Rise of the Dragon Queen

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go to dinner tonight,” suggested Frero.

  Silvia shook her head in despair. “I missed dinner last night; it would make me look ungracious if I did the same tonight. But I’m wearing a veil and hair cover, so hopefully they will not recognize me. Unfortunately, Hans and Maura will almost surely be recognized.”

  “Mistress, Hans and I will have our dinner in our rooms—it is no inconvenience,” Maura said. “And, the gods willing, nothing bad will happen to you without your lady servant.”

  Someone then knocked on the door, and Borys’ voice was heard to say, “Madam Serena, dinner will be served shortly.”

  “Thank you, Borys, but would you be so considerate as to send up two trays for Hans and Maura? They do not feel they would make for good company at the dinner table this evening.”

  “Yes, milady, I will.”

  They waited several moments to make sure he had left, and then Maura said, “Do you think he heard anything?”

  Keelan’s face darkened. “Let us hope not. It is no secret that he harbors a dislike for everyone besides himself. I’ve never seen a grumpier man.”

  Hans went back to the subject at hand. “Do you wish for Maura and I to take a look about the palace while everyone is at dinner?” he asked Silvia, his eyes flickering to Keelan for an instant.

  She thought for a moment. “Well, as long as you are not seen by too many people and you do not get caught doing anything you should not be doing, then I see no harm in it.” She turned to Quentin, not noticing her own regal air. “I want you to stay with Gregorich constantly until his little midnight rendezvous is over. Then come straight here. And be careful.”

  Quentin slid his white hood over his equally white head and the self-illuminating robe disappeared with him. Keelan dropped to all fours and stood at Silvia’s side. Frero offered Silvia his arm and everyone left the room, Hans and Maura entering the servants’ quarters to await their meals.

  The leather-bound journal was left open on the table, forgotten…which was exactly were Motilda found it when she entered the room minutes later, wondering where everyone had gone to. She skimmed through a couple of pages, discovered something of interest, and sat down to bide the time.

  Silvia and Frero were among the last to arrive in the banquet hall. Frero was seated near the middle of the table, but Silvia was once again placed to the right of the King’s hideous golden chair with all of its ghastly skeletons. Keelan’s well-cushioned stool was still placed between herself and the King and the sly little fox jumped onto it gracefully. Prince Dalton of Wexford was on her right and he greeted her with a light kiss on her hand. Eulonda, she noted with a little disappointment, was seated farther on down the table. Directly across from herself was a bear of a man, with a great black beard that ended in the center of his chest. The hair on his head was salted with gray and was just as long as his beard. His hands were so large as to easily make two of hers, and were well worn from a life of hard work. His face was stern and hard, but it lit up with a pleasant smile when he was talking and laughing. Next to him was a young girl whom Silvia immediately recognized as Hanovi. The young lady hardly glanced up as Silvia sat down, and Silvia faintly remembered that the girl was extremely shy. To Hanovi’s left was her old be-freckled stable boy, who was watching everyone and everything with avid eyes. His eyes showed much interest in the fox by her side and he stared at Keelan for so long that her heart began to beat faster with anxiety.

  The King Himself arrived only moments after Silvia and before he sat down he bowed deeply to her. “My dear Lady Serena, I offer my sincerest apologies for my irrational behavior earlier this day,” he said in a low voice made only for her ears.

  Silvia blushed despite herself. “’Tis all right, Your Majesty, but please do not let it happen again.”

  Hapshamin smiled broadly, showing off his clean white teeth and his charming boyish features, and kissed her hand. Then he took his seat and addressed the burly man on his left while Silvia fought the intense urge to scrub her hand against something.

  “Horace! How are you this fine evening?”

  “Very well, very well, Your Majesty. May I introduce my great-niece, Hanovi, and a traveling companion of hers, Jonathan?” The young man and woman rose and bowed.

  Gregorich smiled, but he appeared puzzled. “And where is the lovely wife and your other guest?”

  “Ah, Karen is taking care of Jason, Jonathan’s younger sibling, at home. He was not feeling altogether well. You see, his shoulder was dislocated about a week ago and it still seems to pain him.”

  “Yes, you sent word that you’ve an intriguing tale to spin at my table. Is this part of it? I must say I am a bit eager to hear of it,” said Gregorich lightly, leaning forward.

  Horace launched into the story, which he graciously edited for the ladies’ sakes.

  “What an exceptionally odd occurrence!” the King exclaimed, but Silvia noticed a strange gleam in his eyes

  Why, it is almost as if he is secretly pleased, she thought with disgust.

  Pea soup was served with a loaf of hard bread shortly after the story was told. The main courses were slabs of ham, pot roast, cinnamon-seasoned oatmeal, leeks, long ears of golden corn, cucumber salad, and another kind of meat that Silvia didn’t recognize (and so chose not to eat).

  The conversation inevitably kept leading back to the incident with Jonathan and Hanovi, guided there repeatedly by Hapshamin, who seemed fascinated with the whole tale. Finally Silvia became too irritated and fed up with the subject to listen to it any longer. Her stomach roiled, and she nearly put the food she had already eaten back onto the table. She forgot about being recognized in her disgust and spoke. “Your Highness, must you keep on pressing on and on about such a horrid story? Surely one tires of hearing such things.”

  The King’s face turned solemn. “I’m sorry, Lady Serena. Forgive me for my lack of thought on your behalf.”

  “You know, it seems that every time this dear young woman dines with us, you bring up subjects that really bother her,” Prince Dalton said. “Why do you wish to insult her so?”

  “It was only that I was interested in his great-niece’s unfortunate events,” replied the King with a solid glare.

  This bickering also annoyed Silvia, so she abruptly changed the subject. “What kind of meat is that?” She pointed to the meat she had not recognized. “I do not recognize it.”

  Gregorich’s brows furrowed. “I am not sure, but it is rather tasty. Jim! Hey, boy! What kind of meat is this?”

  The young boy he had yelled to hurried over. “If it pleases you, Your Highness, I believe the cook said it was fox meat.”

  Silvia shot up from her chair, so furious that the lad took several steps back. “What sort of sick jest is this?” she said, raising her voice at Gregorich. “How dare you and your cook insult my person and my company so! To have a fox prepared, cooked, and served in front of a woman whose main companion is the same animal! This is absurd and outrageous! I will not be eating at this table if such things are allowed.” She was now well aware of the whole table staring at her, but she did not care. It was just too much. She kept seeing Keelan being cut up and cooked in her mind, and it was alike to having a knife plunged into her chest.

  Gregorich and Prince Dalton stood at the same time, Dalton placing a hand of support on Silvia’s lower back and Gregorich clasping one of her hands between his own. The table had become silent. Keelan began to growl, the hairs on his back bristling.

  “Just what in the name of Eerich were your intentions?” Dalton demanded of the King.

  Silvia briefly wondered if he would take her side on every disagreement in order to make her like him.

  The King was fuming. “I possessed no knowledge of this, Lady Serena. I swear it! I shall have the cook fired immediately. I never would have allowed it to be served, had I only been informed. You must believe this.”

  Calm down, Silvia, Keelan said in her mind as he sat back on his haunche
s. You are drawing much unwanted attention. Besides, I hate to see my future wife in such a ruffle.

  These words calmed her and she seated herself primly. “There is no need to fire anyone. It was not the cook’s intention to cause such problems. But please let him be aware that I will not ever again eat at a table where that is served.”

  Across the table Jonathan was eyeing her intently, knowing that he knew her voice from somewhere. And since he had never been to Darkania before, and only a handful of people had come into Mistress Dessica’s stables, it wasn’t hard to place her.

  Motilda had been wondering if Silvia had found anything helpful in the leather-bound book. Now here she was, and there was the book in her hands with its thick and yellow pages. She didn’t really see anything wrong with what she was doing; after all, she was merely curious. As she read she became more and more interested in the diary and found herself feeling compassionate for one of the characters.

  “How horrible,” she muttered to herself. “He came into this city all by himself and they chose him to blame for those stupid rumors because he was an outsider. No wonder it looked as if he killed the person who had accused him.” She would have done the same, had she the nerve. She closed the journal and went to her room. She never read far enough to discover how many plots for Fyon’s death there had been and she couldn’t have known, therefore, the terror and despair Gregorich had put the Royal Family through. But as she lay down to sleep that night, Motilda came to a fateful decision: She would tell the King of Silvia and her plans. She hated to betray one master and leap to another, but she after reading some of the diary, she honestly felt that Gregorich had been seriously misunderstood. Besides, if Silvia were found out by anyone else, Motilda would be killed for playing part in the conspiracy against him. Who knew? Maybe she would even get a hefty reward and be freed the life of being a servant. All she would have to do would be to wait for just the right moment to tell the King.

  Silvia did not eat very much more after the revelation of the fox meat. But she tried to be polite and talkative, though she watched Jonathan from the corner of her eye; he had been watching her and Keelan intently. Soon he was whispering fervently into Hanovi’s ear and Hanovi began glancing up at the veiled woman across the table.

  “Now, now,” Gregorich chuckled, “what are you two whispering of?” He gestured towards Jonathan, who looked shocked at being noticed by royalty.

  Silvia’s heart froze.

  “Your Highness, I, um…my apologies for being rude,” Jonathan stammered. “Hanovi and I were just agreeing that the woman with the pet fox sounds exactly like one of the mistresses we were working for.”

  “Well, I doubt she’s the same person,” Dalton said, wiping his mouth with a large napkin. “This is Lady Serena of Alwak. She’s only been here for a few days.”

  “Just a few days?” Jonathan said. He seemed a little embarrassed, but trod on. “Mistress Silvia, our head mistress’ daughter, was to arrive here a few days ago as well.” His comment raised quite a few eyebrows. He took a swig of wine and said, “Perhaps the lady would be so kind as to show us her face?”

  “That is slightly rude, my boy,” the prince pointed out in a sour tone as whispers started whirring about the table. “That veil is quite obviously part of her culture. For all you know asking her to remove her veil may the same as revealing more intimate parts of her body.”

  “Oh, it’s just a case of simple curiosity,” Gregorich intervened. “Please, Lady Serena, do indulge this young man with the sight of your face. I am positive it is as beautiful as your voice.”

  “I would really rather not, Sire,” Silvia said. Her heart beat so hard that it was nearly painful. “As the intelligent prince has pointed out, it is a big part of my culture.” Beside her Keelan was telling his brother through the stones to be ready, should anything happen.

  “Oh, do come on and join in the fun milady,” the King retorted. “What is the harm in it? Why, I’ve been wanting to see your face since you arrived.”

  Silvia saw that the King would not relent until she lifted her veil. Sadly, she looked down at Keelan.

  We have no choice, my love. He whined his compassion for her.

  She nodded in resignation and grasped the bottom of the veil to draw it up and over her face, privately congratulating herself on being smart enough to pin all of her thick red hair back under the nuuisaket. But the sinking feeling in her stomach just wouldn’t go away and she knew she was doomed. Whatever happened now would have an effect on all of her companions’ actions. Slowly, she turned and looked at her stable hand.

  “That is her!” Jonathan gasped. “I knew it!”

  Though Silvia’s face remained expressionless, her heart stopped.

  Chapter Ten—Meetings

  Quentin was at Hanovi’s side instantly. He leaned over and whispered into her ear, “On your life, that is not the one you are thinking of!”

  Hanovi stole a terrified glance at her uncle, thinking it was he who had whispered to her. As she turned back to Silvia she said, “No, it is not her, although the resemblance is uncanny.”

  “Are you sure?” Jonathan blurted out. “I would honestly swear it was her.” He was looking at Hanovi as if she had lost her last shred of sanity.

  “Yes, I-I am sure. Mistress Silvia had a mole on her face, just there.” Hanovi pointed at a spot high on her cheek, not knowing why she was lying. What was the point in denying who you were? She knew just as well as Jonathan that this was their old mistress’ daughter.

  Silvia exhaled the breath she had not realized she had been holding.

  “See? It was all a big misunderstanding,” said Hapshamin, who was not able to take his eyes off of Silvia.

  Prince Dalton appeared to be in the same state of mind. “If you asked me, Your Majesty, I would say that we should never allow such a beautiful face to be covered again, culture or no,” he said in a dreamy fashion.

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” said the King. “Lady Serena, from this evening forth I will still permit you to wear a head cover, but not your veil. Burn every one of those blasted things when you return to your room and damn them to have hidden your beauty from us this whole time. Your face is too perfect to hide and I enjoy seeing it unobscured.”

  Silvia’s face turned as red as a radish. It would be more difficult to pretend to be Lady Serena now. As soon as Gregorich went into the locked room on the third floor and saw a portrait of Madeline, he would know who she was. She ate no more during the meal, too aware of every man at the table staring at her at one point or another. Surely she wasn’t that beautiful?

  When dinner was over the King invited everyone outside, where there were blankets spread upon the ground in a large semi-circle before one of the flower gardens for a play. Silvia, with Keelan on her lap, was nearly fought over for the shared company of her large blanket. Jonathan was told (very loudly) by Horace to sit with him and Hanovi on another blanket. Dalton alone turned away three different men who requested to sit with Silvia, and ended up sitting on her left. Keelan hopped off her lap to stretch out between them, his piercing blue eyes taking in everything challenging about the prince. Gregorich began to make his way towards her, however Sir Grant showed up out of nowhere and sat on her right side when he received her permission to join them.

  Silvia leaned back on her elbows, her feet off to one side under the soft velvet of her dress, and gazed up at the stars. She was glad of her company, even of Frero standing behind her and watching over everything.

  “Sir Grant, I will be frank with you,” Silvia said lightly, her eyes still to the heavens. “I thought you were a horrible, belligerent man the first night that we met. I thought you arrogant, argumentative, and impossibly rude.”

  “I guarantee you are not the first to think that!” Dalton said.

  The men laughed heartily. “I will be frank with you as well, I suppose,” Sir Grant said amiably. “I thought you were like a wild filly, not ready to be tamed by the political conversat
ions of high society. You wanted to keep your opinions and be mad at anyone who tried to change them.” He laughed again. “But now I see that you are a mature young woman who is merely being cautious as she steps out into the unknown world…And I enjoy your presence. You stimulate my war-ravaged old mind.”

  “Well, I think my first impressions of you were right on the spot,” she said, and laughed at the shocked look on his face. “I am only kidding, sir! I think you are much kinder than you let on to be, and I am glad of it. I am enjoying your presence as well.”

  They sat in a comfortable silence as more wine was served to the guests.

  “Sir Grant, where is Crider?” she asked.

  Grant looked at her and smiled crookedly. He ran one of his hands through his thick mop of brown hair. “Well, it is about two and a half weeks west of here.”