The Dragon Mistress

by R. A. Steffan

  The gates were every bit as impressive in daylight as they had been last night. Half a dozen guards stood impassively, three on either side.

  “Hello,” I said to the one who looked oldest and like he might be in charge. “I’m the daughter of a foreign dignitary, and I was hoping you could tell me who I might speak to about arranging an audience.”

  See? I could be diplomatic.

  The guard’s eyes swept over me appraisingly, his gaze thorough and professional. “The king holds audiences three times a week. As it happens, there will be one today, beginning when the sun touches the top of the west wall. You will need to speak to his majesty’s vizier to arrange it. This guard will take you to him.”

  That was easy, I thought.

  “Thank you,” I told him, as he gestured to a much younger guard, who stepped forward and dipped his head to me respectfully.

  I followed him into the palace complex, which was shady and cool compared to the streets baking in the sun outside. Nestled at the base of the mountains, Safaad was not nearly as hot as the unforgiving desert, but it was still a warm and arid place. The sound of water trickling in stone fountains was welcome inside the rich surroundings.

  The vizier was a gray-haired old man with gaunt features and a vaguely harried demeanor. He asked me a few questions before dipping a sharpened stick into a pot of ink and making a series of squiggles on a piece of parchment. I recognized them as the Utrean version of the written symbols used by some people in Alyrios and Rhyth. My old friend Ghizaan had tried to show them to me, back when he was teaching me the language.

  Unfortunately, while I apparently had a good head for learning new tongues, it was not nearly so good with written languages. I had a basic grasp of Rhytherii symbols after much practice, but Utrean still looked to me like someone had dunked a bunch of caterpillars in ink and let them crawl randomly across the parchment. Ghizaan had eventually given up on me, at least in that regard.

  Once I had answered the vizier’s questions, I was chivvied away to a waiting area where several other people were loitering, clearly awaiting their turn for an audience, as I was. I found the wide variation in their apparent wealth and social standing surprising, but in a good way. It seemed that the royal family was at least open to hearing petitions from those who were not themselves powerful, which was more than the former king of Rhyth could have said, certainly.

  I considered trying to strike up a conversation, but my companions appeared largely wrapped up in their own thoughts. I supposed one only came to petition the king when there was a problem to be addressed. Certainly, I was only here because of the attack I’d suffered on the trade road.

  Not wanting to impose, I found an unoccupied seat and kept my mouth shut. A few minutes later, a new arrival entered the waiting area. He was an older man, with gray peppering his dark hair, and wrinkles in his sun-lined face. He cast a glance around the place and his eyes settled on me. A friendly smile crossed his face, and he gestured at the seat next to mine.

  “May I?” he asked in a pleasant voice.

  I swept a hand out in invitation, returning his smile. “Be my guest. I’m Frella.”

  “Vitraal,” he replied. “Nice to meet you. Not a local, I take it?”

  “Ooh, does it show?” I teased, and he laughed softly. “No, I’m from Eburos. I’m traveling the continent, and I was attacked by bandits on the trade road from Adumine. One of the men had a saddle blanket bearing the crest of Prince Oblisii, so I thought he might want to know about it.”

  Vitraal’s face darkened momentarily, before he consciously smoothed his expression. “That’s unfortunate,” he said. “I hope you weren’t injured during the attack?”

  I shrugged. “Scrapes and bruises, plus an unfortunate case of sunburn from being stuck in the desert until someone happened by and rescued me. The gang stole my horse and most of my possessions, though.”

  “Not a very appealing introduction to our land, I fear,” Vitraal said mildly. “Still, you’ve chosen an advantageous day to visit the palace. The king will be hearing petitions personally this afternoon.”

  I nodded. “Really? I wasn’t sure how that worked. Honestly, I’d figured it would be just as good if I spoke directly with the prince, since it was his crest I saw on the bandit’s saddle cloth.”

  Vitraal tried to smile, but the expression appeared tight. “It’s for the best if you speak to King Khalafu instead, since you have the chance. The prince is…”

  He trailed off, and I raised my eyebrows. “The prince is…?” I prompted.

  But he only shook his head. “Ah—don’t mind me. It’s nothing. Just tell the king what happened, and I’m sure he’ll do whatever he can. Yours is certainly a far more compelling tale than my own on this fine day.”

  “Oh?” I asked. “And what is your tale?”

  His smile this time looked more genuine. “Tiresome matters of business, I fear. I am a spokesman for the weavers’ guild, and the dye merchants have recently doubled their prices with no real explanation. I’ve been sent to request that the prices for indigo be capped until the next harvest of blue knotweed arrives in a few months. Fascinating stuff, I know.”

  I chuckled. “Trade is important,” I told him. “I expect your petition will affect a lot more people than mine will.”

  He shook his head. “Nonsense. Bandits on the trade road? It might be the off season for travel, but that’s serious.” He glanced across the room as an official-looking man beckoned the first of the waiting people through an interior archway. “It looks like they’re getting underway. So, tell me—what brings you to Utrea in the first place? And from such a far-flung land…”

  Vitraal and I passed a pleasant stretch chatting about my travels and the city in which I now found myself. Whenever the topic strayed too near politics, I noticed that he grew tense and guided it away again. It made me curious, but I had no wish to make the man uncomfortable, so I didn’t push.

  Eventually, the official at the door indicated me with a raised finger, and gestured for me to follow. I gave Vitraal a final smile, along with a word of farewell. My surroundings seemed to grow even more luxurious as we traveled deeper into the palace, and I got the distinct impression the route was intended to instill awe in the petitioners during the moments before they were presented to the king. It was, I had to admit, fairly effective.

  The great, echoing hallways were inlaid with tiles of gold and vivid red. Rather than the pillars and flat ceilings I was used to back home, the supports arched to meet at the top of dome-like vaults far above my head, each one identical to the last. Eventually, the hallway opened into a large space dominated by a dais at the far end, with a simple throne at the center. Stone steps led up to the raised platform where several people awaited. The entire room was hung with intricate tapestries covering the walls—some with complex geometric patterns, and others depicting human and animal figures.

  All this hit me in the space of a few heartbeats as I glanced around, standing just outside the open double doors. The palace official gestured me to go through, and my eyes fell on the vizier I’d spoken with earlier, standing a few paces inside. He cleared his throat and spoke in a resonant voice that would carry to the throne and the figure seated on it.

  “Your Majesty, I present to you Frella of Draebard, daughter of High Chieftain Andoc of Draebard, from the Isle of Eburos,” he intoned. “Here to offer a report of banditry on the trade road from Adumine!”

  At a flick of the vizier’s eyes toward the throne, I walked forward, trying to get a sense of the Utrean ruler without blatantly staring at him. My first impression was of advanced age, though a second glance showed that his hair was not yet completely gray. His face, however, was wrinkled and sunken, as if from some sort of wasting disease.

  A handful of other men stood behind the throne, one positioned closer to the king than the others. He was a sharp-faced man, richly dressed. Handsome, but with a cast of cruelty marring his features. Thick brown hair fell back from
his face in waves, and his dark eyes caught mine as I tried to study him surreptitiously, making blood rush to my cheeks as I quickly looked away.

  The stone steps leading up to the dais were narrow, and two impassive guards stood at the bottom in silent menace, armed with blades mounted on the ends of staves. Their skin was almost as dark as Eldris’ had been, but their faces held none of his innate good cheer.

  I stopped a few steps back from them and dipped to one knee, unsure of the correct protocol. I’d always hated this kind of stupid bowing and scraping, but I also knew it was generally better to overdo things a bit than to come across as too arrogant.

  After a moment’s contemplation, the king said, “Daughter of a barbarian chieftain, eh? Where is your retinue, child?”

  His voice had that slightly hoarse quality that the elderly often exhibited, but his words and demeanor were pleasant enough. I straightened my bowed head, but didn’t rise from my half-kneeling position as I replied.

  “I am not here as an envoy, Your Majesty. Merely as a traveler. I have no retinue.”

  It was the cruel-eyed man standing next to the throne who answered. “No retinue? So you were traveling alone—a woman, no less—when you were set upon by bandits?”

  It was so close to the words Rayth had thrown at me two days ago that I inwardly bristled. No doubt there was a reason this man was standing in such a favored position next to the king, however. For that reason, I swallowed my irritation before responding.

  “I was not traveling alone,” I said, already tired of the story after only a couple of retellings. “The caravan I was slated to join cancelled when the ship carrying their cargo failed to dock, and I was forced to seek out other guides to get me to Safaad. Unfortunately, the couple I found apparently makes their livelihood by luring unsuspecting travelers into an ambush in the middle of the desert. After which, they abscond with their victim’s valuables and leave them to rot.”

  “A shocking occurrence,” the king said, his brows twitching together above his rheumy eyes. “And not the sort of welcome Utrea desires to offer travelers to its shores.”

  “I’m sure my money and belongings are long gone,” I began, “but they also stole my horse, and—”

  “I will ensure that additional patrols are deployed along the trade road, my dear,” said the king, cutting across my words. “Rest assured that these bandits will be caught and punished.”

  I swallowed a sigh. Yeah, sure they will. I recognized a polite brush-off when I heard one. Still, I wasn’t quite ready to let it go.

  “The couple’s names were Omerah and Midhan. There were four bandits in the gang that descended on us, and one of them had the mark of Prince Oblisii on his saddle cloth—a triskelion, I believe it’s called.”

  King Khalafu’s bushy eyebrows lifted, and he shot a glance over his shoulder. “Indeed?” he asked in his reedy voice, as the younger man next to him stiffened slightly. “Well, young woman… perhaps I will leave you in my son’s hands. Obviously, I have no knowledge about any such thing.”

  With a faint jolt, I realized that the man who had spent the past few minutes undressing me with his flat, dark gaze must be the prince in question. And his presence was about as reassuring as a coiled snake’s. Terrific.

  Now, the question was, how far would I allow my own stubbornness to push the matter? My better sense was telling me to bow and scrape a couple more times, and then hightail it out of the palace as fast as my feet would carry me. Perhaps to scamper straight to the Purple Cloak and throw myself on Aristede’s and Eldris’ hospitality for the night… or longer.

  My pride, on the other hand, was telling me that running like a spooked rabbit wouldn’t get Laduna back. This man was a prince, for the gods’ sake—and I was a chieftain’s daughter, albeit an adopted one. What did I think he was going to do to me? I shook off my odd frisson of unease.

  “You’re Prince Oblisii, then?” I asked, just to be sure.

  One sharp eyebrow arched. “I am indeed.” His eyes did that thing again, raking over my body as though he could see right through the draped fabric of the dress. Though, to be fair, it was kind of filmy in places—albeit tastefully so.

  I cleared my throat, hoping to draw his attention back to my face. “So, do you think the bandits stole that saddlecloth from one of your men?” I asked. “Have any of your guards reported items missing lately?”

  A look of boredom flitted across the prince’s face. “I will look into things as soon as time permits,” he said carelessly. “In the mean time, please allow me to extend you the hospitality of the palace. Consider yourself my personal guest.”

  Part of me still wanted to make a run for the Purple Cloak, but that was foolish. There was no point in turning down free accommodations, especially when leaving would mean I needed to go through the entire process of meeting with the vizier and waiting around for access to the throne room again. I was being silly.

  I pasted a smile on my face and dipped my head again. “Thank you. I’m sure everything can be sorted out easily enough. Perhaps someone could get me a list of the places where someone might go to sell a horse with no questions—

  Again, I was cut off.

  “Yes, yes,” the prince said, waving one hand imperiously. A figure I hadn’t noticed detached herself from the wall and approached me, head bowed. “Go with this girl. She will take you to your accommodations. Girl, take my guest to the western quarters.”

  I rose to my feet, my muscles protesting a bit after the exertions of the past few days. “Uh… all right, then. Thank you again for speaking with me…”

  For all the good it seems to have done, I didn’t add.

  “Come with me, please,” said the girl, in a low voice.

  She was pretty, in a plain sort of way. A few years younger than I was, I guessed, and a tiny bit shorter—which was saying something. I let her lead me out of a side entrance in the throne room, and only spoke when the heavy door shut behind us.

  “Hello, there,” I said trying and failing to catch her eye as she bustled forward, her head still bent. “I’m Frella. What’s your name?”

  “Beshaam,” she replied, halfway between a whisper and a squeak.

  I wondered what I’d done to spook her… or what someone else had done. “Nice to meet you,” I tried. “I met a woman a couple of days ago who was coming here for a rendezvous with her fiancé, you know. I gather he was a distant relation of the king’s, and he was staying in a guest wing at the palace. Is that where we’re going?”

  “I am taking you to the women’s quarters,” Beshaam said, still sounding like she might jump and run away at any moment. “As my prince ordered.”

  “Great,” I said. “The women’s quarters? Yeah, I doubt Darian was staying there. Still, who wants a bunch of men ogling you when you’re trying to sleep, right?”

  For some reason, I thought of the night I’d spent camped in the dry riverbed, with soft snores coming from two of Gladya’s escorts, while the third man kept silent watch over us.

  Beshaam ignored my words, instead saying, “Are you hungry? If so I will have food sent once you are settled.”

  Between the interview with the vizier and the time spent waiting for a royal audience, hours had passed since the buttered bread I’d had this morning. “I could definitely eat, thanks,” I told her.

  She nodded, still without looking up. We exited the main part of the palace, crossing what seemed like a large courtyard, except that it was completely enclosed by the blank walls of tall buildings. There was only the set of doors we’d just come through, and a second pair straight ahead, flanked by more of the blade-wielding dark-skinned guards.

  “The women’s accommodations are here,” Beshaam said, and paused nervously in front of the guards. One of them ran his gaze over first her, and then me. He gave a short nod and turned, unbarring the heavy doors and pulling one open.

  I won’t deny the odd little shiver of… something… that went through me as I entered. But I could he
ar the sound of feminine voices in easy conversation beyond, and the interior was only slightly less sumptuously appointed than the main palace had been.

  Having guards isn’t a bad thing, I reminded myself. There were probably loads of things in here that someone might want to steal. Valuable things. Of course the entrances would be guarded.

  The door closed behind us with a noise of finality, the sound of a bar being dropped into place following a moment later.

  Chapter 5: The Women’s Quarters

  MY EYES ADJUSTED TO THE lower light, and I looked around as Beshaam led me along a hallway that opened onto a large communal space. The sounds of conversation ceased as the women seated around the room noticed my entrance and turned to look at me.

  Apparently, the royal family had a lot of female guests. There were at least two dozen women in the room. All of them were attractive, dark haired, and dark-eyed. Were they members of the extended royal family, as Darian was? That would make sense, I supposed, especially since they gave off the air of knowing one another.

  “Hello,” I said into the awkward silence, lifting a hand and flickering my fingers in a tiny wave. There was no response beyond a few looks of consternation. They probably didn’t get many blondes in here… or perhaps, many strangers.

  “Come,” Beshaam urged.

  I let her lead me through the open area and into a hallway beyond, feeling eyes following me the whole way. I was already wishing I’d followed my gut and gone to the inn where Eldris and Aristede were staying.

  The hall was lined with arched doorways on either side. Most had hanging cloths or curtains of beads covering them, obscuring what lay beyond. A couple of them were open to my curious gaze, however, and revealed small but well-appointed rooms for sleeping.

  “Would you care to bathe while food is prepared?” Beshaam asked.

  In fact, that sounded heavenly. My rented room the previous night had only offered a small hand basin in which to wash, and I swore I could still feel sand and grit lodged in unfortunate places.