“What are we doing here?” Vinca asked Gunter.
“As I recall, you requested a hot bath,” he replied with an enigmatic smile. “Prince Stellan has one of the best soaking pools in the entire kingdom, which likely makes it one of the best in the entire world.”
“But not the best?” she replied, half teasing.
“Well. It’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it? The bath is exactly as the prince desired it for himself, so he considers it to be the best. And he is an epicure of considerable taste and knowledge, so it has the best of all the options he prefers.”
Prince Stellan was still young, just a few years older than Vinca. His mother likely had many more decades left in her reign, presuming she continued to please the voters of Grünjord, so he hadn’t yet had to buckle down and prove himself as a leader and administrator. But unlike most responsibility-free princes who had lived and died in the many kingdoms of Erd, he was neither a rake nor a bully. A hedonist, certainly: he loved fine foods and fine wines, and even finer clothes, which he maintained his figure for through tournament fencing and horsemanship. He advocated beautiful living, and had popularized makeup and fancy hairstyles for men and boys in the kingdom. But the queen had impressed upon him the importance of behaving like a gentleman, and though it was rumored he’d had a prodigious number of lovers, no one had whispered that he’d taken any to bed against their will. Other royals in other kingdoms were rumored to rape for vile, predatory sport, and some openly bragged of it as a mark of twisted manliness. But that evil was abhorred in Grünjord.
So, Vinca knew she would be perfectly safe if Gunter left her to soak alone. Besides, she doubted she’d find a respectful advance from Prince Stellan to be the least bit objectionable. But that had to be pure fancy; the prince could charm nearly anyone in the kingdom that he desired. He was probably ensconced in his chambers with a lovely bevy of admirers. It was more than enough that he’d offered up his private bath to her.
“Are you staying or leaving?” she asked Gunther, tracing a gilded vine decorating the doors with her index finger.
“That is entirely up to you.”
She looked him up and down. He’d washed his face and combed out his long blond hair and beard before the banquet, but he still wore most of his battle armor, and his tunic was white with dried sweat and darkly fuzzed with wind-blown dragon hairs. “You could use a wash.”
He arched a bushy eyebrow at her and pursed his lips in disapproval, but the twinkle hadn’t left his eyes. “Is that your way of asking me to stay?”
She couldn’t keep from grinning impishly at him. “Yes. Stay.”
“As you wish.” He grasped the golden door handles and pushed them open.
The bathroom beyond the doors was a lavish work of marble and gold. Two round bathing pools were sunk into the floor, both tiled in ocean blue. Arrayed around them were benches and intricately wrought hanging racks for clothes. Two fluffy white bathrobes hung from one of the racks. An assortment of fancy soaps sat in a reed basket by the rightmost pool, and bathing oils by the left.
“The pool on the right is for getting the grime off,” Gunther said as he closed the doors behind them. “And the one on the left is for relaxation.”
She gave him a look. “I do know how bathing works.”
“Well, I hear that they only have rags and sticks in Coravia,” he teased.
“Our castle had a tub, thank you very much,” she replied as they approached the benches. “And my father the king insisted we bathe once a year whether we needed to or not.”
“Ew,” he said with a laugh.
“Fortunately, having survived a filthy childhood there, hardly anything here makes me ill.”
“You were about seven when our scouts found you, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Humans with the ability to bond telepathically with dragons were rare. Queen Ahlgrena had sent her wizards far across the continents of Erd to identify and recruit promising youngsters. “I was the fifth child of eight, and my father never looked so happy with me as the day he sold me to foreign strangers for fat bag of gold.”
Gunther looked at her sharply. “People aren’t objects. You weren’t bought. We don’t do that here.”
“Well, where I came from, people are things. My father most certainly saw the recruitment incentive as my purchase price.”
“I’m sorry.” Gunther awkwardly gave her a side-hug. “I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories.”
“It’s fine. And it’s in the past.” She forced herself to smile up at him. “I have a better life as a dragoneer here than I ever would as a princess there. And my father probably got to buy a very nice horse. It worked out for everyone.”
“What about your mother?”
Vinca frowned, trying to sort through her hazy memories. “She wasn’t happy about selling me off. But she had so many other children, and surely more to come. My absence probably made her life easier.”
There came a loud knock from a different set of doors behind them.
“Yes? Who is it?” Vinca called.
The doors opened just a crack.
“May I enter?” Prince Stellan asked.
Her heartbeat quickened. “Yes. Certainly.”
The prince stepped into the bathroom and closed the doors behind him. He was barefoot and wore a white robe that matched the ones hanging on the rack. His curly hair was bound in intricate braids, and he wore golden eye shadow that looked gorgeous against his dark skin. She had certainly admired him from afar, but up close he was even more handsome, and she felt an unaccustomed electricity in her chest.
“To what do we owe the honor of your presence?” She wasn’t sure whether she ought to bow.
“Oh, the honor is entirely mine.” The prince smiled reassuringly. “You are our hero, and you deserve the finest that our kingdom has to offer. I wanted to personally make sure that everything here is to your satisfaction.”
Vinca looked around at the pools and baskets and benches. “All this is wonderful.”
“I also wondered,” the prince said, “if I might join the two of you? I do want to make sure that you’re well satisfied this evening.”
It took her a moment to fully realize what he was offering. She felt heat rise in her face, and she looked at Gunther, partly for confirmation of what she was hearing, and partly to see whether he was upset at the prince’s advance. Gunther merely smiled at her and gave a little shrug that said, Why not? I’m game.
“Yes,” she told Prince Stellan. “That would be lovely.”
Part 2: Inlanders
VINCA LAY COZILY SANDWICHED BETWEEN Gunther and Stellan in the prince’s silken bed. As comfortable as the rest of her was, her bruised leg was starting to ache beneath her. Gunther snoozed like hibernating bear, but Stellan was gently stroking her bare hip.
“I need to shift a bit,” she whispered over her shoulder to the prince.
He released her and scooted away on the bed. She rolled over to face him. His amber eyes were bright, and he wore an oddly thoughtful expression.
“Have you slept?” she asked.
“A little. I…would like to discuss something serious, if you don’t mind.”
Her heart beat faster. What could this be about? “No, I don’t mind.”
He traced the curve of her face with his forefinger. “Sometimes, ordinary people rise to their occasions and do extraordinary things. I don’t think that’s what happened yesterday. I think you are an extraordinary woman, and you will do more extraordinary things. My greatest worry about myself is that when you strip away my extraordinary circumstances, I’m not much more than a pretty face. But I hope that if I keep company with genuinely extraordinary people, they will give me occasions to rise to.”
“You’re asking me to join your court?”
“I’m asking you to be my queen.”
Lightning once struck Vinca while she rode Bhraxio in a storm; this felt much the same, and for a moment she couldn’t speak.
“Prince Stellan, I am deeply, deeply flattered…” She trailed off, not sure how best to phrase her profound concerns.
He smiled at her. “But we’ve only just met, and regardless of the intensity of our meeting, we hardly know each other well enough to pledge marriage. You probably believe I am suffering from lust-induced, harebrained infatuation. Am I close?”
She nodded.
He took a deep breath. “I do realize this sounds like madness. But hear me out.”
“Of course.”
“I have been trying to become a man of substance. I frankly lack the talent to become a proper wizard, but I have studied hard, and I do have some natural ability for prognostication. Prophetic dreams. They don’t arrive reliably, but when they do arrive, they’ve been entirely reliable. Does that make sense?”
“I think so?”
“I know you’re a woman who appreciates directness and honesty, so I should lay down all my cards, yes? I have dreamed of you. Of us. Standing together to lead this country. We’re much older in my dreams, so I wasn’t sure it was you, not until I saw you send down the Outlander ship. But now I’m certain. I also know that nothing I say will be enough to convince you right now, and that’s fine. There’s no hurry.”
“Why me?” she finally asked.
She wondered if her mother had ever dared ask that question before she found herself bound to a life of royal obligation. Did marrying the King of Coravia seem like a fairy tale escape into luxury, at first? Vinca had witnessed little of her mother’s life, yet she knew the gilded edges were cold and hard.
“We’re excellent complements for each other,” the prince replied. “You’ve skills I could never attain. You’re a genuine hero of Grünjord, and people respect that. You’re also a princess of Coravia, and that would satisfy traditionalists. And …”
“And what?”
“And I think I fancy you a great deal.”
She finally gave in to her urge to kiss him. “I fancy you, too. But this is a lot to consider.”
“I know that. I also know that my proposal might seem like a golden cage. While there will be inescapable responsibilities, your life would be your own as much as possible. I wouldn’t stand in the way of your other loves. I know you care for Gunther, and he cares for you. If the time arrived when you wanted to have a child with him, I would treat the boy as my own.”
Vinca felt another lightning shock. “Your dreams told you I’ll have a baby with Gunther?”
“My dreams were unclear. But our son seemed very…large. And rather blond.”
“Oh.” Vinca’s whole body felt warm. She hadn’t ever considered that Gunther might want to have children with her someday.
“Think upon this as long as you like.” He kissed her, and slipped his hands around her hips to draw her closer. Suddenly her flesh was keening for his.
“May I take your mind off things?” he asked.
“Yes, please…”
VINCA GROGGILY AWOKE TO A steady tap-tap-tap at the prince’s window. Stellan stirred beside her. Gunther snoozed on, oblivious.
“What’s that?” the prince whispered blearily.
Vinca’s eyes finally focused. “A bird. A crow. It’s carrying something.”
She and Stellan climbed out of bed and went to the window. The crow was perched uncomfortably on the sill outside, his scraggly feathers fluffed up to protect his scrawny body against the bitter cold. A small scroll was bound to his scaly leg with a leather thong. It eyed them beadily and let out a hoarse caw.
Stellan reached for the latch and opened the window. Vinca shivered at the sudden blast of frigid air as the crow hopped inside, eyeing her and cawing again.
The prince hurriedly shut the window. “Looks like the bird’s had a rough time of it!”
The crow gave another caw and awkwardly held out its leg to her. She carefully untied the thong and unfolded the tiny scroll, which was handwritten in the trade language of the Southern continent. A dark lock of hair—Vinca’s own, she realized—was sewn to the bottom of the paper.
Gunther, roused by the bird’s noise, had lumbered out of bed. “What’s happened?”
“This bird flew all the way from Coravia,” she marveled. “No wonder it looks so ragged!”
“That’s over two thousand leagues away,” the prince replied. “My falconer will want to see this mighty bird.”
The crow cawed at him and puffed out its feathers again.
“This is part of a finding spell.” Gunther pointed at the lock of hair. “I didn’t think the Coravians approved of magic?”
“They don’t,” Vinca replied. “But like anything else the church forbids, they’ll resort to it if the need arises.”
“What does it say?” Stellan asked.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this language…I’m still working it out.” She tapped a stamp near the lock. “This was penned by a local scribe. But it’s from my mother. It says, ‘Dearest Daughter, I am dying. I would like to see you again. I wish we had not sold you. Please visit if you can. Bring this letter so the guard will let you in. If you cannot visit, know that I love you.’ She’s signed it with her mark. I remember it.”
“Could this be a trick?” Gunther asked.
Vinca turned the seamed paper over in her hands. “I can’t imagine why anyone would try to trick me like this.”
“Unfortunately, I can imagine reasons for skullduggery here.” The prince held out his hand. “May I take that to my wizards for analysis?”
“Certainly.” She gave him the letter.
“If it’s authentic, do you want to visit her?” Gunther asked.
“I…I don’t know.” Her mother had given her life. But had not protested very loudly when her father sold her. Did she owe her mother anything, now? And was seeing her one last time a matter of debt? She sometimes wondered how her brothers and sisters had fared. If she ignored this reason to go back, another was not likely to arise.
“Bhraxio could fly me there in a week,” she mused. “Assuming he’s willing to take me there. And assuming we’re allowed to go.”
“You may certainly visit your dying mother,” Gunther said. “Of course you may.”
“But before you settle on a course, let’s see what my wizards and agents report,” Stellan said. “I don’t know enough about that quarter of the world to advise on whether it’s safe or not.”
THE PRINCE SUMMONED HER TO dine with him that night, and they discussed his experts’ findings over tawny port and roasted duck.
“The letter is authentic,” the prince said gravely. “I am very sorry for your impending loss.”
“Thank you,” Vinca replied. “Bhraxio says he will take me to see her.”
“Coravia regards dragons as devils. You’ll need to travel under cover of an invisibility spell, and he will need to transform into a horse or dog when you arrive.”
Vinca nodded. “I’ll ask what he prefers.”
“And it’s such a long way that my wizards recommend he take a potion to increase his airspeed,” the prince said. “It might make him feel a bit sick.”
“Taking that would also be his choice.”
“Another problem is that your father has not been the most… diplomatic ruler in the region. He’s made threats against the neighboring Xintu kingdom, and our intelligence reports that both sides are amassing forces. Your father has fewer soldiers, and the Xintu leaders know this. War could break out at any time. Coravia is likely to be overrun. If that happens, your duty is to return yourself and Bhraxio safely to Grünjord. Your father made his own political bed a long time ago, and his problems aren’t yours to try to fix.”
Vinca pursed her lips. She wasn’t surprised by any of this news. Coravia was founded by Northern seafaring colonists. They’d treated their indigenous neighbors poorly from the start, and that didn’t change as the Coravians abandoned piracy for religious piety. The Xintu royal family still considered the Coravians to be land thieves even though they’d been there
for close to a millennium. And, based on the dimly remembered rants she overheard as a child, her father considered their neighbors to be degenerate savages, even though the Xintus had superior art and better literacy and medicine. Despite the ages-old conflict, there was a great deal of surreptitious trade between the two kingdoms. For all she knew, her mother had enlisted a Xintu shaman to enchant the scroll so the crow could find her.
“I couldn’t fix my father’s problems even if I tried,” she said.
“Wear armor and carry a good sword. But not too much armor—tensions are high and you don’t want to seem threatening. I’ll make sure that Bhraxio’s transformation can be reversed at a word.”
WHEN THEY ARRIVED IN THE outskirts of Coravia, Bhraxio opted to turn into a large mastiff, reasoning that they would be inevitably separated if he became a horse. It was summer in the southern continents, but even the warmer months in swampy Coravia tended towards a damp chilliness. Vinca wore a knee-length hauberk of light skymetal mail under a light gray chemise and loosely-woven blue kirtle with enough decorative embroidery to look like a proper lady’s outfit without seeming ostentatious. She carried a canvas-sheathed longsword strapped beneath her rucksack; at a glance, it wouldn’t look like she was armed. None of the flimsy footwear popular with Coravian women was suitable for fighting or riding, so she opted for her regular boots and hoped they wouldn’t earn her too many stares.
The hike from Bhraxio’s landing spot to her father’s keep was muddy and uneventful. They passed a few peasants and soldiers who gave her and Bhraxio curious looks, but none accosted them. As they approached the outer wall, Vinca realized that the keep was much smaller than she remembered. And it was almost gratuitously ugly, all rough-hewn squared granite angles and spiky wrought iron. Nothing about the structure spoke of grace or enlightenment. Positioned as it was on a steep rocky hill well away from the nearest village, it had never been built to provide protection for the common folk whose taxes paid for its creation. It was a physical assertion of ego and dominance in a sulky, undernourished landscape, the crude architectural equivalent of an armored fist beating against its owner’s proud, skinny chest.
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