Heart of the Dragon's Realm

by Karalynn Lee

  “Pardon?”

  “Just thinking out loud.” It would have to wait until spring, when the roofs weren’t covered in snow.

  “Your thoughts sound intriguing.”

  She threw him a mischievous grin.

  When they finished eating their snow-flecked food and stood, she drew breath to suggest that they do something together, perhaps play a game of chance. But Rendel was hovering outside with a sheaf of papers.

  “My king, some matters arose in your absence…”

  She thought dark thoughts about the seneschal.

  The mountain-king gave him a resigned look. “Let’s take care of them.”

  She bit her lip as she watched them walk off. I thought when he came back, I’d have him all to myself. Then she almost laughed at herself. She wasn’t even halfway through her betrothal.

  Almost by habit, she headed for the watchtower, although it was strange not to be clutching her breakfast bundled in a cloak. Herrol wasn’t in his room, and she found him at the top of the tower, leaning disconsolately over the battlements even as snow dusted his clothes. At the sound of her step, he whirled around. “Where were you?”

  She spread her hands. “I’m sorry, I forgot. I had breakfast with the mountain-king.”

  His mouth twisted. “Of course. You’re betrothed to him, after all.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “So what do you want to do today?”

  He looked away. “It’s snowing and I’m a bit tired. I think I’ll read.”

  She remembered the library. She’d never ventured there after their initial discovery. “What about?”

  His face lightened as he turned back to her. “I found an entire book on the habits of dragons. I’ve never seen anything like it in Kenasgate.”

  She blinked. “Dragons have habits?”

  “According to this book, they do. They like the gleam of metal, which is why we drop coins into the river from the dragon’s spine bridge.”

  They did that in Anagard, as well. “I’m sure the mountain-king feeds iron to his dragon. Although where he keeps it, I’ve no clue.”

  “They can take on many guises to go unnoticed in their territory. Sometimes they’re even trapped in another shape.”

  “So our fishermen might inadvertently hook the river-dragon while fishing for trout?”

  “Well, if you want to catch it you could just summon it. It’ll respond to a properly framed challenge—I’ll have to look up the exact words.”

  She raised a hand in good-humored refusal, amused to see how passionate a scholar Herrol was. “Don’t bother for my sake. I’ll leave you to your reading. Tell me more about dragons later.”

  Refusing to let the weather stop her, she headed outside. The snow was falling but lightly, just enough to make her steps crunch and to tickle her face. It was far from the howling blizzard she’d expected of winter in the mountains.

  Although she’d dismissed Herrol’s research, dragons still lurked in her mind. She couldn’t help weaving stories as she went. In one of them, the mountain-king kept his dragon in the depths of the iron mines, but it had grown restless and caused the collapse of a mine shaft, so of course he had to quiet it personally. Or he had tricked it into the shape of a magpie and fed it breakfast every morning.

  She shook her head free of such nonsense and made her way to the bakery. To her sorrow, there were no tarts, only bread—there was a shortage of flour, which Helsmont had to trade for since wheat didn’t grow this high. But Emeray had baked fragrant herbs into her loaves, and she offered a slice with honey. In turn she welcomed the news about the mountain-king’s return. She didn’t seem to find his reason for traveling to the mine odd at all. “He takes care of his people,” she said.

  Kimri let Benish squirm into her lap while Zerel sat next to her, leaning against her side trustingly. In truth, she came for the companionship as much as the food. “My brother takes care of his people. He doesn’t head to the other end of Anagard to help them.”

  “Helsmont is a small realm. And our king often sends out messengers with aid if that’s all that’s needed.” She stopped her kneading and gave Kimri a sly look. “You’re still unhappy he left, aren’t you?”

  She beat a hasty retreat, covered by a large group of customers who entered the bakery right then and distracted Emeray and the twins. The snow was coming down more heavily now, and to duck out of its way, she visited the forge. She wanted to see how Beatris’s blades were coming along.

  “I’ve just finished them,” the smith said, setting his hands on his hips and gazing down at his handiwork with satisfaction.

  They were a far cry from the blunt bars of steel she’d seen earlier, perfectly curved and sharp enough to draw blood at the merest touch. She flinched and stuck her finger in her mouth.

  “Princess…” He wiped off the blade and polished it again.

  “I’m sorry. May I hold it properly?”

  He nodded and she lifted one of the swords—with her left hand, as she’d developed the habit of trying to use it more.

  It was extraordinarily well-balanced, she could tell as soon as she lifted it. The weight of the blade sang true in a way she wouldn’t have been able to describe only a short time ago.

  She examined the pommel of the sword. It was elegantly crafted to look like two serpents—no, two dragons. They were circling each other so tightly that their bodies were locked into a circular knot. She traced the sinuous line between them. The design was beautiful, but it gave her a sense of unease. A pair of dragons? All the legends she’d heard spoke only of a single great dragon in a given realm. She supposed they had to perpetuate the species, though.

  She returned the sword. “It’s beautiful. Everyone says Helsmont has the finest steel, but this is artistry beyond that.”

  He gave her a gentle smile. “My thanks, Princess. Do you want to take them to the king?”

  It wasn’t a task anyone in Anagard would have asked of her, likely thinking it too menial. But she was proud to tell the smith, “Yes.” He’d poured a great deal of effort into these swords, and he was trusting them to her.

  A leather-worker had already made scabbards, lined with oiled fur to protect against rust and to provide a smoother draw. The smith slid a blade into each and then held them out to her on both palms. It had the feel of ceremony as she accepted them. “Don’t let Beatris see them,” he warned her, and found an old cloak to wrap them in to protect them from the snow and hide their shape at first sight.

  Anyone who saw her surely couldn’t mistake her straight, long bundled load for anything other than what it was, but no one stopped her to ask why she was carrying wrapped swords. And she was delighted to find her left arm bore the weight just as well as the right as she made her way to the keep. Perhaps there was hope for her as a sword-dancer after all.

  She didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to deliver these, so she tried to find Rendel. The seneschal, usually seemingly everywhere in the keep at once, was nowhere to be found. By luck, she didn’t encounter Beatris either despite all her roving.

  The third time she passed the gate guard, he coughed to catch her attention. “Is there anything you need, Princess?”

  She couldn’t help glancing around furtively to check if Beatris was nearby. “I was hoping to find the seneschal.”

  He checked the lean of the shadows. “He’ll be in the king’s chambers. They’re just at the top of the stairs.”

  She made her way upstairs, feeling unaccountably nervous. She’d never been in the mountain-king’s rooms before. His door was open, but she heard the murmur of a voice, so she knocked before entering.

  The king looked up. He was seated off to the side of a desk, where Rendel sat reading a letter aloud. He broke off when he saw her.

  “I brought the swords you ordered for Beatris.” She pulled away the cloak.

  The king came over to her to draw them and smiled at their gleaming lengths. “He always does fine work. Thank you for bringing these
.”

  “It was amazing to watch him. I used to wonder at Helsmont steel being so highly valued. Not anymore.”

  “It lets us trade for whatever we can’t grow or raise in the mountains.” He sheathed the blades and took them from her to set them down on the desk.

  Like princesses. But she thought it without rancor for once. “I’ll leave you be now. I should take this cloak back to the smith.”

  Rendel smiled. “He won’t miss it for a day. And what will you do if you meet Beatris and she asks why you’re carrying an extra cloak?”

  Kimri grinned and settled it over her shoulders on top of her own mantle. “No one will ask me why I have an extra cloak. I’m a riverlands girl in the mountains.”

  The seneschal chuckled and she turned to leave. The cloak, meant for a taller man, was too long for her and she tripped on its hem.

  The stairs rushed at her. She closed her eyes against that dizzying lurch and desperately hoped not to break too many bones. But even as she flung out her hands to break her fall, she felt a strong arm close about her waist and pull her close, holding her upright.

  She stared at the mountain-king as she clung to his arm. He had caught her even though he’d been standing several paces away. Now he was closer than he’d ever been to her, warm and solid. She’d had no idea people could move so quickly.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say, more shaken by her rescue than her near fall. Surely he could feel her heart pounding.

  He released her and her hands fell away from him reluctantly. “Wrap it around your arm instead. Some of the guards do that instead of carrying a shield.”

  He meant the cloak. She still felt stupefied by his proximity, the feel of his body imprinted along hers. She wanted to melt against him. She nodded instead, hoping it would clear her head, and then said as lightly as she could, “If you make a habit of catching me whenever I fall, I’ll never stop doing so.” Fair warning. If that’s what I have to do for you to hold me like that…

  He matched her tone. “Then I had better not stop either.”

  That sounded promising. Content to end on that note, she took off the cloak to drape it over her arm. “I truly should go now. You see what sort of mischief will happen if I keep this thing for much longer.” She wanted to glance back at him one last time, but kept her gaze carefully trained on the stairs instead.

  No sooner had she made her way down without mishap than she bumped into Beatris.

  The commandant looked at her curiously. “Why are you carrying a cloak?”

  She gave Beatris a brilliant smile, too happy to be fazed. “It’s too long for me,” she said, and escaped.

  She dreamed of that fall again that night, several times over, and each time the mountain-king caught her.

  * * *

  The next morning, she went through her weight-lifting exercises without comment, but couldn’t repress a smile when Jakkis said, “I think you’ve finally strengthened that left arm enough.”

  Then he drew his own blades and spoke the formal words of challenge.

  She stared at him, then fumbled out the response. Somehow she fell into the proper stance. As soon as she did, he attacked. She barely evaded the blow.

  He was being gentle with her, and even so she could barely analyze his moves in time to make her own. But he’d burned this back-step and that sweep of arm into the memory of her muscles, and she instinctively used them as she needed them. One sword for defense and the other for offense, she chanted to herself. And don’t forget about footwork.

  He sensed it as she grew more confident, and he began to dance faster. She forced herself to respond at the same pace. The trick was not to strain her eyes watching him, but rather to feel the rhythm behind his attacks, sense what the next one would be and trust her body to know what to do. Step-lunge-twist-bend-lift-dance, dance, dance…

  The moment came unexpectedly, an opening. She slid one of her swords into it in her first true attack, but was clumsy about it and left herself vulnerable. She found his steel at her throat and froze, her breaths coming hard and rough. She rasped out the words of surrender, and he stepped back.

  For the first time since she’d come to Helsmont, she felt truly warm. She crossed her swords and bowed, then wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her hand. She couldn’t stop grinning.

  He nodded approvingly. “Not bad.” She luxuriated in that brief praise before focusing on him as he began to move. “Now rest, and watch.” His footwork consisted of small, quick steps, and he raised one of the swords overhead in an arc that reminded her of a barbed tail.

  “Scorpion?” she guessed.

  Jakkis had taught her only one style so far—the fierce movements of the tiger—but when he was satisfied with her efforts, he would end the lesson by demonstrating other animals who might appear in a sword-dance: bear, deer, wolf, crane. She could recognize most of these now that her eye was trained.

  He ended quickly. He’d let her practice go on longer than usual, and the guards were trickling into the courtyard now for their drills. While they spread out and readied their weapons, she started toward the stairs. She was looking forward to breakfast, both for the nourishment and the mountain-king’s company.

  Jakkis tapped her shoulder before she could pass through the doorway. “Wait a moment.”

  She stayed, because he never said anything without a reason.

  Her eyes widened as the mountain-king entered the courtyard from the other side. He carried the two swords, the ones he meant to give to Beatris.

  Beatris broke off her stretches as he approached. The other guards made a show of continuing their warm-up, but all eyes were on the king.

  He stopped in front of her. “Commandant, you’ve served me well. I’m particularly glad to have my betrothed safely here, in no small part due to the way you handled an ambush no one could have expected. I would give you a token of my appreciation.” He extended the swords.

  Beatris pulled off the scabbards and admired the blades. “They’re beautiful, my king. I could kill or dance with these.”

  “I’m glad you find them fitting. You’re a hard woman to find suitable gifts for.”

  Her face was serious. “Serving you is reward enough, my king.”

  “I know,” he said.

  Dereth was well-liked by the soldiers in Anagard, but Kimri didn’t know how many of them would avow such steadfast loyalty. The troop she’d joined had grumbled about their pay and how they missed their families.

  Beatris’s smile was quick and wicked as she raised her new blades. “Would you dance, my king?” She spoke the words of challenge.

  The king bared his teeth in an answering grin.

  Kimri watched the mountain-king shrug off his cloak and then his outer tunic with something akin to horror. Underneath, his arms were bare to the shoulders. She rubbed her own arms in imagined cold.

  A guard ran up to hold a pair of swords out to him, and the king grasped their hilts and pulled. As soon as the blades cleared their sheaths, they looked as though they were part of him, deadly extensions of his arms. He relaxed into a ready stance. The points of light reflecting off the metal didn’t move, so still did he hold them.

  Beatris moved first. Wolf. Kimri recognized the style of her movements. Prowling closer. The king responded with the elegant movements of the crane, evading Beatris’s approach with ease.

  The wolf attacked in a flurry of blades and motion. There was the ring of metal kissing metal, and then the two parted just as suddenly as they had clashed, now on opposite sides from where they’d been. Already their stances had changed: cobra and eagle. The supple, twisting movements of the snake incarnation mesmerized her. She wouldn’t have thought it possible to describe such curves. But it seemed the eagle would vanquish Beatris’s snake with his powerful talons.

  Then a tiger, with short, forceful movements. The tiger pounced. It was a mantis who held off the other through brute strength. They grappled together, their blades sliding against one
another. Then the mantis freed one sword and struck.

  The king’s sword nearly tapped the center of Beatris’s chest, but it was Kimri who was breathless.

  Beatris recited the words of surrender, and the king stepped back. They crossed their swords and bowed to each other, marking the end of the bout.

  “My thanks for the exercise,” the mountain-king said.

  Beatris looked up from checking her blades for nicks. “Don’t try to make me feel better, my king. You barely felt that.”

  He smiled. “But I did feel it.”

  Kimri looked down at her sweat-slicked tunic and sighed. “I’ll never be that good.”

  Jakkis crooked his brow, as though surprised she’d even considered the notion. “Not when you began so late. But you’ve already come farther than I expected. What need have you for sword-dancing?”

  “None, but I don’t have need for anything, it seems. No one’s ever expected anything of me except my bride-price. The sword-dance is at least beautiful.”

  He harrumphed. “I notice that you didn’t take up embroidery or some other art that could also create pretty things. I wouldn’t worry. If our king asked for you, I’m sure he thinks you beautiful already, both in spirit and form.”

  She flushed. “He never met me before we were betrothed.”

  “You’d never met?” He made a quick motion with his hand, canceling the question. “It’s not my place.”

  She didn’t mind. “He wouldn’t come to Anagard. My brother didn’t insist, since any courtship would’ve only been a formality. The marriage will be for the sake of alliance, after all.”

  “Riverlands folk.” He shook his head in bemusement. “The betrothal year not only gives you time to become more familiar with your intended, but also lets others do the same. Usually family and other loved ones, but in this case, the people of Helsmont. You will rule over us, after all.”

  “I hope the thought doesn’t fill you with utter dismay.”

  He looked at her kindly. “I’m sure you’ll do well.”

  That was the highest praise Jakkis had ever given her. He left her with those words as he went back out into the courtyard to help with the guards’ training.