloured garments were draped across chests and cupboards. Half of one wall was painted green, while another was painted purple, as if the artist had changed their mind halfway through, or run out of paint. The skull of an auroch sat atop a high cupboard, its horns a receptacle for shiny strings of beads. A messy pile of sea glass was heaped under the unmade bed.

Candle stepped carefully, taking care to avoid piles of clothes, and doing her best not to crush anything underfoot. Something caught her eye, gleaming amongst the clutter. She bent and picked up a tiny statue. It was surprisingly heavy, a quartz dragon with its wings outstretched crafted with exquisite detail. Zebulon snatched it out of her hands and put it on a table with a host of other beautiful figurines carved in ivory and stone.

"I've been looking for that!" he said, "Thanks, Candle. I can't finish the game without it."

"It smells in here," said Asher, wrinkling his nose. "You should clean up before Mother comes to visit."

"It does not smell," said Zeb, flushing. He nudged a pile of material under a cupboard with his foot. Candle sniffed, trying not to be too obvious about it. She could smell...bread? And a faint odour of unwashed clothes. "And she won't, you know she hates it in here. This way," he said to Candle and pushed open a door. He held it open proudly as she walked through.

It was like stepping into a small armoury. Weapons hung from every available space. Most of them were primitive, even by Havian standards – clubs and blades worked in bronze – a set of bow and arrows that would have made Jory shudder. There was nothing of the level of sophistication of the Lochlanoch, and even the blacksmith at Hanternos would have found these crude. None of them were made from iron. She picked up a blade that was barely more than a sharpened stump and looked up at Zeb enquiringly.

"It's...um ... they are very nice?"

She wasn't sure what to say. What need did a dragon have for weapons anyway?

"Now show her your real collection," said Asher from the doorway. Zeb broke into gales of laughter.

"This is just to appease the matriarch," he said. "The weapons of my fallen foes, and all that." He pinged his fingers against a bronze blade and made a face. "Although the iron arrowhead is pretty neat." He showed Candle a small display box with a tiny, innocuous arrowhead lying inside.

"Most of them he traded for at the market," said Asher, with a sniff. "My brother the warrior."

"Do you want to go?" asked Zebulon, setting the box down and baring his teeth at Asher. "I will take you right now, I swear. You know I've killed plenty of rogue humans! Honestly, you're always trying to make out like–"

"You were about to show Candle your real collection."

"Oh yes," said Zebulon, the scowl passing from his face as quickly as a summer shower. He danced over to the back of the room where a battered old cupboard stood, a stone axe hanging from the front. He heaved it aside, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter, and flung open the doors. He beamed proudly as Candle moved across to peer inside, trying to figure out exactly what she was looking at. It seemed to be piles of manuscripts. A few well thumbed books bound in leather, stood nestled on one side.

"Don't worry," said Asher, coming to stand next to her. "We all think it's weird."

"Um, what are they?"

"Recipe books!" said Zeb. He pulled out a scruffy, hand-bound pile of parchment and flipped through the pages with a flourish. He lowered his voice and whispered conspiratorially. "I'm teaching myself to cook."

"We're all hoping it's just a phase," said Asher.

"Look at this," said Zeb, pulling out a tin from under the debris and shoving it in front of Candle. It was full of hard brown discs in various uneven sizes. They did not look particularly appetising. "Human food!" he announced. "I made them the other day. Would you like to try one?"

Candle eyed the discs apprehensively and sniffed. She could smell sugar and flour, so she reached out a hand.

"I wouldn't," said Asher, but Zeb was watching her with such a hopeful expression that she took one anyway and bit into it. It was hard, and a little too brittle but tasted surprisingly good.

"Nice!" she said, swallowing. The dry crumbs stuck in her throat a little.

"Thank you," said Zeb, "I'm glad someone appreciates my efforts. But the food at the Market is so much better. What are we waiting for? Let's go!"