“As you say.”
“Young lady, you are quite patronizing.”
“I don’t mean to be.”
“Oh, that’s right. You believe yourself to be in the midst of a serious mind disease.”
“What I think is that I’m going to see you’re well bandaged and set for the night. Then I’m heading home, and I’ll soak in a long bath, and”—she paused, making a face—”I’ll go to supper, as I must, of course, drink a great quantity of wine to get through it, and sleep just as long as I possibly can. You mustn’t worry, though. I will be back tomorrow.”
“You can’t tell anyone that I’m a magical being.”
“I hadn’t intended to in the least.”
The falcon stared at her, angling its head. “What are you doing up here in your nightdress?”
Marina laughed. “Hm, quickly—I’m supposed to marry this awful man I despise. But I’m going to do so, because I think it’s really the right thing. I don’t like being home because my parents are gone, my stepfather is a wishy-washy man led around by a woman who is a witch, and it’s rather miserable. That’s about it. I come here to … dream, I guess,” she said softly.
“And that’s why you wear your nightgown? The better to dream?”
Marina shook her head, smiling. “The better to escape quickly—I had to pretend I was heading out, rather than be forced to join a hunting party. I have a cloak, somewhere, and my horse is not far away.”
“You do seem to be having a strange existence. As I said, I can help you. Fairies can grant a human three wishes, you know. At Christmastide. It’s quite convenient for you that it happens to be Christmastide.”
“Ah, Thomasina, what a sweet thought! But I do believe that we must help ourselves in life. I could run away, you see, but I don’t think that would do anyone any good. I love Lendo very much, and I do think I’m quite a match for the wretched fellow I’m to marry.”
“Well …” the falcon said softly. “I am, of course, pleased to hear you have confidence in yourself, but … well, my dear, even the strongest man, or the most powerful lord, needs assistance at some point in life.”
“True, but I will be just fine. Of course … if there were any other way … but there isn’t. So.”
“So. Your life is wretched—but you’re resigned. And so you come here … and spend your days in dreams. I’m not so sure that’s helping you. Three wishes, girl. Take a chance.”
Marina laughed. “Well, I must say, I’d enjoy it heartily if that swaggering braggart, Carlo Baristo, were to fall flat into a watering trough,” she said, savoring the image her words brought to mind. Then she noted how far the sun had gone down, and she rose quickly. “I must go. I believe you’re fairly sheltered here … and close enough to the water to drink. I’ll be back as soon as I can in the morning to make sure you’re doing well. I wish you a good night and a speedy recovery. And I still can’t believe I’m talking to a falcon. Or rather, that a falcon is talking to me!”
“I’ve told you, I’m not really a falcon, I’m a fairy, a good one, named Thomasina.”
Marina grinned. “Well, you know the old saying, if it looks like a falcon, talks like a falcon, and so forth. You are a beautiful creature! And whatever you are, don’t worry, I swear I will see you completely healed! But now I must run!”
She blew the bird a kiss, and hurried back the way she had come, collecting the cloak she had doffed earlier and whistling for her mare. Luckily, the horse had not wandered far, and Marina started back far ahead of the coming dusk.
She reached the courtyard, however, to find the hunting party had returned before she did. The men had dismounted, and several were still speaking as their horses slaked their thirst at the watering trough. Hoping she still might not run into Carlo, she rode Arabella through to the stables, and there, dismounted quickly, softly calling her cousin’s name.
“Armand?”
“Armand is busy.”
Carlo stepped from the stall where his huge charger was kept. “Just returning? You’re dedicated to your mourning. I hope you find such zeal for other pursuits, as well.”
She ignored his words.
“Were you able to kill the wolf?” she asked politely.
“We never found the wolf.”
“Oh, well, I’m sure you gravely injured the beast.”
“Did you find the wolf, Marina?”
“No.”
“Are you lying?”
She laughed. “I can swear by all the saints, I saw no wolf after you departed to chase such a beast!” She wondered what he would say if she told him she’d spent the latter part of the day tending to the wound of a falcon—that talked.
“You would try,” he said, “to heal a wolf, no matter how dangerous. Indeed, it seems you are determined to save any bedraggled creature.”
“I’m sorry, I’m lost—to what ‘creature’ do you refer now?”
“That crazy old hermit.”
She leaned against Arabella, a slow smile curving her lips. “Radifini? He is a friend.”
“Quite insane, I believe.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. He claims to have been a great wizard, in my father’s day.”
“Rubbish!” Carlo said, and nearly spit out the words. “Great wizard?”
“Well, if not, then he is a harmless old man. And a friend.”
He started toward her. “You’ll have to learn that there isn’t really enough time in the day to spend so many hours with old madmen who have delusions of grandeur.”
“The old madman was dear to my parents, and I’ll not forget him.”
He was coming too close; she moved to the other side of Arabella, hoping he wouldn’t pen her in the animal’s stall as she removed her mare’s saddle and bridle.
For the second time that day, Armand came to the rescue, striding into the stables. “Marina, you’re back. I’ll see to Arabella for you, since your stepfather expects you to join the company at supper.”
“Thank you, Armand.” He took the reins, winking. She mouthed, “Bless you.” She wanted to say so much more to him! Even if he didn’t believe she’d rescued a talking falcon that claimed to be a fairy, he’d laugh with her about her escape into a fantasy world.
But not now. Now was the time to escape.
She strode quickly across the stables, and winced when she heard the footsteps following in her wake.
“Marina!”
She pretended not to hear.
“Marina!”
She had reached the watering trough, and there were still too many men and horses surrounding it. She paused, turning.
He came to her and took her hand. “Your stepfather and my mother intend to discuss the wedding plans tonight. It will be something of a celebration. We’ll drink to one another this evening, my dear.”
She managed not to wrench her hand away; far too many of his men were looking on.
“Drinking tonight sounds good,” she said sweetly.
She turned again. She had no idea he meant to hold on to her. She walked into the neck of one of the horses, ducked, and kept going. At that point, she realized he had not let go.
Nor did he intend to do so.
She tried to duck back beneath the neck of the horse, but the animal chose that moment to move as well, turning its body in a sudden swing.
Carlo’s grip on her was firm—he had apparently meant to prove he didn’t have to let her go, that she was dismissed only when he chose.
If he’d only let her go …
But he didn’t, and so the great warhorse turned sideways into him, and he was swept off his feet …
And into the watering trough.
He fell backward, flat out, and went under, and it was one of the funniest things she had ever seen in her life. His hands and feet were waving above the surface until his head broke the waterline, as well.
He was bright red, spouting water through his lips as if he were a fountain.
His men laughed.
; She couldn’t help it; she burst into laughter, as well.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, all the laughter ended, for Carlo Baristo stared at all of them with eyes so furious they seemed to glow. Manolo, his squire, so often at his side, let out a laugh when all had gone silent. Carlo’s head turned with the speed of a cobra, and his furious gaze settled upon Manolo, who then pretended to hiccup, and went silent.
“Get me out of here!” he raged furiously.
His men sprang forward.
It would have been a fine time to make a retreat, but Marina was still savoring the sight of him, soaked and bedraggled.
He was pulled from the water, and gave no thanks to those who were soaked from their efforts to help him. He marched over to Marina, shaking with a fury that startled her. His voice was a rush of air that held so much malice, she felt chilled to the bone.
“You did that on purpose,” he hissed.
Stunned, she arched a brow. “I didn’t do that at all. You are such a gallant man, who’d have imagined that you’d have such a hold on me when I turned away? And you can’t blame a horse for behaving like one!”
“I will have the animal slain, Marina, and then, perhaps, you’ll understand how I feel about being viciously humiliated.”
“Slain!” she cried. “Not even you are so cruel or careless with life!”
“I warn you, I will do so.”
She spoke loudly suddenly, staring at him with eyes that belied every word out of her mouth. “Thank God, my dear Count Baristo, that you are so magnanimous a man, that your temper is so quickly brought to good humor! Truly, forgive me that you are soaked to the bone, and I pray you’re not too chilled. That was entirely my fault, my absolute lack of grace. I pray, please forgive me for causing your mishap, but then again … dear sir! Why, indeed, you are soaked, and yet … so manly for it all! Your muscles, sir, bulge right through the dampness of the cloth. Wet, my lord, you are indeed something to behold!”
She smiled icily. “I think all your men heard that. Does the horse live?”
“The horse will live,” he said pleasantly.
“Is that a threat against my life?” she demanded.
“Against the daughter of the great d’Or? Never … or at least, not, my lady, in the foreseeable future.” He bowed, doffing his drenched hat. Water, of course, sprayed all over her, spattering her cloak.
She didn’t mind at all. “At supper then,” he said, “we drink to the future.”
“Oh, yes, we’ll drink!”
She turned and retreated quickly up the stairs to her room in the rear of the castle. And it wasn’t until she was there that she remembered talking to the falcon, and the words that she had said herself—wish number one.
“Well, I must say, I’d enjoy it heartily if that swaggering braggart, Carlo Baristo, were to fall flat into a watering trough!”
And he had done so.
Carlo had fallen into a watering trough!
Well, Carlo was certain she had pushed him into a watering trough!
And he had threatened to kill a horse for the act!
But still …
She smiled. It had been miraculously funny while it had gone on. She couldn’t remember when she had laughed so, and she didn’t even mind when he thought he had forced her to apologize. He never realized he was being mocked for he assumed he was so fine a specimen that surely she meant her every word sincerely.
Marina threw herself upon her bed and stared at the ceiling. If she wasn’t losing her mind, the falcon had been talking. And claiming to be a fairy …
A fairy who had offered her three wishes at Christmastide!
She had wanted Carlo to fall into a watering trough. She had made the wish, and perhaps, thus, she had been the one to make it happen.
There was a tapping on her door. The caller did not wait for a reply to bid enter. The wooden door was pushed open.
Geovana was there. Tall, with perfect posture, she seemed able to glide with squared and regal shoulders as she walked. Thin-faced, frightening, yet elegant, she had come to a point in life where she was always in perfect composure, where her voice was always even, where only the slight glint of golden evil in her eyes might give a clue to the fact her machinations were in any way to improve her own lot. She wore black most of the time, in memory, of course, of those departed. Yet her sleek gowns were edged with royal blues and silver, touches of color that spoke of her nobility. When Elisia had married Pietro, Geovana had actually worn white to the wedding. Ah, but now, Elisia was gone, and Geovana had all but taken over the castle at Lendo; Count d’Artois seemed to give the gravest attention to her every word, as if he were hypnotized by the very sound of her voice.
“Good evening … my dear. The finest wine is being served below, in your honor. And that of my dear son, of course. He’ll be joining us shortly … as it seems you played a naughty little prank on him.”
She might have been the most magnanimous woman in the world. She seemed so remote, and yet … such a touch of kindly doting!
Marina rose quickly.
“I will be right there, Countess Baristo. I need but a minute to myself.”
“Dear child, of course.” The Countess walked on into the room, pausing before Marina. She set a hand upon her cheek, and kissed her forehead.
Marina felt an arctic chill sweep over her.
“What a lovely daughter-in-law you’ll be!” she said, and then turned, moving with an eerie silence. Geovanna departed, closing the door behind her.
If only the falcon did really talk …
And if only Marina did have three wishes. Three Christmas wishes.
But then …
It was true. Absolutely true that the Count Baristo had just fallen into a watering trough.
Just exactly as she had wished.
If so, one wish used…
Two were left.
Chapter 3
Michelo Fiorelli rode out by night.
There was a full moon shining overhead, and Alexander knew the way as well as he did himself. This side of the border, peace had reigned for years, and so he rode with little thought given to distance or direction, nearly dozing at times.
He was loathe to leave the battlefield, afraid there was a greater power behind the enemy attacks than had been shown thus far. He remained disturbed by the way the body of the warrior who had so viciously fought had simply vanished, not seen by either him or his men.
Touched by moonlight, the landscape was beautiful. Sloping hills to the sea appeared to be blanketed in dark mauve. Here and there, cliffs caught a reflection of moonlight, and glowed in a softened beauty. He loved his homeland. Loved it intensely. He had been willing to fight and die for it now for many years, and had been ever vigilant.
And it made sense …
Though there was now the lovely young Adriana to fill his father’s days with happiness, Michelo was the great duke’s only son. It was natural his father wanted a continuation of his line.
And still …
If he recalled the last time he’d seen Daphne, she had been a lovely girl. They’d both been courteous and polite. And he’d felt …
Nothing.
And she, in return, had appeared to make the proper moves, to be courteous and attentive when he spoke. And yet, she had looked at him with as much enthusiasm as …
A piece of wilted lettuce.
“Whoa!” he murmured suddenly, startled into awareness as Alexander stumbled on the path. Just then, clouds slipped over the moon, and darkness fell like an encompassing blanket over the land. At the same time, almost exactly, so it seemed, a fog swept in from the sea.
Alexander snorted and whinnied.
Michelo patted his horse’s neck. “It’s all right, old boy. We’ll go just ahead, there are caves down the path to the sea. We’ll stop there, and make it home by tomorrow.”
Alexander tossed his head, as if understanding perfectly. Then suddenly, in the darkness, he reared up, snorting with panic.
One hung on his left, and one on his right. One had a knife, and planned to use it against the horse to slow him down. He struck that figure with his sword hilt; in silence it fell away. The other clung to his saddle and leg, tearing at him with superhuman strength. Michelo brought the blade of his sword down twice … three times …
At last the figure fell away.
They raced onward, Michelo trying to slow his horse’s gait, for they raced into a stygian darkness. He and Alexander were rising again, climbing to the cliffs.
“Whoa, boy, it’s over! We’re safe!” he cried, and a smile slipped onto his lips as he congratulated himself with great relief upon escaping the danger. “Safe!”
But even as he spoke, Alexander walked beneath an unseen tree.
A large, low branch caught Michelo squarely in the forehead.
With a slight groan, he fell from the horse, and the darkness of the night was complete.
Even with the great Duke Fiorelli, his lovely wife, Lucia, and their pretty young Adriana in attendance, Geovana took her seat at the side of Pietro d’Artois, Count of Lendo, for the evening’s festivities.
“One would think she was countess here,” Armand murmured to Marina, passing her on his way to the rear of the room, a far table, where falconers were allowed to sit. Marina grimaced, for it was true. The chair Geovana took had been her mother’s seat, a place of honor. But then again, she was a countess in her own right, and it was her son’s marriage that would be announced that night to the stepdaughter of the house, just as the marriage of Michelo, son of the great Fiorelli, would be announced, to Count d’Artois’s beloved child of his blood, Daphne.
There Be Dragons Page 4