The Birthday Dragon

by Lee Abrey

  “You’re not going to marry,” he said in a sulky tone, “you don’t even like children.” I detested them mostly. Even when I was a child I never liked them much.

  “Aye,” I said, “but I’m not the Crown Prince. You need heirs in wedlock, and a wife for a queen. Being nobody, I get let off that.”

  “It’s not fair,” he said, sounding like a real teenager. I shrugged.

  “Probably not,” I said, “but you get to be king, so it’s not all bad.”

  “You always said you never wanted to be king,” he said, starting to pout.

  “I don’t,” I said, “but I can see that if you have to do it, you might as well enjoy yourself. Try to do good, be good, be someone your people admire, not someone they fear. Like the citadel administrator says-” we’d done a Saturday with her, “-learn to delegate and employ people you trust.” Azrael suddenly looked me in the eyes.

  “Will you stay here,” he said, “with me? Even when I have to marry?” I wasn’t the type to make promises, but I made a kind of vow.

  “I will be here, a lot,” I said, “I can’t promise more. As your friend.”

  “You do love me,” he said, looking steadily into my eyes. “You just won’t admit it.” I shook my head and smiled. I was his friend, and if it made him feel better I wasn’t going to argue.

  We lay in the shade, shoes off and feet bare, throwing crumbs to the sparrows, finches, blackbirds, robins and other opportunists. Some of the parrots came down, a new kind I hadn’t seen except from a distance. They were smaller than the others, a vivid emerald with scarlet flashes under their wings, and a scattering of gold speckles across their breasts.

  I had a terrible weakness for parrots. I pulled the pecans out of the pecan pie and fed them to the little birds, Azrael laughing at my softness. The parrots trilled and chirped with delight, holding the candied nuts with the claws of one foot, nibbling on the flesh. The Palace Cats weren’t allowed loose outside, or they’d kill too many of the birds. Instead they were brought up to the palace by small carts, then collected every evening to return to their very luxurious cattery.

  We were half-asleep in the warmth of the afternoon, smoking, drinking cold coffee, and catching up on gossip and plans for the future. Aunt Kristen was apparently in human form again, back in Joban and swearing her revenge on the entire Sendrenese Royal Family. Azrael was still besotted with the Military Guild, waxing lyrical about their courses, but his family said with the lack of an heir in the direct line and with Aunt Kristen’s threats, he couldn’t go.

  The Military Guild half-interested me. I had my father’s copy of their manual, which I’d read many times. The courses seemed excellent, the combat training sounded like fun, and it would be hardly any work for me as I did the training every day anyway. However it would cost money, more than most courses. One needed equipment and horses, not only one horse. And it was in the next kingdom. I’d have to see if my budget would stand it.

  From what I understood, one signed up for five years, three at the guild then two in the services. In Azrael’s case the king would pay an enormous fine to cover Azrael’s lack of service, as he had in the past to keep Azrael’s father off the front lines. There was nobody to buy me out of the army. Grandmama Daeva was as likely to say it was good for me and leave me to survive as best I could. I didn’t want to risk that.

  “I’d like to serve in the army for a year, for the life experience. I know I’m fantasising, but hey,” Azrael said, and grinned, “that’s what fantasising is for.”

  “They said you probably can’t even go to the guild,” I said, “how will you get into the army?” A robin landed on my bare toe, which made both the robin and I nervous. Azrael laughed and the robin jumped for the safety of the grass. “Funny little things, birds,” I said, “don’t know why they fascinate me.” Azrael threw the robin some more cake.

  “Because they can fly?” he said. I nodded.

  “Possibly. I love watching them.” A group of about twenty of the green-and-blue parrots landed, and began stuffing themselves with cake. The little emerald parrots swaggered across the lawn and showed that for all their tiny size, they were the fiercest. We were occupied by their antics until they all suddenly leapt into the air screeching, and flew for the safety of the woodlands.

  I watched, admiring how they controlled their flight by bending their wings, spreading their feathers. It was true, part of my besotted fascination with birds was that I wanted to fly. I looked up, and saw a big crow in the branches of the tree we were under. No, not a crow, it had the shaggy feathers of a raven. I smiled at the creature, it tilted its head.

  “See the raven?” I said. “That’s what spooked them all.”

  “Aye,” said Azrael, “he’s a big boy. Or she’s a big girl. I have no idea how to sex ravens.” I laughed.

  “Anyway,” I said, “so how will you get to the guild?”

  “There must be something they want from me,” he said, “and when they do, I’ll make them pay my price for it.” His black hair fell forward over his eyes. He pushed it back.

  Since we arrived at Court we’d both avoided more than a trim. Mine was nearly long enough to tie back in a ponytail. I did tie the top back to keep it out of my eyes when I was working. Before the dragon attack, I took to wearing it that way under my helmet when sparring. After one of our spars Fenric told me that in a real combat situation, if I lost my helmet, which happened quite often, with a handle like that for my enemy to grab hold of I was a dead man. I must have looked like I didn’t believe him, because to reinforce the lesson he then used my topknot to drop me.

  “If I get to go,” Azrael said, “to the guild, would you come?” I shrugged. I didn’t want to mention cost as he’d only offer to pay, then if I didn’t want to keep going I’d be stuck there, a victim of his generosity.

  “I might come to Malion,” I said, “there’s more than one guild, you know.” He laughed.

  “I know,” he said, “but I don’t want to go to the others.” He paused. “I don’t want to tie you down to me, if that’s not what you want. You’re free to do who you want, to be who you want. To study where you want. If you want to. Tumble who you want, too.” I gave him a look.

  “Aye, I know,” I said, in a pointed tone, “even without your permission, I can do that much. Anyone except your mother.” He looked a little shamefaced.

  “Well, now we’ve had this talk,” he said, “I don’t think I mind so much about her.” I smiled, but shook my head.

  “Azrael, I’m not yours. Not that I’m anyone’s. Understand? We’re not a couple, you and I. I’m not going to have sex with you again or change my mind. I do not love you.” He looked sulky. I sighed. “Don’t look like that. I’ve told you I don’t love you. Get it through your skull. I can go away if it would make it easier for you.” He shook his head no, still pouting. I sighed again.

  “As for your mother,” I said, “I’m only amusement for her. Nothing more. That’s alright by me. You’ll forgive me if I find it hard to refuse a very attractive woman who I’d be an idiot not to enjoy, both her company and any other crumb she deigns to offer me. Especially I’d be an idiot if I have no other reason than sorry, much as I’d love to do you, Saraia, your son, who isn’t gay, let’s all remember, gets jealous. Not that I’m doing him or will again, ever.” I was very high, and suddenly conscious I was raving. “By the way,” I added, “Theo thinks me doing your mother makes me even more of a suitable friend for you. I have no idea why.” He laughed.

  “Grandpa is strange. Maybe he thinks you doing her demeans her.” I nodded, it seemed likely. “He doesn’t seem to like women much,” he said, “doesn’t like the queen, either. And the way he talks about Aunt Kristen, you’d think she was someone else’s child, not his.” I wondered whether to say it. For once, I was ahead of the gossip, though I’d not passed it on because up until then I’d completely forgotten.

  “Rumour is,” I said, “she is. Someone else’s child. Though I don’t th
ink the king knows.” He gasped.

  “Where did you hear that?” I shrugged. I didn’t tell him this was something my Grandmama Daeva had sworn was gospel, some years ago. She knew both Theo and Rose and had visited Peterhaven many summers for part of the Season.

  “Around,” I said, “she’s supposed to be your Uncle Nate’s child.” When, within my earshot, Grandmama had told Mother, she’d only mentioned the king’s younger brother, which meant it had to be Nate. “The queen,” I explained, “your grandmother, was bored because when the late Perry was two, Theo became king and didn’t have any time at all for Aunt Rose. It was about then that Kristen was conceived.” At the time I hadn’t known who the kings and queens that Grandmama gossiped about were.

  “Oh gods,” said Azrael, “Kristen changed shape, but if she’s not my line it doesn’t mean I can!” He looked distraught.

  Call me selfish, and I certainly felt it, but I was pleased he was angst-ridden over that instead of being in love with me, because the latter was going to get rather wearying if he didn’t buck up.

  “You don’t need to change shape, Azrael,” I said, “because you can’t go to war.” He gave me a stubborn look. I sighed. “Once you’re king,” I said tactfully, “I suppose you can do what you want, but do me a favour, wait until you have an heir.”

  It didn’t occur to me to say anything about Stefan being his father. I didn’t even remember it.

  ****

  Chapter 34 - Bereavement

  Virginia was also teaching me meditation and soon I was able to sink deeply into trance-states. She knew hypnosis too, so taught me to both resist and to do it, either to others or myself. It was deeply relaxing.

  While I was under we had some conversations about my family. I cried while still in trance, came out of it feeling like a weight had lifted from my heart. I didn’t have to be my parents’ keeper any more. Let them look after themselves.

  My days were taken up with physical therapy and mental training, my nights with parties, balls, dinners and various events. Not enjoying being on show every night, I usually attended under duress, but Azrael had to go to many so I kept him company. I noted people who might be worth a tumble while watching how transparent the schmoozing was.

  When high on mindweed it was so easy to see. The subtlest social climbing stood out, as Fenric said to me once, like a stallion’s stones. I never really understood what schmoozing was until I went to the citadel. All those people trying to impress the wealthy or titled Blood or trying to impress the truly beautiful, all the variations in between, then all of them trying to impress Azrael or King Theo.

  If the Hangers On couldn’t get to the Royal Family they’d insincerely rub themselves all over anyone close to them. I wondered about getting some good blowjobs from the throng, as they certainly offered those a lot, but didn’t want to kiss any of them. If I didn’t want to kiss someone I didn’t really want to put my genitals anywhere near their mouths.

  It had occurred to me that doing my best friend’s mother, even if only once, when I was in hospital - and one other time when we didn’t actually tumble but fooled around - anyway, it was possibly not as acceptable as I’d claimed it was to Azrael. So for his sake I was determined to be noble and avoid or resist Saraia.

  It turned out to be easy enough. There was a message via Nanny Black that the Princess Royal would regretfully be avoiding my company thanks to the gossip about us. I sent a message back saying I shared the regrets but agreed with her reasoning.

  With only two weeks left of the school holidays, I was still walking with a limp. My scars ached, tingled or were numb, when they weren’t itching or doing some combination of aching, itching, numbness and tingling, but Virginia said that might be something I had to get used to. I smelled of comfrey, pine, beeswax, lavender and peppermint from the stiff ointments Virginia massaged into the healing scars. For restoring strength in a gentle way she took me swimming every morning.

  For my part, I did as I was told and also didn’t grope her. I tried not to leer at her hard body even when it was outlined in detail under wet cotton top and shorts.

  Azrael’s new physio, Simon, was a nice enough fella but not pretty, so Azrael didn’t have eye-candy to amuse him while being tortured.

  “Don’t look so glum, Polo,” said Virginia, when I complained again the tingling was back, “you had two serious injuries, your hip and your arm were pretty much shredded. You nearly died. Be thankful you’re alive. You can walk and your fingers are working again. You could have much more numbness, you’ve got off lightly.” I scowled, rubbing my forearm. “Could have been worse,” she said, smiling, running a hand through her spiky silver hair, “might have been me coming at you, full size.” I laughed.

  “I wouldn’t have tried to pick you up,” I said, and hesitated. “Do you think I’m anywhere near being able to change shape?” She shrugged.

  “Hard to say,” she said, “you’re doing very well with the various exercises.”

  “We haven’t talked about how to change, though,” I said. She was silent. “Could we?” She sighed.

  “Aye,” she said, as if she’d suddenly made a decision, “no time like the present.”

  “Here?” I said, and looked around us, on the grassy shore of the lake we had been swimming in. She laughed.

  “I was thinking back in your quarters. Come on.”

  ****

  We were walking across the Green behind the citadel. I was on Virginia’s right, laughing at her impersonation of King Theo arguing with Queen Rose, and Virginia danced a few steps, clowning.

  She made some quip I simply don’t remember. I laughed so much I stopped walking, torso bent forward, hands on thighs. She danced past me, light-footed, giggling. I think I called her a child, but it wasn’t derogatory, we were being silly. It takes a time to tell but was maybe a few seconds in reality.

  Suddenly most of her face exploded, things I didn’t dare think about spattered me, something flew past my nose. I cried out, or screamed. Virginia’s legs kept moving, dancing another step before her body realised she was dead, while I stared, unable to believe my eyes. It took me long seconds to understand the scene was real and more to look around, among the detritus on the lawn that had been Virginia, to see the crossbow bolt.

  Finally I decided that I should just run - and before the bastard reloaded - away from smack in the middle of the Green, a bad position for someone exposed to a sniper. Dropping my towel, I began to sprint towards the citadel. My life was dependent on something I wasn’t good at, running. Typical. As I ran, my mind was frantically calculating where the shooter was, which I thought was somewhere to my left, near the just-risen sun, on the other side of the dragon statue on the east side of the Green.

  I angled my run slightly away, towards the kitchen garden, the nearest cover that wasn’t towards the sniper. I didn’t shout for help, no breath to spare. Pain was spiking up my injured leg and arm. Inside my mind, Virginia’s head kept exploding. I was never so afraid. People at the edge of the lawn were looking in my direction, probably reacting to my scream, though they may have seen what happened. I heard someone shouting,

  “Sniper! ‘Ware sniper! Guards! Sniper!” My bare feet were thudding on the dry earth and I figured there was no use zigzagging. He wasn’t behind or in front, he was to the side. All I could try to do was try to reach cover before he reloaded, and hope that if he was in the big trees before the wall on that side, he was pushing his range. I didn’t make it.

  My left arm, what I thought of as my good arm, was forward as I ran, and the bolt went straight through the biceps. The distance lessened the impact but it was still enough to spin me round, sending me tumbling over the hard ground. I stumbled to my feet, running again like an animal hit by a cart and in shock. I was slower, arm flapping. I grabbed at my bicep, trying to hold my arm to my chest, before falling into one of the kitchen garden entrances.

  Some of the gardeners were peering out. They dragged me to safety then carried me t
o the infirmary, which was close by. I was crying. Not for me, but for Virginia. And for Murray. I tried to tell them where the bowman was but nobody could hear me or I wasn’t talking aloud.

  The dragon infection I’d been so ill with wasn’t gone, just dormant in my system. It woke up. I only knew because in my fever dreams I heard the doctors say so. All I knew was I burned.

  Nanny Black came to see me and said Azrael couldn’t visit, the king was worried that he might also come down with the infection again.

  “But he sends his love, precious.” I grabbed her hand. She was the first person I remembered seeing since the accident.

  “Someone,” I said, “needs to tell Murray. About Virginia.”

  “Someone will,” she said, “you concentrate on getting well.”

  ****

  I was naked in the mountains again, out of my body or dreaming, I didn’t know which. This time it was dark and raining. A howling storm lashed hard rain over my skin and the dragons all looked grumpy, backs to the wind. I staggered along, unable to see far. I nearly missed the queen, but one of the dragons waved a forepaw and sent me in the right direction. I heard her voice rumble out of the darkness.

  “Polo Shawcross. Tell me! What happened?”

  “Gods, I don’t know,” I said, my face streaked with rain and tears, “someone shot her with a crossbow bolt.”

  Suddenly the great head was next to me and I fell over backwards. The head followed me so I stayed down, though I did sit up. In the lee of her, I was protected from some of the wind and could tell the story in more detail. She listened, then howled at the sky.

  “You are lucky you are important!” she said, snarling.

  “Lucky?” I shouted above the wind. “Lucky? Lucky people aren’t shot! They don’t get attacked by bloody dragons!” Her voice was a roar.