Rise of the Dragon Queen

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  “Good,” she said. “Is he going to come down to eat?”

  “Yes—there he is.”

  Indeed, His Royal Highness had entered the dining hall and was nearing his hideous golden throne of skeletons. He slid into his seat among the bones, a gruff look on his face. He didn’t look at Silvia and she wondered if he was avoiding her. The dragon within her smiled with malice.

  Horace the carpenter took the seat between the King and Sir Grant of Crider. He gazed at Silvia admiringly and nodded his great, hairy head towards her. “Looking mighty fine this evening, milady!”

  “Thank you,” she replied, giving him a bat of eyelashes. The man actually blushed behind his great black beard as he turned his attention to the King. They were talking liquor within a minute—Horace selling and Hapshamin purchasing—as Dalton and Grant began chatting with Silvia about the sudden storm that had hit Darkania in the afternoon.

  Lightly toasted frogs were the appetizers, along with lintel soup and an eggplant salad. Breaded chicken livers, chopped pork, and turnip greens were the main course, served with garlic-buttered bread fresh from clay ovens. Silvia and Keelan ate well after she filled their plates. Silvia kept waiting for Gregorich to throw ‘Lady Serena’ off her seat with some rude or challenging remark, but it did not happen. In fact, he did not even speak to her. It was after dinner was over, while Sir Grant and Prince Dalton escorted Silvia to her chambers safely, that Hapshamin approached.

  “My lady.” He stopped in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back. His blond hair was perfectly combed and his hazel eyes hooded.

  Silvia inclined her head at him, her eyes twinkling. Keelan barked shrilly as he sat beside her feet. Sir Grant remained motionless as he watched them. He caught the prince’s eye to make sure he was paying attention as well.

  “Tomorrow, after breakfast, there will be a war council. We will meet in my private discussion chamber. Can I count on you to attend?”

  She smiled sweetly at the King. “Of course. I would not miss it—after all, you wished me to be in this council. That was the whole reason you asked me to stay… isn’t it?” Still holding Grant’s forearm, she went around the King without so much as a backward glance.

  Such arrogance! Gregorich thought to himself. He was severely irritated by her walking off so rudely, without a proper dismissal. He fumed all the way back to his bedroom, where he ordered his tub to be filled. He needed to think; he was too stressed over this whole situation. An hour later, he lay soaking in his porcelain tub. He had already washed his hair and skin, but he still felt unclean and the water was too pleasant to be removed from. He was giving a lot of thought to ‘Lady Serena’ and asking for her hand. He decided he still wanted this exotic, intelligent, and beautiful stranger as his wife, as much for spite for lying to him as anything else. The very thought of her body underneath those sensuous dresses of hers kindled a soon flaming passion, arousing him to the highest level of desire. He would ask her tomorrow at the war council, in front of everyone. How could she say no to him when she found out he had something over her: her own identity? Easy enough…she couldn’t.

  Silvia turned up the wick in the oil lamp by the fire and opened the large magic book to her current place. She had learned a very simple spell the other day that deeply enhanced one’s memory of any and all spells and enchantments. Thus, during the hours of reading she did that night, she learned dozens more, soaking all of it up as a cloth soaked up water. When at last she put the book down she felt too drained to take a bath. So she doused the lamp and went to bed. Keelan, having retired long before her, wrapped his long, muscled arms around her as she crawled sleepily under the covers.

  “Good night, my Queen,” he mumbled in the mass of dark, curly red hair.

  “Good night, my love…my King,” she whispered back sleepily and fell into oblivion in his embrace.

  The morning was bright and warm, with a few pleasant, fluffy clouds there and about the sky. Birds twittered happily to each other and the light breeze bore the scents of a variety of flora and fauna. Silvia awoke to find Keelan pacing nervously about the room.

  “Get dressed,” he said quickly. “You are summoned to breakfast by Gregorich. A message was slipped under the door a few moments ago that you and he are to have a private breakfast.”

  Silvia felt a nervous flutter in her stomach, but quickly suppressed it, remembering her words of light-heartedness the night before. “I expected a bigger show of confronting me,” she said. “Pity. I was looking forward to a challenge.” She rolled out of bed and strolled out to her wardrobe.

  Keelan followed, a worried look written all over his face. “My Queen,” he said, “you know I would kill him if he were to lay one finger upon your delicate flesh.”

  “Do not fret so!” she responded. A roguish smile glinted on her lips and gleamed in her eyes. “I am not as delicate as he thinks. If he decides to place his hand upon me in any way I promise I shall bite it off.”

  When she was freshened up and had dressed, Keelan accompanied her, in fox form, to Gregorich’s breakfast nook, for she had read the directions in the note Keelan had shown her. The King’s breakfast room was two doors down from his bedroom on the opposite end of the castle. After being admitted by a servant at the door, Silvia waltzed into the small room. Cheerful paintings of flowers and sunrises littered the walls of the narrow room amid two small tables with stools scooted beneath them which were crammed against each wall. The marble floor was as yellow as the rising sun coming over the world and shone brilliantly. At the far end of the room was a glass door leading onto a balcony. A table laden with fruit was waiting and two high-backed chairs inlaid with gold flanked it. Hapshamin was sitting in one of the chairs, staring at her as if she were the only thing in the world to gaze upon.

  Gregorich stood from his chair as she stepped outside. By the goddess Saphrite, was she beautiful! Enveloped in a sleeveless brown dress with a white hair cover and white pearls adorning her wrist, she walked towards him, her hips swaying almost erotically under the cloth. Her fox hopped into her lap as soon as she was seated.

  Annoyance flared up within him. “Do you ever leave that animal anywhere else?” he asked.

  “No, I do not,” she answered. She plucked some strawberries from the giant bowl of fruit and began eating daintily, dipping the fruit in a small saucer that had been filled with grains of sugar.

  Hapshamin shrugged. Who cared about her dumb animal anyway? Not him, for sure. More important things were on his mind than that tiny brute. Perhaps when they were wed he could arrange for something to happen to her furry friend. He grabbed a pear and held it up, elbow lazily propped on the table. “Do you know what is so interesting about amok pears?”

  Silvia lifted her shoulders in return and said, “I’m sure I don’t know, but I find it a bit intriguing to see a King so bewitched by a piece of fruit.”

  Gregorich pretended to ignore her comment. “The amok pear, when ripe for picking, has a very voluptuous shape—a sweet tear drop for those who are poets.”

  “Now poetry?” Silvia said quietly, not looking at Gregorich. She could feel the tension in the air and in the way Keelan’s fur was almost standing on end.

  “You know this type of pear is juicy in every part, my dear, but if you should stand it up on its bottom for several days, you’ll find that it is juiciest at the bottom, although the top is still sweet and enticingly wet.”

  Silvia kept nibbling on the strawberries, wondering where Gregorich was going with this conversation.

  “And the interesting thing here (to me, anyway) is that you remind me of a pear: sweet-looking and voluptuous, ready to be plucked.” He saw Silvia blush profusely from the corner of his eye and was pleased. He continued his harangue. “But I’m beginning to wonder, Lady Serena, I really am.”

  “About what, Your Highness?” she said in nonchalance. “If the fruit will rot before you finish this speech?”

  He finally looked at her straight, his gaze intense. “
You’ve been here for days, milady, walking on your tiptoes to make as little noise as possible—even riding away before dawn and staying gone until the late evening. I am wondering if you are avoiding me, milady. This angers me because I do not wish to be ignored. I also think that you might be hiding something, although I don’t know what that could possibly be. Tell me, Lady Serena...are all of your juicy little secrets at the bottom, waiting to be bitten into? Are they waiting to be found out by those who would seek them?”

  She tried to keep her hands from shaking as she fed Keelan a few bites of her strawberries. Staying her voice, she said, “They just might be, my Liege.”

  He leaned back into his chair, the sunlight bathing his handsome, babyish face as he took a large bite out of the pear; the juice shone on his lips like clear blood. “You know, I swear I know your face from somewhere. Have we ever met prior to your servant being murdered? What was his name again? Raymond?” He peered at her quizzically.

  “His name was Romone,” she said with a touch of anger. The man was dead, but he deserved respect. “And I have truthfully never been to Darkania before this trip…But maybe we met in an earlier life.” She rose, shooing Keelan onto the stone deck of the balcony. “I will see you at the war council, Your Majesty.” She left, Keelan clicking alongside her.

  Gregorich threw his pear down on the table and didn’t bother to pick it up when it wobbled off and dropped to the stone floor of the balcony. Where did he know her from? And why did she act so arrogant? Her familiar looks had haunted him since the other night when he first perceived her great beauty, and her actions had teased and taunted him since his first sight of her. No other woman had ever intrigued him so, nor had any other woman ever angered him as ‘Lady Serena’ did. For a few moments he recalled her confronting him over the fox meat, and the way she had stood up for Motilda—the night he had slapped her. He winced a bit at that memory, for had he known she would step in front of the servant girl, he would have never raised his hand. Thinking of Motilda, his mind went back several evenings to when he had slept with her. She had babbled about that damned book—whatever and wherever that was—and he had hardly listened. His loins had been without a woman for nearly two weeks, and desire had overcome him. Motilda had been the first person to hint on Lady Serena’s false identity. He had started wondering then of Serena’s intentions inside the palace. Was she actually plotting treason and murder? Was the war council the only reason she was still there as his guest? He intended to find out everything there was to know about her.

  Her room was full of cheer when she returned. Maura and Hans were tied up in a humorous game of chess and were giggling like adolescents over who knew what. Frero was singing old tales to Sir Grant outside on the balcony, his voice wizened with age to a hardy tenor. Silvia smiled as she came into the room, her own unease forgotten in their gaiety. Keelan trotted onto the terrace and sat down to listen to the songs, his furry ears twitching to the singing. Silvia trailed after him and asked Sir Grant if he was enjoying himself.

  “Immensely, Lady Serena, immensely!” he said, and clapped his hands as Frero finished another song. “I haven’t heard these since I was but a lad!”

  “And what brings you to my chambers, Sir Grant?”

  “I merely arrived early to accompany you to the war council, milady,” he replied. “But your manservant here was singing magnificent tales of old and I felt obliged as a lover of music to sit and have a listen. I must say that Frero has talent.”

  “Really?” Silvia was surprised. “Well, do we have time to hear one more?”

  “We should, if Frero would enlighten us,” said Sir Grant.

  “Indeed I will, if you will bear with me,” Frero said. His cheeks were flushed from singing and he took a sip of water from his cup on the table to wet his parched throat.

  “A girl walking on the sand

  Happened upon a strapping young man

  Waist to feet was nothing but scale

  But from there up he was male

  Him half fish, her fisherman’s girl

  She withdrew her knife and gave it a twirl

  With a jump he awoke

  At her knife’s first poke

  “’What are you doing out of the sea?

  Waiting for Death?’ said she.

  “He said, ‘I’m waiting to find a bride

  To go with me into the tide.

  If I do not find her before the night,

  Scales will overcome me—a fish for life.’

  She smiled and brought a draught of wine

  And a slab of her neighbor’s best swine

  Soon the potion started to work

  And the girl’s smile turned to a smirk

  The man turned to fish as he fell asleep

  And the fisherman’s girl had fish for a week.”

  “What a wonderful little story!” Silvia laughed.

  “Now you see why I stayed to lend a listening ear,” chuckled Grant.

  Bringing her thoughts to other things, she asked where the war council was to be. He told her it would most likely be in the bottom-most area of the palace, beside the dungeons. The sounds the prisoners made, he explained, would drown out any conversation that someone could overhear, though he doubted anyone could hear through the walls anyway. He expected the summons to the war council at any time, and it came right after Silvia applied a few drops of scented oil on her wrists as she freshened up a bit. They departed, walking slowly down the corridor.

  Chapter Fifteen—A False Identity

  Sir Grant was right on the mark. He and Silvia met with Prince Dalton and (to her surprise) Eulonda, and all were led to the dungeon level of the palace. As they walked Silvia saw the cruelest means of breaking someone down. One man who was found guilty of stealing his father-in-law’s cattle was being burned slowly all over his body with branding irons. The scent of burning flesh turned her stomach in a not-so-pleasant direction. Another man was being stretched to the point of his skin ripping, his eyes nearly coming out of his skull in pain and his mouth open in a spine-chilling scream. Silvia tried not to be sick as she walked on, trying her best to ignore the howls of agony coming from every corner. Dalton muttered something lewd about letting a lady see such punishments. They all felt as though these poor souls had been put on display as if to show the King’s power of authority.

  Gregorich Hapshamin was waiting in a large room between two torture chambers (that were also currently in use) and had walls a foot thick. A wide circular table with five chairs sat gloomily in the center of the room. The screams of pain and moans of despair filled the hall and the surrounding rooms, reverberating off the walls to send shivers along Silvia’s spine. She could not help feeling sorry for the souls imprisoned in this dungeon of doom, but all the same she felt relief that her bed chamber was several floors up and out of earshot of these miserable people. How would she be able to sleep tonight, knowing what was going on down here? She wondered if she would ever be strong enough to send anyone to these dungeons when she was queen. Sometimes things had to be done and she understood that; but she felt that these punishments were too extreme.

  George shut the door of the room with one last pitying look at Silvia; the silence that followed was deafening. Everyone pretended not to hear the bolt going into place, locking them inside.

  “Please, have a seat,” the King said. He waved to the four seats around his and waited for them to sit down.

  As she took her seat between Grant and Dalton, Silvia looked about her with unease. The room wasn’t very large and was solid stone. The table and chairs were the only furniture, besides a long table that was most likely reserved for larger councils. It sat against one wall on its side, the legs sticking out stiffly. A brazier blazed against two blackened walls in a corner and torches lined the walls. They hardly took the chill out of the room; the thick stone kept no heat below the palace. Illuminated by the torches was a grand map hanging on the wall behind Gregorich, showing part of the countryside in great detail
on its leather. She felt the King’s eyes and looked up to see him gazing at her curiously.

  “Have you lost your precious pet, milady? I hope nothing bad has come upon him.”

  Silvia felt a twinge of nervousness and tried to fight it off. She smiled sweetly. “No, my Lord, I have not lost my companion. It is the smell of death and the dying down here that turns him away. He is about your great palace somewhere.” That was only half the truth. He was trying to find his brother, who had not been heard from that morning at all. She was on her own, as no servants whatsoever were allowed in such important councils.

  Hapshamin nodded; his face took on a grave expression. “I do not wish to beat around the bush so I will get straight to the point: Sooner or later Darkania will be right in the middle of the Lordalen War, and I fear that it will be sooner than later, if you want to know the truth. Lord Rohedon has now conquered the Lordalens and wants to expand his reign.” He paused as Eulonda covered her mouth and let out a small squeal of terror. “Wexford is now surrounded and is trying to hold the siege that has come upon them. But their strength is weakening, and soon they shall be overtaken.”