by Renee Wildes
Loren took a deep breath. “I feel your fear. What if we just walk about for a bit?” He rose, stiffly, and pulled her to her feet.
Dara bit her lip and fidgeted. She looked everywhere but at him.
“Hey.” He placed a hand under her chin and looked into her eyes. “You are beautiful, Dara. It is easy to get carried away under the moonlight, but I would never force you, or hurt you. Always you can trust me.”
She knew that, but had a sinking feeling it was herself she couldn’t trust. Rather than dwell on her own unexpected weakness, she changed the subject. “The party’s tomorrow night?”
“Aye. Everyone shall spend most of tomorrow preparing. Sirona and Verdeen shall take you to the spas. You may spend hours relaxing and being pampered. You have earned it after everything we have been through and still need to do.”
She wasn’t used to such luxury, or idleness. “I feel guilty leaving even a day unspent.”
“This is not a situation where we can just round up an army and charge off half-ready. Banishing a demon takes many people and very specific rites. The people we need to work with are going to be at the party. I shall introduce you.”
Dara took a deep breath, savoring a dozen unfamiliar flower scents. Moonlight and magelight created dappled shadow patterns on the cobbled walks. A light breeze cooled her still-heated skin as it rustled through trees which retained green leaves. How different this glorious place was from her own land. Was there no struggle? “It’s never fall here?”
“In Poshnari-Unai, nay. In the surrounding countryside we have planting and harvest seasons. In the Shadowlands on the edges of our realm there is a brutal winter coming, but we have power enough to keep those storms at bay. It is cool and we have rain and mists.”
What a waste, planting for the sake of beauty. Her own small gardens were given over to vegetables and healing herbs. But then she reconsidered. Anything that relaxed the mind and spirit would be welcome. She recalled Hengist’s frown lines and headaches. He needed a garden like this. When they returned, she vowed to see he got one.
If they returned. “I think I’m ready for bed.”
“Absolutely,” he acceded. “Sleep. Tomorrow shall be brighter. Things always appear darker to the tired mind.”
If only ’twere so easy. Dark was still dark.
***
After leaving Dara at her room, Loren came up to the library, his sanctuary. Voices stopped him afore his hand touched the door handle. The somberness of Cedric’s voice gave him pause. Hearing Dara’s name, his knees went weak and he slumped against the wall.
Pari chuckled. “The spirited mares throw the best foals.”
“They also throw the best riders.” Cedric sighed. “Thou felt the same things I did; not a male in the room wast unaffected by the girl. Pride, beauty, unbreakable spirit, overwhelming and undisciplined passions—we couldst almost envy the lad. The girl be dangerous. She bringeth passion to reason, conflict to peace, chaos to order. Duality be in her blood, her soul, her very nature.”
“Mystria left behind a powerful legacy indeed. We owe it to the old harridan to protect Dara—even from herself and her own divided nature.”
“The world shalt not welcome such as she. I worry if Loren hast strength enough to stand for her. To defend her.”
“He hast strength enough. He loves her.”
Love? Loren’s stomach churned.
“Dara is not one of us,” Cedric stated. “She knows naught of our traditions, our ways. Loren hast wandered quite long enough. He shouldst wed and begin a family.”
“With Alani?” Skepticism colored Pari’s voice.
“It be a good match. Dara shalt disrupt everything. She is mortal, raised a common peasant girl.”
“She is not a common peasant girl. Dost thou not feel the Hand in all this? They were meant to meet.”
Cedric’s voice was glum. “What doth I tell Raun?”
“The truth. It is a life-bond. Wouldst thou defy the Hand itself? Alani wouldst be a wife in name only, and Dara wouldst never accept the position of sensuri.”
“She and Loren shalt destroy each other.”
“Nonsense. He canst use a bit of stirring up.” Pari paused. “Thou knows why he left.”
“Markale.” Cedric was silent for a long time. “It is not fair. All know thou favor Loren, some say for the crown itself.”
Horror struck Loren. Him? King? He would rather be boiled in oil.
“I understand him, which be more than thou canst claim,” Pari stated. “If Deane canst but conquer his unreasoning jealousy of his brother, wisdom shalt come with time. Loren shalt be the right hand of the king and champion of Her will and just causes. We canst afford for him to follow his heart.” Pari paused. “One thing, a Kahn Androcles is not boring, or hast thou forgotten already? Unpredictable, exasperating, infuriating, aye. Insolent, insulting—”
Cedric snorted.
“—temperamental, for certain,” Pari continued. “But boring? Never. Asides, it is not the fighting—”
“—it is the making up. I miss Ayala.” A long pause. Loren closed his eyes at his father’s grief. “Thou hast given me much to think on, as usual.” Cloth rustled as Cedric rose. “I bid thee good night, Father.” A door opened and closed.
“Thou canst enter now, lad,” Pari called.
Loren was beyond embarrassed. “I did not intend to…”
“Nonsense, lad. Thou wert always a nosy little thing. So? Art thou after thy brother’s throne?”
“Nay.” How to dispel that awful bit of gossip?
“Of course not. Thy father knows this as well. Thou art not responsible for Deane’s erroneous beliefs about Markale’s death.”
Loren kept silent as he sat down against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around them, like he did when he was little, sitting at his granther’s feet.
Pari chuckled. “So. Set out to catch a fox and thou bound a dragon.”
“Granther, that was not kind.” Loren frowned. “Dara has a temper, but that is no reason to call her names.”
“Nonsense, lad. I meant it quite literally.” Pari’s blue eyes twinkled. “Dara Kahn Androcles shena Sheena Kahn Androcles shena Lena Kahn Androcles shena Ilya Kahn Androcles shena Rala Kahn Androcles shena Vana Kahn Androcles shena Mystria Kahn Androcles. Dragon queen to dragon queen for seven generations back to the great shapeshifter herself.” Pari laughed outright at Loren’s dumbfounded expression. “She wast given dragon blood in prison by a servant of the Lady. It awakened her own.”
“Dara is draconian? I bound a dragon?” Loren’s voice rose from strangled cat to near-shout. “No queen would live so.”
“Sheena wast a bit of a rebel and strayed into a mortal love affair. Dara is not a queen yet. She is but half dragon. Her father, whoever he be, is mortal and his human blood prevents her shape-shifting. But it is all still there, the potential in her blood. I couldst tell soon as she entered the room.” Pari’s eyes grew distant with memory. “That hair, those eyes, that sensual lure—imagine a full-blooded dragon queen.” He slanted a look at his grandson. “Thou knows Dara’s effect on thy senses. Imagine it doubled.”
Loren gulped. The need she aroused in him was overwhelming. Her unique mixture of maiden and wanton inflamed him. Every time he saw her, it was all he could do to remain a gentleman and not pin her to the nearest wall.
“Mystria couldst bring a man to his knees without even looking at him. Dara hast enough elder blood for thy little oath to be quite binding.”
“But that means…” Loren’s eyes narrowed. “She was never in danger from those flames, was she?”
“It wouldst be a poor dragon indeed who wast not fireproof. But consider what questions wouldst arise at a mortal witch who wouldst not burn.”
“The Lady said, ‘My daughter’s secrets must be kept safe.’”
“Indeed. Many other ways art there to kill, to which she is not immune.” Pari settled back in his chair. “Her blood ru
ns red as any other creature’s. This thou witnessed, when she placed herself in harm’s way for thy sake.”
“She does not know?”
“Nay. I imagine to her the flames wert real. She expected to die. Thou expected her to die. When she rescued thee, she knew not thy wounds were not fatal. But those blades to her might well have been. Thou both risked thy lives, each to save the other. To the Hand, lad, intentions mean everything. Life-debt, Loren, has become Life-mate.”
“You lie.” Loren’s voice shook.
“I am incapable of lying.”
Loren winced. The crown of Cymry, like the heir’s crown, ensured truth in all elven rulers. There was no spell of reversal and passing on the mantle of leadership did not break the vow. Once sworn to truth, justice and mercy, always sworn. He closed his eyes and slumped down in the corner. “So, asides being fireproof and sensitive to iron, what else should I know?”
“Dragons are acquisitive, possessive, passionate and temperamental. What they want, they take, and what they take, they hold. Once they learn, they never forget. They are quick to anger, slow to forgive. And they mate for life.”
Loren jumped to his feet. “I am not her mate. She is not my bride. I would know had I wed.”
“She may not be your legal bride, but she is the mate of thy heart and thou art for certain hers. Try flirting with another maiden in her presence and see.”
Dara. His mate. The mere concept was staggering. “Does she know?”
“Nay, and she needs to be told. Lorelei thinks Dara’s only salvation is the blood torque.”
Loren quailed at that. “Dracken rue!” Metal-and-blood sorcery—even the most powerful elven mages feared it. Living souls trapped in metal, keyed to a certain bloodline. “How?”
“Their memories and knowledge—she canst access them.” Pari frowned at Loren. “Thou must be the one to tell her. She shalt believe no other.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow is good. The sooner she decides on the blood torque, the better.” Pari sobered. “I know this monster within Jalad. We hath not had such crisis in centuries. There is no time to waste. He shalt not stay in Arcadia.”
Loren wished he had never eavesdropped. “Good night, Granther.” He hurried to his rooms. There, he knocked on the adjoining door. There was no stirring from the other side. “Sleep well, my lady,” he murmured. “While you can.”
It was a long time afore he followed suit.
***
“Dara? Time to wake up,” Loren called.
Dara burrowed deeper into the covers. No way she was surrendering the luxury of a feather bed so soon. “Go away. I’m sleeping.”
He pounded on their dividing door. “Not for long. It takes most people all day to get ready. The palace has been in an uproar for hours.”
A knock sounded at the hallway door. “Dara? Are you awake?” Sirona called. “Verdeen is with me.”
With a growl, Dara stomped to unlock the door. “Morning.” She yawned.
The young elven maiden with Sirona stared at Dara with unabashed curiosity in her wide grey eyes.
Dara frowned. “What?”
“I have never met a human.”
She was not awake enough for this. “How many heads did you tell her I had?”
“Four,” Sirona retorted. “Dara, this is Verdeen.”
“Is it true you saved Prince Loren’s life?” Verdeen gushed.
Dara still could not imagine Loren prince of anything. “It is, but he saved me, too, with Hani`ena’s help.”
“So you did fight.” Verdeen’s eyes were wide with wonder. “I want to learn, mistress, more than anything.”
“Pardon?” Dara stared at the girl askance. Her gaze held Sirona’s, and she noticed the lack of surprise there.
“Verdeen wants to enter the academy, but she lacks the most basic self-defense techniques,” Sirona stated. “Let alone the riding and fencing most of the boys get.”
“This wasn’t an accident, you suggesting her.”
“Of course not. She wants to be more than a lady’s maid.”
“A soldier?” Dara blinked. Verdeen looked so pampered and frail. “It’s a rough life.”
“A bodyguard. I would protect my lady as well as do her hair. And you could teach me. Then maybe you could help Comtessa Sirona convince the king to let me take the entrance exams. I just want the chance to try.”
Sirona shrugged. “Someone has to be first.”
Loren would have her hide on a drying rack. “If I agree to take you on, would you help me learn how to be a lady?”
The girl thought for a moment. “If I teach you to be a lady, would you teach me how to defend one?”
“Sounds like a bargain,” Sirona commented.
Dara grinned. “We’re about to turn this country inside out. I can see it now. What do you do to seal a bargain?”
“We drink a toast over breakfast,” Sirona answered. As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door and she let in a maid with a very full tray. “Perfect timing, Celeste,” she told the newcomer, relieving her of her burden. “Return in one hour.”
“Aye, milady.” The kitchen maid bowed herself out.
“What’s for breakfast?” Dara asked.
Sirona snooped under the lids. “Tea, eggs, fruit, scones, juice.” She sat down at the table. “Both of you, sit down.”
“Ladies should not sit with their maids.” Verdeen’s gurgling stomach betrayed her.
“Nonsense,” Sirona tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I order you to sit and eat.”
Verdeen sighed and sat. “Veona says she never wins arguments with you, milady.”
Sirona poured tea. “Eat everything, lunch shall be light. Afterward we have a spa appointment. There shall be time for a nap afore the party. Dinner is at dusk, followed by fireworks, and the dancing can last until dawn.”
Dara’s head buzzed. “I can’t dance.”
“You never learned?” Sirona asked.
“Children’s round dances and country romps, naught more.”
Sirona waved that off. “You are a warrior. You have fought hand-to-hand?”
Verdeen stared wide-eyed at that question.
“Aye.” What did that have to do with anything?
“Then you already know timing and rhythm. Asides, most court dances are glorified round dances, except arelles. For them all you do is relax; your partner pretty much makes all the moves for you.”
Verdeen nodded. “I attend you, in case you tear something or need hair repairs, and keep track of your dance card. A good ploy for escaping is either a headache or dizziness. Just tell your partner you cannot catch your breath and ask him to bring wine.”
Having been stuffed into her first corset the night afore, Dara imagined she’d not have to stretch her acting skills far.
“We have all morning to practice,” Sirona decreed.
“Mayhaps just the common ones,” Verdeen suggested. “I can play the drum for rhythm or the flute for a simple melody.”
“We had best rope Falak and Loren in on this,” Sirona decided. “I can show you the women’s steps, but group dances are easier with more than two people.”
Dara’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, her scrambled eggs forgotten. “Do we have to bring them in on this? I don’t want everyone to know my shortcomings.”
“Bless you, Loren thinks of you as anything but deficient, and Falak is the soul of discretion,” Sirona reassured her.
Verdeen gulped down the last of her tea. “I shall tell them to come in an hour. I shall be back to help you dress, Lady Dara.” She was gone afore Dara could form a retort.
Dara stared at her fork as if discovering eggs for the first time. “Help me dress? It’s a wonder I haven’t been naked and frozen all these years, isn’t it?”
“Do not let last night’s gown give the wrong impression. Most ‘proper’ clothing fastens in back. If you have no man taking your clothes off on a regular basis, then you need a maid.”
> Dara’s cheeks flamed at… She banished Loren from her mind and finished her breakfast afore Verdeen returned.
“They are both coming,” the maid reported, stealing the tray from the table and walking it to the hall door. She set it just outside for Celeste to find. “I sent for my instruments as well. Up, ladies. Lady Dara, I shall draw a quick bath.”
Dara soon found herself settled into said bath, scrubbed by Verdeen, then whisked out and dried.
Verdeen looked her over. “A simple garden gown,” she decided. “It is short and loose enough to romp in.”
Layers of gauzy yellow linen draped around Dara. A winding belt gave the sleeveless dress a basic shape and it fell in simple pleats to just above her ankles. “It’s lovely,” Dara told Verdeen as they left the bathroom.
Verdeen sniffed. “This is a work dress. You shall wear gowns much finer than this.”
Dara caught and held her gaze. “Almost as good as breeches for fighting too. Breeches are better, though.”
Verdeen looked scandalized. “You cannot wear breeches.”
“Tights? With one of those long tunics?”
The maid’s face turned sunset-purple. “Nay.”
“You’ll change your mind when you have to start tumbling around in a skirt with the hem around your ears and your backside out for all to see. There’s naught ladylike about combat.”
Sirona snickered from her chair at the table.
A knock sounded at the door. A young elf-boy stood there with a drum and a flute. “These were requested?”
“Aye, lad.” Verdeen looked grateful for the interruption.
Another knock announced the arrival of Falak and Loren. Sirona smiled. “Verdeen and Dara have come to an agreement. Verdeen shall stay on as Dara’s personal attendant.”
Dara’s heart did an odd little flip as Loren’s gaze met hers. Remembering their interlude in the garden last night made her cheeks flame.
He smiled. “Good. There is naught to this,” he assured Dara. “Dancing is much easier than you think. Let us start with a simple chain dance, Verdeen.”
Dara watched Loren’s cousin as she and Falak paraded the length of the room several times to the beat of the drum. She watched Sirona’s feet, when they hit the ground as opposed to when Verdeen struck the drum. Loren was right. She caught on to three staid dances because of the simple even beats. Her feet itched for something livelier. “Are all dances so formal?”