by Lea Doué
She hefted the basket and balanced it on her thigh, high enough for Orin to bend down and ease the straps over his shoulders.
“Could you be any shorter?” He shifted until the pack settled where he wanted it.
“Shut up.” She took her horse’s reins. “Good things come in small packages.”
He smiled, his eyes twinkling. “They do indeed.”
Chapter Three
The village of Greenway huddled around a central market square, the tidy stone houses and shops crowded well away from the thick forest that marched up to the foot of the Burnt River Mountains. The mountain range, remnants of a vast ancient volcano, served as a natural protective wall around all of Mazereon, except for the few spots where it bowed down to the sea… and except for Greenway. The village didn’t even exist on any map. In her recent conversations with locals, Mel had learned it had been settled and built within the past decade or so by a group from Maglyn who refused to pay taxes to a king who openly befriended sorcerers. Apparently, though, they didn’t want to move too far from home.
She and Orin had crossed the border of Maglyn into Mazereon sometime during the afternoon.
Orin dismounted, his gaze taking in the profusion of pink and orange flowers and garlands decorating shopfronts and windows. “Is there a festival?”
“Something local, perhaps.” She joined him on the ground and wiped her brow. “Let’s find an inn. I’m exhausted.”
“I’m not sure this place is big enough to have an inn.”
She stopped and scanned the buildings. A bakery, a chandlery, a smithy. All the basic shops. “There.” She pointed to an ivy-covered stone structure with a wooden second story, situated beside a row of houses.
“Looking for the inn, miss?” A bright-eyed woman with a child on her hip approached. “You look like you could use a good rest and a bite to eat, if you don’t mind my saying. I think they’ve set aside a room for you.” She glanced at Orin. “And I’m sure they could find a second for your friend.”
“I believe we’ve found it. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, miss.” The woman shifted the child to her other hip, curtsied, and then shuffled away.
“I hope the inn has good food,” Orin said.
“Did you see that?” Mel said, still watching the woman. The child waved, and she returned the gesture.
“See what?”
“She curtsied.”
Orin raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips as if waiting for her to enlighten him further.
“She has no way of knowing I’m a…” She glanced around before continuing in a whisper, “…a princess. And you’re a prince. You don’t curtsy to strangers who just walked into town.”
“Perhaps she’s just being polite.” He shook his head. “Then again, maybe they’re expecting you. Lots of people saw you today, and if they’ve been looking for a red-haired girl…”
“I understand that part, but there’s no need for them to know I’m royal. How could they know that?”
He crossed his arms and looked her up and down. “That belt of throwing knives is obviously not cheap, and you’ve always had good taste in boots. Dragon-wing leggings are common enough among merchants and the like. Faded green shirt with frayed sleeves doesn’t exactly say princess. And then there are the freckles. Lots of freckles.”
“Hey!” She swatted his arm. “That has nothing to do with anything.”
He chuckled. “Joking! You know I’m crazy about your freckles.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “You can have them.” She frowned, recalling all the stares from people. “Actually, I think you may be right. They might have given me away, along with the red hair. There’s been so much talk about Gwen’s wedding—the first of the twelve princesses of Ituria to get married, even before the heir—that people no doubt have princesses on their minds lately. Doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Gossip travels fast, especially if people are using messenger dragons.”
“This place isn’t big enough to have handlers stationed here.”
“No, but that wouldn’t stop people from receiving messages.”
He shifted the leather straps on his shoulders. “Maybe someone at the inn can tell us more. We could both use a good meal, and you’ll be able to sleep in a proper bed.”
As soon as he mentioned food, her stomach gurgled loudly. “Food and sleep, in that order.”
When they reached the inn, a young boy gathered their horses and led the animals around back. Orin kept True with him. Inside, a cheerful fire burned in the common room, bursting with more pink and orange flowers. The blooms overflowed crystal bowls on each table and cascaded down the banister, twined with ribbons and ivy. A dozen villagers, obviously dressed in their best clothes, greeted them with broad smiles, and a gap-toothed gentleman with frizzled black curls walked up to Mel and bowed.
“Good afternoon, Your Highness. Mayor Higgs of Greenway at your service. I must tell you how humbled and delighted we are to have you here in our little village.” He bowed again.
She exchanged a look with Orin, and he raised an eyebrow. At home, dignitaries rarely bothered to speak to her after an initial introduction, much less express their delight in her presence. This was partly because she avoided them. But also, why would they waste their time on a short, freckled, outspoken girl when the beautiful and poised crown princess was near?
“Good afternoon, Mayor Higgs. I have the feeling you were expecting me.”
“Indeed, Your Highness.” He clapped his hands together and clasped them in front of his pristine apron, his knuckles whitening with the strength of his grip. “I’ve had our best room prepared, and I can have a hot meal sent up as soon as you’re ready. If you are in need of anything during your stay, you have but to ask.” He glanced at someone in the crowd and licked his lips.
She had questions, but she would wait to ask them after the crowd dispersed. For the moment, she could at least see that Orin was looked after. No one seemed to have noticed him, as all eyes were fixed on her. “There is one thing, actually.” She nodded towards Orin. “Would you be able to find another room for my friend?”
Mayor Higgs turned wide-eyed to Orin, as if seeing him for the first time.
Orin took a quick step back. “What? No, don’t worry about me. I wouldn’t want my goose messing up your fine establishment.”
“Don’t be silly,” Mel said. “She’s as well-trained as a royal hound. Better, even.”
The mayor nodded and tugged on a curl at his temple. “They are both more than welcome to stay—”
Orin interrupted him, his gaze wandering over the flowers and grinning villagers. “Honestly, the barn is more suited to my tastes. I’ll be fine.”
She shrugged. If he didn’t want to take advantage of the warm reception, that was his choice. She intended to enjoy a hot bath and a large meal before finding out more about the curse she needed to break, still unsure about the details, including which individual it had been placed on.
Once she arranged to meet Orin after her meal, she followed a smiling maid upstairs to a lavishly-furnished room at the end of the hall. Another maid joined them soon after and set down Mel’s travel pack just inside the door. Without having to be asked, they promised to ready a hot bath and a meal for her immediately.
As soon as the door closed behind them, one of the maids let out a breathless squeal and they began to chat loudly as they walked down the hall. Mel opened the door a crack and eavesdropped, hoping to learn something useful. Just because she didn’t like listening to gossip didn’t mean she wouldn’t.
Snippets of the conversation reached her ears.
Did you see her hair?
If they hadn’t by now, they hadn’t been looking.
… can’t believe they’re going to…
Who was going to do what?
But she’s the red dragon girl… Remember the soldier-king…
Wait. Who said anything about dragons? And what did her ancestor have
to do with any of this? She closed the door and flopped into an over-stuffed chair in the corner. The maids seemed to know something of the curse, and it had to do with a red dragon girl. She had the red hair, but how did the dragon part fit? She racked her brain for stories of the soldier-king. A farmer by birth, he’d suffered through a nasty curse at a young age and survived to become the man responsible for bringing order to the eleven kingdoms, once ravaged by sorcery and razor-tail dragons, and to become the first wearer of the Firethorn Crown.
His curse. That had to be it. The soldier-king had been cursed into the form of a tiny white dragon. Not red, so that must be where her hair color came into play. A chill raced up her spine. No wonder the villagers had been so welcoming. She was the red dragon girl. Perhaps for the first time, her status as a princess of Ituria would be of some use.
The maids later roused her from a doze with directions to the bathing room and a steaming hot bath, which she took advantage of right away. After a hearty meal and a few failed attempts to draw them into conversation, she relaxed in a different cozy chair by the fire and waited for Orin to join her. Half an hour passed. The flames jumped in odd patterns among the embers, and her head throbbed. Sleeping on the ground always caught up to her eventually. And she probably shouldn’t have eaten so much, but the pheasant had been excellently spiced and cooked to perfection, not to mention the roast lamb and quail with gravy. She leaned her head back on the chair with a groan. Orin could wake her when he arrived.
*
She woke to rocks jabbing into her hip. No, it couldn’t be rocks. The inn’s bed had a decent feather mattress, although she couldn’t recall moving from the chair. The bed lurched and creaked, and her head banged into the… wooden pillow? She opened her eyes to darkness, hands bound behind her back, and a cloth tied over her mouth. She panted into the gag, and her heart pounded, but she barely heard it over the sound of the wagon lurching and groaning. Trees loomed overhead, slivers of moonlight fighting their way through the branches.
Who and why and where tumbled through her brain, but she couldn’t find any answers. Had her captors tied Orin up somewhere, too? Had he tried to rescue her and been injured? Or worse?
She took a deep breath, blinked a few times to clear her eyes, and listened. Talking. Hushed conversations on both sides of the wagon. Terror so thick she could almost smell it. And anger. Something about the king and the curse and a sorcerer.
Having barely escaped a sorcerer named Tharius with her sisters earlier in the summer, she knew the fear and desperation the villagers must have felt. Tharius had broken out soon after her father had locked him up, and two of her sisters had dealings with him again recently. Not long before Gwen’s wedding, in fact. Gwen had claimed he’d helped them, but that was debatable.
Her own anger flared, gathering as a lump in her throat, and she swallowed before it burst out in a scream. What had happened to the welcoming smiles? She’d come to help these people!
She groaned, her shoulders burning. Stupid red hair. Stupid royal title. Stupid little princess for falling for their flattery. They should have slipped something stronger into her drink, if they expected to make her a victim, because she intended to make them fight for whatever they wanted from her.
She took a slow, deep breath through her nose, arched her back, and eased her hands down to her knees. She’d taken off her belt of daggers at the inn, but she still had one hidden in her boot. Grasping the handle, she worked at the ropes around her ankles first. Borrowing her oldest sister’s trick of counting, she made it to eighty-five before the last cord snapped. She twisted the dagger around to start working on her wrists, which proved much more awkward.
A sudden thrashing echoed through the woods from somewhere ahead, like a large animal rampaging among the trees and snapping branches.
The talking stopped. The horse balked, and the wagon jerked to a halt.
Silence.
She held her breath and sawed at the ropes.
A dragon roared, cracking the night with its bellow of rage.
Mel had heard dragons all her life. From tiny butterwings to squirrel-sized tree hoppers to bear-sized bone builders, each type had distinctive roars and hisses and chirps. She’d never heard one with such fury in its voice.
A man loomed into view, bending over to check on her. She instinctively kicked him in the face. He reeled backward and cursed. More men appeared and more hands than she could count lifted her out of the wagon. She growled into the gag over her mouth, and the dagger slipped from her fingers. Someone told her to save her strength, but she refused to listen. She kicked and twisted and landed at least a few hard blows, judging by the grunts and groans. If she could get her feet under her, there was a chance she could run far enough into the darkness and lose them before whatever had roared found them all.
One of the men obviously didn’t agree with her plan. He hefted her over his shoulder, pinned her legs in front, and carried her away from the wagon. He led the way down the overgrown path followed by five other men, three of them carrying farm tools. One had a bow and arrows. Another had an ax. Fear twisted all their faces.
The man carrying her began to mumble, and she strained to hear his words. “No one wants to do this, but the mayor says it’s the only way to break the curse. We’re people of Mazereon now, not sorcerer-lovers like those over in Maglyn.”
One of the other men muttered, “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can run that razor-tail off our land.”
Razor-tail. Mel’s heart hammered against her chest, and she kicked and twisted to get out of her captor’s grasp. She screamed through the gag, and she didn’t care who, or what, could hear. Killing people never broke curses. It was one of the few things Yarrow had told her, and she trusted his word, ex-sorcerer or not.
The man’s grip tightened.
She stopped screaming and forced herself to breathe as best she could with the man’s shoulder jammed into her stomach. She had to get free, but whatever they’d used to knock her out still swam through her brain, and hanging half upside-down wasn’t helping her head clear. As soon as he put her down, she would kick him and run like mad. Hopefully she could find a decent hiding place in the thick woods.
The dragon roared again, louder and closer. She craned her head in the direction of the sound, expecting to see it come crashing through the trees.
“It woke too soon,” the ax-wielder whispered. “Hurry up before it breaks free.”
Had they drugged it, as well? And where was the rest of its pack? Only juveniles traveled alone.
They reached a huge clearing five times the size of the main ballroom at home, and everyone held back except for her captor and an archer. The moon illuminated a wooden post standing in the middle of the space. Hidden somewhere within the thick trees surrounding the clearing, the dragon rustled and growled as if it could see them now, and the two men sped up. Before she could think about kicking anyone, she was deposited on the ground and pinned up against the post. The man cut the ropes from her wrists and secured two adjustable metal shackles in their place. Someone had already taken the liberty of setting them to the smallest notch… or else the last wearer had been small boned, as well. He untied the gag and took a step back.
Mel struggled, and the chains connecting the shackles to a metal ring in the wood clanked and rattled. “You don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this.”
The man eyed the shadows at the edge of the clearing and shook his head. “I wish I could explain better, but it wouldn’t do no good, anyway.”
Maybe he would listen to reason. “Killing people never breaks curses.” She couldn’t tell them an ex-sorcerer told her that. “I have it on good authority.”
Waving away her comment, he dug into his pocket and thrust a handful of leaves into her face. “Chew these. It’ll dull your mind so you won’t know what’s happening.”
She kicked him hard in the stomach with both booted feet.
He stumbled backward and threw the leave
s to the ground. “Suit yourself. It’ll be free soon, anyway, and I imagine it’ll be quick. Usually is.”
How many people had met the fate she now faced? Did the king know? Either way, he couldn’t help her now.
The man fled the way they’d come, overtaking his comrade halfway across the clearing. They disappeared into the dark, leaving her completely alone with a killer dragon tied up somewhere out of sight.
People should be able to pass out at will. It would be useful at a time like this. Why hadn’t she taken the leaves? She leaned her head against the post and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing the headache would go away so she could think clearly. What could she do? She’d never seen a razor-tail in person. Few people had, except dragon soldiers, who were trained specifically to kill them and keep their numbers down. She’d never heard of one being by itself, unless this was a juvenile. If not, she would soon have more than one problem on her hands when its pack caught up to it.
Her hands.
She tried to twist her wrists in the shackles, hoping her small hands would work to her advantage and help her slip out. No luck. She faced the pole and pulled hard enough to break the skin. Blood coated the metal, but still no movement.
The air vibrated with the dragon’s bellow of outrage and twigs scattered into the clearing from the woods at her right. The razor-tail would be free soon, a wolf-sized winged hunter with a tail tipped in scales as sharp as a double-edged sword. Unpredictable and aggressive, they never backed down from a fight. Once loose, it would be on her within seconds. She hoped they’d secured it with chains as sturdy as her own.
She screamed in frustration and clawed at her wrists.
“Mel!” Two figures bolted out of the woods. Orin! And the girl from the road, carrying Orin’s bow and arrows.
“Orin, there’s a razor-tail! Hurry!”
He reached her side, sweaty and breathless, and inspected the shackles. “We know. Vanda found out their plan and fetched me. They only wanted you.”
The girl joined them and stood with her back to them, bow and arrow trained towards the woods where the dragon stood captive in the shadows.