The Dragons' Chosen

by Gwen Dandridge

  I felt my face redden as I held out my hands, a pawn hidden in each. “Choose.”

  He pointed to my left fist.

  “White.”

  He would move first.

  A loud roar of annoyance came from outside. Chris jumped up. “That’s Hugh. I need to say I’m sorry and see how he is.”

  And Tristan and I were alone.

  He met my eyes for a split second, and I looked away. I sat up a little straighter, trying to compose myself. It must be warm, I thought. My cheeks were definitely hot.

  Tristan moved. A classic double king's pawn opening. I used my pawn to counter.

  After four moves apiece, we were locked into a tight game. I watched his hands, a musician’s long, slender, callused fingers. My mind drifted as I wondered what they would feel like against my skin. I jerked upright and saw him staring at my bodice, lips almost pursed. I breathed out quickly and moved my bishop. A careless move, one that even an intermediate player would be ashamed to make. Now he would corner my castle. And from there, two more moves and it would be over. He hesitated, fingers caressing his knight. Then he removed his hand and pushed a pawn but one space forward. My heart raced, fingers frozen in my lap. A throwaway move.

  I looked up then and met his eyes. We both turned away. I corrected my move and we were back to even, a balanced board, neither of us with an advantage. There was quiet for the space of four breaths, maybe more. His hands rested on either side of the board. I listened to the sound of our breathing. With his next move, he pinned my castle with his knight. I countered with my bishop and around we went, both of us determined to win. He would attack my men and I would respond by attacking his. A carnage of chess pieces stacked up on each side of the board. The other men gathered around. I didn’t notice at first; my head was down as I focused on the board. Finally, James spoke up. “It is over. You are evenly matched. It’s a stalemate.”

  --

  How much time passed after that, I don’t remember. James and Piers drifted away soon after. Rauf left with a sour mouth and no words.

  We sat at the table unwilling to part but neither of us able to break through our reserve. I believe it was I who finally stood. Tristan offered to walk me outside, and I accepted. So conscious was I of Tristan’s hand barely skimming the small of my waist that nothing else mattered.

  As we stepped outside, the glorious blue sky called me back to my surroundings. A few gray clouds rimming the northern mountains and a handful of leaves scooted by as if on an important errand. All my thoughts were of Tristan. His hand left my back, and I felt bereft.

  We looked out over the southern landscape, watching a formation of geese winging through the sky, listening to their calls. My whole body tingled from Tristan’s closeness. I wondered if he felt the same.

  “Genevieve?” His voice was so soft that it might have been the wind calling my name. I turned and saw his hand extended toward me. Our fingertips touched. I felt the ridges on his thumb as it caressed mine. We were standing so close, our lips neared; I could feel the heat from his face. Was this what all the ballads were about, all the love songs I’d heard sung?

  A gust of wind brought a sudden chill down my back. One gust and then another. My skin prickled with cold. I ignored it. Tristan’s chest rose with his breath. I saw his nostrils flare as if scenting something in the air. A branch tumbled by me as a freezing breeze raked my skin. I shivered with cold. Tristan lifted his head to the north, his body tense.

  Something hit me and then again. Ice. A torrent of hailstones dropped as a freezing wind encased us.

  From the cave mouth, James’s voice called out, “Tristan, Genevieve! A storm, a freak hailstorm.”

  Tristan’s sharp exhalation caused me to look up as the hail continued showering down. He pulled away, but beneath my fingers I felt the first changes: claws that lengthened to the size of my hand, scales erupting across his arms. A piece of ice brushed my cheek, others hit my arms and shoulders. Tristan’s scaled arm stretched over my head.

  His face elongated. His jaw pulled forward out of his body, the forehead ridges protruding, his neck extending far above. A tail uncurled and slithered across the ground. In seconds, no more than that, a dragon towered over me. I froze, a rabbit beneath a falcon on a ground white with hailstones.

  I heard the pounding of the ice stones as they bounced off Tristan’s body. He shielded me, but with one careless move of that wing, I could be dead.

  This was Tristan. Tristan, I kept thinking, even as I trembled. But as his dragon head snaked downward, I could see myself mirrored in his eyes, my body shivering from the icy storm, my look of fear at the silver and emerald wing above, protecting me. This was too sudden, too close.

  I picked up my skirts, ducked and ran.

  Chapter 45

  By the next morning, it was as if the storm had never happened. The day was so hot and humid that we were hard pressed to step outside the cool of the cave. I hadn’t seen Tristan since, well, our interaction. With the high heat, James had told me Tristan was back in his human form, but I don’t think either he or I were ready to face the other. I shouldn’t have run, but it had all been too abrupt for me. Before, the dragons had been never been near, almost touchable, when I had seen them. I could always pretend that it didn’t matter. I no longer knew how I felt.

  Chris thumped down, tucking one knee under her chin. “So what happened with you and Tristan? Yesterday I thought you guys would climb in each other’s pocket and today both of you are avoiding the other.”

  “Nothing.”

  She looked at me dubiously. “Must have been a whole lot of nothing, then.”

  I tried to tell her what had happened. No words came forth. None that wouldn’t sound like the babbling of a frightened child.

  I finally braved the question, “Is Tristan angry?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe you should ask or apologize or…”

  I winced, shaking my head. “No, let it be, Chris. It’s for the best.”

  It was. I had let my emotions control me. This couldn’t happen. His shift brought me to my senses. Though I had been startled the previous evening, I realized Tristan would never deliberately harm me in whatever form he took. But it did remind me of what the consequences would be for my choice. This marriage would be difficult enough for me. I couldn’t choose a partner who was not at my side to smooth the way. I had to do what was right for my future and for my children’s future. I was no farmer’s daughter who could afford to be swept away by passion.

  Chris acted as if she could read my mind. “Genny. I’ve got that you’re planning on marrying here. But let that be your only sacrifice.”

  I steadily met her eyes, unflinching in my resolve.

  She put her hand over mine. “There is no looking back. This is your life, you need to grab hold of it and do what’s best for you.”

  I refused to answer. But her words niggled at me and I couldn’t let them go.

  --

  Hugh took the seat across from me. We all were uneasy since the hailstorm, anticipating the next storm. Tomorrow was day six, my last day. I could see they were eager to leave soon, so we wouldn’t be caught in the winter weather.

  Since Chris’s transformation, Hugh had grown more somber, and the hailstorm only increased the burden he appeared to carry.

  Hugh’s stance seemed to soften, to melt, whenever she entered the room. Now, sitting before me, preparing to begin our chess match, his eyes reflected a certain distraction. I wondered if he thought of Chris or of the storms. I knew what my father would say, that his thoughts weren’t my concern. His behavior was. And nothing had changed there; he was here before me competing for my hand.

  Hugh raised his head. “Genevieve, I wish to speak honestly to you and brush aside any false perceptions. Your path here was harsh, I don’t deny that. But neither of us came here by our desires alone. Both of us are bound by duty. But this doesn’t mean that we can’t learn to love.”

  I met his gaze.

>   “I’ve made many missteps in courting you. I offer no excuse. But I do offer a new beginning.”

  Hugh was reaching out to me. He was much like my father, loyal with a deeply caring heart buried under a hard exterior.

  I nodded for him to continue.

  “I have taken you for granted. I have ignored your desires and feelings. From here on, I promise that I will make every effort to listen, to honor and value your words.”

  He beguiled me with his direct stating of where we stood with one another.

  “I would be proud to have you as my queen. Not only are you beautiful, but you have a deep intelligence and emotional strength that I admire and respect. I only hope that you will consider this when you choose.”

  His honesty dazzled me. I reached out and clasped his hand in a gesture of respect, understanding what it took for him to say this.

  This was a man willing to marry me for the good of his country and his future children. He was the one I was chosen for. Someone who carried his kingdom’s responsibilities on his shoulders.

  No matter what Chris thought, perhaps as queen, as Hugh’s queen, I could begin some discourse that would ease the centuries-old tensions between our lands. It could be a good match.

  Hugh smiled at me, giving my hand a squeeze as we re-evaluated each other. He pointed to the game. “Shall we begin?”

  He opened with his knight to queen-bishop three. I countered. The others collected around us. Chris came in to sit by my side. Hugh, after a quick look, bent his head down and didn’t look her way again. Back and forth we moved. He was a careful player, each move decisive. His attention seldom wavered from the board. I, too, watched the board, but I watched him also. Duty aside, did he want me? Did that matter?

  Hugh moved again. I examined the board. I was bounded on all sides. I stared at the board searching for an escape, but there was nowhere I could move safely. I pushed rook forward hoping to buy time. Hugh cocked his head at me as though in confirmation of something he already knew. “Checkmate,” he said as he moved his knight to take my queen. He wrapped his fingers around my queen, cradling her carefully in the palm of his hand. My king was cornered.

  Hugh slanted his eyes to me, and I thought this is what our marriage would be like: respectful, considerate, safe. I looked back at him and smiled, wondering what it would be like to kiss Hugh.

  He must have seen something in my eyes as he gave me a quizzical look, then bowed before leaving the table.

  Chapter 46

  Laid out before me was a fine emerald ring from Hugh and one bunch of fast-wilting daisies coupled with a scratched out poem to my beauty, courtesy of Piers. There were two more gifts I awaited, Rauf’s and Tristan’s. Nothing from them yet, and this day was almost over. My final day. Perchance both had decided to withdraw their suits.

  That was their choice.

  Tristan was still avoiding me, refusing to meet my eyes, so perhaps that might be the case for him.

  My heart sank, pulled into a whirlpool of disappointment. I steeled myself not to care, not to allow my heart to lead on this. Enough. I turned my mind from him.

  Rauf had left soon after I rose the previous morning, and hadn’t been seen since. He had appeared bent on winning. I was fond of him, though his teasing was somewhat aggressive. A few evenings before, Rauf had cocked his head toward Hugh, taunting him, and said that he knew the perfect gift for me. Hugh had glowered, as we both knew he would.

  I fervently hoped that Rauf would not bring me a prize steed or bullock or something equally unwieldy.

  I had to choose. And soon.

  Chris was out somewhere, talking to Hugh, asking about her newly discovered nature. I worried about her. How would she fare when she returned to her world knowing her heritage was part dragon and part human?

  Which one to choose? In my head, I leaned toward Hugh. He was admirable, smart and capable. I could be his queen. I could see us together, ruling the land, conferring on arbitrations and judgments. It could be a good marriage, one of respect and mutual understanding.

  But even as I thought it, I heard what I was saying: a political marriage, one like my parents’ and their parents’ before them.

  It could work. All noble marriages started so, and many, many moved into a close, affectionate union.

  My thoughts turned to how my life would be with each of the remaining men.

  Rauf was too impetuous, too willing to risk all to win. I tired of his desperate need to shine. His pride often overrode common sense. Even more to the point, I had no interest in being the trophy for his mountain home.

  Piers was charming, but lacked the intellect and depth that I needed in a husband.

  I was grateful that James wasn’t a suitor, though he was a good man and learned, because every conversation turned into a long-winded treatise. I simply wouldn’t have the fortitude to listen to him for a lifetime.

  That left Tristan. I had to trust my head, not my heart. I remembered my mother’s words: passion is fleeting and intellect enduring. He would be locked in dragon form snowfall to snow melt. It would mean being alone all winter, this first winter, then every year after, in a realm where I was the outsider.

  Who made decisions for his people while he was incapacitated? Could I be that person?

  I pushed the thought away. It wasn’t for me to reshape his life. Still, part of me yearned that he would come to me, do something that would sway my choice.

  The sun was lowering, and I had promised to choose before this day ended.

  Only a few more hours remained.

  I heard then the trumpeting of a dragon. It was an odd cry, almost a yelp. The men streamed out from the caves, searching the western sky. The air around them spun as they prepared to change, sending up showers of dust. What was it? Swarms of fire boar? Were they coming? What danger could alarm this many dragons?

  There, winging toward me, backlit against the bright afternoon sun, was a bronze and turquoise dragon, Rauf. He swerved midair, then leapt forward in a surge of flight. Still flying erratically, he circled once, sailed into the clearing and landed, bouncing and shaking himself like a big dog. Something rode upon his neck, something small and agitated, clinging to what appeared to be a rope or leather harness. I leaned forward, trying to identify it. Rauf in his dragon form reached his foreleg back and grabbed the creature, but even from this distance, I could hear him.

  “Genevieve!”

  I picked up my skirts and took off at a dead run.

  It was Harold. My brave little brother.

  He was half-hidden by the boulder-strewn ground, dragon talons pinning him in place. The dragon’s head snaked around. His lips pulled back into a snarl. Harold had one arm out, reaching between the black claws, swinging his wooden practice sword toward the dragon’s head, a splinter catching the tip of one nostril. The beginnings of flame seeped from the beast’s nose. I screamed and the dragon swung his head toward me, transforming into Rauf. Not dragon fire, but blood trickled from his nose. Both his hands stayed wrapped around Harold’s shoulders as he shook my brother like a small rodent. Even above the wind, I could hear Rauf’s roaring. “Don’t ever, I mean ever, use spurs on me again!”

  Harold wriggled out from Rauf’s grip and launched himself at me. “Genevieve, did you see me? I rode a dragon. I flew!”

  I held him tight, crushing him to me, my little brother, heir to the throne, whom I never thought to see again. “Harold.” His whole face brightened with a grin, and my eyes welled with tears.

  “I came for you, to rescue you, as I said,” he told me, wriggling in my arms.

  I hugged him again, drinking in his scent, pressing his head still warm from sunlight to mine. Until Rauf’s words sank in. I lifted my head. “You used spurs on Rauf?” But for Harold’s wind-chapped cheeks and tangled hair I would not have thought him just down from the skies.

  He nodded vigorously, looking back over his shoulder and confiding, “He was going too slowly.”

  My happiness was sho
rt-lived as I thought about my parents searching for the heir, perhaps hearing of a dragon that scoured the sky. I was beyond delighted to see him, but now everything was changed. “Harold. Rauf. What have you done?”

  Harold scowled. This was not the hero’s welcome that he obviously expected. “I left a note. Just like you told me. I wrote to Mommy saying I was leaving with the dragon to get you and that I would be back when I rescued you.”

  I looked at him in dismay.

  “Remember, I’m your protector. Sir Harold, the dragon slayer.”

  Rauf came out from behind the boulder, clad in breeches and pulling on his shirt. Harold pulled out his wooden sword and took another swipe at Rauf. “Back, back, foul beast.” There was a crack as the sword made contact with Rauf’s knee.

  Rauf grabbed the end of the sword and yanked it from Harold’s hand. “The perfect gift,” he snarled. “And I have a perfect gift for you, you little monster. A little discipline and a strong hand.”

  I placed myself between the two of them. “No, please, he’s trying to protect me. Truly, it is a lovely gift, Rauf.”

  But it wasn’t. Mother and Father would be frantic. I imagined Father ordering up his men and heading up the Perpinans and onward toward the Fandrites. Any fear of dragons would be overridden by this second abduction, first me and then the heir. This betrayal of the agreement between humans and dragons would be the break in the dam. My father wouldn’t let this lie. Dragons would be the enemy, no restraint. My country would be at war. My country? My two countries. Whichever won, I would lose.

  I had to return Harold myself. Any dragons would be shot on sight if seen within the borders of my land. No one would believe they were there to return my brother. My mind scrambled for strategy. Without thinking, I turned toward Tristan.

  “I have to leave immediately. Father will be amassing an army. Mother—I can’t bear to think about her fears. She’ll believe that another of her children is lost to the dragons. I have to start back now. There’s no time to waste.”