Dragon Heart by Cecelia Holland Read Free Book Online

storm coming after this one.”
    â€œI’ll find her,” he said, a little uneasy; Casea sometimes knew things. He looked away: the boy Timmon from the stable was leading Jeon’s horse across the beach toward them. Across the way, one of the Imperials had turned to watch.
    Mervaly’s voice called Jeon back to his sisters. “Where exactly are you going? So I can tell Luka where to look, if you don’t come back.”
    That nettled him: they treated him like a child sometimes, just because he was youngest. “East. I’ll go inland, first; that’s where this traveler saw her, on the high road.” There was another way along the coast, but that was often impassable, especially in bad weather. That was the coast where the galley had been wrecked. He shuddered suddenly.
    Casea said, “What are you afraid of?”
    â€œI’m not afraid.”
    He knew what fear was. Of the wreck of the galley he remembered only the ship hitting the rock, or whatever it was, and heeling violently over. He had come back to himself sprawled on a piece of the deck, floating out to sea. He thought he remembered lightning flashes, the mountainous seas, so there must have been a storm. In his dreams there was lightning. Clinging to the deck, delirious with thirst, he had drifted a long while on the coastal current, until a fisherman picked him up, freezing and feverish. If they had found him a few hours later he would have been dead. He said, “I’ll take the high road as far as Santomalo. Follow the coast back from there as much as I can.”
    Casea said, “What if we lost both of you, you know?” Her voice was gently chiding. She got up suddenly and kissed him. “Go on, Jeon; good luck.” He took the reins from the stable boy, mounted his horse, and rode out of the village.
    *   *   *
    Casea watched Jeon ride across the beach toward the path up to the top of the cliff. As he went he passed by several Imperial soldiers and one pointed at him, but nobody moved to follow him. At the foot of the trail Jeon stepped down from the saddle, and he and the horse walked on side by side. The Imperials wandered off along the beach.
    Her eyes lingered on the long slope of the trail, remembering when her father the King had summoned his army here and led them off to the war, four years ago almost to the day.
    Her father had been splendid on his charger. Her brother Luka, still a boy then, rode beside him, carrying the long banner on its staff. The army marching after had moved up that path all day long, everybody cheering and weeping.
    When Luka brought the survivors back, after the massacre in the mountains, there was only weeping.
    She saw a pattern in this, as she saw patterns in everything. She lowered her eyes; without any thought from her, the needle was making tiny precise stitches across the linen.
    Jeon had been too young to go to war, a quiet, watching kind of boy. She looked for him on the cliff; he was almost to the top now. “He’s different,” she said. “What happened to him?”
    Mervaly sat with her hands in her lap, her gaze turning toward the cliff. She said, “He’s gotten older. And everything is different.”
    Jeon led his horse over the rim of the cliff and disappeared. The more Casea imagined it, the more she was sure he would come back. He would bring Tirza back. Casea’s heart lifted; she made a tiny blue star at the top of her work. Blue was Jeon’s color.
    Off across the common suddenly a shriek went up. Mervaly stood, and Casea raised her head to see. Leanara, the baker, was the one screaming; she was leaning over the counter of her stall, throwing something at one of the Imperials crowded in front of her.
    All around the beach, people were turning to look. Mervaly was already halfway there. Casea stuffed her needlework into her apron pocket and followed her sister across to the stall, where several people were