Hushed words of sympathy caught my ears. I turned inward, grabbing for anything to distract myself.
I thought of the bizarre young woman to fixate on a safer image than my delivery to reptilian flying monsters. Was her arrival connected with my…future?
My mind was in a daze of disbelief. I jumped as my mother reached over. She placed her hands over mine and gently extracted the shreds of a cutwork napkin that I had been absently ripping. Her touch felt like ice.
She and Father locked eyes across the long walnut dining table.
A quick look showed me that everyone seated was mesmerized, watching me tear the thin linen cloth into ever smaller strips.
Several guests at the table murmured, their eyes avoiding mine, but I heard my name whispered and a responding “Shhh” from various table companions. If I was an item of discussion, I would at least shape the talk.
Before my hands betrayed me again, I lifted my head and stood. Digging my nails into my palm to gain control, I projected my voice down the length of the table. “To Verdeux!” I raised my wine glass. “The royal family is part of the land. If it bleeds, we bleed.”
I learned the strategies of politics and diplomacy at the same time I was taught to curtsy and ride a horse. While I might be a chess piece, my parents made sure that I also acquired skill at the game of royals, assuring me that I would never be cast aside as if I were a pawn—though in this case perhaps tossed out as a morsel might be the more appropriate metaphor. But overnight my game board had been brushed away, trampled by mindless beasts. While inside I trembled, I refused to surrender my dignity as well as my life to these animals.
I stiffened my back and continued, “During times of famine or battle or hardship, we call on our people to sacrifice—to sacrifice their land, their sons, their children for the common good. Your princess can do no less.”
Our butler stood at the door as he had for twenty years, longer than I had been alive, his nose now pink with emotion.
One of the maids flung her apron over her face and rushed from the room.
I have no idea what I ate that evening. In the background, I heard my sister sobbing but I didn’t look her way. I couldn’t. Instead I forced my hands to steady and carefully deliver food to my mouth.
The traveling minstrels entertained us with music for our supper. A fortnight ago I had found them charming and handsome, and had bantered with them. Now I couldn’t spare the energy to chide Melody and Felicity for the sugary glances they sent the trio’s way.
Their bard, Trill, got halfway through a ballad of unrequited love when his exquisite baritone voice wavered. Across the distance, his eyes met mine and I looked away. I wasn’t interested in his pity.
Fortunately, the lute and mandolin player covered for him, playing a musical interlude while he composed himself.
Even my younger sister, Danielle, and our two brothers, Harold and Bartholomew—aside from a minor incident with two frogs—were quieter than usual. Father had an extra glass of fortified wine.
Uncle Castor, who was past his prime and known to be one helmet short of full armor, kept saying in a louder and louder voice, “Genevieve going off to the fens? Not a good time for that. You never know what kind of creatures are out this time of year.” His wife leaned over to him, whispering. He rallied like an old war horse that pricks up his ears at the sound of the battle drums and fifes. “From beyond the fens, are they? What do they want with our little lady?”
Aunt Matilda tugged at his sleeve and whispered again.
He raised his voice even more, calling out, “Genny, good for you. The royal house needs new blood. You will do us proud with those…”
He turned back to his wife. “Who did you say they were? Well, no matter, our Genevieve is no fragile flower, not her. You can be sure that she knows her worth. Those people will be dancing to her tune before long.” He looked around the table, oblivious to the open mouths and shocked looks from the others.
“I am surprised that Wilheim is considering betrothing Genny to someone from such a far-off kingdom.” He nodded and winked at my ashen-faced mother. “Thought King George’s boy from Gowen, Tad, Thomas, Theo, whomever, was the one that Camille had set her sights on for Genny. I always thought him too much a fop for her.”
I heard a gasp of indignation from Theo’s table, followed by a titter of laughter that was stifled abruptly.
Amidst all this, a small window of my mind kept turning over the image of the inappropriately dressed woman with purple lettering across her bosom. I felt somehow, though I could not yet say how, that our fates were joined.
Chapter 4
I couldn’t sleep. I curled up in the chair on my balcony, looking out across the courtyard into the night sky, casting my mind past the soft gray of our tall castle walls and out into the blue-gray hills, to the patchwork of golds and greens in the fertile meadows beyond. The wind tickled my face. The scents of fall wildflowers from the valley mixed with the spicy lavender of burning candles wafted across me. I sat listening into the evening. The hunting dogs in the kennels barked at some real or imagined prey. The drawbridge creaked and chunked as the guards pulled it up for the night. I loved it all. Here I had spent my whole life. My father’s people, my people, slept safely in their homes.
During the day, long forgotten legends had whipped through town of past dragon attacks, of monsters in the Fandrite Mountains. Of land burned so thoroughly that nothing grew for decades, of crops destroyed, of hunters who never returned. The stench of blood and smoke was all that remained, clinging like fog over charred ground. Whether those stories were true or not, I couldn’t say. But there were dragons and they wanted me.
I thought of running away. I thought of ending my life. I thought of many inappropriate and unworthy solutions. If I were to run away and disappear, the dragons would come. If I died, the dragons would come. If I turned into a hen and started laying eggs, the dragons would still come. I saw no solution that didn’t involve me riding off under armed escort, trussed like a stuffed goose, to the Crystal Mountain beyond the fens. My going was the only way for my kingdom to survive. No one could war against a single dragon, much less many. If I ran away or ended my life, peace would be a thing of the past. My legacy would be the destruction of all I loved.
My death by the dragons was the only way for them to live.
My hands shook as I thought of my end. I hoped the dragons would be quick. It seemed likely with so many. I didn’t wish to linger among them. I lowered my face into my hands as tears streaked my cheeks.
A small breeze brushed my hair. Behind me I heard a gasp and the creak of my bed. I turned, preparing to rebuke whoever had disrupted my solitude.
The mysterious girl who’d appeared in the morning sat cross-legged on my coverlet, one hand laid across her lap, the other again clutching a card before her as if it were a candle. She looked around, appearing bewildered, before dragging one fingernail across my lace bedcover as if testing for substance. My nightgown rustled as I sat up straight, unsure of how to address her.
Leaning forward, she spoke. “So what was all that about dragons?”
It took me some time to respond. Her audacity, her attempt to quell her curiosity at my expense, would have shocked any of my ladies or even the lowest servant. They would have escorted her away before she closed her mouth. But still I hesitated; it would not do to offend a gift from the Goddess or even a witch, if such she were.
Nonetheless, I noticed her sandals were on my bed. I left my balcony for a closer look at this person.
Yet another ill-fitted chemise clung to her body, a rather brilliant orange this time, with white lettering that insisted, “Be the change you want to see in the world” and a hastily-sketched portrait of a man. Underneath, the artist had signed his work in large cursive letters, “Gandhi.” A woman who appeared and disappeared was not normal, not covered in the rules of court etiquette. I took in her clothes, her hair and even her demeanor once again. She was not the kind of fema
le my mother would have chosen to attend me. She was an unknown with no social standing, no one to foster for political gain.
“Who are you? And why are you disturbing my privacy? If you are not a witch, then what are you? Are you come from ‘beyond,’ come to escort me to the dragons?” Even in my distressed state, I heard the pleading in my voice.
She let out a big sigh, much as my younger brothers would when questioned about some particularly outrageous exploit of theirs as if it was too complicated to explain.
“Oh man, you really exist. Here you are, beribboned and be-jeweled, truly the quintessential Barbie.”
I listened to her speak this nonsense as I tried to invent some context for her presence. Surely her appearance couldn’t be ascribed to the coming “event,” but why else would she appear at this particular time? I hadn’t read of guides come to accompany the princesses into the den of the beasts, but it did make sense that such might be provided—someone to bestow wisdom and reflection on a royal sacrifice. From her looks it seemed unlikely that this girl could provide either of those qualities. Nevertheless, I ventured a cautious guess.
“Are you here because of my….” I couldn’t finish that thought. “Because of the dragons?” I managed to whisper.
She nodded as if confirming something. “I heard right, then. Your friend, she did say dragons.” She paused.
It was hard to look calm and regal with the tearstains I knew were on my cheeks. Still I held my head high and nodded.
“Okay, this may seem silly, but this is the same day, right? Time hasn’t warped here or anything?”
“It’s the same,” I answered wearily. “You were here a mere six hours ago.”
She nodded again as if something was clarified, then stared out at the night sky and back at me as her fingers drummed a restless beat on my coverlet. “You’re planning on going through with this, aren’t you? Dragons! They’re a story, a myth. They don’t exist.” She caught herself and seemed to reconsider, “And even if they do, you can’t just deliver yourself like a steak.”
I frowned, finding the steak reference too close to my own thoughts. “You obviously don’t understand. I am the sacrifice, this century’s shield. My going will protect my kingdom for a hundred years.”
“Bullshit.”
My face flushed with anger.
She knelt, bouncing with agitation. “What are you, all of a hundred and ten pounds? Do you truly believe a dragon will be content for a hundred years on that?”
“Many dragons, and they have been before.”
“Okay, many. That’s even more silly.” She sat back, pushing up the glass things on her face and then chewed at one already ravaged cuticle. “You need to rethink this.” She looked up at me, again assessing. “Have you ever seen a dragon?”
I lifted my chin, trying to appear serene and wise. “No. I told you they only come every hundred years or so. I’m sixteen. Even a peasant such as yourself can count and figure the likelihood of that. But others have seen them, and recently.”
This was not going the way I had hoped. While I could see her point, it didn’t matter if I saw them only for a moment, or not at all. It was still necessary for me to go—and end there.
Her eyes narrowed. “Really. Well, even someone as frippery as you look can’t believe that dragons would come here for a mere flooffy lace-covered mouthful. And,” she looked me up and down, “dressed like something out of a Disney B-grade movie.”
While I didn’t understand the exact meaning of her words, the sarcasm was crystal clear. I had on a truly lovely nightgown with lavender and silver trim down the sides, a favorite of mine. Small white seed pearls covered the hem and sleeves. I looked again at her scruffy clothes, immodest and cheap, no, worse than cheap—tawdry. She sat there almost naked, in barely a shift and pantaloons, and criticized my clothes?
I hoped the Goddess had not sent her, but if she did, I fervently wished that she would take her back and keep her there, wherever that was, for a long, long time in a small dark cell. I knew I should call in the guard. No one, no one spoke to me like that. Not ever! But unlike my ladies and most everyone in the castle, she spoke honestly of what was coming; and we both knew it was my death. I turned my head so she wouldn’t see the single tear overflow onto my cheek.
“Besides, I’m not a peasant; I’m a freshman at Berkeley.”
“Please spare me the details of your family’s trade.” My face reddened as soon as the words leapt from my mouth. My parents had schooled me that the least member of our kingdom was significant, and that we depended on the peasants and the tradesmen.
She raised one eyebrow at my words, though for what reason I couldn’t fathom. One side of her lip curled up and then the other. Gradually, I smiled in response. She burst out laughing, not covering her mouth, her head thrown back. It was infectious—common, but infectious—and I, too, laughed. Tears of laughter streamed down my face until they dissolved into real tears.
I sat beside the apparition and wept.
Once I stopped sobbing, I noticed her watching me with a puzzled look as if unsure of how to proceed.
“Okay, let’s start again, Genevieve something or another. I remember, princess in some weird country that feeds its women to dragons, one every hundred years.” She raised an eyebrow again.
“But we know this doesn’t make any sense.” She looked at me for confirmation. “Not from an ecological point of view. I mean, given the body mass of that many dragons and, uh, you. Wait, why you? Do you have any enemies? Are there any siblings or other relatives they could have asked for instead? What about other princesses?” I noticed her tapping her sandaled toes against my satin tufted footboard. “Once per century. Is there a special day or year?”
I shook my head. “No one knows when they will come. From what I’ve heard, it varies considerably. Is that significant?”
“Oh yes. My name is Chris, by the way.” She held out her hand. Instinctively, I stretched mine out to meet it. She pumped my hand up and down once and released it.
Chris. Her name was Chris. What an odd name for a girl. Fascinated, I leaned toward her. She suddenly slapped the palm of her hand to her head.
“Ha! Wait. How do the dragons communicate?”
“I don’t know that they do.”
“Well, how did anyone know that they particularly wanted you?”
“A missive was sent along with a gold coin.” I pointed to the token that lay like a viper on a nearby table.
She barely glanced at it before scoffing, “So do dragons have really, really huge pens and pencils? Do they mint coins? Maybe there is some other, more rational explanation—like a human who is doing this?” She looked up with growing skepticism in her eyes.
I was still trying to make sense of the word “pencil” when, with a clank and thunk, a small armored figure struggled up onto my balcony yelling at the top of his lungs. A voice I knew.
The woman named Chris disappeared again. No farewell, no curtsy, no poof of smoke—just gone. I stared at the space where she had been.
On the balcony, there was another crash as the armor-covered form ran into my half-open balcony door.
I walked over to help. He was struggling in armor much too large for him.
“Harold, this isn’t kind. Mother told you not to disturb me this evening. You know she did.”
“No, I’m a knight. Sir Harold, the bravest, the mighty dragon slayer, the most daring, the—”
A knock sounded at the door and a voice spoke, “Genevieve, darling? I hate to disturb you, but I thought I heard Harold. Is your brother in there?”
Harold whispered, “It’s Mother. Hide me.”
Chapter 5
“These rituals are to prepare you for adversity—by walking in the Maze of the Goddess, you will gain understanding and comfort. You are favored, blessed, to have been chosen.”
With these words, the priestess, towering over me in her silk vestments and a self-important expression on her lips, marched m
e to the entrance of the tall shrubs. Her hands pressed me toward the seldom-used metal gate that now swung ajar. Her shaved forehead glistened with perspiration. I forced myself not to recoil, nor allow her to push me forward. I walked with a feigned lack of fear toward the opening. A wind had risen and was rustling the topmost leaves of the tall green bushes that formed the ritual maze. The maze smelled of flowers and cloves. Perhaps this would be less a trial than a reprieve.
The priestess continued prattling, “This is an opportunity, neither an end nor a beginning, but rather think of this as a circle.” She grabbed both my hands in hers. “You’ve always been a rational child. Our people of Verdeux will praise your name. How many people have saved their kingdom?”
Fourteen of them, I thought, as I extricated my hands. I knew all of their names now, and I guessed that she knew not one of them. She continued her speech, caught up in the fiction of her own importance, but I noticed she couldn’t meet my eyes for any length of time.
“We, in the church, pray for you. Every night we light candles and burn incense in your honor. Know that your gift, your sacrifice, will be remembered and revered throughout time.”
In a moldy book hidden in a back hall, I thought, lowering my eyes so she couldn’t guess my thoughts. Through my lashes I saw her eyes flicker over me as if she recalled the annoying detail of my presence. “Whatever I can do to make this time easier for you, the least service, please let me know.”
I sighed, just under my breath, but she heard me. She looked away, clearly annoyed that I wasn’t as swayed by her rhetoric as she wished.
She was a coward, a manipulator, but fortunately, neither clever nor insightful. I turned my eyes, innocent, green and guileless, on her. “Oh, Mother Morigan, thank you. Your support means so much to me. Might I ask for your presence on the journey to the Fandrite Mountains? It would be such a comfort to have you by my side.”
She blanched. “Child, while it would be my heart’s wish to lend what support I could on your journey, my responsibility is to those left behind. But be comforted. You’ll have someone with you to protect your honor.”
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