76

Night Music

Candle pulled herself up and onto the roof with a grunt of effort. Her breath came fast and she half-fell, half-lurched to her knees to get to Murmux. He was lying still, a dark lump barely recognisable in a widening pool of blood that oozed from a hundred wounds. His eyes were closed and his lips were tinged with blue. Ice gripped her heart as she leant over him, touching her fingers to his neck. She exhaled. He was alive. A pulse flickered in his neck – a weak, fluttering thing like the wings of the dawn spirits against her fingers. She shifted her knees, trying to get closer to him. They were already soaked through with the congealing liquid that mingled with the soft rain and ran in a slow trickle down the tiles to drip onto the ledge below.

"Murmux," she whispered, "Murmux, what happened?" He made no response and she wondered if he could even hear her. He had lost so much blood. Had he been fighting? Had something attacked him? Her eyes roamed his body. His arms and torso were cut and sliced with long crimson lacerations. They looked too even, too deliberate to have been inflicted in battle. The wounds seemed to be concentrated around his tattoos, or rather what was left of them. The magical ink was barely visible, the edges jagged and raw. As she moved her knees she nudged something metallic lying on the tiles and it slid with a clatter. An iron dagger lay beside Murmux. The dark stained hilt inches from his outstretched hand. As if he had dropped it. A chill went through her as she looked from the blade to the crimson slashes of his ruined skin and back again. Murmux had tried to cut out his tattoos.

"Why," she said, reaching for him. He blinked, as she touched his shoulder but he seemed unaware of her presence. She pulled him into her lap with some difficulty, trying to be as gentle as possible, but his body was slick with blood and he was heavy. He groaned and let out a whimper of pain.

"Sorry," she said, tears spilling down her face. "Hang on, I'm here now." Closing her eyes, she gathered in energy, pulling in the strands in desperate, greedy gulps. When she had enough she sent it pulsing into his broken body, urging the skin to heal, commanding the torn flesh to knit together. She just hoped she had arrived in time.

"No," he muttered, trying to pull away from her, "don't –" He lurched forwards but she held him fast. His body gleamed as her magic coursed through him. Tears ran down her face, mixing with the rain as she held him tight. "Stop it," he said, his voice barely a murmur. "Leave me ­– "

"No," she whispered, and sent pulse after pulse of magic through him, coaxing the skin to pull together and then heal. "I can't." As he grew stronger, he fought to get away but she clung on, wrapping her arms about him with gentle insistence.

"Let me be," he groaned, "let me die."

He opened his eyes to stare up at her, and they were bloodshot and hopeless.

"I can't," she said. He collapsed into her embrace, his body wracked with great heaving sobs as his skin knit together. They clung to each other, and Candle drew comfort from the returning warmth of his body. She swallowed, looking down at him anxiously. Her magic told her he was fully healed but it was hard to tell under all the mess of blood. His face had regained some colour but he was clearly in great distress. Distress that she could not heal with her magic.

"What happened?" she asked. "Why ... why did you do this?"

He didn't reply, but shut his eyes, tears leaking from his eyelids. She watched him for an anxious moment, then lowered him onto the roof. He lay there limp and uncaring, exactly as she placed him. "I'll be right back," she murmured and swung her legs down and over the edge. She dropped onto the floor and dashed inside. With feverish haste, she tore material into soft rags and filled a basin with water. Running back, she managed to keep most of the water inside the basin, before heaving it, and herself back onto the roof.

To her relief, Murmux had not moved. In fact, he seemed not to have noticed her absence. He was staring up at the clouds, his eyes unfocused, his body whole and sound but covered in muck. She lowered herself down beside him and carefully started to sponge the blood off his limbs. Murmux made no protest but continued to stare up at the sky, his gaze blank. Gently, she washed the stains away, pleased to see the skin beneath smooth and unbroken, the black lines of his tattoos unmarred and whole.

"There," she said when she was done, "much better."

Murmux turned his head slowly, eyes sliding to his arm. He stared at the healed skin, then lunged for the knife, without warning.

"No!" cried Candle, as he drove it towards his freshly healed arm. They wrestled for control of the blade but he was stronger than she was, even in his weakened state. The tip of the knife sliced into the freshly healed skin leaving a line of blooming crimson. "What are you doing!" She tugged with all her strength and the dagger slipped, cutting into Candle's arm. Murmux gasped and dropped the blade. He hung his head, going limp like a rag doll, all the fight leaving his body as quickly as it had come.

"What's wrong?" said Candle, her voice catching in her throat. "What's going on? What happened?"

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he muttered. His pupils dilated and he slumped backwards. Candle slipped an arm around his back, trying to support him.

"It's just a knick," said Candle, holding up her arm so he could see. "I know it was an accident." He didn't say anything, his eyes blank and hopeless. "Can I help?" she whispered. "Please tell me what's wrong."

He swallowed and shook his head.

"You should have let me die," he said. "You should let me die."

"Never."

"I can't get them off." Murmux's voice rose in hysterical crescendo. He brandished a freshly healed arm in Candle's face and they both stared at the exposed tattoo. The script slithered around his bicep, coiling like a snake under the feeble light of the rising moon. "I tried to cut them out but it didn't work. I should have dug deeper."

"No! Don't say that. There has to be another way."

"There is no other way," said Murmux. "The only way forward is death."

"Not your death," said Candle, firmly.

"I have no choice."

"There is always a choice."

"Did you feel like that when the demon possessed you? When your brother commanded you to do his bidding?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Murmux was silent. Candle swallowed, trying to think of something to say.

"I know what it's like," she said, after a while, slipping her hand through his. He looked at it, unmoving, his mouth a grim line.

"I suppose you do," he said after a long pause.

They sat side by side on the roof of the great castle, for a long minute. Murmux made no attempt to reach for the dagger and as the time trickled by his breathing slowed to a more natural rhythm, and Candle's heart rate returned to a more reasonable state. The mist began to thin and in the distance, she could see dragons swooping and gliding. A few stars poked their way through the cloud cover, growing more luminous as the last wisps of the haze disappeared.

"I like to listen to the singing," said Murmux, after a while. Gazing upwards, his eyes were locked on the Highway of Souls. The light of the spiral reflected in his eyes and his fingers were still wrapped tightly against Candle's hand. He didn't seem inclined to let go, and Candle decided she was alright with that.

"Me too," said Candle. "It calms me. When I feel all alone. I can look up and listen."

"What a strange thing," Murmux said, cocking his head to one side, "to be human."

"What a strange thing," Candle said, "to be a bird."

Murmux snorted.

"Not just any bird," he said, and he grinned. It was a weak shadow of his normal expression, and did not reach his eyes, but Candle was still glad to see it. "Not just any bird! But an impundela born of the tempest."

"That sounds exciting," Candle said, her voice dry and his smile deepened. "How long since you.. hatched? Are you born or do you hatch?" She shook her head in embarrassment.

"Hatched!" he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Nearly eighteen years ago now. And my mother was a summer storm. Why are you making that face? Dragons are hatched too you know?"

"Yes but–"

"If you think about it the way mammals are born is much more disturbing." His eyes crinkled in amusement at her discomfort. "So when did you hatch?"

"I was born," said Candle. She rubbed her nose, staring up at the stars. "It's a weird thought," she said. "My sixteenth birthday was less than six months ago. I was born on the midwinter solstice."

"A powerful omen," said Murmux. Then he frowned. "Tomorrow is your birthday then? The Gathering is always held on the winter solstice."

"No – that's what is so strange. In the Day Nation, in my time, it should be midsummer tomorrow. If the days are going by one for one."

"Which is not a given?" He asked with one raised eyebrow, and she shook her head. The worry returned, nestling like a stony viper in her stomach, dragging her back to the tangle of the present.

"Why did you tell Nari and the others? That I was from the Day Nation? How did you find out?"

Murmux stilled. When he replied his tone was light.

"I heard you talking to your Ancestors," he said. "I thought it would help?" He raised an eyebrow, his eyes wide and innocent. "I thought time was of the essence. Was it not helpful?"

"It was," she replied, her eyes narrowing. She paused, wondering about the fruitfulness of further conversation. Murmux was not telling her everything, she knew that, instinctively. But then she understood the need for secrets, she had so many of her own. "I need to get going," she said. "Are you going to be alright?"

Murmux shrugged, turning his face back to the stars.

"I'm fine," he said. "A moment’s passing madness. Fleeting. It is gone now." He sat up, flexing his shoulder blades, letting her hand drop. "We leave tonight?"

"As soon as it's quiet enough," she said, watching the dark shapes of her distant kin wheel and glide through the air, many miles above. For a moment, meeting Asher and Zeb on the isthmus, she had wondered if she should stay in the Night Nation forever. If this was a place she could finally make a home. A home, amongst others of her kind. Others like her. Amongst family. Letting go of the dream was like letting go of a childhood fantasy. Perhaps she would never find a place where she truly belonged.

"Why not now? What's one dragon amongst many?"

"One dragon with a small necromancer on her back," countered Candle. "And that's assuming Asher doesn't appear the moment I take to the sky."

"The leech," said Murmux, with relish. "The pompous, cross-eyed, overly-muscled, disgustingly beautiful leech." Candle took this statement as an indication that Murmux was feeling better. "So we wait," he said, "and disappear as soon it quiets?"

Candle nodded, a knot of worry building in her stomach.

"Very soon," she said, "I hope. I must be gone before the Gathering. I have a horrible feeling I have already met Asher and Zeb's mother. She will know that I have human blood the instant she lays eyes on me."

"Grandfather sounds like a ball of laughs as well," said Murmux. Candle nodded. She did not find the thought amusing. Fear settled in her belly like a cold, hard rock.

"Don't worry," said Murmux, nudging her with his shoulder. "I have a plan if we need a distraction."

"You do?"

He nodded, his eyes twinkling. "I'll show you."

They landed on the ledge below with twin thuds and walked into the open room, studiously ignoring the bloodstains that pooled on the floor beneath their feet. Murmux disappeared into one of the inner rooms. After a moment he came back, his face a mask of concentration and his step light. He was holding the largest egg Candle had ever seen. As big as her head, the shell was cream coloured with a pitted texture of bumps. It was worked over with moonsilver script and held in place by what seemed to be a purpose-built wicker basket.

"From the market?" she asked, raising one eyebrow. "What is it? And how much did that cost?"

"A hurricane," he said, easily. "And it was free. Because I stole it. This beauty is monstrous enough to reach halfway from Roseland to the southern ice. Or so I am led to believe. But it should be enough to cause a very messy distraction. If we need one, of course. I can crack it open right now if you like?" His eyes gleamed, and a predatory smile flickered across his face.

"I was planning on setting fire to Lady Hezekiah's gallery," said Candle. Murmux let out a low whistle.

"That's a nice idea." He grinned at her. "We can do both." Candle was too tense to return his smile. Now the decision had been made she wanted to go. Every passing second weighed heavily on her shoulders. "Soon, very soon. But I should probably clean up," he said, his eyes tight, as he looked down at his blood-caked clothing. "I won't be long." He disappeared into the inner rooms, taking the giant egg with him.

Candle wandered over to the door and peered out into the corridor. She shut it quickly as a group of people staggered past, whooping and cheering. The strains of music and laughter echoed up from the halls below. Murmux reappeared a few moments later looking fresh, in clean clothes. Zephi stirred in her chair, and Candle pressed a finger to her lips.

"Are you sad you didn't go to the dragon boy's fancy party," asked Murmux in a theatrical whisper.

"No."

"Liar," he said, easily. He seemed to have recovered completely from – whatever it was that had happened on the roof. His manner was all amusement and sparkle, although he kept rubbing his hands over the smooth skin of his arms.

"I'm sad," said Zephi, from her nest of blankets across the room. "I've never been to a party."

"They are overrated," Murmux told her.

"You should be sleeping," said Candle. "I'll wake you when it's time to go."

"You are not sleeping," said Zephi.

"She has a point," said Murmux.

"I need to stay awake so that I know when we should leave, Zephi. Otherwise, I might fall asleep and we will wake up to find Grandfather knocking on the front door."

Murmux blanched. Candle wondered how much he knew about Grandfather. She turned on her heel, pacing across the room.

"Soon," said Murmux, watching her progress. "Get an hour or two of sleep if you can. I'll wake you."

"I'm too nervous to sleep."

"I can see that."

She walked backwards and forwards, stopping every now and then to listen at the door before resuming her tracks. The minutes crawled by like slugs in salt. Zephi watched Candle's progress with drooping eyelids and eventually fell asleep again.

Candle took a seat on the couch, unable to settle, and drummed her fingers on the velvet padding. Murmux seated himself and they waited in silence, listening to the distant sounds of the castle.

"Thank you," said Murmux, after a while, "for not giving up on me."

He looked down at her, his lips curving as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Candle was keenly aware of his proximity and the petrichor of his scent. Embarrassed by the intimacy of the moment, she leapt up, the cold air rushing to fill the space between them.

"Come on," she said. "I don't want to wait any longer. Go and get that Night-forsaken egg."