The Dragons Chosen
Gwen Dandridge
Copyright © 2015 by Gwen Dandridge
Hickory Tree Publishing Hickory
TreeBooks.blogspot.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing by the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover art by Carol Heyer
Siri Weber Feeney, 2015
Inside layout and illustration by Carin Coulon
www.gwendandridge.com
Also by
Gwen Dandridge
The Stone Lions
Coming soon
The Jinn’s Jest
And
The Lady of the Tower
This book is dedicated to Phyllis Schimel
For all her many kindnesses
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter 1
The sky was songbird blue, the sun golden; a light breeze brushed my cheek, cooling me down following the uphill gallop. Beneath me, my mare, Flight, shifted her weight as she pawed the ground. Nothing could be better than this.
I turned in my saddle as Crown Prince Theo from Gowen, my third suitor this month, thundered up behind me. My reverie ended as he hauled his mount to a stop. Oh yes, there was one thing that could perhaps be improved.
“You bested me.” He nodded to my victory. His eyes lowered, though not before I saw the sullen glint in them.
Once again, I’d let my pride rule when I should have stroked my suitor’s self-worth. I used my smile to soften his loss. Mother had sent us off, properly chaperoned by my ladies and guards, but they fell behind once our challenge began. As good a horse as the prince rode, I had no doubt I would win. These were my lands. Flight and I had traversed them together since my father gifted her to me in honor of my fourteenth year. We knew every hillock, fence and ditch.
But, I shouldn’t have beaten him. I knew Mother hoped he would confirm his offer for me today. And that I would stop finding excuses to reject courters and accept.
“It was but chance; you are much the better rider.” I slid my gaze to my reins so he could not read the lie in my face. Mayhap he would see my behavior as a young maiden’s modesty.
He brightened then, throwing off his bad humor. He was pleasant and attractive, though somewhat too sure of my answer to be flattering.
I didn’t understand my parents’ sudden push to get me engaged. I wasn’t likely to die an old maid, not at the age of sixteen and crown princess of Verdeux. Nor were we on the verge of war and my troth needed as the price for peace.
Flight still pranced in place beneath my hands, as if pleased with herself for besting Theo’s large bay hunter, Lion Heart.
Theo dismounted, walked over to me and placed his hand on Flight’s bridle. “Genevieve.” His other hand wrapped around mine as if in ownership.
Here it comes, I thought. I knew I would say “yes.” There were no more reasons to refuse. He was nice enough, wealthy enough, royal enough, and his lands abutted ours. I couldn’t protest that he was ill-favored or unsuitable.
Father had approved this union and my mother was eager to see me affianced.
Most of all, it was my duty. How I had been trained all my life.
Still I wished for something more … romance, even love, perhaps. A small sigh escaped from my lips. What a foolish thought. A princess shouldn’t wish for these.
I looked out to the fields beyond. Across the field came one of my father’s riders on a mission, a cloud of dust blossoming in his wake.
Noting my distraction as the rider joined my guard, Theo squeezed my fingers. I wouldn’t let my family down by refusing. I curled my fingers in his, smiling, showing him nothing but a girl delighting in his presence.
“Genevieve,” he repeated. “I would…”
“Your Highness.” A voice called as three guards charged up the hill. My ladies remained milling around near the tree line below, too timid to brave this route.
A frothed horse and rider broached the hillside. “Princess, you must return immediately. Your father wishes you to attend him.”
“What is this about?” Theo demanded.
The rider brushed the sweat from his face. “I wasn’t told, My Lord. Only that the Princess must return.”
Theo’s hand slid from mine. As he mounted his horse, I blew him a kiss. A little wait would do him good. He was too sure of me and I was not so sure of him.
Whatever Father wanted, I was grateful for the reprieve.
--
I sailed into court followed by the kittenish antics of my ladies-in-waiting. I no longer remember what they were saying that made me laugh out loud as I came before my father’s gaze, but I stopped suddenly at the quiet—and the look on his face.
I scanned the room, hoping for some clue to the disaster that must have hit my kingdom. Our priestess, Mother Morigan, perched like a bird of prey in the shadows, which was ominous in itself, as she only appeared in court when tithes were gathered or someone died.
I wondered then if someone had died. It certainly felt so. The three traveling musicians played a melancholy tune in the corner. The handsomest one with a neat beard cut to a point stared at his feet as I walked past, no shy smile as usual.
My sister, Danielle, was leaning into my mother’s shoulder, sobbing. My two little brothers, Harold and Bartholomew, stood with their tutor by the sidelines, alarmingly still. I searched my mother's face and grew more afraid. She was rigid, her face splotched, the queen who never wore her emotions in public.
My ladies held back. I walked forward to kneel at my father’s feet. Mother Morigan moved to stand by my side. As my head rose, I felt her place a delicate chain about my neck. I lifted it up to see a dragon etched in a round gold coin. My question was answered.
It was I who had died.
Chapter 2
I wasn’t at my best that afternoon. My head throbbed, my gold coronet pressed on me like iron slag and my nose was cl
ogged from squelched tears. Hovering near, two of my ladies-in-waiting leaned upon each other and sobbed; another stroked my hand as if I were some tabby cat from the stables.
Cupped in the palm of my hand, the gold coin with its etched dragon icon looked harmless, but it marked me as chosen.
The dragons had returned.
Five, some reported, three, according to others, or maybe as many as ten. They were seen circling high above the Perpinan hills east of Tine.
I knew the history of our land, though my mother had tried, ineffectually, to keep this particular piece of it from me. The likenesses of fourteen young women, girls almost, lined the farthest gallery in the castle. Portraits and statues depicting princesses from across the nine kingdoms of Gaulen. I had looked at those images, stricken by the sadness I imagined in their eyes, wondering at their stories. But the only secrets given up were their names, their kingdoms and a year inscribed in each frame.
No one was descended from them; they left no bloodlines to be memorized and recited. They had simply disappeared. No tutor would answer my questions about them, and the history books mentioned them only briefly. Daughter of King whomever, the books pronounced, chosen, though for or by whom they never said.
I had looked for answers, and at thirteen, the same age as my sister was now, finally found them in a moldy leather-bound history I discovered deep in a chest in a far reach of the castle. Age had rusted its iron corner pieces. Across the center was a raised bronze medallion with the tarnished image of a dragon, wings extended in mid-flight, etched into it. The book’s pages were stuck together, and water stains blurred the writing. I read a full page before I pushed it from me, sick with horror.
Each of these princesses had received a token a handful of months before her seventeenth birthday. After which she was delivered to the cliffs of the Crystal Mountain and left (tethered, I read, to prevent the unfortunate princess from accidentally getting lost in the wilderness).
The next day all would be gone—the dragons, the princess—nothing was left. Each century the dragons came and a princess was given up.
It couldn’t be true, I had thought. No one I knew had seen a dragon, nor were there rumors of them. They hadn’t been heard of for one hundred years; surely they must all be dead.
I replaced the book, closed the chest and never looked back.
That happened four years ago; I was turning seventeen in two months’ time.
I knew that word was spreading like a flood. News of the dragons’ return coursed throughout the court, into the towns and marketplaces and out into the least hovel of Verdeux. Already horsed couriers and rock doves were racing messages out to far reaches, bringing comfort for other royals: their daughters were safe—until the next time, generations from now.
The cool golden coin burned my hand as I reread the inscribed word chosen, and the blood chilled inside my veins. I must be taken to the mountain in two months’ time or the dragons would come in force. No negotiations, no substitutes. My mother was, without a doubt, still pleading with the priestess for divine intervention to rescue her daughter. Father, whose strength of arm matched his sense of duty, was incapable of sacrificing the kingdom for anyone, even a beloved child.
I had always known that I was a chess piece, destined to be married for the good of the kingdom, wed to someone like Theo. My hand in marriage a prime talking point at negotiations among kingdoms; I was valuable, a political prize. Royal wedlock wasn’t a romantic ballad to titillate love-sick girls. It was a bond to unite kingdoms and secure borders.
But I was also loved by my parents, and as such, had some say in my future. But now, with the flick of dragon’s wing, I had none.
A stream of horsemen clattered into the courtyard below, and I roused out of my melancholy musings. I drew my hand away from Clara’s irritating stroking.
Perhaps she was only trying to soothe herself, since her position at court would end in two months.
Felicity continued sobbing into her embroidered handkerchief.
Melody held up a gown. “Do you think this dress is sober enough for tonight? Verdigris is such a good color for you. It sets off your crimson hair.”
Her inappropriate gaffes no longer surprised me. Melody was another of my mother’s attempts to flatter a noble by making his daughter part of my entourage. This morning I would have cared what I wore and even been mildly offended by her calling my hair crimson.
This morning I would have overlooked her words. I only wish that my troubles remained so petty.
I glared into her eyes and she hastily fell silent.
It was these three girls’ sole job to attend me, to keep me in good company and cheer. Normally they had, but now the task was beyond anyone’s abilities.
Lost in these thoughts, it was no wonder I was distracted when the strange girl first materialized in my bed chamber. I thought perhaps my eyes were blurring from unshed tears. Clara’s shrill scream brought me to my feet as the blur whirled and transformed itself into a creature.
What was this? One of the dragons’ minions or something very different? It looked like a woman, young perhaps, with straight long hair the color of cinnamon that had never seen curling tongs or hair net. Spanning her nose were two glass-like oval shapes held by dark brown bars that disappeared into the fullness of her hair. Her clothes were immodest at best. She wore trousers of some kind, made of rough blue material that belled out from her knees to her feet. A short, unbuttoned vest of multiple colors lay over a thin, ill-fitted white chemise that proclaimed in garish purple letters “Free the Chicago Seven.” One of her hands held a single card, as if she had been playing a game and had stepped away from the table for but the pause of a breath.
She stood looking at me, shifting the eyepieces back upon the bridge of her nose. Her gaze skipped from one part of the room to another, taking in my maids cowering now behind the dulcimer, then rested with a frown on the blue and red tapestry on the wall before alighting on me once again.
“Uh-oh, Toto. I guess we’re not in Kansas anymore,” she said in a soft, oddly-accented voice. Though her voice didn’t quaver, there seemed a tightening about her eyes that might have been cunning, but I wondered if it was fear. Her forehead wrinkled as if puzzled as she scrutinized the card she held. Then, with a twist of her hand, it disappeared beneath the folds of her clothes. When she looked up, her face was ashen, highlighting the unpowdered freckles scattered like pollen across her nose. For a moment, I thought she might flee. The hairs on her arms stood up as if she was cold, though the sun had been pouring into the room all morning.
I stood my ground and ventured a guess, in the hopes she would deny it. “Are you a witch?”
She frowned, cocking her head slightly, then bit on the nail of one ring-less ring finger as if contemplating. “No, are you?”
“Of course not.” I hesitated, waiting for one of my ladies to intercede. Behind me, there was a thud. I assumed it was Felicity. She had an unfortunate tendency to faint given the least provocation. I took the chance to glance behind me. Clara looked as if she was preparing to have a fit; Felicity was definitely down, with Melody crouched beside her, trying to rouse her. It was not looking hopeful that my ladies would perform the introductions.
The strange young woman nodded as if something had been confirmed. “I didn’t think so.” She looked down at her shoes; brown peasant’s sandals with exposed toes in dire need of grooming. We settled into an uncomfortable standoff. She shivered.
Remembering some smidgen of her training, Clara took a step forward. “You are in the presence of the Princess Genevieve of Verdeux, daughter of Wilheim and Camille.” She burst into tears. “And she is fated to be eaten by the dragons.”
I could see we needed to revisit protocol and appropriate behavior at court. The strange woman looked me in the eyes and I pulled back at the intensity of the connection.
I flashed Clara a frown.
My distress and irritation must have registered with her, because Clara’s ha
nd flew to her mouth. She curtsied, her head bowed. “Your pardon, My Lady, my words were thoughtless and ill considered.” Clara took a step closer to me, watching the apparition as if she were a rabid animal that might charge without thought. Tears crawled down Clara’s rosy cheeks. “The people of the Kingdom praise your intelligence, beauty and charm. Surely your parents won’t allow you to be given to the dragons and…” She should have stopped there but her cupid bow lips kept right on moving. “Even if they do, I’m sure, er…I hope, er…maybe they won’t be hungry this time.”
Felicity, now recovered from her faint, roused herself enough to deliver a screech that could be heard in the next kingdom. The door opened and five guards rushed in, took in the scene and surrounded the oddly dressed woman.
She … well, she vanished.
Chapter 3
That evening was necessarily sober. Time has a way of sharpening reality. With each hour, the knowledge of my fate tumbled from my head down into the core of my body.
At supper I sat between Clara and my mother. Theo and three of his men sat a table over. I couldn’t fathom his thoughts, nor did I care.
The dragons were never far from my mind. Almost as if to reinforce the point, two of our sentries entered the hall and stopped before my father.
One bowed before addressing him, “Sire?”
My father nodded, and all attempts at small talk ended, as everyone up and down the tables strained to listen.
The sentry continued. “We have confirmed sightings of dragons crossing our borders and penetrating deep into our lands. Three were seen by a miller and his son not fifty miles from here.”
Father held himself tight. “Lower your voice, man.”
In a stage whisper, the sentry spoke again. “Two others were seen circling near the kingdom of Brigathe before they veered off eastward.”
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