The Color of Dragons

by R. A. Salvatore

  The sitting room Raleigh found for us to rehearse was above the kitchens and unbearably hot. My stomach growled at the constant smell of roasting meat and baking bread, furious I hadn’t eaten since this morning. High arched ceilings did nothing to alleviate the heat. Neither did the burning candles, which were necessary because there were no windows and Xavier wanted the doors closed. He didn’t want any witnesses.

  The tables and chairs were stacked in the corner. The only thing left was a cow-skin rug. Healing was as much a part of my body as my heart, the act as innate as breathing. But it wasn’t what Xavier or the king wanted. They wanted to see the illusory rabbit I’d produced in the woods, and the cheetah in the Great Hall. But how I’d done that escaped me.

  Although I believed I had done it easily as a small child, the ability to use the moon’s aura at will had vanished from my memory. Without Rendicryss to advise me, I would have to figure it out all over again.

  I went over the other two times that had worked in my mind. Step by step. Both times I was angry—once with Xavier, and the other at Griffin. Both times I touched the animals near the instant it happened.

  At the start of the practice, I brought out the rabbit and the turtle.

  After which, as always, I held on to the staff with Xavier, conjuring images of the animals in my mind, including the cow we stood on, but no matter how I focused, the moonlight never surfaced. It remained locked in a Phantombronze box in the pit of my stomach.

  All the while, Xavier knelt and twirled. Lunged and hopped. He mumbled, sang, chanted and yelled spells, growing more and more agitated, falling into a sobbing, petrified mess in the middle of the rug with every failure.

  I pressed on regardless, suggesting we try again, but even I knew it was pointless. The afternoon was a complete disaster. I couldn’t do it on command, and it would be the death of us.

  We were all trapped here—me, Xavier, even Griffin.

  Griffin . . .

  Like a recurring dream, he kept returning to my thoughts. But why? He was a playmate for the prince, a puppet for the king. He was everything I despised.

  “Maggie, what’s wrong with you?”

  I lowered my hand. “Nothing.”

  I staggered across the room, resting my back against the wall to keep from falling over. Running on no sleep and only a small scarfed-down breakfast, I thought I was going to pass out. I had sweated through my last remaining dress, the yellow with puffed sleeves. Not that I minded ruining such a hideous drapery.

  I was desperate to get outside.

  I inhaled deeply, over and over again, but it was never enough. “Can’t breathe . . .” This room was literally sucking the life out of me.

  I stumbled to the door and banged on it with all the energy I had left. Raleigh was waiting, as always, on the other side. But also, Prince Jori.

  My knees gave out.

  “Maggie!” The prince caught me. “You’re burning up.”

  “Outside. Please . . .”

  Jori didn’t hesitate. He scooped me up in his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he carried me down two hallways and climbed an unending spiral staircase. How he managed, I didn’t know. I was slight, but still. The prince was much stronger than he looked.

  I heard Xavier calling my name, straining to keep up. I wasn’t sure where we were going, but at the end of the stairs, there was another hallway, and then the air cooled. Almost instantly, I could breathe again.

  Jori stopped. My sweat chilled, leaving me a shivering mess. He held me close. “She’s freezing. Get a blanket, Raleigh.”

  Raleigh snapped his fingers at someone I couldn’t see.

  “I’m all right. Please, set me down.”

  Jori did but didn’t let go. His arms were still around me. I was grateful for the warmth. It took a second to realize we were on a wooden bridge that connected the castle to a looming tower.

  Gray skies were gone, replaced by hints of blue and white fluffy clouds that reflected the setting sun, giving everything a brilliant orange glow. The moon wasn’t visible, but nevertheless I could feel it feeding me.

  Petal came from the tower. She held out a gray wool blanket to me that smelled musty, like it had been in a trunk for too long. Jori leaned me forward. He wrapped the blanket around my shoulders.

  “Shall I send Raleigh for the physician?”

  “No. It was just very hot in that room.”

  “She should eat too, sire,” Xavier added. “I’ve had her locked up since the festivities this morning.”

  It hardly seemed fitting to call the morning’s display festivities. There was nothing festive about them, at least not to me.

  I turned in Jori’s arms to speak with him, and suddenly our faces were inches apart. I could feel his rapid breath. His lips parted. I squirmed from his grasp, afraid he was going to kiss me.

  “Let’s get you back to your room.” Jori’s hand rested on the small of my back as we started into the castle. “Raleigh, have the girl bring food and drink, and draw a bath.”

  We passed by the Great Hall on the way to my room. It was less full, but still crowded with well-dressed families stuffing their faces.

  I was grateful when we were in my room. I fell backward on the bed, never wanting to get up. The doors closed. Prince Jori began untying my boots.

  “I can do that.” I sat up, trying to take my foot back, but he refused to let go.

  “No. Please. Let me. I never get to take care of anyone.”

  His expression looked innocent enough, so I let him.

  As he yanked one boot off and moved to the other, I looked at him. Prince Jori was handsome. His small chin and thin lips were like his father’s. But that was where the resemblance ended. His dimples cratered and brown eyes narrowed when he smiled, which he did a lot. What didn’t he have to smile about?

  His shirt red, the collar and seams stitched with golden blooming roses, he was dressed for dinner.

  “Shouldn’t you be downstairs?”

  “Yes. But I wanted to tell you something.” Jori picked up both boots and set them down beside my wardrobe, then returned.

  His smile fell into a deep frown as he sat next to me on the bed. “Xavier had difficulty last night. My father was furious. He spent the better part of two hours berating me over it and threatening to have him imprisoned . . . or worse.”

  “He’ll do better tonight, Your Highness. He’s been working so hard—”

  He pressed his fingers to my lips, silencing me. If he weren’t the prince, I would’ve bitten him.

  “I care about your father. I do. But if he doesn’t prove to my father that his magic is real, it could mean a death sentence.”

  I pushed his hand off me and got up. “Do something, then!”

  “I am. I-I did,” Jori stuttered as if I’d made him nervous. He took my hand. “I spoke to my father. He knows that you have nothing to do with this deception. You will be safe.”

  “Deception?”

  “You cannot lie, falsely claim to be the Ambrosius before the king, not without consequences. If he deceived me . . . deceived the king . . .” Jori didn’t finish that sentence. “I’m very much hoping I’m wrong.”

  “This is outrageous. Do you hear what you are saying, Jori?” I tore my hand back and crossed my arms over my body in protection. “We did not ask to come here. We did not seek the king’s favor. Now, simply because you came across us in a tavern in the middle of nowhere, our lives are in jeopardy?”

  “Listen to me.” He latched on to my shoulders. “If Xavier fails tonight, it will not be held against you. I don’t want you to be afraid. I would never let anything happen to you.” He squeezed my shoulders, probably trying to be reassuring, but it felt patronizing. “You are special, Maggie. I know you’ve heard I am betrothed to Esmera, but I don’t want that. She doesn’t want it either.”

  “I’m sorry” was all I could think to say.

  He stared at the floor, his face a mask of confusion. This conversation was
n’t going the way he’d planned. When he looked up, his hand moved behind my head and he pulled me to him, hugging me. “I’m trying to tell you that I want you, Maggie.”

  I laughed, pushing him away from me. “You don’t even know me. You shower me with presents I don’t want. Dresses aren’t important to me.” I gestured to the puffed sleeve. “Jewels are only worth what I can sell them for.” I unlatched the ruby necklace, placing it in his hand.

  “What is it you do cherish, Maggie? I can get it for you. Anything you want. All you have to do is tell me.” Jori looked lost.

  “Freedom. I want my dragon released from that horrible place you have her locked in, and I want to leave the Walled City.”

  “Your dragon?” Jori asked.

  “I meant draignoch. That one doesn’t belong here. It belongs in the wild.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re telling me you want me to release a dangerous creature upon the Hinterlands, and you wish to go with it rather than living here—in safety and luxury?” Jori stood taller. “Draignochs cannot roam free, and neither can you. It is—”

  “Too dangerous. You say that a lot.”

  Jori held my hand. “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. I’m telling you I want you to stay with me and all you can think of doing is leaving.”

  “You don’t. Even. Know me.”

  “But I want to.” He dropped his forehead on mine. “Doesn’t that mean something?”

  “Not in the way it should, sire.” I took a step back from him, the implication causing his expression to fall into a scowl.

  He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face. When he looked at me again, his demeanor changed. He was trying for indifference. He clicked his heels formally, and then he left. And I could finally breathe.

  I slept like the dead.

  Petal woke me by waving a bowl of baked apples under my nose. After I ate every bite of it, I started in on a plate of roasted meat and buttered potatoes like a wild animal, using my hands until she hit me with a wooden spoon on the back on my head.

  My bath was warm, not hot. She had probably drawn it a while ago. It was dark out, but the waxing moon cast a beautiful glow through the window. When I got out of the bath, Petal held up two new dresses as high as she could, leaving two feet of linen dragging on the floor. One was pale blue, like the last, but with thick cuffs of silver threading and white crystal beading. The other was the color of the setting sun, a hazy burnt orange, with maple-shaped leaves across the chest, stitched out of spun gold. They were the most beautiful dresses I had ever seen.

  “From the prince?”

  Petal nodded, grinning.

  So. He was undeterred.

  She held them up to me one at a time, then settled on the orange dress.

  A short time later, Raleigh led Xavier and me across the bridge and into the tower we had seen earlier. The king’s private chambers were on the very top. Four guards posted; two pulled the double doors open, allowing us entry without breaking pace.

  An enormous window gave a fantastic view of the Walled City. There were no curtains or tapestries, nothing to obstruct the king’s ability to see anything and everything around him. An ornate chair with a high back and long arms sat facing the window.

  King Umbert’s throne. He probably spent every available minute spying on his own people.

  The fire burning in the fireplace snapped and hissed, bathing the room with comfortable warmth. Carved rose vines decorated the mantel. A rose-scented oil pot was given the unfortunate task of masking the pungent odor of stale ale and wet dog. The combination of the three left me nauseated.

  Xavier went immediately to a table where several pieces of Phantombronze armor sat, dust covered as if they’d been there a long, long time.

  I picked up the gimlet and slid my hand inside the glove. Much too large, the fingers still moved easily because it was so light. “Xavier, have you ever heard of anything that can break Phantombronze? Or cut it? Or maybe melt it?”

  “I don’t, lass. I’ve never seen it in true form before. All found in the Hinterlands turned out to be false. Pyrite mixed with copper.”

  “Phantombronze cannot be melted or cut. It runs hot through the mountain beneath this fortress, in underground rivers. Thousands died to extract or smith what you’re wearing right now,” Raleigh explained, removing the gimlet from my hand. “Don’t touch anything.”

  The door next to the fireplace swung. Greyhounds, like the ones who mauled those men in the arena, growled and barked, their leashes straining against a post as the king and prince entered the room. Jori gave me a reassuring smile while closing the doors, dampening the dogs’ relentless fury.

  I could guess what they’d served at dinner tonight from the bread crumbs and crusted stew on the front of the king’s red robes. His gold crown had been removed, but there was a ghost band on his forehead as if it was still there. The air stiffened with his mere presence. My stomach tightened as he approached. This man had no regard for life. Unless I could wield the moonlight, impress the king with a magical act, Xavier would be put to death.

  Xavier bowed for the king in grand fashion. I gave a slight curtsy, hoping not to fall over. Bradyn entered, bringing a tray with a single glass and a pitcher of ale. He set it down on the table and turned to leave, but the king called him back.

  “Taste that ale. Remain here too in case I need more. Curse your cousins’ spirits for your added work.”

  Bradyn poured a full cup, raising it as if toasting their graves, then drank half of it down before using his sleeve to catch the overspill. “I feel fine, Your Majesty.”

  “Good. Sir Raleigh, you should go,” the king added, waving a dismissive hand.

  “I’m ensuring security for Xavier and Maggie, sire.”

  “Ensure it outside the door,” the king growled.

  Raleigh’s eyes shifted to the prince.

  “You look to my son?” King Umbert roared. “Leave before I sic the dogs on you, you old useless cur!”

  The way the king treated him, I would’ve felt sorry for Raleigh, only I wanted to leave too.

  Jori nodded, and Raleigh left.

  My stomach twisted into a knot. I knew this was going to be a private affair, but the room was too small, and the audience was too close. They would see way too much. My heart hammered, and my palms started sweating.

  For too long, no one spoke.

  Jori’s warm brown eyes remained on me with unwavering intensity while King Umbert poured a glass of ale. He drank the whole thing in three loud gulps, then slammed the glass on the tray so hard I thought it would break.

  “Xavier, you have been a bitter disappointment. A single flame, a glimpse of the spectacular, put out by what feels like utter ineptitude.”

  “Ineptitude, sire?” Xavier’s knees gave an inch. He leaned on the staff for support, his hands sliding up and down in a nervous volley for position.

  King Umbert poured another glass. Bradyn shifted the throne to face the room before the king plunked down, spilling his drink.

  Strange how distance distorts reality. Up close, King Umbert looked even fatter, older, and more tired than I’d previously thought. He walked as if his days on earth were numbered. He stared at Xavier like a man trying to stake his claim in immortality. As if a sorcerer could save him from time.

  “Other than my son, no one has ever heard this tale I’m about to tell you and lived to retell it.” He pinned Bradyn with a stern glare.

  Bradyn bowed his head, retreating to the shadows in the corner behind the throne.

  Xavier sucked in a mountain of air, sputtering it out in short bursts. “Maggie lass, perhaps you should leave.”

  “Yes,” Prince Jori agreed.

  King Umbert raised a hand, stopping him. “No. Xavier needs incentive.” The king’s throne creaked as he leaned forward. “Maggie will stay. If he fails, they both suffer the same consequences.”

  Jori’s eyes bulged. “Father, we discussed—”<
br />
  “Shut up, Jori. No one cares what you think and won’t until I’m dead.” King Umbert leaned back.

  Jori’s narrowed glare was ignored by his father. I got the impression this wasn’t the first time, or even the hundredth, that King Umbert had said that to him.

  The king cleared his throat. “Once, I had an older brother. A tormentor type. Called me all manner of names. Hit me whenever my mother wasn’t looking. Took what little food I was given and fed it to his tiny rat dog.” King Umbert drank from his glass as if these were hard memories, as if we should feel sorry for him. So the bullied became the bully almost came out of my mouth. For once, I held my tongue.

  He shifted the empty glass. Bradyn rushed with the pitcher and refilled it, then retreated from view again.

  “And then one day, my mother sent us together to fetch water from the nearby river. She wanted two full buckets from each of us. Anything less, and we’d get the strap. On our way back, he kicked me from behind. Both buckets spilled, and I had to return to the river. He left his there and followed me back, the whole way telling me he would never let me get home with full buckets.”

  King Umbert hefted his large form out of the throne, and paced. “At the river, he did as he promised. He kicked over every bucket. I was so small, and he so much bigger, I knew there was only one way this feud would end. Either he would die, or I would. It was his fault, you see. He knew I carried a dagger, and yet he looked so surprised when I used it. He pulled it out, though, and gave me a nasty cut.”

  Umbert pulled back his sleeve, revealing a scar that went from wrist to elbow.

  “Then, I slit his throat. As I washed his blood off my hands in the river”—the king pantomimed, and glanced over his shoulder, at his view of the Walled City, his eyes lowering to the arena—“I met my first draignoch. It chased me deep into the forest. By the time I was able to escape its sights, I was lost. I’d lost so much blood I could barely stand. Then I heard it.” He cupped his ear. “A woman calling my name. Delirious, I thought it was my mother. I followed her voice farther into the woods. I found her sitting on a rock, barely clothed, staring into the blue flames of a fire. It most definitely wasn’t my mother.”