The Birthday Dragon

by Lee Abrey

  ****

  Azrael arrived, one of the king’s servants said it was time to leave for dinner, and we three walked the ten minutes to the Golden Dragon Ballroom, where the evening meal was to be served.

  As we entered, the herald blew a horn. The band paused and everyone stood up in a rustle of expensive fabrics. I saw Old Galaia being restrained gently but firmly by one of the servants. I was busy looking solemn and attentive. I took naturally to doing the things one must do when others are the centre of attention, which is nod, be polite, smile as others laugh at little jokes, and understand that nobody gives a flying toss about you.

  The herald shouted,

  “The king is in his hall!” The band resumed playing, but instead of gentle melodies they launched into the national anthem, one of those thumping orchestral things kingdoms are so fond of.

  The ballroom was a massive timbered hall with a barrel-vaulted glass roof. On one side was a wall of windows and glass doors that led out onto a terrace, strung now with coloured lights, and scattered with comfortable places to sit. Above our heads chandeliers winked and glinted, delicate crystal and gold, strung with gold-tinted lights. It was like stepping into some kind of fairyland. I managed to keep my mouth closed.

  The soft light reflected off the polished wood of the walls, making everyone look healthy and quite beautiful. The men were dressed in formal eveningwear or in dress uniform. Above our heads the moon was nearly full, visible through the glass. Emerging from the ceiling and walls were several shimmering golden dragons complete with wings, smaller chandeliers strung from their mouths.

  The king glad-handed his way down the room, pausing here and there, trailed by us boys and a small retinue of favoured friends and guests. We were heading for the slightly-raised top table, where Saraia and others were waiting by their chairs.

  “It’s all very scripted,” Azrael said in a whisper, “he knows exactly who he needs to be nice to in public.” There had to be five hundred people about to eat dinner, all dressed in clothes that in Lower Beech would have been for absolute best. Just another Wednesday night on Citadel Hill.

  Bernard had dressed me in more borrowed finery. I was almost weak with gratitude that I was clad appropriately. Wearing my own clothes would have been simply embarrassing as even the servants’ uniforms were cut from better cloth. The king kept introducing me as his nephew-a-few-times-removed, hands were shaken, smiles exchanged, they would hear my name and look blank, although they were polite. After we passed someone would say softly,

  “I think his mother’s a Casterton, and his father’s a commoner.” Someone else would remember something.

  “Ah yes,” they’d say, “he’s the one named for old Polo.” Old Polo was my late great-uncle, or thereabouts, who was like a grandfather to my mother when she was a girl. I was philosophical about my name. It could have been worse. I was Polo, and Old Polo had been Polonius. Didn’t bear thinking about. Someone else would nod, and say,

  “Reminds me of his Uncle Beau Casterton, the same colouring.”

  “A throwback, eh?” the first one would say, and they’d all nod wisely. Those within earshot would be enlightened. A half-breed. However, it wasn’t a bad thing. It made my bloodlines interesting, which was important if I was going to snag an heiress. As a vigorous mongrel not prone to the usual Blood problems, I was useful as breeding stock.

  As I’ve mentioned, only those with cat’s-eyes could inherit Blood titles and the wealth that went with them. The natural result of people having a choice between wealth and position or working for a living meant the Blood were inbred. Many needed to breed out but didn’t want to be the generation that risked marrying a peasant. Diluting the Dragon blood might mean children without cat’s-eyes. I still had cat’s eyes so my line was safer to use as a sire. However, after Uncle Theo’s story I wasn’t sure about marrying a rich girl.

  Though nervous I tried to keep my shoulders back and not to worry about anything. I did a reasonable job of walking, breathing, and making polite small talk. At the top table, they sat me between Saraia and Azrael, with Azrael next to the king and the queen, my Aunt Rose, on the king’s other side. The queen was devoting her attention to a man on her left who Azrael said was a diplomat from Kavarlen.

  I found it impossible to believe I was in such a rarefied atmosphere. It was also so ordinary. People were people, Blood or peasant, no matter how wealthy or powerful they were, and people were good at taking offence, ignoring and then sneering at each other, all the time being icily polite. As everyone else did, I tried to ignore the undercurrents of tension.

  By coffee, when we were free to wander about, Azrael and Saraia were in the middle of an argument, and the king wasn’t speaking to the queen. For all the wealth on display, it reminded me very much of Blue Hill Farm and I felt at home. Uncle Theo was drinking whiskey. He drained his glass and called loudly for more. Aunt Rose curled her lip and he saw her. A servant refilled His Majesty’s glass then slipped back, out of the firing line.

  “I’m mourning my only son,” the king said, sounding angry.

  “Whiskey makes it easy to remember how sad you are,” said Aunt Rose, sounding icy. “Do I need to remind you he was my son too?”

  “Bitter cow,” said Uncle Theo, “whiskey is the only way I can cope with you.” Aunt Rose stood up, spat in his glass, and walked away. My jaw did drop that time but I wasn’t alone, then everyone shut their mouths and pretended not to notice, although a servant hurried up with a fresh drink. Azrael rolled his eyes at the scene and jerked his head toward the glass doors that led out to the terrace. I nodded.

  “We’re just popping out,” he said, waving and smiling at nobody in particular, avoiding eye contact as we headed for the nearest door at speed. “You can see,” he said, after politely divesting himself of yet another obsequious courtier, “why I lied to you when we first met back at the library.” I nodded.

  “I can see how people are,” I said, “and the women, they’re like burrs. You can see the jewellery they’re going to get, lighting up their eyes.” Azrael laughed. We walked to the edge of the stone terrace.

  Below us, gardens were threaded with paths lit with powered lanterns. I’d never seen so much light at night. There was a water turbine system generating extra power along with the solar panels, enough for the multitude of lights in the miles of paths and corridors, the thousands of rooms, and the tons of machinery that ran the citadel complex. Azrael’s bodyguards appeared and moved out around us, keeping a distance as we walked into the gardens.

  “So many women want to be queen,” Azrael said, smiling. “One of those girls offered me sex.”

  “Only one?” I said, laughing. “I think they’re nuts, not for the sex, but to want to be queen. Even from here I can see it’s a difficult life, being royalty.” Somehow, you had to find a confidence in your own choices for friends. Trust was important for anyone, but for someone who was going to rule a kingdom? You needed friends who liked you for you.

  Once again, despite Azrael’s fibbing over his identity, I was glad we met with me not knowing. Not only did he trust me, it meant I wasn’t worried about my own morality. I wasn’t being his friend for what I could get. I really had liked him a lot before I knew who he was. “I wouldn’t want to be king either,” I said, shuddering at the thought. I wasn’t lying. I could see how isolating being a prince was. Being a king was even worse. Azrael smiled.

  “Here’s news,” he said, “about being king? It’s not my first career choice either.” I wasn’t sure how it all worked.

  “What would happen if you stopped being a prince?” I said, “If you walked away?” He tilted his head. “I used to want to run away,” I explained, “but I never had anything to run away from except my parents. I was going to join a circus.” He laughed again.

  “You’re an idiot, Polo. However, what would happen would be Aunt Kristen moving into the power vacuum. She’s heir by blood, even though Grandpa disinherited her. There’s no other bright-eyed hei
r until you get to Grandpa’s younger brother, Nate, and nobody wants him to be king, he’s a bit mad. Of course, Aunt Kristen, who’s also a bit mad, would bring the Jobanese Army with her.” He paused. “And Uncle Colin, the king. They’re not nice people.”

  “Are you alright?” I said. “After this afternoon?” He did a kind of grimacing smile.

  “Aye, I am. Well, I wasn’t for a while, but now I am.” He smiled properly. “Can we try again?”

  “Not here,” I said hastily, “but sure, I’d like to finish what we started. School holidays in a day or so and our birthdays too, it’s all a bit busy at the moment.” He looked down, then back up at me, biting his lip. I thought about kissing him and decided against it, not here.

  “Not tonight?” said Azrael. “I want you so much I can hardly walk.” I thought for a whole second.

  “Well, now we’re talking about it, I’d like to pin you to a mattress somewhere private.” Azrael sucked in a breath. I smiled. “Let’s go to my place.”

  ****

  A few hours later, feeling sated and leaning back against the pillows, I was watching as Azrael dressed rather than stay over. He was trying to preserve appearances. I admired the lines of his body, thinking so much for celibacy. I hadn’t even lasted twelve hours since my vow to stay pure.

  “That was fantastic,” he said, grinning, as he buttoned his shirt. “Maybe being gay isn’t so bad after all.” I laughed and laughed.

  “Idiot,” I said, and he bounced over to the bed. “We should find some women you want to do. I’ll help you seduce them then let the word get out. Fight the gossip a bit.” He rolled his eyes. Suddenly he looked like his mother, despite him being black-haired and blue-eyed, and I understood some of my attraction to him.

  “Don’t tell me,” Azrael said, “Grandpa Theo has also heard the rumour that I’m gay.” I began to laugh, and he kissed me with tongue. I knotted my hands in that long hair and made both of us weak at the knees.

  “Gods,” said Azrael, “no wonder women like doing you.” I laughed more.

  “I told the king you weren’t gay,” I said. “Told him you were just fussy.” Azrael raised his eyebrows.

  “He doesn’t know you’re into men?” he said.

  “Apparently not.” I waved a hand. “It’s none of anyone’s business who I do.” Azrael smiled.

  “I would like to do a girl with you,” he said, sliding back off the bed and looking for his trousers. I smiled back.

  “There you go,” I said, “you aren’t gay.” His smile got wider.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow for that spar,” he said, “it’s an early start but we can nap later. I left my usual schedule with Bernard and, happy birthday.” He had to give me something, seeing it was my birthday. I chose him, for thirty minutes. Then we teased each other, with tongues and teeth, for twenty-nine of those minutes.

  You can see it in someone. When they want more than you can give. I wasn’t going to have an affair with him because I couldn’t have his mother. That would be unfair. No matter how desirable I thought he was when he was angst-ridden. Before he finally left, I said I thought it best if we didn’t do each other for a while.

  I could see the hurt in Azrael’s eyes but figured a little hurt now was better than leading him on.

  ****

  Chapter 12 - Gifts from the Birthday Dragon

  In the morning, I woke early. The servants had put my presents out on the hearth in the bedroom. Bernard said,

  “Look, young master, the Birthday Dragon was here in the night.” He winked. “Happy birthday, Polo!” I laughed.

  “Thank you, Bernard,” I said, “I’m really looking forward to this year.” I really was. It felt like the Birthday Dragon had accidentally given me someone else’s life, along with some excellent presents, and it was a much better one than my previous.

  With that in mind, that I might be blessed so better appreciate it, I decided to pull my affairs into order. I needed to find a rhythm, one that wasn’t dependent on early morning chores and Mother’s instructions to ground me. We checked Azrael’s timetable and discovered I still had time for coffee and a smoke, so Bernard fetched those.

  In the main lounge of my suite there was plenty of space so I did my katas, the exercises that mimicked combat moves, trying not to laugh as several servants stood by and made droll comments. Then I paused for sustenance while they discussed street fighting, offering me tips.

  At the appointed time I went to meet Azrael and was fitted with a very good set of practice armour, made of the usual bioplas, incorporating old Yusaf knowledge of lamination and plastics. I was more laidback when we started our sparring, not being used to the citadel’s level of competition nor Azrael’s fierce desire to win. He caught me a good clout on the thigh that, once the pain subsided, numbed my leg despite the armour, then he wrong-footed me and hit a deathblow to my ribs. Despite the armour damping it, I was still knocked off my feet. I swore.

  “Sorry,” he said, looking anything but. “One isn’t supposed to pull blows.” I grimaced as I got up.

  “Aye,” I said, “it’s just a while since I’ve been hit so hard.” He grinned and nearly stabbed me in the groin. Then we fought for a while before either one of us gave an inch, but he was faster, mostly thanks to my leg still being numb. He skimmed me a few more times before the bell rang for the end of the five-minute round. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was dripping with sweat, but then armour was like that.

  Another reason why being a soldier was a very bad idea. It was too damn hot. I had a list of reasons in my head in case anyone commented on my skills as a fighter. Being killed by some mad Sriaman was number one. I learned to fight to survive, not to risk my life.

  ****

  On the way back to breakfast, Azrael asked me what the Birthday Dragon had brought me. I rolled my eyes.

  “The Birthday Dragon?” I repeated. He laughed. “Several books, some belts, a riding whip, and my father’s copy of the Military Manual.”

  “Interesting,” he said, sounding like he meant it.

  “Good presents,” I said, “aside from the double serving of guilt, over them thinking of me and me not thinking about any of them since I left Lower Beech. And I need to write my grandmother a thank-you letter.” Azrael paused before he replied. Long enough that I looked at him to see if he was listening.

  “Uh,” he said, eyes downcast, “Polo, did you mean what you said, about not having sex for a while?” He looked up, and I nodded. “Unless I want you to be with me and a girl, right?”

  “Aye,” I said, “if you need my help.” I paused. “Or if I need a second man, I’ll call you.” He smiled at that and looked cheerful for the whole of breakfast. I was cheerful too. Breakfast was in yet another room, and as spectacular a feast as the citadel had provided so far.

  After breakfast I received a message from the king to come to the front steps of the citadel for a surprise. Azrael, looking smug, walked with me. I was guessing a small present, but instead the king was there holding a horse, only his bodyguards standing by. The animal was magnificent, a well-conformed piebald stallion, coloured black and white in large patches, the edges of each patch a tracery of interlacing patterns like surreal lace.

  “Morning you two,” said Theo, “what do you think of this fellow, Polo?”

  “Oh,” I said, “he’s a beauty. Pesertine, right?” Theo nodded. I held out my fingers. The beast snorted a bit but settled, and let me touch him.

  “Happy birthday, Polo,” said the king, offering me the reins, “his name’s Acordia Cloudwalker. I think a sixteenth deserves a good present.” I looked so stunned he laughed. “Yes, he’s really yours,” he said. I managed not to cry, though I did choke up. The king slapped my shoulder and pushed the reins into my hands. “Azrael says happy birthday too.”

  “Gods,” I said, finally able to speak, “thank you, Uncle Theo. He’s beautiful.” The king smiled, obviously moved by me being so.

  “Well, boy needs a horse,” he sa
id in a gruff tone, “and this one’s going to waste in the stables.” I was running my hands over the horse’s head, stroking him. He nickered happily, enjoying the attention.

  “What’s his name again?” I said.

  “Acordia Cloudwalker,” said Theo, “but you’ll need to find something shorter.” The Acordia Stud was a famous one. “Come on,” said Theo, “get up, let’s see if he kills you.” He grinned. “Try not to let him. I don’t know what I’d tell your mother.”

  Semi-stunned, I mounted and managed to trot up and down a bit. The horse had a fabulous floating stride and was very responsive to my hands and legs, moving like a dancer. “He’s trained for mounted combat,” said Theo.

  To get the chance to ride I volunteered to ride for the grooms at the barracks, so had ridden Pesertines before. “Word of warning,” added the king, “he’s a stallion and spirited with it, don’t ever ride him in a snaffle. He needs a curb bit, but with that you can be light-handed. You can keep him here of course, as a guest of the Crown, long as you need to.”

  “Thank you so, so much, Uncle Theo,” I said, grinning like an idiot, “this is very kind of you. He’s the best present I’ve ever had.” The king looked pleased.

  “Nonsense, least I can do for Tess’s boy. Consider him a present from Azrael too, as he’s the one who pointed out you needed a horse of your own.”

  “Then thanks are due to you too,” I said to Azrael, “I can’t thank either of you enough.”

  The dizzying day went on. I was attracting the attention of the Hangers On, as Azrael called the courtiers. We boys were both fresh meat. There was a toast to my birthday at the evening meal so everyone knew who I was. People wanted to be my friend, women wanted to tumble me, and both sexes whispered invitations to have a quiet drink with them later. I said polite no’s. Some I said a polite no, not tonight.