Mason Crafton's Arc

Chapter 15 of 15

The prince waited for Mason's answer. The dragon breathed beside them. Above the pines, three jewel birds cut a tight circle over the ridge. Mason knew that shape. The princess used it when she was counting. She was measuring the standoff to send word. If her message left the tower before Mason answered the prince, she would decide the ending, not Mason. Mason had until her birds finished their arc. Maybe a count of thirty. "Call them off," Mason said. Mason pointed up at the circling birds. "Or I send the dragon at the tower." The prince looked at the birds. His mouth tightened. "She won't hear me from here. The signal goes through them." "Then give me something she'll read." The prince pulled the torn hem from his cape and held it out. Mason took it. Mason wrapped it around the jewel bird's foot-band, above the earring. Two of the prince's things now. One of the princess's. Mason lifted the wrist and the bird took off, climbing hard toward the tower. The three circling birds broke pattern to follow it. That was what Mason wanted. A bird carrying the prince's cloth and the princess's jewel would land on her sill before her count finished. She would have to read it before she wrote anything. "You've bought an hour," the prince said. "Maybe less." "I've bought tonight." Below the ridge, Fenwick Hollow sat on its haunches and watched the doe cross behind it without flinching. The bobcat had not come back. The wolf had gone. The forest had settled. The Hendersons had climbed no further. The bearded man had his hand on his wife's arm. They were watching the dragon breathe. Emma tugged Mason's sleeve. Lily was asleep against her shoulder. "You said by nightfall." "It's done," Mason said. "She can't move against us before dark. Take Lily home." Emma looked at the dragon once more, then started down the slope toward the trees where their house waited past the second stream. The bearded man stepped aside to let them pass. He did not try to stop them. The prince watched the girls go. "She'll come herself in the morning," he said. "With everything she has left. The birds. The stone gate wolves. All of it." Mason had seen the gate he meant once, from the ridge path — twin wolves carved in stone at the mouth of her keep, teeth bared at anyone who climbed toward the tower. Mason had thought them decoration. The prince's face said otherwise. "Then we talk before morning," Mason said. The prince nodded. He sat down on the rock, tired. The dragon lowered its head between them like a wall neither could cross without the other's leave. Mason had stopped the princess's message. Mason had not stopped the princess. The night was Mason's. The keep gate was hers.