Nine Dragons Gold

by Katy Haye

  As we returned to the group and cries of concern broke out I scanned the faces around me. Were the expressions of concern genuine, or did someone wish me and Glide ill? Well; that was an easy question to answer. Most of the people in this crowd could currently be counted as my enemies. Everyone from a different family wanted their candidate to win. I looked from one face to the next. Rannyl was easy to find, but she was the only candidate whose face was apparent in the crowd.

  Of Glynneth and Jesca I could find no sign at all.

  24 – Using Magic

  “Lady Hanna,” Prince Jaran urged his horse to mine as I returned. “How does she fare?”

  “She’s alive. I will go back to the mews and tend her.”

  My father pushed forward. “The falconer can do that. There’s no need to trouble yourself with a servant’s work.”

  Of a sudden I was tired; exhausted. Did nothing matter but gaining the prince’s attention? Was any action allowable if it led to his approval? This was a stupid game, a battle Glide had no place in. I glared at my father. “I will go with her. She is my responsibility.” I glanced round. “I’m sure the prince will understand.”

  “More than that, we will all return to the palace.”

  “There’s no need for that, your highness,” Lord Firefort protested on his other side. “Let the girl go, the rest of us can enjoy the day.”

  The prince looked at him coldly. “I am finding it hard to enjoy myself when someone is trying to harm my guests and damage their possessions.” He sat straight, surveying the crowd. “Someone seems not to understand that these young women are under my protection. Anyone working to harm them is working to harm me, an action that could well be viewed as treason.”

  Muttered protests broke out at that. I was sure I heard my brother protest, “It’s only a bird.”

  “We will all return to the palace, where my men will get to the bottom of this matter.” The prince finished with a significant look at Mathu, who bowed acknowledgement. He would have the impossible job of finding out who had freed the hooded hawk while Glide was still in the air. The prince urged his horse on and the grumblings died down as he passed.

  Jesca suddenly reappeared, riding so close her stirrup raked the shoulder of my mare, causing her to sidle sideways. “I hope you are happy,” Jesca hissed.

  As though I’d wanted something like this to happen! “Far from it,” I muttered. I urged my horse into a walk. Father would be cross that I wasn’t trying to keep my place by the prince’s side, but right now I was struggling to care what my father thought. All my concern was with the feathered bundle in my arms.

  Rannyl fell back with me and we walked side by side when we reached the path back to the city. I deliberately went slowly so Glide wouldn’t be jolted. By the time we reached the edge of the woods, everyone was ahead of us. Jesca and Glynneth were at the back, their pace slow. I couldn’t hear the words, but Glynneth said something to Jesca. Their heads came together in conversation. I guessed they had formed a truce once more.

  I kept a few steps behind in case they were plotting something which involved me. I caught Rannyl’s eye and she nodded, telling me I wasn’t the only one concerned with their behaviour.

  Then I watched in astonishment as, behind Jesca’s back and out of her view, Glynneth lifted a hand. She looked as though she were holding something, which she brought down with a whack on Jesca’s horse’s rump. The mare whinnied in distress and reared. I caught a glimpse of Jesca’s startled, horrified face as she clung to the horse’s neck, and then she was thrown to the ground as the mare broke into a frantic gallop.

  Glynneth grinned, peering down at Jesca without dismounting and attempting to help her. Rannyl urged her mount forward. By then, the bolting horse had caught the attention of the court and people were turning back. Lord Firefort gave a cry of alarm when he saw Jesca crumpled on the ground. Glynneth’s grin of triumph slipped off her face as her gaze darted from Rannyl to myself. She had forgotten we were behind the two of them.

  “Jesca fell,” she lied, as Lord Firefort dropped to the ground beside his daughter.

  “That was no fall,” Rannyl declared, so loudly all could hear. “Glynneth spooked Jesca’s horse deliberately.”

  Lord Nayre pushed through the crowd, his face glowing red. “How dare you make such an accusation—"

  “We both saw it clearly.” Rannyl gestured towards me. She turned to Glynneth. “For shame, Glynneth. I thought Jesca was your friend.”

  Glynneth scowled at being caught out. “I meant it as a jest. I didn’t know the beast was so highly strung.” She turned to the prince and tears shone in her eyes. “I swear I didn’t mean her any harm, not really.”

  “Your highness.” Before the prince could answer, the healer helping Jesca spoke, his tone serious. “This was in her pocket.” The man handed over something small. Despite my concern for Glide I leaned forward to see better, my heart thumping in alarm as though something inside me already knew what it was the healer had discovered hidden in her clothing.

  “What in the name of the maker...?” Jaran held the thing up to the light. He turned to Lord Firefort. “Do you have an explanation for this?” he demanded. Shining in the light was a tiny phial – just like the one my father had given me, the one containing a magical potion to enchant the prince. Through my booming heartbeat I reflected that I’d told my father he might not be the only one to have the idea of using magic.

  Lord Firefort gaped, then blinked, then blustered. “I have never seen that before in my life, your highness.”

  The crowd parted to let a figure through. Fear drained the blood from my face as Mage Redmor stopped beside the prince and took the phial from him. He lifted the glass bottle to the light to inspect the contents. Then, as a gasp passed through the crowd at his boldness, he upstoppered the tiny flask and sniffed at the liquid inside.

  His face when he looked at the prince was grave. “I will need to do tests to understand the detail, but this is very definitely a magical potion, your highness.”

  A gasp travelled through the crowd, speculation springing to life. I heard a mutter of ‘love potion’.

  To my left the sound of laughter broke out. Glynneth sat in the saddle staring at the bottle in Mage Redmor’s hand and laughing as though the situation were the funniest thing she’d ever seen.

  “Glynneth? Calm yourself.” Lord Nayre pushed through the crowd towards his daughter.

  She just laughed harder. Tears rolled down her cheeks. The court was silent – had she lost her mind?

  Clutching her arms to her sides, she gasped a hiccoughing breath. Glynneth looked straight at her father. “If only we’d known she was cheating, I could have aimed to spoil one of the other candidates instead.” She waved a hand towards me and Rannyl and began to laugh again.

  Lord Nayre paled. “Glynneth! You don’t know what you’re saying. Be silent, silly girl.”

  But we all knew what she was saying – she had just admitted that she’d tried to harm Jesca.

  The prince’s face was pale with anger. “The lords will each escort their own candidate back to the palace. I will speak with each family individually.” He paused to look around the crowd, his attention fixing on each lord, one after the other. “I would have my council know I am very displeased that they should try to subvert my order. I cannot have my council working against me in this manner.”

  “Your—”

  “Go!” His tone brooked no disobedience. I rode back to the palace, Father one side of me and Martyn the other.

  “This is to our advantage,” Martyn said, his voice low so no one would overhear, but his tone one of delight. “Hanna is in the clear. She might even win this thing.”

  “Think, you idiot!” Father hissed back, punching my half-brother’s shoulder so he jolted forward in the saddle. “If the prince loses confidence in his council, we all stand to lose our places.”

  Martyn paled, but protested. “He can’t get rid of all of us, he wouldn’t d
are.”

  “He wouldn’t be such a fool,” Father agreed. “So we had best make sure we are beyond reproach.” He glared hard at his heir. “I trust none of the recent accidents have had anything to do with you?”

  “No, sir.” Martyn lowered his gaze. “I have done nothing that might anger the prince.”

  “Good. Keep it that way. I will not lose my place or my lands over this.”

  I swallowed down the fear that had filled my throat ever since mage Redmor had taken the phial from the prince. My father might tell himself we were beyond reproach, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He had planned to enchant the prince – and the proof might be found in my rooms if anyone cared to look.

  Prince Jaran

  He spoke to Redmor first, looking for a weak spot in the man’s story. The game was reaching its final stages. Several pieces had been removed. Which required him to be especially careful with those that remained.

  Mage Redmor had smirked as he assured him the bottle found on Jesca’s person held a potion intended to ensure he chose her. Sending the girl home was inevitable. He didn’t trust the mage, but now Redmor thought he did. The mage thought the prince would swallow his glib assurances. He hoped that might be enough to push the man sufficiently off-balance to give himself away.

  “Where did she get it?”

  Redmor blinked, as though he hadn’t expected further questions. “Your highness?”

  “Where did this sixteen year old girl who knows nothing of magic find this potion? Who supplied it to her? Who brewed it?”

  He interlaced his fingers. “I could not say, your highness.”

  “Could not, or will not?”

  His lips narrowed. “I hope your highness doesn’t accuse me –”

  He held up a hand. “Spare me your injured innocence. You are the head of all the mages in Muirland. I trust you would not be so foolish as to create such a potion.” He spoke the lie calmly, giving Redmor no idea of his feelings. “But responsibility ends with you. Do you not want to know who is acting against the laws you helped to set in place?”

  The older man’s gaze flashed with resentful fire, but he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

  “I wish to know who created that potion,” the prince continued. He looked levelly at the mage. “You will do whatever investigations you need, and you will bring me answers.”

  “Yes, your highness.”

  The mage bowed and backed away. One down. Now, he had to deal with the council, five men who would assure him of their loyalty to his face, but considered him a fool behind his back.

  Silence fell when he strode into the council chamber. He stood at the end of the oval table, watching them avoid his gaze. If this marriage contest was a test, then they had failed. Comprehensively.

  “I am disappointed, my lords,” he said softly. A murmur passed around the table, as though they believed he was asking for comfort. Nothing could be further than the truth. “You are the heads of great and noble families who have served this kingdom for years. Centuries in the case of some of you.” The murmur this time was of agreement; pride. He scowled. They had nothing to be proud of. “And I am disappointed that you seem to have forgotten the vow you made when you became a part of this council.” He looked straight at them, some heads bowed, some meeting his gaze. “You have forgotten that you serve this kingdom, it does not serve you,” he said with cold emphasis.

  The murmurs protested that, but no one dared to argue out loud.

  “I asked each of you to present a potential bride because I wished to draw the regions of Muirland closer together. I wished to celebrate the ties between the throne and the lords of Muirland’s council. You all agreed to the matter, offered a daughter or a sister – as I believed – freely. Now, it transpires I might as well walk out into my capital city, pluck a beggar girl from the streets and make her my princess. At least she would be grateful for the honour done her!”

  “We are deeply sorry for what has happened.” Lord Clofe took on the role of spokesman; Rannyl’s father no doubt felt he had nothing to fear. “Events of the past few days have been unfortunate—”

  “Unfortunate! This is not simply mischance! My orders have been deliberately undermined.”

  “Your highness, you cannot suppose—” Lord Firefort rose, eager to distance himself from his daughter’s guilt.

  “Sit down!”

  Lord Firefort complied almost before he realised it, responding automatically to the authority in Jaran’s tone.

  “I know I am young, but I am not a fool. These events are not accidents. I don’t have the proof to make accusations, but understand that when I discover proof, I will deal with whoever is responsible as I would with any criminal. Do not expect your titles to protect you.”

  “But, your high—”

  “I have not finished.” Jaran’s tone was soft, but filled with ice. Lord Nayre swallowed and sat back. “You may not be immediately responsible for what has happened, but I consider you culpable. Are you not the heads of your families? Do you not expect your children and your servants to obey you?” He leaned towards the lords, fists on the table. He was pleased that they all either stiffened or even leaned back to get away from the fury emanating from him. “Just as I expect my lords to obey what has been decided in this room. If you cannot control your families and your servants and your lands, then you do not deserve a place at this table. Do not think me unwilling to remove those who refuse to serve this kingdom with all their will.”

  He looked slowly around his council, making eye contact with each man until they looked away. Nayre and Firefort were shamed, as they should be; Lord Clofe met his gaze steadily, his calmness suggesting he was above the other lords’ petty bickering. And Bal and Venner, injured parties – or so they would have everyone believe – looked smug and blameless. He didn’t believe that for a moment.

  They needed taking down a peg or two, reminding that they were a part of the council, not its head. He was stepping into his father’s shoes and he didn’t expect to find another man’s feet there ahead of him.

  “You are dismissed,” he said. “The candidates will remain chaperoned by my mother until I have made my decision. We will focus on the business of the kingdom when we meet in the morning. Leave me.”

  Jaran watched as the lords of his council filed out of the room. At the door they muttered to each other, too softly for him to make out the words. He didn’t trust them, and yet he must act as though he did.

  He leaned his head back to thud gently against the chair back. And abruptly his choice shrank from five girls to two. Neither Glynneth nor Jesca could be honoured after what they’d done, and he knew Rannyl didn’t want to be his bride, nor did Lord Clofe hunger for more influence than he already had.

  That left Hanna and Claresse. He sighed. His choice was no choice at all. The matter boiled down to which of their families he would least hate to elevate. He needed to find a way to balance what he needed with what the kingdom needed. That remained his aim. And it might just depend on the girls themselves. It was time for the candidates to play their parts; step into a trap or evade it.

  The game was moving into its final stages, but it wasn’t over yet. The final moves would be the most important. He was ready to make them.

  25 – A Royal Order

  When we arrived back at the palace, my father and brother were directed to the council chambers. Father slapped Martyn on the back as though he needed a dose of confidence. “Nothing to worry about, son,” he declared in a carrying voice. “There’s no dirt on our hands, and the prince will soon see that.”

  As they started into the building, he glared at me. No dirt. He and I both knew that wasn’t true, even if poor Martyn for once was blameless. I knew with cold certainty that if he was in danger, father would blame all on me. I must ensure there was no blame to be shouldered. His glare could mean anything. I would take it to indicate that he wanted me to destroy the phial and the evidence of our contemplated treason, because t
hat was what I intended to do. Better late than not at all.

  Except that I had to get Glide to safety first.

  “Would you like me to come with you?” Rannyl offered. I shook my head. Once I had taken my pet to the mews I needed privacy to do what was needed. “No need. Go with your father.” Rannyl patted my shoulder and we parted ways. I hurried to the mews to find Mathu already there.

  “This is a grave injury. I know you know that.” Mathu extended Glide’s wing very gently. There was an obvious break.

  “I understand. But please, do what you can.”

  He looked straight at me. He wouldn’t temper the bad news with honey. “She may never fly again – or not well enough to hunt.”

  “I don’t care for her only because she can hunt. If she is too badly injured to hunt, then she can live in retirement. I won’t cast her off because she’s damaged.”

  Mathu nodded. “I will splint the wing and do what I can to keep her immobile.”

  “Thank you. If there is anything I can do, you only have to say.”

  Despite the grim situation, he smiled. “I know that, my lady.”

  I turned for the mews entrance to return to the palace, my thoughts shifting to what might have happened with my father and brother. I’d taken several steps before I realised a guard walked a pace behind, perfectly in step with me.

  When I turned he inclined his head in a bow. “I will escort you to the royal apartments. All the candidates have been asked to go there.”

  A royal order, although worded as a request.