Still Niles stood back, rubbing the scar on his hand, considering Mother’s blood oath as I struggled with the ship. My muscles strained. “Help me get this outside. Do as I say. Or if you will, obey my father the king. He would say to take me now! He’d order you to pull—”
“The king’s dead.”
I fell back against the ship. So this was the news from home. If he’d crushed my chest with a mallet, it would have felt the same.
The cave echoed with the soft sound of lapping water. Niles lowered me to a sitting stone. “I shouldn’t have told you,” he said. “I should have waited for Sir Kimball.”
“How?” I said.
“In battle against King Stephen.”
“And Kye?”
“No news of him.”
“Did . . . they win?”
“Lost, but the king fought with honor, Princess.”
I put my head on his shoulder and sobbed. Niles held me close. Wind whistled through the cave and cold washed over me as if I’d been swept out to sea.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Bargain
ALREADY THE DRAGON was landing on the beach. How swift he’d come and silently, the sound of flight covered by the crashing waves. Beside me Niles drew his sword.
“Give me your knife,” I said. Niles pulled out his blade and gave it me as Faul crept closer. The cave was small for the great dragon, but kneeling low, he entered.
Niles rushed forward, shouting. But the dragon snatched him off his feet and drew him from the cave. I hobbled outside.
“Kill him, and I’ll slit my throat!” I held the dagger to my neck. It seemed a strange thing to do. But if I died the pips would be left without their nursemaid. Faul needed me.
The dragon blinked, then shook his head like a wet dog, his dinner flailing in his talons.
“I’ll turn my back to spare you of the meal,” he growled.
“You’ll find me dead when you turn round.”
“Why do you care so much for my supper?” he roared, shaking Niles like a poppet. Niles let out a fearful yelp.
“I’m done with death. The measure of the blood spilled for my life is on me like a river. I cannot bear another drop!” This I screamed out all at once and without forethought, but the truth of it swept through me in a flood.
Niles shouted and swung his sword, but Lord Faul removed the weapon like a twig and tossed it to the tide. Then with his claw he flicked the knight’s head. Niles flopped over and was still.
I cut my neck.
“Stop!” warned Faul. “The morsel lives.” He held Niles close so I might hear his breathing.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “This boy or another. My mother will send you another supper, with her heart set on my rescue, and on Evaine’s scepter.”
It was true enough. Lord Faul would be pleased with the meals, peeling off their armor and swallowing knights whole, as a man would shuck an oyster. There’d be no end to the blood upon my head. The sickness of these deaths made the knife at my throat seem sweet. I would end it here.
“These men are pests,” said Faul. Towering above me, he shook Niles till his armor rattled. “I must get rid of them. No putrid man will endanger the lives of my pips!”
The sea crashed behind us and pulled back, leaving silver carpets on the shore. There seemed no answer here. If I slit my throat too soon, Lord Faul would eat Niles after. We were locked together, the three of us on the sunlit sand.
“I won’t let any more people die for me,” I said again.
“Toss your knife,” said Faul, smoke pouring from his nostrils. “And I will spare this knight.”
I held my ground. “I’ll toss it,” I said, “if the knight is returned to Wilde Island with the message not to send out any more.”
“No message will stop the queen from sending out more slayers.”
“It will if I toss her my gloves.”
The dragon blinked. “Does your pretty part bring her that much shame?”
The answer stuck inside my throat. I nodded.
Sunlight played across Faul’s scales. The sea pulled back, and in that hush before another wave, the dragon said, “Humans cannot be trusted with my brood. The pips must grow up in secret.” He breathed smoke, the grayness of it shrouding his eyes. “Swear you’ll stay here, Briar, to be the pips’ nursemaid. And for their protection you must not speak to human folk again.”
“Not a word?” I asked.
Faul tipped his jaws heavenward and breathed blue fire. A wave swept up, encircling his clawed feet. “Nursemaid the pips, keeping silence with your kind, ” he said, “and I’ll return the knight alive. I’ll deliver you myself to drop the gloves at your mother’s feet.”
I looked on my left glove, stained and filthy, knowing if my curse were exposed, Mother would send no more knights to Dragon’s Keep. This way no more would die.
“I’ll will my life over to you and keep your pips secret as long as you stay clear of my people. Swear never to eat human flesh as long as I’m silent before all men.”
Lord Faul considered this as wind swept along the shore. I knew how he enjoyed his human meals, how sweet he thought man’s meat above all others.
“A human fast.” The dragon looked hungrily at Niles, a silver glob of drool hanging from his mouth. He flicked his tongue to catch the drool. “Aye.” He shuddered. “To keep my pips from trouble. But speak one word to a human ear,” he said, “and they are mine to eat.”
“Done!” I dropped the bloody knife. I was dragon’s keep now. The daring oath stripped me of my past, my heritage, my very humanness.
Lord Faul laid Niles down, dragged the boat outside, and set fire to it on the sea. I shook as the sails and rigging burned, imagining what he’d done to the other knights. Beside me Faul hummed a tune.
Ashes winged upward and fell back in the sea. I tore a bit of gown and bandaged Niles’ sore head. He would awaken, but I hoped not for a while.
“Climb on my back,” said Faul, unfurling his tail like a spiral stair. I clambered up, straddling his neck like a tree trunk, and gripped the horned flesh for support. The neck flaps at my backside pressed against me like a saddle. I leaned into them as Faul lifted the sleeping knight and took to the air.
He tipped his wing to turn and I held on tight as he sped over the sea. I wished my father could have ridden like this in life, for he was a man who loved speed. He rode Crispin faster than any man on horseback and jumped him over fallen trees. How strong he was on the hunt, how quiet when we rode to the lake. Tears stung my cheeks in the sharp wind, remembering how we’d watched the yarrow moths fly upward and how he’d picked up a stone, calling, “Come closer by the water and make a wish, my girl.”
We flew all day until the sun was lost. In twilight the water had a way of mocking the heavens, and both sea and sky seemed tossed with stars. The moon rose full, which seemed fitting. Hadn’t Marn said long ago that a vow made at the time of the full moon was three times binding? I’d sworn and so had the dragon. Now we were three times bound to our vows and all for the good. I’d won Niles Broderick’s life. More, I’d won the lives of my people. As long as I kept my promise to Lord Faul, guarded the pips, and kept silence with my fellow men, all the folk of Wilde Island would be safe from dragons.
What did it matter that my own life was over? The vow would be my amends for the lives lost over me. For Mother’s murders, Sir Kimball, and the slayers.
As we flew over Pendragon Castle, I begged Lord Faul to land first near the tomb so I could pay my respects to Father. I was surprised when he granted me this, but I’d seen him sorrow over the body of his lady, and death of a loved one was still within his memory. There was a speck of kindness in him to let me go.
Torches burned about the Pendragon tomb to light my father’s way to Heaven. As we landed I spied lavender and wild roses scattered on the ground. All who’d come to honor the king had left their blossoms. I crossed myself and took the stairs to the lower vault.
Standi
ng near the tunnel door, I wavered. I could follow it to the castle and leave Faul in the graveyard. But I’d made a solemn vow and what would happen to Niles if I did escape?
I knelt to pray.
Candle glow lit the rubies on my cross and spilled across my father’s raised stone casket, whereon his effigy was carved. In such light his stone face seemed only to be dreaming. I’d seen that look many times as a child when I’d worn out my father in the walled garden. After playing my horse and trotting along the narrow paths, he’d lie back in the shade to sleep. His face looked just so, as if he’d just jostled me from his back. My throat tightened. Tears darkened the gray stone and the words of Saint Columba whispered in my mind.
Day of the king most righteous,
The day is nigh at hand,
The day of wrath and vengeance,
And darkness on the land.
Had I understood these lines when first I’d read them with Kit? They sounded a knell through my hollow soul now, the echoes still resounding till I heard the dragon’s growl above.
Voices outside. And one of them my mother’s. What would Faul do to her if I escaped down the tunnel? Veritas Dei! I had to keep the vow!
I hobbled up the stairs. Just down the hill, Mother passed the lilac bushes, a line of knights raising torches to light her way. She was coming to pray for her husband’s soul. Seeing the dragon lying in wait beside the tomb, she stopped and stepped back.
“Stand away!” ordered Lord Faul. “Dismiss your knights. We have business here with your daughter.”
“Go!” ordered Mother. Her knights obeyed and withdrew farther down the hill. They could see us but would not hear our speech. Niles was still unconscious. His head rolled about in the dragon’s claws. Mother saw me as I stepped out of the tomb.
“Rosalind!” she cried, rushing up to hold me. I caught the rose oil in her hair that was always a part of her scent. At last she pulled away, saw my wet face, and took displeased acquaintance with my stinking gown and tousled hair.
“Send no more knights to Dragon’s Keep,” said Lord Faul. “Your daughter is mine, as you know from the sign on her hand. I’ll not kill the girl, but you must swear to keep all men away.”
“Do you think I’d swear to that?” said Mother, brushing back my tangled hair. “The princess is mine. I bore her.”
“And you stole an egg from my nest to quicken your womb!”
“That was Demetra. I didn’t know when she took it that it was—”
“Still you drank!” roared the dragon.
Mother started. A strange silence fell around the tomb until she found her strength again. Raising her chin, she said, “Rosalind is going to marry Prince Henry. Nothing can stop the purpose of a Pendragon queen!”
Fire spilled over the dragon’s teeth like molten metal. “You should have thought of that before your people killed my mate. The girl is mine by blood. This ransom is fair. It cannot be undone any more than the sun can be stopped from circling the earth.”
“What do you say, Rosalind?” asked Mother, touching my cheek. “I’ll call my knights back, and we’ll have this creature’s head!”
Lord Faul snatched me in his talons and roared at Mother.
“Let my daughter speak,” she demanded. “Or have you put her under a spell?”
I was under a promise, not a spell, and the wish to speak was great. But speech would endanger all. Only one thing could be done. Peeling off my gloves, I tossed them at my mother’s feet and held my hand out, talon forward.
Mother screamed—a wail full of such rage and power, it was like the sound Lord Faul had made when he saw the body of his lady on the sand.
How I wanted to tell her the gloves were a flag of peace, that there would be no more deaths from the dragon’s jaws. She looked at me with condemnation and moaned, her eyes twisting the truth of what I’d done to an evil purpose.
In that moment Mother’s dreams of a Pendragon queen sitting on the English throne were lost. The murders she’d committed, useless; Father’s death for Empress Matilda’s cause, a waste.
She sobbed and fell on her knees. It seemed to me then it would have been a kinder thing to plunge a knife into her heart than to have tossed her my golden gloves. This her eyes told me, even as her cries awoke Niles.
Faul dropped the knight on the grass with a clatter, placed me on his scaly back, and took flight above the graveyard. I held his neck as the knights below rushed uphill to Mother.
We soared over field and orchard then above Pendragon Castle, wherein my childhood hid. The moat seemed nothing more than a strip of dark ribbon as we flew over, and the walled garden looked no more than a broken bowl. To the dark sky and my new life the dragon sped, his great wings pounding the sky.
Part Three
Briar Rose
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A Language Lesson
IF A GIRL WERE ASKED which part of a plant she would be, would any choose the root? Blindly clutching the dark earth, never seeing sun nor feeling wind? Toiling there to feed the stem and flower with never a thank-you from them? And who would choose to be the thorn? Thorns protect the plant from pluckers, but who gives honor to them? Nay, any girl would choose to be the bud, opening to the sun, fragrant and beautiful, tickled by bees and butterflies, and looked upon with love.
So like a rose, in my first years, I’d been sought out and loved. I was the flower of Wilde Island: fair as the day, honored, cherished, admired, and protected as any rose. But here on Dragon’s Keep, I’d gone from Rose to Briar, and since I could not speak my bitterness, I wept it into the bitter milk each night as I stirred the pot. And each morning as the pips lapped up the brew, they drank my salty tears.
It’s well known that dragons cannot cry. Tears put out their inner fire, and death follows soon after. So Lord Faul tipped his head and watched me cry with some curiosity.
Spring gave way to summer, and I was at work each dawn, pulling milkweed and thistle. I was glad enough Lord Faul was molting, though he scratched himself endlessly. Hadn’t his shed scales saved my ankle? I used strips of hide to spare my hands while in the field. Thistles still stabbed my fingers, but my palms were freed from blood blisters. The only part of my hands that did not suffer was my talon. I wondered as I plucked the thorny stems if the she-dragon would have been so enslaved to the thistle? Or did dragons have teats to suckle their young as other creatures had? I could not ask Lord Faul this. I knew better than to mention his lady. It had been three months since her death, yet I still saw him leave the cave some nights when he thought all were asleep. Outside he’d roar her name into the rushing waterfall, the fire from his jaws reflecting in the water like a giant torch.
My body grew leaner as I toiled. My hips once hinting toward the round were straight now as barley stalks, and my breasts small as crab apples. Indeed, no man would have me now, and I would have hid in shame if my lover had come across the grassy hill to see me in the milkweed. It gave me some comfort to know that Kye had chosen war. He would not come to rescue a sweet princess only to find a girl who looked the part of a scarecrow whose maker had been stingy with the straw.
In the heat of the day I worked to please Lord Faul but he was never contented. If I harvested too little he’d spew fire at me. Once he set a fallen pine alight. He had to stomp it out before it set the woods ablaze.
I feared his anger and piled the thistle higher, learning to work with such speed that I managed to pick enough to give myself a free hour before Faul returned. I used this secret hour to begin carving a boat from the log he’d scorched. I’d once seen a boat carved from a burnt log floating in Kaydon River, an odd ship, but water worthy. I’d use one like it for my escape.
Day on day when my harvesting was done, I used a sharp stone and hacked away at the charred wood, overturning the log when done to hide the gouged side from Faul. The dragon would not harm me while his pips were small, but I knew the time would come when my usefulness would be over. I must have a way to leave the isle or die
.
I was stirring the bitter milk late one afternoon when Faul entered the lair and tossed six wriggling trout on the sandy floor.
“This night the pips will feast on fish,” he said.
I was glad to hear it. Already at just four months old all the pips, except for little Ore, were the size of full-grown oxen. There were six trout on the floor. I had hopes I’d sup on one myself. But I waited by my cauldron. Lord Faul was not to be rushed.
“And for this prize,” he said, “they’ll say the word in DragonTongue.”
When he called the pips from their pit they stumbled sleepily toward the fish. The dragon held out his claw and made them sit. They knew many words already for Lord Faul spoke to them primarily in DragonTongue, naming things in their everyday world and telling tales at night, so that even I’d begun to understand it a little. Still, some words were difficult even for the pips, so Faul would reward their efforts.
He held up a trout and made a strange noise, “Auruggullittht!” The noise he made was like a strangled trumpet, a goose with a knotted neck, a man shouting underwater.
“Auruggullitthhh,” said Eetha, and she was tossed her trout. Cooking the fish in her small fire, she tore the flesh with her talons, sniffed, then tasted. Chawl snuffed over to his sister. Lord Faul batted his rump and he rolled across the floor. The lesson continued. Each pip, on saying the word, was tossed a fish. Ore, the youngest and none too bright, was the last to sup.
The pips finished their feast, lapped tepid bitter milk, fought halfheartedly, and tumbled into sleep.
Two fish still lay in the sand. Their scales sparkled in the firelight as if they were swimming in the sun.
“Am I to eat?” I asked, hunger having driven me to words.
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