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Silence was power—or so Breon had been told dozens of times. It was something Whacks had liked to say when he felt like sounding impressive, and something Aubrey had picked up whenever she felt like being a bit less rude when telling someone to be quiet. “Someone” being Breon, most of the time.
But no matter how many times people said it to him in the hopes that he’d shut his mouth, he’d never been good with silence. If he wasn’t playing an instrument and getting lost in the music, he was talking at length about anything he could think of just to fill the silence. Aubrey called it loving the sound of his own voice more than peace and quiet. He called it having a lot to say and just saying it instead of keeping it all in like a lot of people did.
So of course, Breon had lost his voice now. Really, of course he had. What was one more sick joke in the long list of them in his short life?
In the back of his mind, he knew he wasn’t normally this bitter. In fact, he was normally the optimistic fool who kept looking for a rainbow in the cloudy gray sky. But don’t I have a right to be upset this time? Bloody bones, he was a musician, and now his throat burned from the effort it had taken to croak out a single syllable.
It wasn’t even just about having a lot to say. Put him in a fight and he was absolutely useless, short of hitting people with his jafasa, and it was a stretch to assume he’d do that instead of cowering behind it. The only thing he really had was his charm and music, and a lot of good that would do him if he couldn’t play or speak. He was powerless.
“Breon!”
He blinked, looking up to see Jenna staring at him expectantly. Here was someone who understood him without trying to hurt him over it. Someone he trusted. He might be powerless, but he wasn’t alone.
Jenna gestured to the young man standing beside her, who stepped closer with a smile. “I’m a healer,” he said gently. “Can I help you?”
Breon shrunk back, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around himself. His last experience with a gifted healer hadn’t exactly gone well, and in any case, the last thing he needed was for someone he didn’t know to poke around in his head and tell him all the reasons he was broken.
“I won’t hurt you,” the healer promised. “I’ll just see what’s wrong, and try to figure out what it is she gave you. Then we can know how long it’ll take to wear off, and I can give you something to make your voice come back faster. Do you want that?”
He faltered. Of course he wanted that, but past experience seemed to indicate that a mage wouldn’t be able to do anything with him regardless, and he didn’t feel right about this. Glancing at Evan over the healer’s shoulder, Breon reached up to touch his magemark.
“It won’t work on him, Ash,” Evan said, giving him a nod of understanding. “You would have to try something else.”
He shook his head again. Or they could try nothing at all and just let him be. Though he felt a lot better than he had back in Celesgarde, withdrawal hadn’t run its course through him yet, and the ride here on dragonback had made him more exhausted than he liked to admit. If the healer was just going to debate ways to find out what they already knew, it would be a waste of time.
Besides, Breon wasn’t eager to see a repeat of that disappointed look that had flashed over Sasha’s face when the healer brought up leaf again. It shouldn’t matter—she was always disappointed in him—but she hadn’t been when she pulled him into her arms as soon as he arrived, and that look had hurt.
Still, she was the only one that he thought might vouch for him against having the healer examine him, so he directed his attention to her again. He made a gesture like grabbing an amulet, then waved his fingers to indicate flames before touching his arm.
Sasha’s eyes widened. “Oh. He doesn’t like gifted healers. Last one he saw got too aggressive during the interrogation and he ended up getting set on fire. Well, he isn’t a healer yet, but close enough.” She mumbled the last bit.
Ash winced, as if he knew Sasha was talking about the pale-haired mage just by that meager description. “Were the burns treated well? Is he all right?”
“Well enough,” she said, waving her hand vaguely.
Ash took one step closer to Breon, then stopped and looked him in the eyes. “I’m sorry that happened to you, all right? I know him, and he—he didn’t mean to hurt you. He isn’t in his right mind.” He gave a half-smile, as if mocking himself. “I know it probably isn’t encouraging to hear that about a healer. I promise I won’t set you on fire, and you can tell me to leave whenever you want. I just want to help you.”
“I’ll stay with you, busker,” Sasha muttered. “If that helps.”
Between the two of them, their attentions should have seemed patronizing, especially after the sickening affection Celestine had shown him. But Breon was so tired and he couldn’t speak and not much would help him right now, but that really would. So he nodded, leaning into Sasha as the others moved away to give them space.
Or…most of the others. Almost all the dragons followed Jenna, and reluctantly Evan, but Splash remained a respectful distance away from Breon, Sasha, and the healer.
His life might still be a disaster, but he couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m going to need you to be honest with me,” Ash told him. “So I can know what to do. Did Celestine give you razorleaf while you were with her?”
A shiver ran through him, and Sasha put her arm around his shoulders. He nodded.
“Not to belabor the point, but am I correct in assuming that you continued to take it for most, if not all, of your time there?”
That sounded a lot like belaboring the point, at least to Breon. His gaze fell to the floor.
“Razorleaf is notoriously hard to quit,” Ash added. “My da used to know some people who were hooked on it, and it really isn’t easy. Celestine knew that and gave it to you anyway. No one here is judging you for it.”
Sasha might judge him a little, and though he didn’t know why her opinion mattered, he hated to disappoint her with something that had made him so dependent. He ignored the question until her hand tightened on his shoulder. “Listen,” she said quietly. “You’re still a sorry liar and a scoundrel, but he’s right. No one here.”
It may have been the nicest thing she’d ever said to him, and it was enough to help him look up at the healer and nod again.
“That’s all right,” Ash assured him. “We can deal with that. Now, I think Celestine put something in the leaf she gave you, something that damaged your vocal cords. Could you open your mouth?”
At least he’d asked instead of demanding like Jenna. Breon opened his mouth and let Ash tilt up his chin to get a better look. After a moment, he nodded. “What I thought. It must have been secret keeper. I’ve worked with it before, and she must have given you a lot of it if you still can’t talk.”
“But he made a few sounds just minutes ago!” Sasha sounded frantic. “He must be getting better. It can’t be permanent.”
That word sent panic through Breon, coursing in his veins like a drug and filling his lungs like smoke. Permanent. It couldn’t be. He needed to sing again, to talk until he got snapped at like he used to. His voice was part of who he was. It couldn’t be gone.
“It isn’t permanent,” Ash said firmly. “I promise. When you tried to say Evan’s name earlier, was it painful?”
He nodded, hand pressed against his still-aching throat.
“Don’t try to talk too much, then,” he continued. “It’ll come over time, but if you try to force your voice before it’s ready, you’re just going to hurt yourself. I have a tonic that will help soothe your throat so the process will be faster.”
“How long?” Sasha asked.
“With the tonic, it should only be a few days until you can speak normally again,” Ash responded, still talking to Breon even though he was answering Sasha’s question. “As long as you only talk when you have to, until it doesn’t hurt anymore. All right?”
He nodded reluctantly. A few days. He’d been silent for a lot longer than that before now.
“As for the razorleaf…well, you’ve done this before. Thankfully, you’re through the worst of it, which you can probably tell. But you’ll feel tired, weak, and generally uncomfortable for a little longer. We’re all with you now, though, so if we can do anything just ask.”
That was new. Normally if Breon needed something and had the audacity to mention it, he’d be barked at to shut up, ignored, or given the Whacks equivalent of “tough luck.” He was comforted to know that at least some people seemed to care about his well-being, even if he didn’t know why. Also by the fact that he apparently had the word audacity in his vocabulary along with the others he’d remembered when he was in gaol.
“I’ll go get that tonic for you,” Ash said, smiling. “You’re going to be fine.”
He smiled back even though he didn’t feel like it, and watched the healer leave feeling just as exhausted as before but with the barest glimmer of hope. He’d get his voice back, and soon at that. Then maybe he could find a place among this odd little group of people, and find Her Highness again, and—
You always was a dreamer, Bree.
Aubrey’s voice in his head sobered him again.
Before he could come to terms with the fact that Sasha had stayed with him instead of leaving to do literally anything else, Splash came closer and nudged him gently. This time his smile was a genuine one. She’d been at his side through the worst parts of his withdrawal, always trying to do the little things she thought would help. Breon had never thought he’d feel such affection for a dragon he’d only just met, but he couldn’t claim that the connection was one-sided.
“How are you doing, busker?” Sasha asked, her voice low. “I didn’t—well, you were just—but you’re fine now. Right?”
Breon shrugged. If you put aside the fact that he couldn’t talk or stop shivering, he supposed he was something pretty close to fine.
Sasha seemed to notice his trembling too. “Are you cold?”
He’d barely nodded before Splash was nudging him again, this time hard enough for him to stumble back into Sasha. The dragon kept inching forward, so he lowered to the floor and she took the opportunity to sit as well, wrapping her wings around him. He still wasn’t great at the way the dragons communicated, but he was rapidly learning to understand Splash, at least.
Spellsinger sick, she said, and he recognized the nickname that they had given him. Stay.
Thank you, he thought, hoping she got the message. Her scales gave off much-needed warmth, but the sentiment meant even more than that.
When Ash returned, it was to see Breon sheltered under Splash’s wings and Sasha standing off to the side as if protecting them both. He had to admit that he might even enjoy the situation if he had the words to say so.
The healer smiled at the scene in front of him before offering Breon a small bottle. “All this will do is ease the pain in your throat and make your vocal cords heal quicker. After you drink it, you should probably get some rest. It won’t fix anything, but you’ve gone through a lot and it won’t hurt to take things easy.”
Breon drank the tonic, which tasted vaguely of honey and currant berries, before handing the bottle back to the healer and nodding in gratitude. He’d never known how many different ways there were to nod until it was his sole method of communication.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Ash reminded him before leaving to go…somewhere. He still wasn’t exactly sure where they were going, or about the layout of the ship they were on. Or about anything, really. Some things hadn’t changed.
“Well,” Sasha said stiffly to the empty air. “You probably want to sleep now, so I’ll just—”
“Don’t,” he rasped. In spite of the tonic, it still hurt like hell to talk, but he wasn’t ready for her to leave just yet. He did very much want to sleep, but after Celesgarde, he’d rather be awake than alone.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “What? Don’t talk!”
“Don’t…leave,” Breon said hoarsely. He felt like he was inhaling broken glass, and he sounded like it too, but it made her kneel at his side next to Splash.
“Well, I’ll stay if it gets you to listen to Ash and shut up,” she muttered, settling into a more comfortable position. Gods and martyrs, even sitting down she was tall. “This seem familiar? Us stuck together while you’re sick?”
Well, when she said it like that. He supposed there was something comforting about the fact that she’d seen him at his worst, because there was only one direction to go from there. It might be a sad statement about his life, but it was a little heartening.
Breon was tired of nodding, but he did it again.
“Well, I don’t know why you want me here of all people,” Sasha said, “but I guess we have, well, history. Want me to be quiet so you can rest with the dragon?”
He shook his head. His own silence was bad enough.
“All right. So, um, you said something about a girl named Aubrey in the Fells, a friend you worked with. She wasn’t around when I put you in gaol, though—will she be waiting for you somewhere?”
His heart sank. She meant well, but Breon didn’t have it in him to hear more about the girlie who had helped him and betrayed him and still kind of cared. Then he’d get caught up in thinking about the fear in her voice in Chalk Cliffs, and her screams when Celestine killed her for no reason at all.
He huddled against Splash and the warmth she offered as he shook his head.
“She ditched you?” Sasha demanded, sounding mad on his behalf.
No. Well, to an extent she had, but she’d done it out of desperation and because she didn’t see any better options. She’d said herself that she never meant to be a bad person, and Breon couldn’t find it in himself to speak—or rather, think—ill of the dead.
Sasha must have seen something in his eyes, because her lips tugged into a frown and her expression softened. “Is she…?”
A nod.
“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “I didn’t know—well, of course, I didn’t, but—I guess that was what you meant, when you said you had no one.”
And maybe his time with Celestine had caught up with him, and maybe she was just right about how terribly alone he was, but suddenly Breon was crying like he’d just lost everything. The logical part of him said that he was grieving something he’d never had, and that he’d not feel so sorry for himself once he could speak again, but that seemed a long ways away. So for now he let himself be a fool in front of the two people—well, one person—that he knew wouldn’t judge him for it.
Help Spellsinger? Splash lifted one of her wings, letting Sasha come closer and give Breon a hug. Then the dragon embraced them both, and Sasha and Splash held him until he’d exhausted his quiet sobs.
“I’m really sorry, Breon,” she murmured into his hair.
“I’m sorry too,” he whispered. He was pretty sure that Ash would say he shouldn’t be doing that, and he wouldn’t anymore, but he had to say it and at least it didn’t hurt.
Breon wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for. Between the ambush and getting back on the leaf and everything else he’d ever done in his life, he definitely had a long list. He also got the impression that Sasha was apologizing for more than just Aubrey.
It was a bit like a truce, one sealed with tears and dragon wings.
She let go of him but remained close enough to touch. Her eyes were a bit less guarded as she leaned into Splash. “Do you want to rest now?” she asked him quietly. “Or do you want me to keep talking about something?”
He gestured for her to continue.
Sasha smiled. “How about music?”
She must have seen the hunger in his eyes, because her smile widened. “That jafasa looked interesting. I’m not a musical person, but Lyss is. Maybe when we find her”—gods and martyrs, he was glad she said when instead of if— “you can teach her how to play it.”
She may have just been saying that to fill the silence, but it was actually a really good idea, and it gave Breon a bit more hope that they would find Her Highness. He still didn’t feel like he had apologized enough for almost getting her killed, and music always meant more when it was shared.
“And once you get some rest and you’re feeling better, you can play something for us. Or, I mean, for yourself or the dragons or whatever. But I’d listen. We would. I’m sure the others would.”
Now Breon was the one to smile, and it was a genuine one. He reached up to brush Splash’s scales. Music?
Music, she said eagerly, prodding the back of his head gently as if wondering why she couldn’t hear anything.
Later, he promised. She made a pleased humming noise before curling her tail around the two humans.
“How does your gift work, anyway?” Sasha mused. “You said you can hear people’s songs and repeat them back. Could you do that to anyone?”
Breon shook his head, remembering the emptiness that had met him when he tried to listen for Finn sul’Mander’s song. It was eerie, and he’d been moments away from making a joke about the mage’s last name suggesting an affinity for salamanders instead of magical persuasion just to lighten the mood. Of course, that was before he got set on fire and no longer felt like fooling around.
It must’ve been because he was gifted. Why else? Breon reached for an imaginary amulet, hoping she got the message.
“You can’t do it to wizards?”
On second thought…. Breon tilted his head, thinking it over. He’d never really tried it on any others, and he wasn’t sure that sul’Mander could be considered the gold standard for mages when he wasn’t “in his right mind,” according to Ash. Breon had heard that phrase used in a lot of different ways, ranging from a delicate way of talking about Goose to excuses for tricking marks on the street and now apparently to Fellsian healers. It wouldn’t be fair to assume that all mage songs were out of reach just because he couldn’t find Finn’s. He shrugged.
“You don’t know? I guess you wouldn’t really have the chance.” Sasha’s voice faltered, growing uncertain. “And everybody has one?”
He nodded definitively. Instinctually, everyone wanted people to understand who they were and accept them for it. Breon couldn’t do much about the acceptance, and if he did he would’ve gotten a lot more popular before now, so he focused on the understanding bit. And that was the person’s song—the deepest things that they kept guarded but secretly longed to be able to share with someone else. On that level, Breon didn’t think that the secrets themselves sounded like music, or that they were like that when he formed a connection with his audience. If he was an artist, they might come to him as a vision, and the real magic would come when he could paint it into a reality. But he was a musician before he was anything else, and when he used his gift, the most private corners of someone’s soul got translated into the language he spoke best. When he used music to express the understanding back to them, it was even more meaningful because it was still the same piece of their heart, just being played in a way they’d never heard before.
So of course everybody had a song. They had to. It gave people the ability to define themselves, and Breon the ability to mirror that definition.
“So…” Sasha trailed off before starting over. “So there would be nothing stopping you from hearing mine?”
He looked up, startled. Maybe not technically, but there was a hell of a lot stopping him from doing that, basic common courtesy for starters. It would be damned impolite to comb her soul for secrets when she was being nicer to him than anyone had in recent memory, not to mention a blatant invasion of privacy and trust.
“Theoretically, I mean,” she amended hastily. “You could do that?”
He dipped his head slowly. The dragons could set fire to the ship they were on right now and fly away to alert Celestine of their whereabouts. It didn’t mean they would.
“You’re something else, Breon.” Sasha shook her head. She looked almost disbelieving, as if she had half-expected him to latch onto her song the moment she brought it up. He was more focused on the way she said his name. It was the second time she’d said it today, and it sounded oddly personal coming from someone who usually preferred to just say “busker.” If she wasn’t in the mood to call him something a lot worse.
“Soldiers don’t have time for music,” she said abruptly, looking down at her hands. “Well, Lyss and Shadow make time for it, but it’s like…they’re not soldiers then. But some of us are always soldiers, and we don’t really know how not to be, and I guess—I guess fighting is easier than peace.”
That wasn’t a feeling that Breon understood or related to, but it didn’t surprise him that Sasha felt that way, and it explained why she always acted the way she did. He hoped that, at least with him, she was done fighting.
“So I’m bad with words,” Sasha continued awkwardly. “And with music. So until I’m a bit better, or it doesn’t matter…I don’t want you to play it, but I know you don’t like being quiet and I think a song might help, even if you can’t sing it.”
Before he could get her attention to ask a wordless question—he was hoping for something eloquent, but he’d probably manage something closer to What the hell? —she took off a thin bracelet that had been around her left wrist and held it out to him. He hadn’t noticed it there, but now that he thought about it, he remembered seeing it before: a woven braid of leather tied together with a bit of string and a red stone at the center. It wasn’t anything fancy, but he wouldn’t expect anything else from a soldier who had just reminded him that she was a soldier about three times in the space of a minute.
She couldn’t seriously be doing what he thought she might be doing.
Right now, Sasha looked about as confident as he felt. “I—if you don’t want it,” she stammered, her face flushed. “I just thought—you’re sick, and upset, and I thought you might want a distraction.”
But there were a lot of different kinds of distractions. This was more than that.
Breon put his hand over hers, not taking the bracelet. He waited until she made eye contact, hoping to emphasize without speaking just how big of a deal this was. Just how much she was offering.
“I know what I’m doing, Breon.” Sasha was still blushing, but she held out her hand again.
Heart pounding and thoughts racing, he took the bracelet. He took as much time as possible to put it on his wrist, waiting for her to change her mind or take it back. She didn’t.
Breon pressed his fingers against the red stone and closed his eyes as he listened for her song. When it came to him, it was a quiet brook as much as it was a tidal wave. Bold notes and steady rhythms like a battle march all layered over a softer cadence. On their own, the louder parts would sound warlike and discordant, but they were given character by the gentle melody throughout. It was somehow both the storm and its eye, the rough winds and the calm at its center. It was harshly beautiful, and it didn’t surprise him a bit that it was Sasha’s.
He wanted to listen to it until he fell asleep and it shielded him from dreams of Celesgarde, but chances were high that she’d want her bracelet back and to not be ignored. He wanted to play it, but he wouldn’t until and unless she had assured him at least half a dozen times that she wanted him to. He wanted to risk speaking again just to make sure she knew that he didn’t think lightly of strange intimacy they’d just shared, but she clearly didn’t want to go too far yet.
So he stayed silent, allowing himself three more measures of her song—one for each of the times she had said his name since he arrived—before taking off the bracelet and giving it back to her. She held out her hand, but made no move to take it. He took that as permission to tie the bracelet around her wrist.
He was smiling, and though her eyes were almost nervous, she was smiling too.
“I don’t know what to expect,” Sasha murmured. “From all of this, I mean. Celestine, and the war with Arden, and everything else. But I think that maybe after all this is over, there might be time for…for music.”
Breon hugged her. This time it wasn’t for warmth or comfort, and they both knew it, but she let him lean into her and even wrapped her arms around him back.
After a minute or so, she spoke again, but she didn’t move away this time. “Why were you so scared earlier, when Ash was talking about your voice? I saw that look on your face. Was it really just about having to be quiet?”
If anyone else said that, he would’ve cursed their perception, but he didn’t feel worried around her anymore. It was an odd feeling to have about his former gaoler.
But as for why losing his voice was so terrifying, why it left him open to anything with no shield…it wasn’t an easy thing to describe that without words. He ended up taking Sasha’s hand and turning it over to show her palm, tracing the calluses there from all the time she’d spent with a weapon in her hand. Then he held out his own hand, where the only roughness was at his fingertips from playing stringed instruments.
When they had gotten their new clothes while they were prisoners of Celestine, Breon had told Her Highness that he felt like people kept trying to make him into something he wasn’t. The empress was far from the only one who tried to do that, and he was so good at recognizing it because he was so sure of not who but what he was.
Breon was a musician not just in reality, but at heart. He listened to people just as much as he talked to them, and he tried to understand just as well because he knew what it was like to be misunderstood. He liked company, and he’d do a lot to avoid being alone, but if things went wrong he would always try to fix it. He was a lover, not a fighter, and it showed in his hands.
Assumptions would always be made about him because he was charming, emotional, and pretty, and people tended to be right about half of them. For better or worse, the only defense Breon ever had was his music and his words.
Sasha hummed. “You feel…vulnerable? Like you don’t have anything to fight with if you had to?”
He nodded against her shoulder.
“Well,” she began softly, “you heard Ash. Secret keeper isn’t permanent, and you should be your talkative self again in just a few days.”
It hurt to laugh, but he managed a low chuckle at the predictable jab.
“And until then?” she continued, holding him a little tighter. “You’ve got the other magemarked to help you. You’ve got the dragons that you know will look after you. Right, Splash?”
Protect Spellsinger, Splash promised.
“And you’ve got me,” Sasha said. “The world’s not safe, and our journey’s not either, but you are. I swear.”
He didn’t have the words to thank her like he should, but he thought she could hear it anyway. It was harder to be afraid of vulnerability when he wasn’t alone and when it was all right to be a little fragile, and Breon fell asleep surrounded by protective arms and wings.