Sea Dragon Heir

by Constantine, Storm

  IT OCCURRED TO PHARINET that love might have driven Everna a little strange. After their walk, Pharinet wandered down to the beach alone. On the sand, she looked up and saw her sister strolling along the clifftop towards the castle, her gaunt body erect, but her head bent. There had been a kind of madness in Everna’s urgency. Pharinet went down to her sea-cave, the place where she always hid herself to think. The tide was coming in and soon the cave would be flooded. Pharinet clambered over the rocks, soaking her skirts. Further back, the floor sloped upwards and the cave narrowed to a tunnel. If she wriggled and struggled up the throat of stone, it would lead her out onto the clifftops. She had used it often when the tide had cut her off from the beach. She crouched on a high ledge, watching the water surge and coil beneath her. Sea dragons. There was an echo of a feeling within her; some ancient memory had been prodded and awoken. Valraven: the dragon heir. It made sense to her. There was a feyness about him, something tragic, which might be his stolen heritage. Was it this knowledge that had hung so heavily about their father? She had never known him before her mother had died, so she had no way of telling. Everna, presumably, had been too young to remember. But perhaps their grandfather had not known the truth. Perhaps their great-great-grandfather had never spoken of it to his sons, and only the women had carried the secret forward into the future. She experienced a moment of irritation that Everna’s “sisters” would not want her to know about this yet. The knowledge belonged to the Palindrakes, more so than anyone else. Everna had been right to tell her. Poor Val. So innocent, so beautiful, yet weirdly cursed. Emotion overcame her and she had to let the tears fall. Sadness welled up, threshing and lashing like the incoming tide. There was truth in the feeling. Perhaps she had known all along. Later, as the sun set, she clambered out of the chimney of stone. Val would have missed her at dinner. What could she say to him? Now, she had to see if the mark was there. She found him at the stables, exercising his bay gelding in the yard. He looked so at home on the animal, his spine straight, his shoulders squared. His hair was tied in a cord at his neck, flowing like a horse’s tail down his back. The moment he caught sight of her leaning against the fence, he began to perform, making the horse gambol and curve. Pharinet smiled. Why did she feel so much older than him? He kindled a nurturing urge within her that made her feel melancholy. His beauty made him ephemeral, like a dragonfly. She had an idea that she would offer to brush his hair for him, but realized that even this simple plan would take some maneuvering. She had brushed his hair a thousand times, but now, because there was a purpose to it, she thought he would sense her intent, ask questions. Presently, he urged his horse over to the fence and there made it rear to a halt. Pharinet reached out to pat the sweating neck of the animal. “Where’ve you been?” Valraven said. “You missed dinner, and Everna didn’t say a thing. What’s going on?” “I went for a walk,” she answered. “Got lost in my thoughts.” Valraven pulled a comical face and slipped down from the horse’s back. “You must be hungry, then. Let’s go to the kitchens.” He made to pull the cord from his hair, but Pharinet hurried to stay his hands. “Let me,” she said. “You know what you’re like. You’ll make a tangle.” He laughed, turned his back to her and threw back his head, hands on hips. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the knot. She hardly dared look. But then the mass of hair was free. She clutched it in one hand and lifted it, quickly pulled down the collar of his shirt. “What is it?” he asked. “Nothing,” she answered. “A fly.” She reached out and touched his pale skin, registered his damp heat. Tiny black hairs curled beneath her hand, oily with sweat. There was a mark, and it looked like a mallet. Of course, she had seen it many times before, only now she saw it with new eyes. The mark was brownish-red, like a mis-shapen mole, and not very big. Pharinet felt faint, disoriented, removed from the world. This is not the life I know, she thought, and stood on tiptoe to kiss her brother’s neck, right on the place where the skin was stained. “You are odd tonight,” he said, wriggling away. “What’s got into you? Haven’t fallen in love yourself, I hope!” She managed to laugh. “No. Any man worth my love lives only in storybooks.” He turned and put an arm about her waist. “Good. I would be jealous.” Together they walked into the castle.

  3

  LOVE

  ONCE PHARINET KNEW OF the dragons, she searched for evidence. Each night before she slept, she would compose her mind to receive more strange dreams. None came that she could remember. After the talk on the clifftop, Everna did not mention the subject again, and Pharinet sensed it was now closed until she reached an age when she could be absorbed into her great-great-grandmother’s sisterhood. It was easier to discover things about her ancestress. There was a statue of her in the solarium. Ilcretia Palindrake. Pharinet had previously ignored the statue as part of the surroundings; it peered whitely through spreading palms that came from warmer shores in the south. Now, Pharinet decided she looked very much like this fabled ancestress herself. Because she looked at the piece with new eyes, she realized the pose was rather strange, not at all formal. Ilcretia stood erect with her head thrown back, her eyes staring, as if she beheld something marvellous in the sky. Her arms were rigid by her sides, fists clenched, and one toe peeped beneath her gown as if she was about to step forward off a cliff into the unknown. It was difficult to tell whether she was beautiful or not, because the whiteness of the stone seemed to blur her features, but her posture blazed with energy. She had lived in Old Caradore, which was nearly half a day’s ride away up the coast. Pharinet had never been there. It was a ruin now, best forgotten. Too many terrible things had happened there. Ilcretia had come to new Caradore with her children, and had made it a home. She had clearly been a survivor of great inner resource. Here, she had built up her sisterhood from the memory of pain. She had not succumbed to melancholy or despair. Pharinet imagined her commissioning this statue, leaving it as a reminder for all future generations: be strong and fearless. On one occasion Valraven caught Pharinet meditating before the statue. She jumped when she realised he was there, felt strangely guilty. Valraven wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Mad granny!” he said with a laugh. “Why are you staring at her like that?” “She wasn’t mad!” Pharinet blurted out before she could stem the words. Valraven cast her a sidelong glance. “But she looks mad. Can’t you see it? The sculptor caught her grief in stone. She’s contemplating throwing herself from the battlements, because her husband is dead.” It occurred to Pharinet that Valraven’s remarks suggested he knew something about their family history too. But from where? Everna had told her it was secret. “How do you know that?” “Dada told me a long time ago. The statue used to scare me, and he said that women’s grief was scary.” “Did he say how her husband died?” Valraven shrugged. “Can’t remember. Perhaps it was a riding accident, like Dada’s.” Pharinet smiled. “No. Perhaps she poisoned him and was driven mad by guilt.” He grinned. “You see? Scary!” Pharinet yelped and hit out at him, and together they ran from the solarium, leaving the statue to continue her endless ultimate step.

  PHARINET ALSO BEGAN TO view Ellony in a different light. Her family was involved in the sisterhood. Did Ellony know about it? Sometimes, Pharinet was tempted to make a leading remark and see where it went, but something always stayed her tongue. She remembered the ferocity in Everna’s eyes as she’d made her sister utter a vow of silence. She had sworn on Valraven’s life and must not break it. Still, as the years progressed, it became ever more clear that Ellony thought of herself as Val?s future wife. Pharinet became increasingly uncomfortable with the idea. She loved Ellony, but sometimes felt jealous. Despite Montimer Leckery’s scant home leaves, Saska continued to bear him children—after Niska, another daughter and two sons. Ellony began to talk more often of when she would have children of her own. Saska plainly encouraged her. She would often make light-hearted comments about how her daughter and Val should soon be talking about the future. Pharinet’s face would burn on these occasions, prompting Saska to mention Khaster’s name. She seemed to think
Pharinet was embarrassed about adult relationships, and talk of Valraven and Ellony only made her think of her own marital destiny. Khaster could not have been unaware of the almost salacious currents that seemed to swirl about the two households as the youngsters all moved into their late teens, yet he never gave any indication of how he felt about it. Pharinet wavered between feeling relieved and outraged. She tried to imagine Khaster kissing her in the way that her imaginary heroes had done a few years before, but the image just wouldn’t stick. She appreciated his looks and liked his company, yet he was always so distant from her, as if they never made a real connection. One day, Pharinet said to her brother, “Do you want to marry Ellony?” It disturbed her that her question didn’t make him look surprised. If anything, a certain furtiveness crept over his face. He looked away from her. “Well, I’ll have to marry somebody,” he said lamely. “Do you love her?” She saw the color creep up his neck. “Oh, Pharry, shut up! If I marry her, it won’t be for a long time. I have to go to Magrast next spring. You know that.” Yes, she knew that. The summons had come. The emperor cordially invited the heir of Caradore to the city, to take up the position of an officer in the imperial army. Khaster too would soon be gone, like his father before him. As Pharinet became older, she became more aware of what was going on in the world. Reality intruded into her dreams. Caradore was treated like a breeding ground for officers. The emperor regarded its inhabitants as good stock, and kept them plump and fertile in the corner of the empire. The empire had remained more or less static for forty years or so, with various problem areas on the borders, but now, for whatever reason, the emperor schemed to expand his territory. The official line was that Magravandias wanted to fill the world with the divine presence of Madragore, and strip its barbaric corners of brutal overlords and oppressive governments. Perhaps that was true, and the Magravands acted upon purely noble instincts. But all about the world, there must be places like Caradore, whose own gods and magic had been suppressed and destroyed, whose sons were bred like horses to swell the ranks of the army: all in the name of the lord of fire. It was a holy war, and because of that, without pity. Pharinet knew that sometimes men didn’t come back from the campaigns and that all the noble families in the district were rent by gaping holes that grief couldn’t fill. Valraven would be fairly safe, because he was marked to be a general, protected behind a horde of men who would soak up the arrows, the sword-thrusts, the poisonous steams. Khaster might reach a similar elevated position, but it would take longer. On the night before Valraven was due to leave Caradore, all the local families gathered at the Palindrake domain for a melancholy, yet boisterous, celebration. Pharinet felt feverish, as if there was some business she hadn’t concluded. Valraven looked radiant, as if he were pleased to be going away. Pharinet had to leave the party, and went out onto one of the terraces, where the spring breeze cut across her face. She realized her cheeks were wet; some tears had escaped without her noticing them. She heard footsteps and sensed a male presence. It would be him. What would she say? What was there to say? Then, something unfamiliar about the other’s smell, or sound, made her go tense. It wasn’t Val. She turned and saw it was Khaster, looking down at her shyly from beneath a mop of hair. He had grown so tall, so angular. He was leaving with Val and she’d forgotten about it. Now, the proposal would come, she thought, because Saska would have bullied him into it. She wanted to say, “Yes, all right, we might as well!” even before he spoke. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked her. She remembered the tears and brushed them away. “No, not really. What do you expect?” She didn’t want to be harsh, but something about the coziness of the situation annoyed her. “Have you come to ask me to marry you?” He laughed nervously. “Pharinet, you are the daughter of the waves! Lashing and eroding the rocks of male resolve.” His comment surprised her, and she softened towards him. “I’m sorry. I just can’t bear the thought of Val leaving—nor you, of course. It seems so unfair. Our life is here, in Caradore. Let the emperor do as he likes. He should just leave us alone.? He took a step closer, ignoring her remarks. “It would please our families if we were to be married, Pharry. I know this will be an alliance of convenience rather than passion, but is there anyone else you would rather have?” He did not ask that through arrogance, but practicality. There was no one else. The Leckerys and the Palindrakes had grown up together. They were already one unit. “I know, Khaster. Yes, of course we shall marry. Perhaps when you have your first leave?” He exhaled in what seemed to be relief. Had he thought she might refuse him? “Yes. You might not believe me, but it is something I will look forward to.” She laughed. “I’m not sure I do believe you, Khaster. You have never struck me as a romantic type.” He grinned. “I just want a wife who’s not afraid of getting her shoes dirty, that’s all.” “Ah, so the rock and tree climbing will continue, then?” “Of course. It is a prerequisite.” At this point, Pharinet realized that being married to Khaster wouldn’t be too much of a trial. Then she remembered Ellony, and some of her warmth fled. “And your sister? Is she too happily betrothed?” Khaster had the grace to look uncomfortable. He frowned. “I thought you knew. Val asked for her hand a week or so ago. I can’t believe he hasn’t mentioned it.” “Nor I,” Pharinet said lightly, although her insides had turned to ice. “I would have imagined Ellony would want a big fanfare about it tonight.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.” Pharinet sighed. “Oh well. It isn’t something I hadn’t expected.” He would think about how her tone suggested she’d just heard a lover of hers had announced he would marry another woman. Let him think what he liked. Wickedness stole into her. “I suppose we must kiss now.” She faced him. “Well, come on then.” She expected him to cringe and mutter some excuse, but he merely rolled his eyes and took her in his arms. It was hard to imagine where he had learned this skill. Had he frolicked with maids and gypsy girls? Had Val, too? She closed her eyes, wondering if this was pleasant or rather disgusting. Was it invasion or sharing? A strange sound insinuated itself into her mind, like a mournful howl from far away. She pulled back. ?What was that?? Khaster looked puzzled. “What?” She could still hear it. It was like a song, something unearthly and terrible, yet full of despair. She turned to the balustrade. “It’s coming from the sea. Could it be a bell or something?” Khaster stood beside her. “I can’t hear anything.” The sound had gone now, sobbing away on the wind. Pharinet shuddered. She felt desolate. They went back into the castle, arm in arm. Now, she belonged to him and the air between them had become charged. Strange how so great a change could happen so quickly. Pharinet saw Valraven standing beside one of the heavy columns that were garlanded with ivy and sea-moss. Ellony was a pale presence beside him, her colorless hair a cloud around her shoulders. She was dressed in white, like a bride, and her cheeks were flushed. Her sisters, Niska and Ligrana stood close to her, proud and protective. Pharinet knew her own eyes did not sparkle as Ellony’s did. She was a cool presence beside her future husband, no more than a friend to him. “Val!” Pharinet exclaimed sweeping up to her brother and Ellony, and dragging Khaster behind. “Wonderful news. I am to be a wife.” Valraven’s expression was unreadable, but she supposed he already knew Khaster’s intentions. Ellony uttered a delighted squeal and bounced forward to hug her friend. Pharinet took a step back, fixed her brother with a stare. “But I’m surprised you didn’t tell me about your betrothal to Elly. Aren’t you going to announce it tonight?” She could not be warm; it just wasn’t in her. Ellony’s face froze into an expression of alarm and confusion. Where was the girlish exchange of happiness she had expected? “It will be announced,” Valraven answered stonily. A wall had come between them, a soft wall of Ellony. How could it hurt this much? “I want to dance,” Pharinet told Khaster, and hauled him onto the floor, where enchanted couples whirled through the candlelight to the skirl of violins, the heart-beat of drums.