The Moonflower Dance

by Lea Doué

  Since Wist had nearly destroyed the original ribbon, she’d replaced it with Keir’s gift.

  She shook her wrist, and Wist fluttered down to the stones with an indignant squawk. “You’ll have to practice tying something else.”

  He tiptoed away, eyes trained on a butterfly nearly as big as himself, pointedly ignoring her.

  She ran her fingers over the cuff. Ivy, one of her youngest sisters, had made it, embroidering it with a different flower for each of them. A white lily for the eldest, who was named after the flower, and then a cluster of purple-blue hydrangeas for Gwen. For Hazel, a crimson rose like the one tucked into Neylan’s hair. Apple blossoms for twins Melantha, who liked to climb the trees, and Mara, who liked to bake with the fruit.

  Ivy had insisted on a fiery snapdragon for Neylan, asserting her belief that her sister was destined to be Keir’s red dragon girl.

  For quiet Junia, a pink peony, and for red-headed Coral, a blazing orange-and-red zinnia.

  Bright-eyed Azure had a sunflower, while Ivy, the maker of the bracelet, had a pale moonflower—sun and moon—the only blue-eyed sisters, so different and yet so alike. The youngest, twins Ruby and Wren, had dandelions: one in its full yellow splendor, and one soft and fluffy with seeds.

  Neylan sighed deeply. She’d wanted to see all of her sisters once more before setting off for Mazereon, but Gwen was in Osha, married and starting her new life. Coral had recently left their grandmother’s manor and run off with a group of Travelers. And now Mel and Mara would be leaving on another adventure of their own.

  She traced the flowers one last time. After presenting Neylan with the cuff, Ivy had clung to her hand until the last moment, having managed to crawl out of bed after suffering one of her headaches all night—headaches that had increased in frequency since their encounter with the sorcerer Tharius. Neylan’s heart had ached with guilt, wondering if her leaving had added to Ivy’s pain.

  If she had her way, no sorcerer would ever trouble Ivy or any of her sisters again.

  Near dusk, Neylan returned to the clearing, where the musicians played on. Keir had returned, and he sagged against the gazebo while a red-gloved man spoke to him without seeming to take a breath. His gaze darted from the lingering guests to the darkening sky to the gardeners lighting the lanterns. When he saw her, his eyes lit up.

  She walked straight to him, and, ignoring formality, begged forgiveness of the red-gloved man as she took Keir’s arm and steered him into one of the garden lanes.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered, as she pulled him to a stop next to a firethorn hedge.

  “I wanted to see you once more and bid you a proper good night. It’s your party, after all.”

  “Good night? Can’t you stay? I know it’s almost dark, but, now that I’m here… I thought…” You’re the only dragon girl I want. Gram had said all he needed to do was find her.

  A worried crease formed between his brows. “I can feel the change starting.”

  “But… I came all this way. The curse should be broken. What else do I need to do?”

  He shook his head, a look of defeat in his eyes.

  She wouldn’t accept that. Think, Neylan. There had to be a way, some final act to—

  Wait! That was it. The one thing all the storybooks swore by.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  “What?”

  “True love’s kiss. That has to be it.”

  He looked uncertain, but a spark of hope lit his eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “The only thing I’m sure about right now is how I feel about you. What do we have to lose?”

  Without hesitation, he lifted her in his arms and kissed her as he held her close. Wist appeared and joined them in their show of affection, spiraling around their heads until Keir finally set her on her feet.

  Holding her close, he whispered into her hair, “It didn’t work.”

  Dizzy, she took a deep breath to slow her racing heart. It took a few moments for the meaning of his words to hit her. It hadn’t worked?

  The sun hung dangerously low on the horizon. They didn’t have time to figure out what had happened. Or why nothing had happened. “Where do you need to be right now?”

  “The rock dragon training grounds. They’re just beyond the gardens this way.” He took her hand and led the way.

  The training grounds would be extensive to accommodate the speed and agility of the wingless riding dragons that were unique to Mazereon. It would be the perfect spot for Keir to transform into a giant black dragon.

  With Wist flying figure eights around their heads, Keir led her to the garden exit farthest from the palace, which spilled out onto a verge of wildflowers and then on to a series of rolling hills with fields separated by tall hedges.

  “You should return to your party.” He squeezed her fingers before releasing them.

  Wist skimmed the wildflowers behind Keir and then flew past his ear towards the gardens’ interior as if he understood.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what went wrong,” she said.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t know either, but we’ll figure it out. Now go.” He spun her around and gave her a nudge.

  She followed Wist slowly, but after a few steps, she paused. Keir would be all right. He’d transformed countless times by now. But would he make it to the concealment of the hedges in time to remain out of sight as the change happened? Perhaps she should stand guard at the exit, just in case.

  She turned to see him racing straight across the field against the descending darkness.

  Wist landed on her shoulder, watching silently.

  Halfway across the field, Keir collapsed.

  She gasped and stepped forward as if to run to him, but then froze. What looked like smoke or steam, barely visible in the gloom, rose from his shoulders and back. Slashes of orange light glowed on his skin. A few moments later, billows of smoke obscured him from view.

  She blinked, and that quickly, Keir stood across the field from her in his dragon form.

  Wist cowered against her neck.

  Keir watched her for a long moment, still and silent. Finally, he crouched, spread his great wings, and took to the air with a sound like the heartbeat of the darkness itself.

  *

  Wist’s chirp brought Neylan to a stop. She’d been daydreaming and had wandered into an unfamiliar part of the gardens. Lanterns sparkled along the pathway, and music still drifted through the air. A guard nodded as he passed.

  She rubbed her forehead. Envisioning all the ways she could get revenge on Tharius, as well as Idris, the sorcerer responsible for Keir’s curse, would get her nowhere. Except possibly lost.

  Up ahead, a grove of apple trees stood sentinel over a glass hothouse. She tried the door, but it was locked, so she peeked in a few windows as she walked around it. Row after row of nightshade, poppies, hemlock, and scores of other medicinal plants ran riot in a colorful display.

  Wist sniffed the air with delight.

  She grinned. “You’d like a taste of those, wouldn’t you?”

  If only there were a cure for curses, a remedy Keir could brew to end whatever Idris had done to him. According to Mel, he’d been able to mix some creams that provided a little relief from the daily pain of the scars, but nothing more. Despite having the freedom to go where he wished, he was as trapped as she and her sisters had once been, and he had no one to share the burden.

  Until now. She might not be able to break his curse—yet—but as one of the few people who knew his secret, Neylan could at least be sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

  On the other side of the hothouse, she followed the path for several yards, until it ended at a narrow archway in a high stone wall. She stepped through, and her breath caught in her throat.

  A moonlight garden.

  She glanced at the moonflower ribbon on her cuff. Had Keir meant for her to find this place?

  Inside, she turned left and followed the path, admiring the variety of night-blooming p
lants that glowed under the full moon. Many she recognized, like the clusters of white hydrangeas, the fragrant white lilacs—her favorite scent—and a small bush-like plant called silver ragwort, with velvety soft, ashy white leaves that stood out among the darker foliage.

  But the main attraction was the moonflower vines growing on trellises along the eight-foot wall surrounding the private oasis. Although they would have been at home in the hothouse among the poisonous plants, their beauty would not have shone as it did now, their rounded, gently-cupped flowers looking like dancers’ skirts twirling joyfully to the music. She stepped gingerly off the path next to a patch of pale phlox spilling across the ground, leaned towards the moonflowers, and breathed deeply. Her eyes closed as a powerful, creamy, rose-like scent washed over her.

  The smell was too much for Wist. He untangled himself from her shoulder and flew to the nearest vine.

  “Don’t eat them all,” she called and stepped back onto the path.

  Ivy would love this place, filled as it was with the flowers she’d embroidered to represent herself on the bracelet. Perhaps she would have a chance to visit someday.

  On the far wall, a bronze dragon’s head spit water into a knee-high pool that shimmered with moonlight, an unlit lantern hanging from one of its horns. Neylan stopped, swaying to the violins while taking in the play of shadow and light on an enormous bed of white-petaled night phlox in the center of the enchanting space. She knelt at its edge and ran her fingers over the tiny flowers, inhaling their honey-almond-vanilla fragrance.

  She glanced around for Wist, but he’d disappeared.

  As she approached the archway again, something stirred in the darkness, much too large to be her dragon. Someone sat on a bench—a man, judging by the shape of his shadow. She paused and scratched her nose. Had he been there the whole time?

  The man stood slowly and stepped forward into the moonlight. He had dark skin, like most Mazereons, and was well dressed in shadow colors—form-fitting trousers, knee boots, and a long-sleeved tunic glinting with metallic threads at the hem. A silver chain and pendant glinted at this neck.

  He brushed a lock of black hair off his forehead and approached, his stride slow and smooth. “Good evening, Your Highness.” He bowed, his gaze locked with hers. As he straightened, he looked her over, clear admiration in his eyes, and whispered, “Even more beautiful than I imagined.”

  Goosebumps tingled up her arms. She clasped her hands in front of her, and they nearly disappeared in the velvety petal layers of her skirt. He’d obviously guessed her identity, because she had no memory of meeting him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

  He lowered his eyes. “Of course not.” When he looked at her again, his eyes glinted. “A journeyman dressmaker would have no reason to attend a garden party for royalty.”

  This time she looked him over from head to toe. He was finely dressed even for a lord, much less a journeyman. And he still hadn’t introduced himself. “And what might an uninvited guest be doing in the palace gardens?”

  “I’ve been given permission to visit to make sketches for my myself and for my master, inspiration for his designs, as he’s no longer able to get around as he would like.”

  “It’s rather dark for sketching.”

  He grinned. “It is, but not all inspiration happens during the day.”

  The moonlight garden would certainly not be the same in the sun.

  “My name is Zared, journeyman under Master Jiri of Mazereon.” He bowed again.

  “Princess Neylan, Sixth Daughter of Ituria, but I think you already guessed that.”

  He reached out and lightly fingered the delicate sleeve of her dress. “Who else would be wearing the dress I designed for her?”

  So that’s how he’d known her. She shivered as his fingers brushed her shoulder. “My compliments. It’s beautiful.”

  He stared into her eyes and took a step closer. “It is, isn’t it?”

  Her cheeks heated, and any words for a response eluded her. She’d been called beautiful before, but never in such a way that she felt the sincerity of it all the way to her toes.

  Zared smiled.

  She cleared her throat and blinked. The romance of the moonlight garden was going to her head. “Well, I should… let you continue with your sketching, then.”

  The violins struck a sweet chord as the musicians began a new song.

  “Your Highness, if I may be so bold, I may never have another opportunity like this.” He held out his hand. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

  “A dance? Here?”

  “Surely this garden is as beautiful as any ballroom you’ve ever seen.”

  Indeed it was, and she felt herself pulled to accept his request. Her body ached from weeks of travel, but one dance wouldn’t be the end of her.

  She placed her hand in his, and before she could take a breath, he swept her along in time to the music, the glowing flowers blurring around them. He guided her around the pale phlox and past the bronze dragon fountain, his movements confident and strong.

  “How did a journeyman dressmaker find time to learn such dances?”

  “Master Jiri’s wife was fond of dancing, but she refused to attend balls without him. He would often hire private musicians. She was a good teacher.”

  “Was?”

  “He lost his only son six months ago. His wife died of grief not long after.”

  How awful. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure you’ve been a great help to him.”

  “I hope so. I’ve been with him almost a year now, so their loss was a shock to me, as well.”

  He fell into silence, and Neylan followed his lead in that as in the dance. A guard peeked in once before moving on, but no one interrupted.

  Finally, the song ended. Zared bowed and kissed her hand without taking his gaze from hers. “Until we meet again, Your Highness. Thank you for the unexpected inspiration.”

  For the second time that night, she blushed at his compliment. Such silliness. She’d received much more lavish words of adoration back home.

  He strode out under the archway, and she stared after him until the sound of his boots striking the stones faded away.

  She searched for Wist among the moonflowers and found him snoozing on the edge of the fountain. After dipping her hands in the cool water, she placed her palms on her warm cheeks. She could do without unnecessary distractions, but… making a new friend would not be unwelcome.

  Not until she reached her rooms did the image of Keir’s transformation come back to her.

  Chapter Two

  As Neylan rose to dress the next morning, Wist slept soundly on her pillow, his snores sounding like the soft buzzing of a bee. She opened the window a crack so he could leave when he woke. She’d promised to meet Vanda in the dining hall to discuss her new duties as tutor and companion, and hoped she would be lucky enough to see Gram, as well. The woman might be the only one to have some insight into to why Neylan’s presence hadn’t broken Keir’s curse.

  Once she braided her hair and pinned it at the base of her neck, she studied the next of the new dresses, a strawberry red silk sprinkled all over with tiny stars that winked like mirrors. Her everyday dresses back home were nowhere near as fancy. Mel had assured her that Baz was splurging on her clothes with money his father had once set aside for him to woo a princess or a noblewoman, and which he no longer needed. After the celebrations, they would be auctioned off and the proceeds donated to those in need.

  It would be welcome attention for a journeyman such as Zared.

  As a final touch to the ensemble, she tucked into her hair several orange-and-red marigolds from the arrangement in her sitting room. For Wist.

  Euna accompanied her to the palace, propelling her chair easily over the smooth stone path and exclaiming at the flowers along the way.

  “Do you have Mel’s map?” Neylan asked.

  The vibrant yellow push rings on the chair’s wheels caught the interest of a few tin
y honeysuckler dragons. If Wist were around, he would insist on chasing them off.

  Euna shooed the dragons away and patted her belt pouch. “She marked the lift with a star, so I can’t miss it, although it won’t be hard to find from here. It’s just inside the entry up ahead.”

  A uniformed lad met them at the front of the treadwheel lift, which was nothing more than a walled-in platform with a circular window in the back. He opened the door, Euna wheeled into the small room, and Neylan followed.

  “Isn’t the dining hall on the first floor?” Euna asked.

  She shrugged. “You know I like to ride the lifts.”

  The palace back home had two, which were made for servants carrying heavy loads, courtiers who preferred not to navigate stairs, and others, like Euna, who needed a boost, but Neylan used them from time to time. She waved to the operators through the window, three broad-shouldered men stationed inside what looked like a waterwheel, and whose walking provided the power needed to lift the contraption.

  The platform swayed gently as it ascended. Neylan closed her eyes and imagined she was flying.

  Soon, a different lad opened the door, and Euna wheeled out.

  “Going up, my lady?” the boy asked Neylan.

  “Back down, please.”

  Less than fifteen minutes later, Neylan sat in the dining hall with Baz and Vanda near a wall of windows with a spectacular view of the city’s black-roofed houses and shops. While she tucked into a plate of eggs and toast and fruit, they peppered her with questions about her journey from Ituria. She mentioned nothing about Keir’s transformation. Or her meeting with Zared.

  If either of them were surprised that Keir’s curse hadn’t been broken right away, they said nothing.

  “I like how you’ve arranged the dining hall,” she said, after they ran out of questions.

  Rather than having a head table, a dozen or so round ones covered in pristine white cloths had been spread evenly around the room, which was easily big enough to hold twice the number. Marble fireplaces sat at either end of the room, unlit.

  Baz beamed. “That was Vanda’s idea, and I don’t know why no one thought of it sooner. We have everyone rotating from table to table for each meal—even me—so Keir gets a chance to spend time with all of the ladies. It’s perfect, really. I think we’ll continue even after everything is… settled.”