Tears of the Dragon

by Angelique Anjou

  She looked up at him, squeezing his hand gratefully. “So … he’s being used as a scapegoat,”

  “Yes,” he said tightly, turning to pace the room. “I should not have involved them in this.”

  Khalia stared at him, feeling his pain. Finally, she shook her head. “You are not responsible for what others do, even when you’ve asked them to do it. They are both grown men, and obviously have been at court long enough to understand the possible consequences--probably better than you. What are we going to do? We have to do something.”

  “I could go and testify on their behalf,” Damien said slowly. “It was I who set them on the errand.”

  Khalia felt the blood leave her face. For several moments, she thought she might faint. “If they’ve already planned their execution, I can’t imagine that would help them much … besides which, they’re liable to decide you’re a coconspirator and execute you beside them.”

  Again Damien and Basil exchanged a look.

  “They have already named Damien as one of the conspirators, your highness,” Basil said. “They claim that he has slain you and escaped.”

  “Are you mad, Damien!” Khalia demanded angrily, jumping up from her chair.

  “On the surface, I know it must seem so … but I am not without friends at court. If I go, I can explain what has happened and there is a chance that they will listen. My men will support my claims.”

  “And there is a better chance that they won’t! You and I both know the conspiracy is there. You will only succeed in neatly tying things up for them.”

  Basil smiled wryly. “I have told him this myself, but he is stubborn … And, perhaps he is right. He is well liked by his men, and respected and liked by many at court.”

  Khalia shook her head. “I won’t hear of it. I won’t! You will have to take me there. It’s the only way to prove you’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll say I was in communication with Samala personally, and that I asked him to discover who had hired the assassins.”

  Damien’s lips thinned. “I would gladly give my life for you, your highness, but I will not take you to your assassins.”

  Khalia gaped at him for several moments and finally turned to Basil. “Can he do that? Isn’t he supposed to do what I say? Isn’t that … insubordination or something?”

  Basil’s eyes gleamed with a touch of amusement. “You can have him thrown in prison for disobeying, your highness.”

  Khalia looked Damien over speculatively, trying to imagine how many men it would take to subdue him if he decided to resist. “By whom? Do I have an army I don’t know about?” she asked dryly.

  Basil and Damien exchanged a look. “She has a point. We could raise the army,” Basil said.

  “We would be risking a war that could tear the realm apart.”

  “Then I will go. I haven’t been accused … yet.”

  Khalia stared at Basil. “You are as mad as your brother! They will accuse you as quickly as they would him. Even I can see that you and your brother are close and I barely know you. They’ll never believe that you’re not involved if they think that Damien and Nigel are.”

  “It’s the only option we have at the moment … unless we do nothing at all. You are right about Samala and Nigel. They were well aware of the risks. They were willing to try because they are loyal to you and your family.”

  Khalia stared at him. “So … you’re suggesting we do nothing and allow those monsters to execute them even though we know, and they know, that they’re innocent? How can I live with that? How can you?”

  Damien began pacing once more. “In all honesty, your highness, we are powerless at this moment. Until you are crowned, you will be at their mercy, vulnerable to their attacks. The conspiracy is at the highest levels of the government.”

  “My uncle, you mean?”

  Damien frowned. “Possibly, but I am not convinced that he knows anything about it. More likely it is his advisors, or at least one of them, who have governed for many years and now fear to lose their power.”

  “Why are you so certain it isn’t him? Because he doesn’t seem interested in anything but his pleasure? That’s absurd. In the first place, betrayal runs in the family--if it’s true that my uncle kidnapped my grandmother and killed my grandfather. He doesn’t know me at all and has no reason to care any more about me than he would any stranger. And he’s enjoyed being regent. You said so yourself. He’s got as much or more to lose than anybody else.”

  “All the more reason not to take you to him,” Damien pointed out.

  Khalia plunked her hands on her hips. “Well, if you’re not going to then you might as well take me home! Then there’ll be no reason for any of this.”

  Basil looked startled. “You can not mean to abandon your people, your highness! We need the rightful queen upon the throne!”

  “You think it’s better for me to stay while everybody tries to kill everybody over who’s going to rule Atar?”

  Again the men exchanged a look. Khalia stamped her foot furiously. “I did not ask for this or want it. You say it is my duty, my birthright. If that’s true, and I must stay regardless of my own wishes, then I will be queen and I will not be told what I may or may not do! Summon the army of Atar! They will escort us to Caracaren and there will be no war. The conspirators are cowards or they would not sneak about like thieves in the night. They won’t openly oppose me … and when we are there, we will discover who the traitors are.”

  Damien’s eyes gleamed with both amusement and, surprisingly, respect. After a long moment, he bowed. “It will be done, your highness.”

  Shaken, Khalia left the room and hurried back upstairs. She spent the remainder of the day there, more terrified than she could ever remember being in her life. She was not afraid for herself, however. She was afraid for Damien and his brothers.

  Would the army support her claim to the throne, she wondered, or had she just demanded something that would end in their downfall?

  Was there anything else she could have done? She could think of nothing. As unwilling as Damien was to summon the army and risk a war, he would never have agreed to take her with him otherwise.

  He did not come to her that night. She wasn’t certain if it was because he and Basil had left to gather the army, or if he’d simply felt it unfitting … or her ‘queenly’ behavior had driven a wedge between them.

  Charrisa woke her the following morning moving about the bedroom far more clumsily than she generally did. When Khalia sat up to look at the woman questioningly, she saw that the woman was as pale as death and obviously terrified. She sank to the floor when she saw Khalia watching her, more as if her knees had given out than pure civility. “Your highness … your army awaits.”

  At that pronouncement, Khalia felt her heart stop in her chest. It took an effort to retain even the appearance of calm. Finally, she merely nodded and rose, allowing Charrisa to help her to dress.

  When they’d completed her toilet, Khalia left the room on shaky legs and went to the stairs, pausing at the top. Below her there seemed a virtual sea of soldiers. Damien was the first to notice her. He knelt. Around him the other men knelt, as well. She recognized the captain of the guard among them, Captain Swiftwing. Nodding at them, she descended slowly, gripping the railing tightly to keep from tumbling to the bottom if her knees gave way.

  She realized as she made her descent that there were no more than a handful of men besides Damien and Basil. Doubt shook her, but she did her best to hide it. When she reached the bottom step, she paused. Almost as one, the men looked up at her. “Your highness, Princess Khalia. I pledge my sword and my body to your cause,” the men said almost in unison.

  Relief trickled through her, but not much. It was hardly an army before her and she looked at Damien questioningly, wondering if the handful of men were all that he and Basil had been able to find willing to support her. He frowned, shaking his head ever so slightly and offered his arm.

  She laid her hand upon it and allowed him to lead her w
here he would. She saw quickly enough that they were leaving the fortress. The garshon had been chained, but as they reached the dungeon, it howled and snarled and fought the chains that held it. A shiver skated over her. Apparently sensing her uneasiness, Damien laid a hand over hers, squeezing it reassuringly as they made their way down the passage that led to the secret entrance.

  The sunlight dazzled her when she emerged at last. She blinked, trying to adjust her vision to the brightness. When her vision focused at last, she had to stifle the urge to gasp. In the fields below them, as far as the eye could see in any direction, lay an army of dragon men.

  Khalia glanced uncertainly at Damien as he released her arm and stepped back, kneeling as all the men around her knelt. She glanced around at the sea of men, feeling her fear slowly evaporate. Something strangely akin to pride filled her as she studied them. She stepped forward, raising her voice to be heard. “I am Khalia, daughter of Princess Rheaia. Will you accept me as your queen?”

  To her surprise and faint embarrassment, she heard her voice echo outward, flowing into the distance. For a moment that seemed frozen in time, only the wind answered. Then, like an echo returning to her, she heard the shout from thousands of throats. “Queen Khalia!”

  When the shouts died down at last, she spoke again. “Then let us go to Caracaren!”

  They rose to their feet, shifting, and where before there had been an army of men, an army of dragon men stood in their place. She closed her eyes as she felt Damien’s arms close around her, lifting her against his scaly chest, a sense of warmth and peace flowing through her as the rustle of thousands of flapping wings filled the air, stirring it to a whirlwind as the army rose into the sky. She would’ve been content merely to rest against him and feel the warmth and power of his great body.

  “You have done well, my sheashona,” Damien said low, his voice gravelly and rumbling from his chest.

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him, smiling faintly in pleasure before the reality of their situation flooded back. Her smile faltered. “In time, we will see.”

  He shook his great head. “The blood of royalty flows through your veins, Princess. If I had ever doubted it, I would doubt it no longer. This you were born for. Whatever the future brings, I will never regret pledging my loyalty to you.”

  Khalia looked away, resting her cheek against his chest as his words evoked a dim memory. There is no tomorrow for us, Khalia.

  A shiver of uneasiness went through her. Was this what he’d meant, she wondered? That they would be forced to fight for the crown he was so determined to place upon her head? That many would die to see it settled there? Perhaps even him?

  She pushed it from her mind, unwilling to dwell on it, or the sense of injustice that filled her that she was the unwilling altar upon which so much blood might be spilled.

  The sun was low on the horizon by the time she saw the city she knew must be Caracaren. Even from a great distance, she could see it looked like nothing from the world she’d come from. Like a dish sent spinning into the sky, it hovered above the ground as if the clouds beneath it supported it. Tall buildings reached upward like pointing fingers, far taller than anything she had ever seen and all were linked by strange, clear tubes. As they came nearer, she could see dark objects shooting through the tubes. It reminded her of the pod Damien had taken her in to escape the fortress, though these seemed bigger, and longer.

  “What are those ropy looking things?” she whispered to Damien curiously.

  He glanced down at her. “Transportation for the people of the city.”

  Like streetcars? She didn’t pursue it, however. She doubted if he would understand streetcars any more than she understood these things.

  As they drew nearer, she began to see people running in the streets or huddled together in frightened knots. The army formed into a narrow line behind them as they descended and began to fly between the neat rows of towering buildings. Finally, ahead of them, she saw an enormous plaza. A single, enormous building surrounded it. People poured through the great front doors, some soldiers, some obviously civilians, and lined up on the tiered steps that led up to the great doors from the plaza below.

  Damien settled to the concrete plaza with a slight jolt and set Khalia on her feet. She glanced back at him. He remained in his fearsome dragon form. Glancing around, she saw that the army that had settled around them followed his lead. Abruptly, a commotion at the entrance to the palace drew her attention once more. A stout man of no more than medium height was making his way down the stairs, his bearing regal despite the indulgence that had gathered at his middle.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded imperiously, when he’d looked out over the army.

  Damien inclined his head. “As you see, your highness, we have brought our future queen for her coronation.”

  The man reddened, but a smile suddenly lit his face as he hurried forward. It wasn’t until he neared her that Khalia saw that the smile was obviously forced. He spread his arms wide, as if in welcome. “My niece! Your are the image of your dear mother!” he said loudly, making certain everyone within three yards of them heard the ‘joyous’ reunion between the niece and her great uncle--Maurkis, brother of King Caracus.

  She knew in that moment that he was behind the conspiracy to kill her and a wave of nausea washed through her. Nevertheless, she allowed him to embrace her, even returned his embrace, doing her best to appear at least as sincere as he was.

  When he drew back, she forced a smile. “We have come to see to it that my loyal men, Nigel Bloodragon and Samala Greystreak are released. They were unjustly charged and imprisoned,” she said loudly enough that everyone near them could hear.

  His face darkened, but his smile remained firmly in place. “We will not talk politics just yet … especially when you have not had the time to be fully informed about the charges.”

  She gave up the effort to keep her smile in place. “I am completely informed. I sent them here …mistakenly thinking the conspiracy was here, in the palace. General Bloodragon has discovered, however, that the plot was hatched by our enemies, the Baklen to start a war,” she lied, turning and speaking more loudly.

  Something flickered in Maurkis’ eyes and was quickly hidden. “But … this is wonderful news! Our good friends must be released at once!” He turned from her, issuing the order to the men nearest him. When he turned to look at Khalia again, his smile was firmly in place once more. He offered his arm. After a moment, Khalia laid her fingers on it and allowed him to escort her up the stairs into the palace. “Our enemies, you say? We will put our heads together and think of a fitting punishment for the enemies of Atar, who would dare to harm our future queen.”

  She glanced back at Damien and saw that he had shifted from beast to man. Of a certainty, he thought the danger past or he would not have done so. She smiled. “I will depend upon you, General Bloodragon, to keep me informed.”

  He nodded, bowing, but he either did not catch the subtle suggestion that she expected to see him or there were matters that prevented it. A full week passed before she saw him again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  There were degrees of boredom, Khalia discovered. In all the time that she’d been in this strange world, she hadn’t had any of the work that usually filled her days, and yet, she had not truly been bored until she was faced with the regimen set up for her once she reached the palace.

  She was to be crowned within the month and preparations had to be made; decisions on the feast, the entertainment the celebrations before, during and after, the coronation itself. She had to have a wardrobe. She had to have lessons in etiquette and diplomacy. She had to sit in on sessions of the court with her council to learn the workings of the government.

  She would have preferred her books and studies for the museum, or sitting quietly with her needlework.

  She would have preferred dining alone with Damien, or slogging through swamp water, teasing him, snuggling next to him in a crude hut on a b
ed of grasses.

  She hated being surrounded by throngs of people day in and day out. It reminded her far too forcibly of her life in the orphanage where privacy had not even been a concept to her. Even in her own apartments, people came and went and giggled and talked until she felt as if she was living in a department store window, always watched, always on display.

  It was far too much like the life in the orphanage she’d hated, where she’d felt like no one considered her an individual or even a human being, but rather more like a farm animal that was herded from bath, to dining hall, to chores, to bed in an endless round, where the only time anyone actually looked at her and saw her was when she misbehaved and was singled out for punishment. The only difference that she could see was that now she was the only cow and a herd had been sent to attend her.

  She bore with it because she had no choice, because lives depended upon her assuming the role as queen of a world she still couldn’t think of as her own. She bore with it because Damien expected no less of her and she couldn’t bear to disappoint him.

  When he didn’t come to her, even at night when she shut everyone out and lay in her bed alone, she began to wonder why she put up with it at all. She had power now. She could go home. No one truly wanted her. No one would suffer for her absence, least of all the uncle that smiled at her and doted upon her and wished her dead with every glance.

  However, the painful truth was that she was as much a captive as she’d been from the first, maybe more so now, for there was not one moment, waking or sleeping, that guards and servants and advisors and councilors didn’t surround her.

  About a week after her arrival at the palace, she sensed a stir of excitement in the women who’d been assigned to care for her. They seemed more bubbly than usual as they went through her wardrobe, searching for the perfect outfit for her to wear to the state dinner that she was to attend. Khalia watched them in the mirror as she sat before her dressing table, enduring a session with the woman whose only duty seemed to be in dressing her hair--a complete absurdity in her book. She was a ‘maiden’. Maidens wore their hair loose about their shoulders--period. Once she was mated, she would be allowed to wear her hair coiled and pinned in elaborate styles, but not now.