Mistress Coraley’s office was a long way from the schoolroom. Olivia often wondered if that was done on purpose, to give students a chance to build up a good head of anticipation before they got there. It didn’t bother her, though; she knew she was in for a meeting with the Head of House the moment she faced up to Miss Paulson – hateful woman. She knocked on the iron-strapped door and went in.
“I thought I told you to wait until you are summoned, child.” Mistress Coraley stood with her hands on her hips, in front of her long desk.
“Really, Levanna,” Olivia said, waving her hand dismissively, “you might have known it was me.”
Levanna sighed. “Olivia, I have fifty new maids and thirteen new children, why do you think I would know it is you? You’re beginning to sound like your sisters.”
Olivia blinked and clenched her jaw. The woman could hardly have given her a worse insult. The fact the older woman knew that was the only reason she wasn’t reeling. “You really shouldn’t talk about the princesses like that; someone might overhear.”
Levanna snorted. “Let them. They’re not too big for a slap.” Olivia had to suppress a smile as she watched Levanna clear her desk. “So what are you here for this time?”
Taking down the slipper from its shelf above her chair, Levanna slapped it hard against the edge of her desk. Olivia thought she saw a glint in the woman’s dark eyes. Mistress Coraley might be a small woman, greying at the temples and thin, but she certainly knew how to swing a slipper.
Olivia cleared her throat. “I answered a question for Sam.”
Levanna’s eyes widened. “And…”
Shrugging, Olivia stared at the desk. “And… what?”
“You don’t get sent to me for answering a question, young lady. What else did you do?”
Olivia sighed and made a circle on the desk with her finger. “I might have told Miss Paulson to stop picking on him. He’s only eleven and has not been in the palace a month yet. All she ever does is find ways to embarrass the poor boy, and all because he’s from Eurmac.”
“That’s most laudable of you, Olivia, but you must not interfere with Miss Paulson. If you truly believe she is behaving unfavourably towards one of the students, then you should come and tell me. Princess or not, in this case it is not your duty to give commands.” She tapped the side of the desk with her slipper. “Now bend over, I’ll only give you six for that.”
As painful as it was, Olivia would not shout out. Even so, her muffled moaning was probably loud enough to satisfy Mistress Corley. Each hit felt like a hot poker snapping against her bare bottom. She couldn’t help her legs flaying about, though. Gods it hurt.
It may have been only six hits, but it seemed she was bent over the desk for a long time. When it was over, she stood and tried not to wince when her thin skirt brushed against the fire that was now raging on her bum. She managed her curtsy, though. It wasn’t Levanna’s fault; it was that stupid law! Calming herself, she took the kerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her cheeks dry. Perhaps if she hummed it would take her mind off the stinging. Perhaps not; that would likely get her another six. Levanna was fair, but not stupid.
The older woman stared at her – maybe she was humming and didn’t realise it. “I hope that’s got your attention, child. As much as I am fond of your company, I would like to go a week without seeing you. Do you think you can do that?”
Olivia wanted to say that that was up to Miss Paulson, but instead she nodded and thanked Levanna for her discipline.
Levanna sighed. The older woman didn’t look convinced. “At least try and make it to the end of the week,” she said, smiling. “Oh, I asked about your extra lessons. Master Roan has agreed to two hours a week, but you will have to clear it with your aunt. Teaching herb lore can be dangerous, apparently.”
Olivia felt the smile crease her face. That certainly took her mind off the stinging. “Thank you, Mistress Coraley.” She bobbed a deep curtsy and even went as far as kissing the Mistress’s hand. Or she would have if Levanna hadn’t wrenched it away.
“Don’t thank me yet, child. If you think Miss Paulson is strict, I fear you are in for a shock with Master Roan.”
Olivia just nodded. She didn’t care how strict the man was; she’d been trying for a year to get him to teach her about herbs. Her aunt wouldn’t stop her; the woman would probably be hoping that Olivia poisoned herself, or something.
Levanna continued, “One hour after mid-week prayers, and another after lunch on Mia’tirdis. And I suggest you are on time, young lady.”
“Oh, I will be, Mistress, have no fear of that.” On time… I’ll be half an hour early.
Olivia left after giving yet another curtsy.
Olivia really should try to stay out of trouble; it couldn’t be nice for the poor woman to beat her every other day, she knew Levanna liked her.
To her surprise, Miss Paulson was pacing up and down the corridor outside, wrapped in her cloak as if it were cold, and staring blankly at nothing in particular. The woman’s lips thinned when Olivia walked past her, then she immediately made a study of the tapestry hanging on the opposite wall while patting the tight bun of hair rolled at the back of her neck.
A short way down the corridor, a tall guardswoman stood waiting. Brow creased, the woman folded her arms beneath her breast and tapped her foot. “I might have known you would be here, Olivia. Don’t you know we are as good as under siege? You shouldn’t leave me wondering where you are.”
Tall and striking, Sergeant Chrissa Landon didn’t look much like a guard, apart from her uniform. Long blond hair, tied in a braid, hung across the woman’s shoulder, almost reaching her waist. Cool blue eyes and a strong chin made her too serious looking to call beautiful, but she was certainly handsome – and diligent, a quality Olivia couldn’t help but test.
“Sorry, Chrissa, but Miss Paulson did say I should go to Levanna’s office ‘immediately’!”
“I was in the next room, Olivia. You had to walk past the door,” Chrissa said, turning on her heel and falling in beside her. “Do you know how much trouble I would be in if anything happened to you?”
Olivia was about to answer when she heard raised voices coming from Levanna’s office. It appeared Mistress Coraley and Miss Paulson were having… discussion about how best to handle her. Either that, or Levanna was chastising the other woman for picking on Sam.
Fighting the urge to go back and eavesdrop, Olivia turned into the stairwell – the servants’ stairwell. Chrissa sighed but followed.
The dinner hall was full when they arrived, full, and very noisy. Doubtless, the servants and children were all talking about the dragons. As Princess – half-blood, as her stepsisters called her, or not – she could eat in the private dining room, but that was boring compared to listening to the staff with their tales of adventure and rumours about the city. The dragons, of course, were no rumour.
Sitting in her favourite spot, she barely had time to take her plate of mutton and beans from the serving woman’s tray before Becca asked if the dragons were going to take over the palace. On top of that, Luke asked if they would be leaving, now that the “northern wall was destroyed.”
They were scared, that much was obvious. So Olivia spent half an hour assuring them all was well. No, the dragons were not evil; they were Gan dragons and had sworn to help. No, the Highgate wasn’t destroyed beyond repair. Yes, the wolves were on our side, and no, King Vierdan wasn’t going to order the palace evacuated. It seemed to help – a little.
Chrissa cleared her throat. “Princess, we should go; your brother is expecting you in his audience chamber.”
Olivia sighed and pushed her plate away. Standing, she let Chrissa fix her shawl. “I don’t know why he wants me there. It’s not like anybody ever asks me anything.”
“There are two ambassadors,” Chrissa said, pulling her shawl straight. “Very important ambassadors, even though one of them is a wolf.” The woman froze, staring off into nothing. Blinking, she shook her head and co
ntinued, “Regardless of that, they will be crucial in the coming battle, and protocol requires a full embassy to greet them. That means you, Princess.”
Olivia’s shoulders sank. “But they’re so boring! Old men standing around talking about things I don’t understand or care about.”
She had already seen the wolf. Well, three of them, in fact. They were interesting enough, she supposed, but wolf or not, greeting ambassadors was boring.
Chrissa chuckled. “You will be eighteen in a few months, Olivia. As the youngest Princess, it is your duty to attend the king when he receives ambassadors.”
Olivia knew her face looked grumpy, though probably not as grumpy as she felt. “Then let’s hope Otto hurries up and has some children. I don’t want to be doing this for the rest of my life.”
Chrissa laughed at that. It wasn’t likely that the king would marry any time soon; he liked his play too much to settle down.
The halls were still empty when they left the dining hall. It was a long way to the king’s audience room, and they made the journey in relative quiet, only answering the odd nod or greeting from nobles who were also walking through the halls. Olivia was rude, but she knew if she stopped to talk to one noble, a crowd of them would surround her before she could get away.
Following Chrissa through the audience chamber anteroom, Olivia was surprised to find the room empty. The King’s Banner was in place, so he had been there, and half-empty goblets of wine stood on the side table. “They did say third bell?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m certain of it.” Chrissa walked around the room as if she were expecting to find the king hiding under a table. “I don’t understand.”
The door opened, and Evin walked in. Dropping into a perfect curtsy, the First Keeper remained in the stoop until Olivia released her.
“Rise, Evin… uh… Mistress Cesim. Haven’t I told you before, there’s no need for all that when we are alone.”
Evin’s cheeks reddened. “But we are not alone, Princess.” She flicked a sideways glance at Chrissa.
“Not you as well,” Olivia sighed. “I shall go crazy if everyone continues to treat me like a piece of Toyan china. Can you not just… Oh, never mind. Where is everybody?”
Evin bobbed another curtsy, mercifully shallow, this time. “They are in the courtyard, Princess. They wanted to include the dragons in their… plans.”
Dragons in the courtyard! Olivia felt of flutter of excitement. She knew about dragons, probably more than most, but she hadn’t seen one up close.
“Plans?” she said, trying not to let her excitement show. “Are they making plans already? The dragons only arrived a few hours ago, and Miss Paulson still didn’t cancel class.” She whispered the last. That woman wouldn’t cancel a class if the palace were collapsing around their ears.
“I think it was the dragons who insisted on the meeting, Princess.” Evin moved to the side and gestured towards the door. “The king said ‘straight away’!”
“Oh, did he now? Maybe if the king wants me on time, then the king should not move the meeting around, should he?”
“That’s not for me to say, Miss.”
What, no ‘Princess’? It appeared that the woman could choose informality when it suited her. “Very well, Mistress Cesim, lead on.”
The courtyard was more a water garden, with raised ponds set in between beds of honey shrubs and sage. Other herbs had been planted in thin wooden boxes, placed along the bottom of the wall enclosing the courtyard. On the left, a covered, trellised area – gated off and locked with a thick chain – made up the south side of the yard. Master Roan grew his “special” herbs in there and, by royal decree, no one could enter without the Master being present. Olivia hoped she might have a chance to look around, she could only tell so much by squinting through the trellis.
Despite the hour, the courtyard was well lit. It looked as if servants had brought stand lamps out from the palace to add to those hanging from the walls. But even if she only had the dim light of dusk to go by, Olivia doubted she could have missed the huge black dragon sitting in the middle of the yard, between two raised flowerbeds.
“Ah, Sister,” Otto said, walking towards her with hand outstretched. “Let me introduce you.”
She curtsied and took his hand.
The first man, Si’eth Uldmae, was a thickset fellow with a bald head and glacial grey eyes. She was not surprised to learn he was a Salrian, but was very interested to hear that he had fought on their side. Grady Daleman was the Surabhan equivalent of Si’eth. Another thickset chap, but this time with short-cropped hair and the beginning of a beard. He was a Guards Lieutenant; she would have to remember to ask why he was important in all this. Then there was Cahldien Lynar, the huge Crenach woodsman – who insisted on being call “Cal.” Olivia barely came up to his elbow. The tall man bowed and made a strange welcome that must have been in his native tongue. She managed the correct response, she hoped; ancient tongues were not her best subject. Next: Daric Re’adh. She recognised him but was surprised to discover that he had left service to become a farmer, of all things. Leaving the guards because you were too old was one thing; leaving for the love of a woman… She thought him romantic, if not a little foolhardy – farming in the Geddy Valley. Does he know the soil is next to useless?
Otto made a special effort for his introduction of the wolf, Toban: fourteenth Alpha of the Illeas Lineage, Guardian of the Rukin, Master of Chronicles. By the look on the animal’s face, she would have bet ten Ren that her brother had made the last bit up. Still, the wolf was polite and made a surprisingly good bow, considering.
Then there was the dragon. Standing straight, Olivia would be eye-to-knee, if she had looked directly ahead. The beast was huge. Black-scaled and green-eyed, he certainly was intimidating, although he had a look about him that radiated wisdom. She had learned most of the dragons’ forms, and from what she could remember, this beast was a Covar’siet – a Black Master. He was rare: if what she knew was true, there were only two of them. She wondered which one this was.
“And this is Tor’gan, leader of the Gan Dragons.” Strangely enough, Otto did not attempt to embellish the dragon’s title. She was not surprised; the beast’s presence was enough of an honorific for anyone.
Spreading her skirt, Olivia curtsied deeply to the dragon. She wasn’t supposed to, but it felt right, somehow. Otto gave her a wry look and twitched his fingers at her to get up. Tor nodded down at her. At least he seemed to appreciate her effort.
“Well, introductions over,” Otto said. “Where were we?”
“I believe Lieutenant Grady was asking why the Black Hand would choose to attack now, rather than wait until the siege has begun,” the King’s aid, a short, wiry man called Tolas Odaman said, reading from the parchment in front of him. He was the only one seated.
“Yes, that’s a good question, Lieutenant. Major Mikelmoor?”
Mikelmoor took a step forward. He was by far the oldest. A good man, though; Olivia was surprised he hadn’t made general, or at least colonel. Maybe after this. “Thank you, Majesty.” Mikelmoor saluted. “It is our belief that the Black Hand’s intentions were to destroy the towers, not just set fire to the gates. We found kegs of lamp oil and buckets full of pitch at the base of both the east and west tower. My sergeant believes that if the dragon… uh… excuse me, if Tor’gan hadn’t arrived, another ten minutes, and they would have succeeded. As it stands, the Highgate will be repaired in a day or two. If they had destroyed the towers… As for the timing, I believe they had to make their attempt now. Once the siege starts, the towers will be too heavily guarded.” Saluting again, Mikelmoor stepped back into line.
Grady was nodding. Olivia thought she could hear him whispering his agreement.
“Well then, I think we are done with the Black Hand for the moment,” Otto said, sitting on the edge of a low wall. “I don’t say they won’t try to come back and bite us, but for now, we should concentrate on Vila’slae. When are the Cren delegates due to ar
rive?”
The tall woodsman was about to speak when the dragon interrupted him. “Vila is no longer in Aleras.” All heads turned to look at the dragon. “Her link to the dragons – the Barrow Shard – was destroyed; she must go home to make another.”
For a long moment, silence reigned over the courtyard, until, “Don’t leave it there, sir,” Otto said. “Please explain. Who destroyed what? How long will she be gone? How many have left with her?”
The dragon looked… nervous. “Yes… uh… Elspeth destroyed the Barrow Shard. Vila has taken her with her, and Gialyn has gone with Brea and the others to rescue her.”
“What!” Daric broke the line. Fists on hips, the major stared at the dragon. “What do you mean my son has gone to rescue Elspeth? They are supposed to be home!”
“I know, Daric,” the dragon said, raising his clawed hand as if trying to calm the man, “but General Alaf’kan captured Elspeth and your son on their way through the Am’bieth. Fortunately, Bre’ach rescued them and, together with a few Salrian poachers, and with the help of the Spirit Dragon, Bausamon, they managed to make it through the Tunnels of Aldregair.”
“Bre’ach rescued them?” Si’eth said. It was the Salrian’s turn to look indignant. He and Daric looked at each other, and then at the dragon.
“I know,” the dragon said, “It’s confusing. You should let Bre’ach explain.”
“Bre’ach is here?” Si’eth said.
On top of that, Daric asked, “Where are the others? Don’t tell me my son has gone by himself.”
“No, no, Daric. As I said, Arfael and Ealian are with him. Oh, and Brea, of course. We weren’t going to send Gialyn, but Brea insisted – something about Gialyn having a duty to perform. I don’t understand it all. Olam has a letter.”
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