Dragon Rose (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms)

by Pope, Christine

  Why, then, could I not forget that image of darkness rising to swallow us all?

  Lilianth came by the next morning, as she wanted me to accompany her to the shop of Willem the cloth merchant to help make the final choice of fabric for her wedding gown. I was glad enough of the diversion, even though I knew I would have to tell my friend soon enough that I could afford no fabric of my own for a new gown.

  But it was good to be free from the brooding atmosphere in my house, where things had once been bright and merry. Oh, we had not been abandoned entirely—several of those who counted themselves friends of the family had made sure to purchase some pieces from us—but these small gestures could not begin to replace the income we had lost from our wealthier clients.

  Even now some people stared as I passed them in the street, but I affected not to notice, and Lilianth was so caught up in her chatter about the upcoming nuptials that of course she didn’t detect any frostiness on the part of the passers-by. We spent a good hour in Willem’s shop, and although she had protested earlier that she meant for it to be a very quiet affair, her choice in fabric seemed to bely that description, for she ended up walking out with a length of marvelously supple sky-blue cloth that Willem said was a new weave of linen and silk, providing strength and sheen at the same time. It was truly lovely, I had to admit, but I blanched a little at the number of coins Lilianth counted out to the merchant in exchange for the material.

  We emerged into the bright noonday sun and blinked. Certainly nothing could be more different from my black dream of the night before than the clear sky above and the reflected green of the hills all around us.

  At first I didn’t even realize I had seen it. A flash of red, just a glimmer of crimson above the dark shoulders of Black’s Keep. And then I heard the murmur of the people around me grow into a roar, as Lilianth’s fingers dug into my arm and people began pointing northward. Yes, there it was, a red silk banner snapping in the breeze above the Dragon’s castle.

  I swallowed, and realized my dream had been a true one after all. Not with darkness, perhaps, but nevertheless, doom had come to Lirinsholme.

  “A month,” my mother said, staring at me in some despair. “One month more, and you would have been safe.”

  “It’s better this way,” I said stoutly, and gave Therella’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “At least we can go as sisters, and stand together.”

  My mother swallowed and shot a despairing glance at my father. He was pale but composed, although I noticed his hand shook a little as he grasped the cane he’d been using ever since his heart spasm.

  “It will be all right,” he said. “There are many eligible, and they choose only one. We’ll be back for supper and laughing, knowing that the Dragon will not choose another Bride until after both girls are old enough to be safe.”

  That was true enough, but it didn’t secure the safety of my two younger sisters, thirteen and eleven. Still, suffice the day’s evil, as they say, and the odds of two girls being chosen from the same household were probably about the same as being struck by lightning. Or worse, maybe, as we all knew old dazed Janson, who had been hit by a bolt in his youth and had never been the same since. On the other hand, there were no records of sisters ever having been the Dragon’s Bride.

  Therella and I stood in the entry hall, having put on our best gowns. That was always the way of it—the daughters of the town would assemble in the main square, all wearing their finest, and the elders would gather on the wide balcony that topped the entrance to Lirinsholme’s town hall. The name was drawn from a large silver urn into which small pieces of paper with the candidates’ name written on them had been dropped. Maintaining the list of names was part of the elders’ duty, as was sitting up the night before the Bride was selected and writing out all the names on those scraps of paper.

  It had not been a good night for any of us, of course. My sister had muttered and cried out in her sleep, and I was restless as well, shifting seemingly every quarter-hour so I could find a more comfortable position. What sleep I did manage was untouched by any dream, true or otherwise. This halfway disappointed me, for while I was not overly eager to learn my fate, at least if I’d had some inkling of what I faced on the morrow, I might have been better equipped to face it.

  The sun shone through the stained-glass windows on either side of the front door, tracing elegant patterns in blue and green and red on the gleaming wood floor beneath. The air smelt of the beeswax we rubbed into the molding to make it shine. I glanced around me, and wondered if this might be the last time I ever stood here.

  But I knew better than to speak such words aloud.

  The town square was not large enough to accommodate all of Lirinsholme’s citizens; the candidates had first priority, of course, and stood closest to Brecken Hall and the balcony where even now the three elders stood, the silver urn containing all our names sitting on a small table off to one side. Ranged beyond the uneasy crowd of young women were their families, and beyond that the merely curious, the onlookers who wanted to see firsthand the Dragon’s doom fall on yet another unlucky candidate.

  My sister Therella did not seem overly concerned with sisterly fellowship and left my side almost as soon as we joined the throng. From a few paces away I had spied her friend Gilly’s bright red hair and guessed her destination was the other girl’s side. At another time I might have been offended by her desertion, but almost at once I saw Lilianth pushing through the crowd to join me. Her face was white with worry, the usual pretty pink in her cheeks having deserted her this morning.

  At once I reached out and took her hand, and she grasped mine with such force she might have been a drowning woman grabbing for a rescuer’s outstretched fingers. “Oh, gods,” she said, blue eyes apparently locked on the silver urn that held all our names. “How can this be happening? Why now? I am supposed to marry Adain!”

  “And you will,” I told her, in what I hoped were soothing tones. Despite the size of the crowd, it was oddly quiet, everyone speaking in low murmurs or whispers…or not at all. The young women, their faces as known to me as my own, stood silent, watching the balcony with its ominous urn. “There must be at least a hundred of us here. What are the chances that they’ll pull your name?”

  This didn’t seem to reassure her as I had hoped it would. Instead, she only clenched my hand more tightly and bit her lip. Despite the warm late-morning sun—far too strong for my good blue gown of heavy damask linen—her fingers were ice-cold against mine, fragile as tatting needles.

  And truly, though my words had been measured enough, I felt her doubt and fear almost as if they were my own. It wasn’t fair. Why should she—or any of the young women standing around us—have to put her life at risk, merely to serve the whim of some unseen monster?

  I knew better than to ask…not that anyone would have been willing to inquire. It seemed the time for questions was long gone, because a stir went through the crowd as the first of the three elders, Elder Macon, appeared, followed by Elder Drewson and Elder Dahlish. My own heart began to beat a little faster, despite my resolution to stay calm, no matter what happened. I had already done enough to draw attention to myself.

  The three elders clustered around the urn and cast disapproving glances at one another. Even though they more or less ruled Lirinsholme, they all distrusted one another mightily. I suppose in a way that was good, as it reduced the risk of any two of them colluding against the other. On the other hand, it did make for some highly contentious town meetings, or so my father said.

  Elder Drewson stepped forward and cleared his throat. Despite his title, he was not so elderly at all, a little more than two-score years. If he had been the one paying suit to my parents, rather than Liat Marenson, I might not have protested so strongly, as Marr Drewson was a well-looking enough man, with a fine chin and heavy dark hair. However, as he was not looking for a wife, despite being a widower of more than five years, his personal charms did not matter much.

  “The Dragon has sp
oken,” Elder Drewson said, with a brief flicker of his gaze over his left shoulder, toward Black’s Keep and the baleful red pennant that flew from its highest battlements. “One will go to him to be his Bride, to keep Lirinsholme safe. She has our gratitude, whoever she is.”

  He sounded almost sincere, unlike Elder Macon, who had performed this task last. He had spoken the ritual words in a dry tone that made it sound as if he were reciting off a list for the butcher.

  Elder Drewson nodded. “Elder Dahlish?”

  The third elder stepped forward. He was quite old, having held his post for longer than I had been alive. His hand shook a little as he reached into the urn, but whether that was from nerves or some sort of palsy, I couldn’t be sure.

  Lilianth’s fingers tightened around mine, pushing the silver band I wore on the middle finger of my right hand uncomfortably into the flesh on either side. I did not bother to move my hand, or tell her to stop. It would be over soon enough, and then we could both relax.

  Elder Dahlish withdrew a narrow piece of paper, looked at it, and seemed to shake his head slightly. Then he handed it over to Elder Macon.

  The third elder squinted at the words on the paper, then said, “Lilianth Fortens.”

  My entire body went cold, even though I could feel sweat trickling down the back of my neck from the warm midsummer sun. Lilianth let out a little cry, the crushing pressure on my fingers abruptly ceasing as she lifted both hands to her mouth. From behind them I could hear her saying, “No, no, no, no…”

  The girls who surrounded us stepped back a few paces, their faces bright with relief, although in a few I also saw pity. Lilianth’s love for Adain was well-known.

  It was the custom for the chosen Bride to walk to the steps of the town hall and wait there for the elders to descend to her. After that she would be brought inside, and taken away to Black’s Keep. No time for farewells, no chance to say goodbye or even pack a few belongings. She always went wearing only the dress—her finest—on her back.

  Somehow I knew Lilianth could not make that walk unassisted. And I had already thumbed my nose at tradition, so what difference did it make if I broke one more rule in giving her the only succor I could?

  “Come, Lilianth,” I said, and placed one arm around her slender waist. She sagged against me, and I thought she would have collapsed if I hadn’t held her up. “I’ll go with you.”

  “You can’t,” she breathed.

  “I don’t see anyone stopping me. Come along.”

  And so we began the long walk to the front steps of Brecken Hall. We had been standing toward the back of the crowd, and so it seemed as if we traversed the long road from Lystare to Mellinshall, the capital of Purth, rather than the hundred yards or so it was in actuality. The crowd parted before us, but I did not try to hasten Lilianth’s footsteps, rather, slowing my own. She would be lost to us soon enough. What difference did a minute or two make?

  From somewhere behind us I heard a young man cry out, “Lilianth!” and knew it was Adain who called her name. She stiffened, and paused, but then continued her slow walk forward. A muffled commotion ensued, and I guessed Adain had tried to press forward but had been detained. He could not save her.

  No one could.

  As we walked a slow fury began to build in me. No, it was not fair that Lilianth should have to throw away her life thus, not when she had everything that was bright and good ahead of her. And all for some monster’s whim, his cruel notion to take a Bride when the mood suited him. Why couldn’t Elder Dahlish have chosen some other name…any other name?

  My name.

  At that thought a tremor went through me, but Lilianth seemed not to notice. We put one foot in front of the other, in a movement as slow and inexorable as the incoming tide. But as we walked my mind began to race, even as a new and terrible thought took hold.

  My family would mourn, but I could help them no longer. There was not even the prospect of a good marriage awaiting me, as most men seemed disinclined to take a wife so eager to flout tradition as I. Lilianth was an only child, whereas I had three younger sisters.

  And the Dragon always gave a thousand crowns to the family of the woman he took as his Bride.

  It would be enough to see them through comfortably for many, many years. Enough that my mother would not have to count her last silver coins. Enough that my sisters would have good dowries.

  Enough that all their lives would be made easy.

  I knew then what I must do, and although the resolve strengthened in me with every step, still I could feel my heart beating faster and faster, the snug-fitting bodice of my gown seeming to keep me from gathering enough breath to fill my lungs. By the time we reached the steps of the hall, I could not tell any longer whether I was the one holding up Lilianth, or whether she supported my suddenly shaky frame.

  The three elders had descended from the balcony and stood waiting on the steps. From the waspish expression on Elder Dahlish’s and Elder Macon’s faces, I gathered they were not overly pleased by my act of friendly support in assisting Lilianth on her walk to the hall. Elder Drewson looked somewhat surprised, but at least he wasn’t frowning.

  I had a feeling his pleasant expression would not last much longer.

  Elder Macon stepped forward. “Lilianth Fortens, you have been chosen as the Dragon’s Bride. From here on out you have no family, no connections, no ties to anything but the Lord of Black’s Keep. Do you understand?”

  She hesitated, and I knew I must speak up then or let events continue on their own inexorable path.

  I cleared my throat. “Excuse me.”

  All three of the elders stared down at me, Elder Macon and Elder Dahlish frowning in a manner that would have once intimidated me. Now I felt as if I had very little left to lose.

  “Rhianne Menyon,” said Elder Macon, in tones that should have been quelling, “you have rendered your service to your friend. It is time now to step aside and let her meet her destiny.”

  “As to that,” I replied, meeting his cold blue gaze as directly as I could, “why does it have to be her?”

  At this question, all three of the elders exchanged glances that seemed to communicate either extreme annoyance or possible concern that I might have gone mad. “Her name was drawn out of the urn,” Elder Dahlish said, in his wispy dried-paper voice.

  “But you drew it out. It isn’t as if the Dragon came here and chose it himself.”

  “Watch your tongue, young woman, and guard against speaking of things of which you know nothing,” Elder Macon snapped.

  “It is said that the will of the Dragon guides the elder’s hand as he makes the selection,” Elder Drewson put in.

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  At that question even Lilianth stared at me as if I had lost my mind. “We do not question these things,” she murmured.

  “Perhaps we should.” I set my hands on my hips and gazed up at the three elders. “The Dragon requires a Bride, that much is true, but I do not see why it should be poor Lilianth here, not when she has a betrothed and has already bought the cloth for her wedding gown. I have no betrothed, and my family will still have three daughters left when I am gone. Let me be the Dragon’s Bride in Lilianth’s stead.”

  Elders Macon and Dahlish gasped, and Lilianth turned to me at once, saying, “You cannot think of such a thing, Rhianne! You mustn’t! I would never ask such a thing—”

  “You didn’t ask,” I interrupted. “I offered. It only remains to be seen if the elders will allow me to take your place.”

  “Such a thing has never happened before—” Elder Dahlish began.

  “—which does not mean it cannot happen now.” I took a step forward and stared up at them, willing them to understand why this was the only right and true thing to do. “I’m begging you. Please let me save my friend.”

  “A moment,” Elder Drewson said, and the three men turned away from Lilianth and me and began whispering furiously.

  “You cannot mea
n such a thing,” Lilianth said. Her eyes were bright with tears. “I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself.”

  “I do mean it, and it isn’t a question of allowing—that’s up to the elders. I only want you to be happy.”

  She began to weep then, tears running down her cheeks and leaving damp spots on the frilled edge of her chemise where it peeked out from beneath her sapphire-colored gown. Truly I did not want to cause her pain, but I also knew she would make no further protest.

  The elders turned back to us, and Elder Macon stepped forward. “You assert that you do this by your own choice, and with no coercion?”

  “No coercion,” I said wearily. “You’ve made it quite clear, Elder Macon, what my standing is in Lirinsholme, the damage I have done to my family. Is it not better that I should go forth thus? At least then you can say I have served some useful purpose.”

  His lips thinned, but he did not bother to contradict me. “We elders have agreed that you, Rhianne Menyon, may take Lilianth Fortens’ place as the Dragon’s Bride. From here on out, you have no family, no—”

  “I heard it the first time.” And as Elder Macon spluttered, I turned to Lilianth. “Go, my dear. Go and be happy.”

  “But Rhianne—”

  “Be with Adain.” My throat seemed to tighten, and I added, “If you have a daughter, perhaps you could name her after me?”

  Tears shone bright on her cheeks in the morning sun. “It would be my honor.”

  She turned then and began to walk down the steps. The watching crowds in the square had been silent throughout this exchange, but as Lilianth moved away from the town hall, a murmur began to rise, one that soon swelled into an outright clamor as everyone seemed to take in what had just transpired on the building’s steps. I thought I heard a despairing cry from somewhere far off to the left, one which I fancied could have come from my mother’s throat, but I told myself that was a foolish notion. There was no way I could have heard one person’s voice above such a noisy throng.