There Be Dragons

by Graham, Heather

  Marina didn’t particularly care where anyone sat. All she wanted was for the night to be over.

  At Geovana’s departure from her bedroom, she had bathed and dressed correctly, or, at least, as correctly as she could, for the clothing that came her way tended to be the hand-me-downs from Daphne. She wondered that night if she lied to herself; if she didn’t resent the fact that Daphne had come into her home, and been the one to receive the lessons, the love, the clothing, the doting of the older generation. Watching Daphne, she felt no real anger. Daphne was a beautiful young woman with a sweet disposition. She seemed a bit distracted, despite the fact she was tutored and adored—while Marina was given the chores. She didn’t seem to be a terrible person, to ever cause ill to others. Since Marina did not want the dictatorial attention of her stepfather, she was glad to take a step behind Daphne, she realized.

  Unfortunately, tonight, they were about to share a fate, for Duke Fiorelli, Lucia, and Adriana were seated at the head table next to Pietro d’Artois and Geovana, who were laughing and happy and quite pleased. Serafina, Daphne’s main tutor in the arts of dance and music, was at the table as well, sweet, and lovely, and though usually entirely serene, she looked slightly ill.

  Marina, late, hurrying to her seat, saw that Daphne looked wan and pale, and not at all happy. She was seated next to the messenger standing in for Michelo Fiorelli, who had apparently not made it back yet from his battles at the borders.

  As Marina approached the table, the men stood. Carlo took her hand, looking for all the world like the courteous, handsome young lord, and she was greeted with affection by all. She offered Carlo an apology for her tardiness, and he gave her a smile and an assurance. “Soon, dear Marina, I assure you, you will learn manners, and never have to apologize again.”

  She didn’t have a chance to reply. The great Duke Fiorelli rose, and the company fell silent. He announced first the engagement of Daphne to his son, Michelo, and then the engagement of Carlo Baristo and Marina, the daughter of the late, lamented Nico and Elisia. There was cheering around the hall, and then people were up, standing, kissing one another, and it seemed the whole hall rejoiced.

  Marina saw Daphne’s face, and she was startled to see her stepsister looked stricken. After a word with her father-in-law-to-be, she suddenly fled the hall. Puzzled, Marina watched her go. And when Carlo told her they would dance, Daphne’s exit gave her courage. “Forgive me! There seems to be an ague about! Daphne has retired … I fear the same symptoms!”

  Carlo hated illness. He doubted her, she knew.

  He also hated to be around anyone ill.

  She took advantage of his hesitance and fled.

  That night, even as she went to bed, she heard the beat of horse’s hooves below, and looked out the window. She felt a great and terrible sorrow, for there was her cousin, Armand, still tilting with scarecrows, more feverishly now, as any chance of his winning Daphne was waning.

  The weddings had been set for a fortnight’s time.

  Christmas Day.

  She woke just as the sun crept over the gorgeous heights and cliffs and bluffs of their region. And before anyone could stop her, she dressed, raced to the stables, saddled Arabella, and took off for the hills, praying all the while that the falcon was faring well.

  Indeed, she seemed much better. She appeared to have walked to the water, and was graciously dipping her beak for a long cool drink. All in all, she was making a remarkable recovery.

  “You look wonderful,” Marina said softly, checking the bandaged site on the falcon’s wing. There was no hint of renewed bleeding. “It’s quite amazing. You’ll be good as new quite soon.”

  “I do hope!” the falcon said, and stared at her with head angled in a birdlike way. “So, how was your evening, Marina?”

  “Remarkable, as well,” Marina said. Her lips twitched into a smile. “Well, disastrous, of course, as our marriages were announced. But, Thomasina! Before that, it was priceless! Carlo fell into a water trough. Of course, he says that I pushed him, but it was all his fault, I swear it. And, oh, when he went in, I laughed so hard. And his men laughed … until he gave us all the evil eye! Ah, but still … those moments were worth his wrath! Isn’t that truly astounding, after our conversation yesterday?”

  The falcon stared at her for a moment. She could have sworn that the animal was frowning. “Astounding? Let me see, dear, what part about my having the power to grant three wishes did you just not get? And, of course, I’m quite glad you enjoyed the spectacle of the man in the water, but since his dousing doesn’t really change life for you any … it’s my opinion that you think long and hard about your second wish!”

  Marina returned Thomasina’s stare. It was so difficult to believe in magic, in wishes. And yet, it had been just as the falcon had said.

  Of course, it was difficult to believe in a falcon, and a talking falcon at that, especially one with a name like Thomasina!

  But, then, of course, the falcon claimed to be a fairy.

  “Could this be real?” she whispered.

  “In life, child, we must always help ourselves. But can this be real? A talking falcon? Magic? Maybe magic is also what we make of it. If you stop and let it be, Christmas can be a time of magic. You see, young lady, magic can be in the soul, and come to different people in different ways. Here, my dear, think of the magic in your heart at Christmas.” She ruffled and fixed her feathers. “Dear, dear. So much for my speeches—you must not waste another wish. Think long and hard, and tell me your heart’s desire.”

  Marina arched a brow. “I can’t make my heart’s desire a wish, since what I want more than anything else in the world is not to marry Carlo, Count Baristo! In that, I might well lose Lendo, and it was where my parents lived and ruled and I was born, and where I really am needed.”

  “At least you’re taking this seriously, and thinking carefully,” the falcon said, seeming a bit relieved.

  “So …” Marina mused, rising and pacing several steps around the falcon, still thinking that the creature might disappear at any moment, and she would discover the entire adventure was actually in her desperate imagination. “My heart’s desire—” She stopped suddenly, turning to face the falcon. “One night,” she said softly.

  “One night?”

  Marina nodded, smiling. “Just one night … with the man of my dreams. Someone who is as enchanted with me as Armand is with his Daphne. Someone who looks at me that way, who sees only my eyes, hears my voice … someone gallant, brave, strong, truly noble—not in title, but in deed, in thought … in care.”

  “That’s all?” the falcon queried.

  “Did I ask too much?”

  “No, no, just checking. It’s always good to state a wish clearly and precisely. This is a bit more complicated than a dunking in a watering trough. Go on, please.”

  “Well, of course, it would be great if he were also incredibly handsome, witty, and charming,” Marina said with a grin and a shrug.

  “It’s your wish,” the falcon told her.

  “That’s it, then,” Marina said. “That’s it—because I have decided my future is the one I must live, and as I told Armand—my cousin—I am determined if Carlo tries to make me miserable, I simply will not let him.” She looked away. “I know how to battle him,” she murmured. “So … what night shall it be?” she asked teasingly. “We are going to have to hurry here, you know.”

  “There’s someone coming,” the falcon said, her head cocked at an angle.

  “Someone coming?” Marina spun around, anxious to put distance between herself and the falcon, lest it be Carlo, and he decide for some reason he needed to dispose of the magical creature.

  To her surprise, she saw Armand on the hill, leading his horse and patting Arabella.

  “Armand?”

  He started at the sound of her voice and swung around quickly. Seeing her, he let out a sigh of relief.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was worried about you. After
the excitement in the hall last night … you didn’t appear in the least happy.”

  “I certainly wasn’t in the least happy,” she agreed, and smiled at him wistfully. “But, Armand, did you notice? Daphne looked absolutely … ashen! She isn’t happy, either.”

  “Do you think she even knows that I exist?” Armand asked. He shook his head then, looking down. “I spend my days tilting with straw mannequins, praying …”

  Since Marina still wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t totally delusional herself, she’d worried about mentioning the falcon to anyone. But Armand was her cousin, and her dearest friend. “Armand … come with me.”

  He followed her back to the rock plateau, where the falcon stood, watching him warily.

  Armand looked at Marina. “It’s a falcon!” he said.

  “Yes, I know. Her wing was wounded.”

  “A beautiful falcon!” he mused. “Poor thing! Injured. I’ll have a look.”

  “She was struck by an arrow,” Marina murmured.

  “Carlo!” he exclaimed angrily.

  He strode to the falcon, gently moving the bandage, tenderly touching the wing by the wound. He looked up. “Fine work,” he told Marina.

  “She can talk,” Marina said.

  “Indeed, I often think they communicate, falcons are such fine and intelligent animals,” Armand said.

  “No, I mean, seriously, she can talk.”

  “Certain cries and calls can mimic words, I suppose,” Armand said, striving to be patient and understanding, since they were all under so much stress.

  Marina sighed. “Thomasina, talk to him, please.”

  The falcon angled her head, staring at her, then at Armand.

  “He’s my cousin; it’s all right!” Marina insisted.

  “Be still!” Armand murmured suddenly, and he, too, cocked his head at an angle, rather like the falcon’s. “There’s someone else … nearby,” he said.

  Marina moved protectively to the falcon’s side.

  “It’s all right,” Armand told her. “If it’s Carlo, I’ll lead him away, somehow.” He hesitated. “You can go on, care for your falcon … talk to it.”

  Armand, ever her champion, hurried away to help her in whatever way he might.

  Daphne didn’t like to admit to it, in any way, but she knew that she was jealous.

  Oh, she was the apple of her father’s eye, all right! And so … day after day, every day, there was something.

  And usually something wretched.

  Math lessons with the tedious Baldini.

  Art with Signora Tuscanianni.

  There was the class in which she had to spend hours walking across a room with a book on her head, and needlepoint, and dance, and music …

  Well, the dance and music were not so horrible. Serafina was wonderful; she was Daphne’s one insight into the world around their own lands, for Serafina had traveled and entertained great kings and queens across the world. Daphne had often thought that Serafina was secretly in love with her father, Pietro, but if so, Serafina kept her own council. Once, Serafina had told her that Pietro certainly seemed to be intrigued by—if not entirely in love with—Geovana.

  “Only because she casts spells!” Daphne had assured her.

  Yet, despite her affection for her tutor, Daphne resented the endless hours she was forced to give over to the proper classes. She knew that Serafina herself was puzzled that Marina—destined to marry Carlo—was not forced into the same endless round of learning. “It’s most odd!” Serafina had said, “when she is to be Carlo’s countess, unless …”

  “Unless what?” Daphne had queried.

  “No, no, that would be … far too horrid,” Serafina had murmured, and would say no more.

  So Daphne continued to envy Armand and her stepsister, Marina.

  They were always free. Well, there were always numerous chores for them, but they both seemed to take that in stride. Day after day, she watched as they did their work, and disappeared. And sometimes, she would come upon Armand as he sat at a garden bench writing, and he would flush, and hide his poems, except for every so often when he would read one to her, and she would look into his eyes and marvel at the words, and the way he looked at her, at just the sound of his voice …

  Then, someone would call her back to a class, remind her she was intended to be the wife of the son of the Great Duke Fiorelli, and Armand would be gone. Oh, yes, she was the child of privilege. And she envied the stepsister who was asked to see to the table settings, the linens, and even, sometimes, the ashes in the hearth. Marina moved quickly, and didn’t mind working in the castle or in the village, giving the castle scraps to the poor, clothing the beggars. She was free when she left the castle. Daphne was never free.

  Daphne often wondered why Geovana might not demand her son’s wife be so accomplished—rather than skilled at the dispersal of laundry—but there was simply no understanding the Countess. Especially since it so often seemed that she ruled Lendo, rather than Daphne’s father, Pietro, who, taken alone, could be quite a pleasant man. She did love her father.

  This morning, he had stopped by her bedroom, concerned by her illness of the night before. And so she had pleaded she was still weak and would remain abed, but did not need the doctor, just a day’s rest.

  And she had watched when first Marina, and then Armand, had hurried away from the castle, and up into the cliffs.

  And she had followed.

  And now … she hadn’t even gotten to see what they were up to—and someone was coming!

  In a panic, Daphne turned to run back down the hill.

  Tripping on a rock, she lost a shoe. She tried to come to a quick halt and run back for it, but she froze instead. Armand had come into view, and was looking down at her quizzically.

  “Well, hello!” she called cheerfully, her heart thundering.

  “Daphne! Are you all right? Is something wrong? You … your father … ?”

  “No, no, nothing is wrong!” she said quickly. She waved a hand toward her horse where it lazily ate grass, just twenty feet down the slope. “I …”

  Words failed her. She shook her head.

  “I had to get away for a bit,” she said simply.

  “Does your father know you’re out?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I needed to get away,” she said.

  “I’d better get you back,” he told her.

  He whistled, and his horse came down the cliff, then followed him to where Daphne stood. Every animal obeyed him, she thought. He never used a whip, or an angry word, and all creatures seemed willing to follow his lead.

  “My lady?” he said, offering her a boost up to her saddle.

  She thanked him, and thought about his closeness to her as he performed the simple task. And when she was seated, she saw that he looked up at her, and the light in his eyes was so beautiful, so stirring.

  “I would do anything, you know,” he said very softly.

  “Pardon?”

  “I wake early daily, and train at arms. I will gladly go off to the wars, and prove myself. I would do anything to convince your father that I am the right man for you. And yet, I know … I know that I am the falcon master, and you are to wed the man who will be duke.”

  She was amazed at the tears that formed in her eyes, the tears she blinked back so quickly. “There’s no way,” she said softly, shaking her head. “There’s no way … the wedding is in two weeks’ time. At Christmas. It’s too late.”

  “I would die for you,” he said.

  She reached down, curling her fingers around his. “And I will live, with this memory always. I will go through the years, knowing I had this moment, that you loved me.”

  She pulled her hand back and turned her horse.

  Because there was no hope. And if her father knew about Armand’s love …

  If Geovana knew …

  Then she would fear for his life.

  Michelo awoke with a groan. He stared up at the sky, and saw that it w
as beautiful and blue, dotted with white clouds, and a glorious sun.

  But at that moment, the sun only hurt his eyes. He closed them. As he did so, he heard a gasp. He tried to shade his eyes and open them again.

  And when he did, he was dazzled.

  Her hair, caught in the light, was the color of spun gold. She had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They rivaled the sky, the sea, the heavens.

  And within those eyes … care, compassion, concern … tenderness.

  “Are you all right?” A gentle hand touched his forehead, something cool. She had ripped her hem to dunk a piece of the fabric from her gown in the stream he could hear bubbling somewhere nearby. Her touch was smooth and soothing, ever so light upon his brow.

  “Sir? No, of course, you’re not all right. There’s a gash on your temple, but …” She moved closer. He inhaled her scent. He saw the clean, classic lines of her face, and she might have been an angel, an ice princess, too lovely for the real world. “It’s really not so bad. A surface wound. You’re a warrior … you’ve been off to the borders?” she asked. “Wait, please, I’m so sorry. You needn’t answer any questions. Let me help you … see if you’ve any other injuries. Can you rise, with my help?”

  He looked at her solemnly. “I will definitely need your help.”

  “I’m here, and quite strong, actually,” she assured him.

  He put his arm around her shoulder. If he staggered as he rose, it would be because he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her eyes.

  “It’s all right. Honestly. I have you.” She flashed him a smile. He gained his balance, and yet did not want to let her slip from his hold. “Just a few steps … the brook is here. With clear, fresh, water. You must be very thirsty. I haven’t a cup or anything to offer you.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Thank you.”

  At the brook, she helped him down to his knees. He bent over, splashing his face with the water, then drinking it in. It was refreshing, wonderful, cool, bathing away the confusion of the night, even the pain in his head.