by Delia Castel
“Possibly. Let’s take a look.”
As they approached the first vessel, a squat, olive-skinned man wearing a captain’s hat crossed their path. His long, braided beard trailed down like a rat tail.
“Excuse me,” said Marigold.
“All right there, Miss?” He grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellowed teeth.
“Do you know of any ships going to Habilis?”
His gaze swept down her borrowed outfit. “Heading there in ten days. Got two fancy cabins available. Interested?”
Her brows drew together. “I was hoping to leave a bit earlier.”
He rubbed his chin. “Be a problem, that. Unlucky time to set sail, is Festival Week.”
She exhaled a disappointed breath. In all the commotion, she kept forgetting the implications of this time of year. The festivals marked the events leading to the development of Igneous. According to legend, battles between the fairies of the skies and the fairies beneath the sea had created volcanoes. They had in turn formed the patches of land that made up Igneous and its surrounding islands. Every year, the fairies would leave their realms to restart their battles, causing disasters on both land and sea.
At some point in the last few centuries, someone formed the bright idea to reenact the battles, so the fairies didn’t need to leave their realms. Shifters, humans, and witches worked together to create plays depicting the fairy wars. When these measures became successful, it turned into Festival Week, a time when people would stop work and stay at home with their families.
A memory rose to the surface, making her cringe. Last year, the guards had locked up the cells for Festival Week, leaving meager rations of bread and water in the hallway. Holle and her cellmates picked the lock, and all the inmates roamed around a prison devoid of guards, desperate for water. They ended up drinking from the spigots in the bathroom.
It had been her most harrowing time at the House of Corrections. Some of the long-serving inmates confided that the guards would often not return to their duties until the end of the month. The entire experience had made her despise Festival Week.
Berrin ran a hand through his hair. “Do you know of any ships leaving for Habilis earlier?”
“Not unless a rowboat is what you’re after!” He chuckled, rocking back and holding his stomach, as though the hilarity of his joke would split him open. After wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, he winked at Marigold. “Find me at the Crooked Pintle if you’re up for it. The name’s Riso!”
Her posture slumped, and she turned to Berrin. “Let’s ask around a bit more. Are there any other islands near to Habilis?”
“The only independent nation around Igneous is Chrysos, but that’s covered in an enchanted bubble at the moment. Polaris and his troops have been trying to pierce it, as King Vulcan’s younger sister, Princess Fornax, is trapped behind it with her family.”
She gasped. “When did this happen?”
“Nearly twenty years ago, I suppose.” Berrin took her hand and led her along the waterfront. They passed men carrying boxes and barrels, all emitting a medley of scents. When four men passed hauling a flailing swordfish, they both ducked. “It took place after the death of old King Hydrus.”
Marigold nodded. She supposed that’s where the phrase ‘rich as Hydrus’ came from. The old dragon King had ruled over the wealthiest country in the world for centuries. He had made it prosperous by cultivating its rich soil and keeping the prices of dragon’s gold high by restricting its supply. It was an example the nuns taught the girls at the orphanage about securing a husband by not giving out favors too freely. Marigold had always wondered if Unwin would have betrayed her if she had waited until marriage before giving into his passions.
She shook away her maudlin thought and focused on Berrin. “I’ve heard of Old King Hydrus.”
“He was dying of an incurable condition and couldn’t decide which of his five sons would inherit the crown. Instead, he chose his second wife, hoping that one of his sons would marry her and reign by her side. She wanted to marry all five of them, but the youngest refused, saying he was in love with a witch.”
“I haven’t heard about this.”
“It isn’t exactly common knowledge because most of the Chrysos royal court is still trapped behind that magical bubble.”
“What happened?”
“No one knows for sure.” They paused to let a group of stevedores carrying a giant carpet go past. “Some say that the witch cursed the wedding before escaping with Aurelius, the youngest prince. The bubble developed shortly after she was reported to have left Chrysos.”
“Do you thi—”
He pulled her into his body, as two men passed carrying a net of pungent, long-tentacled octopuses. One of the arms wrapped around her wrist, and she shrieked and slapped it off.
Berrin chuckled and raised her afflicted hand to his lips. “Something else must have caused the magic bubble. Witches aren’t powerful enough to hold a whole country hostage. The wedding took place during Festival Week, so maybe the fairies punished the princes for marrying their own stepmother.”
Giggling, she slapped him on the arm. “No one really believes in fairies!”
“I do.” His lips spread into a grin. “But you cannot deny that fairy intervention makes for an exciting story.”
“A creepy one, more like.” She wrapped her arms around her chest.
He chuckled and placed his hand on her hip. “Come on, let’s see who else is available to take you to Habilis. Polaris is stationed in Pleco. That’s an independent island south-west of Chrysos. I doubt that you want to go there because it means traveling back through Boreas.”
She grimaced. If returning to Boreas was her only option, she’d borrow a rowboat from Captain Riso. “That rules out Pleco, then.”
“Fafnir island is still an option,” he said.
Marigold gave a non-committal hum. As the island was still under the jurisdiction of Igneous, she would still run the risk of being caught.
They reached the end of the quay and spoke to the crew of each ship. They were all moored for the duration of Festival Week due to superstition. No one, except for Captain Riso, was heading towards Habilis. One of the ships was going to sail around the west coast of Igneous to the Claw Archipelago to pick up supplies to be delivered to Pleco, but it wouldn’t leave for another fortnight. For reasons she could not explain, her heart sank at not being in the same island as Polaris.
By the time they had finished speaking to all the captains, Marigold had lost hope of leaving Igneous before Governor Hertz returned. As they walked back to the stables to retrieve the cabriolet, she turned to Berrin. “Should we reserve a cabin with Captain Riso?”
He nodded. “It’s best to, as you don’t want to lose your opportunity. Then you can see if Ella wants to accompany you.”
Chapter 13
After locating Captain Riso and reserving a cabin on his ship, they headed back to the suburb of Florus to offer Ella an escape from her life of abuse. Berrin was in good spirits, raving about the beauty and wonder of Fafnir Island. It sounded like a peaceful, idyllic haven, but Marigold wondered if Berrin was seeing the island from the eyes of a young, privileged dragon.
Ella’s family house was located further into the suburb than the Auburn Mansion, but it was by no means less beautiful. It was a two-story house covered by a woody plant whose white flowers made it look encased in snow. From the straight branches growing flat against the red-brick walls, she could only guess that it had been specially trained. They curled around the house and up to the slate roof, avoiding its large, paneled windows.
Berrin stopped, pulled back the roof of the cabriolet and peered through the iron fence. “Oh, I remember this tree! It’s a climbing pear.”
Marigold squinted. “It produces fruit?”
“Delicious ones, if I recall. Ella and I used to climb the tree when my parents visited this house.” He stepped down, walked around the carriage and helped her out. “The best pears were on
the roof, you see.”
Marigold smiled. At least he wasn’t talking about Fafnir Island anymore.
There was no bell on the gate, so they let themselves in. The wind blew the fragrant scent of herbs, and Marigold took a closer look at the garden. Instead of flower beds, edible plants grew in beautiful arrangements. They were interspersed with fuchsia flowers, which Marigold suspected might be echinacea. She recognized red cabbages, spinach, colored lettuces, purple garlic flowers, and even pumpkins growing at the foot of several stalks of corn. She turned to Berrin. “This is lovely. Was the garden like this when you visited, too?”
He furrowed his brow. “I would have remembered something as unusual as this arrangement.”
“Let’s knock on the door.”
Their feet crunched over a wood chip path, and Marigold marveled at what she could only describe as an edible garden. Even the lawn consisted of chamomile flowers. She supposed that down here in Austellus, people could plant anything because of the warm climate. “Did you know that anyone who wanted to grow food in Boreas had to do so in carts?”
He chuckled. “Why?”
“So the servants could wheel them into the warmth at night.”
“Why didn’t they use glasshouses?”
“Those were reserved for the beehives. Mead and honeybee silk are prized among the bear shifters.”
Berrin hummed but didn’t reply. It made Marigold wonder what dragon shifters valued most. Because of all the furore about the murder and her fugitive status, she hadn’t gotten a chance to learn about dragons. They reached a red front door with a ferocious brass door knocker fashioned in the shape of a dragon’s head.
“I don’t remember that face being there before,” he murmured.
“It probably belongs to the stepmother,” Marigold replied.
“Undoubtedly.”
Before they got the chance to knock on the door, it opened. Ella stood barefoot and clad in a filthy, burlap dress. As soon as she made eye contact with Marigold, her mouth fell open, and tears shone in her eyes. “Oh, Marigold!” She clapped her hand over her mouth and stepped back, clutching the door knocker with her other hand. “I hadn’t expected to see you again.”
Marigold exchanged a confused look with Berrin. The last time she had seen Ella, she had been clad in the kind of clothes expected from a lady of modest means and had looked clean and well-groomed. “Why are you wearing that?”
“Lady Brimstone insists on this attire.” She lowered her head, her pale, blonde hair covering blotchy cheeks.
A lump formed in Marigold’s throat. She couldn’t stand to see this sweet, kind young woman treated worse than a prisoner in her own home. “I’m going to Habilis in ten days. We came to find out if you wanted to come.”
“I’m sorry for not recognizing you at the stagecoach station,” said Berrin. “It’s clear that your living conditions are deplorable. I’ve agreed to fund Marigold’s new life overseas. You are more than welcome to join her.”
Ella’s grip on the door tightened, making her knuckles turn white. Her shoulders rose and fell, as though something Berrin had said had caused offense. Marigold’s brows drew together. Couldn’t Ella see Berrin was trying to help? She was about to explain his motivations, when Ella raised her head. Marigold’s mouth snapped shut.
Smoothing her hair behind her ears, Ella pressed her lips together and sucked in a deep breath. Then she gave Berrin a pained smile. “Thank you for the generous offer, but I cannot.”
“Why?” Marigold wanted to screech, but she kept her voice low in case that awful stepmother was in earshot.
“This house belongs to my maternal grandfather. If I leave, Lady Brimstone automatically becomes the legal owner. The laws here favor shifters over people like me. Even if it means passing up the opportunity of a happier life, I have to hold onto my family’s legacy.”
Marigold opened her mouth to argue, but the hypocrisy of what she was about to say fell on her like a lead weight. She had done similar to keep her mother’s bracelet. Not only had she spent years trying to infiltrate Lord Arctos’ household, but she had stolen from a shifter, knowing the resulting penalty. The time she had spent at the House of Corrections had been brutal. It should have been a deterrent from reoffending, yet she retrieved the bracelet again. “I understand. Would you—”
“What in the name of Orcus are you doing?” snapped a cruel voice from within the hallway.
Ella whimpered, and a long-nailed hand closed around the back of her neck, making her wince.
Marigold bared her teeth, ready to lunge, but Berrin placed his hand on her shoulder and stepped forward. “Lady Brimstone, I presume? Berrin Auburn, at your service.”
The female dragon released Ella and her long nose emerged from the gloom before the rest of her face. Her gaze snapped to Berrin, and her harsh features melted into a coquettish smile. The dragon even lowered her chin, staring at Berrin through her lashes. She placed her clawed fingers over her lips with the hesitation of a blushing maiden. Marigold’s stomach churned. How could someone brutalize an innocent young woman one moment and attempt to charm a gentleman the next? The dragon smoothed down her jet-black hair and narrowed eyes that flickered gaslight blue.
“Auburn, you say?” Despite her flirtatious act, her voice was still sharp enough to slit a crocodile’s throat. “Any relation to Matheson and the General?”
“They are my brothers.”
Lady Brimstone shouldered Ella out of the way, making her stagger back. Placing her hands on her waist, she thrust out a hip, making her long, voluminous skirts swish. “You must be the baby of the family who was sent to the prestigious St. Fafnir’s Academy for Male Fledglings.”
He inclined his head. “That would be me. I am honored to make your acquaintance.”
By now, the claws had retracted, and she fanned herself with her long-fingered hand. “And what would such a handsome and eligible young bachelor be doing on my doorstep?”
“Ella used to be a playmate—”
“Tell me more!” She ushered Berrin inside. “Excellent work, Ella. Excellent! You have found a worthy suitor for my beautiful girls!”
Marigold’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell slack. Did that filthy old she-dragon expect Berrin to fall at her daughters’ feet? She glanced at Ella, who shrugged. Marigold supposed that her friend couldn’t make a cutting remark, due to her stepmother’s sensitive dragon hearing.
“She’ll be wanting tea,” murmured Ella. “Berrin should be safe with her and the girls. Come to the kitchen, and we’ll talk.”
Marigold followed Ella through the house. Unlike the homes of Lord Arctos and the Auburn Brothers, the gas lights stationed on the hallways and stairways were unlit. She wondered if the family had fallen on hard times. It made sense, since they appeared to grow a lot of food. She glanced at the oil paintings of Lady Brimstone standing between two peculiar-looking young ladies. The three were clad in exquisite gowns and matching jewelry. Marigold changed her mind. The stepmother probably spent all their money on silk fabric and dressmaking supplies.
At the end of the hallway, Ella heaved open a wood door, which led to a dark, stone staircase. “The lamps aren’t fueled, so you’ll have to place your hands on the wall to compensate.”
Marigold stepped into the cold, dark space. Her stomach churned, and she pushed away memories of shivering in solitary confinement with only the rats for warmth and company. She was with Ella. Her friend. And they were just going down the stairs to the kitchen. Curling her lips into her mouth and biting down hard, she pressed her palms on the cold plaster and descended. “D-doesn’t anyone ever trip over and break all the plates?”
“I’m the only servant working here,” Ella replied. “There’s a vitruvius leading from the basement kitchen to the ground floor dining room.”
Marigold bumped into Ella’s back and placed her hands on the other woman’s shoulders. “Sorry! A what?”
“It’s a kind of tray you can lift up with rope pulleys.
It's very well made, and nothing ever gets spilled.”
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ella pulled open a door leading to a dimly-lit kitchen. Marigold thought it might have been as spacious as the one in Lord Arctos’ mansion, but there wasn’t enough light. Dotted about the flagstone floor sat large candles, encased in small, metal pails. Ella had probably made them herself out of beeswax she’d bought cheap in Boreas. Marigold held her tongue, as she didn’t want her friend to feel even worse about her terrible circumstances.
Ella opened a cupboard. “That’s the vitruvius.”
“Oh.” Marigold tilted her head to the side. It was just an empty space with a tray, attached to four ropes.
Voices drifted in from above. Lady Brimstone purred. “Berrin… Berrin! How wonderful it is to finally meet you. I expect that a young, eligible dragon is seeking the very best of mates?”
“Um…” Berrin sounded pained. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”
“Wonderful! The beautiful she-dragon in regal red is Furstinna, and the gorgeous she-dragon in majestic mauve is Malika.”
Marigold rolled her eyes. Lady Brimstone sounded deluded. The awkward conversation continued, with the she-dragon asking Berrin a slew of personal questions and responding as though he hadn’t given her a non-committal answer. Marigold turned to Ella and chewed her lip. “What are you, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“My father was a dragon shifter and my mother a witch.” She opened a narrow door, releasing a gust of cold air, and stepped inside.
“He wasn’t a prince, was he?”
Ella’s head popped out, and she giggled. “You’re talking about the legend of Prince Aurelius of Chrysos, aren’t you?”
Marigold shrugged. “Only heard the story today.”
“No.” She disappeared back into the depths of what Marigold assumed was the cold cellar. “They weren’t anything as romantic as a rebel prince falling in love with a beguiling witch. Grandfather was a wizard and the owner of the largest magical apothecary in Occidens. When he expanded down to Austellus, he realized that the best way to get success would be to marry his daughter into a family of dragon shifters. Father’s family just happened to need the dowry.” She stepped out, holding a cloth-covered jug. “That’s how Mother told the story.”