“I will wait, but not too long. Your heir is restless. Time to catch the little silver fish while you have the chance.” So Ermin was still loyal to the father, for the time being.
The King gave his servant the faintest of smiles. Ermin had been a spymaster so long he could not speak in anything but code. “No, not yet,” the King said. A frown passed over Ermin’s brow and then disappeared just as quickly into his faithful servant mask. “I need to think,” Anglewart said, nodding dismissal. Ermin, ever alert to his signals, took a backward step to the door, bowed and left.
Anglewart dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his aching eyes. It didn’t help; too many rings. He held his hands up and studied them, thick and calloused, still the hands of an active soldier preserved by daily battles with his Sword-masters in the exercise yard, but hidden behind all this thick gold. That was his life, he thought, a soldier masquerading as a King.
Dawn began to colour the view from the open window. It looked across the hills and valleys of the Westlands toward the rougher Northlands. In the far, far distance were the tips of the mountains’ black teeth against the lightening sky.
As he watched, the first tiny silhouettes appeared, stretching their almost invisible wings in the grey sky before snaking away, fanning out over the Kingdoms. Foul worms, emerging from their mountain lair to terrorize his people for another day. If the stinking creatures had any consciousness at all they would be laughing at him. The obsession of three generations of rule, the goal of his life, his father’s, his grandfather’s, was their eradication, and all they had succeeded in doing, it seemed, was to help the Dragons thrive. Every effort to kill them just robbed the Realms of good, courageous soldiers while filling the Dragon’s bellies. Even now that he had turned his attention to learning about them, thinking about those damned witches and their ability to control the devils, all he had succeeded in doing was to kill one daughter and wound the other.
The King clutched the expensive fabric covering his muscled belly as a vivid picture came to him, his sweet and cheerful second daughter, the one who loved him without question, as if he were just a man and not a King, and his beautiful older daugher, who remembered him when he was just a man and not a King. Their faces, of course, echoed the youthful face of their mother when they were young and in love, and he had to admit, even older, even deathly ill, she was still beautiful. No wonder he had not looked at her in months, even as she sat by his side fulfilling her official duties as Queen. How could he bear to kill her if he looked at her?
Time to close the shutters, call a valet to remove the rings and heavy robes and guards to watch his door through the day. Would he go to Thalassa? His angry words with his son had pricked the urge to lie with her, enter and conquer once again the object of his son’s immediate ambition. On the other hand, Melisande’s beautiful face in his mind’s eye threw cool water on his desire, peeled it back to reveal the layers beneath. Briefly he glimpsed his own loneliness, the loss of a love that had gone far deeper than his love of power. How could she still weave this spell over him? He abruptly dropped the handful of fabric he had been crushing, formed his hand back into its fist and pounded the glossy wood on his desk. Damn her. He would go to Thalassa. Now. Fully robed and raging. And take her.
Chapter 26: Melisande
Later that night King’s Men arrived at the Queen’s door with an arrest warrant. Imelda tried to block them. “No, you can’t take her. Can’t you see how ill she is?” It made no difference. One of the soldiers scooped the Queen out of bed. Imelda demanded that he pause long enough for her to tuck a blanket around Melisande and gather up a few things. He gave her a few moments, then she followed them into the stone hallway.
In the dungeon there was a private room for highborn prisoners. Although it was grim, dark and closed in by iron bars like any other cell, it had a large and comfortable bed, with curtains for some measure of privacy. It had been freshly made up, the women were glad to see. The King’s Man deposited the Queen into it. Imelda placed the few things she had managed to bring carefully on an empty shelf on the wall and hung a dress for the Queen on a hook she found beside it. As soon as the men were gone, she crawled in beside Melisande. The two women clutched one another in fear and despair. Neither could imagine sleeping.
“Imelda.”
“Yes dear.”
“When I was so ill with the poison, going in and out of consciousness, I kept reliving the worst moments of my life, vividly, as if they were happening to me at that moment.”
“Sh, sh, sh.”
“No. It helps to tell it. I remembered giving birth to all of the children after Liandra and … the horrible humiliation … all those officials in the room—as if anyone could or would switch babies behind their backs!”
Imelda began to rock Melisande, as if she were still a small child. “ And the awful pain when Farrell was born. I thought I was going to die!”
“And, above all.” Melisande voice tightened with tears. “Ortrude and Liandra … lying in the snow … the blood … and the Dragon going over the wall, chain and all.”
Imelda continued to rock and rock her beloved, hurting child well into the day.
Chapter 27: Gleve
Gleve started out of a deep sleep. Daylight peeking through the cracks in the shutters lit Keiran’s anxious face above him. He could feel Keiran’s hand on his arm. For a second, his heart and body leaped together toward the handsome young King’s Man, but Keiran was not there for him. “Gleve, Gleve,” he whispered urgently. “I have a brother. He’s … he’s hidden. I left him. I told him not to leave the basement. I stocked it with food, but how long have I been here? He must have run out by now. When he gets hungry, he’ll leave the house. I must go home. I must …”
Gleve slid out from under his blankets and took Keiran by the shoulders. “Keiran, Keiran, calm down.” He heard Father Mallory’s feet hit the floor. There was a pause. Gleve could picture his Teacher fumbling for his slippers and cane. Then there was the tap shuffle tap shuffle of the Old Man coming to help.
In moments he was there, his cloud of white hair wild about his head. He reached out to lay his hand on Keiran’s arm. “My son, what’s wrong?” he asked.
Keiran turned and sat down beside Gleve on the edge of the bed. Gleve put an arm around his shoulder. Keiran was trembling. “Father Mallory, I remembered, my brother, he’s in danger.” He repeated what he had just told Gleve.
The Old Man now sat on the edge of the bed as well, on the other side of the agitated Keiran. “Your brother was hidden? Why?” His voice trailed off as he considered various possibilities. Keiran fell uncomfortably silent. “Remember, my son,” Father Mallory told him. “We People of the Land don’t hide away family members who are ‘different,’ as you call it.”
Keiran let out a breath, calming in the Old Man’s presence. “He’s … yes, different. He’s not safe. He’s …”
“You must find him,” Father Mallory said. “But we don’t know where, do we?”
Keiran leaped to his feet, pacing back and forth in the tiny room while both Healers watched him. “I can almost remember.”
Gleve led Keiran to the kitchen table and set about making tea. Father Mallory sat down opposite him. Keiran dropped his head into his hands and was silent.
The teapot was empty, the biscuits were eaten, and Gleve was thinking about urging Father Mallory to go back to bed. In fact, he was thinking longingly about going back to bed himself, when Keiran suddenly leaped to his feet, roaring, “Hanford! I live in Hanford!”
Chapter 28: Maida
Rafe and Maida fed the animals and cleaned the pens while Peg sat on her stool reading through her notes. Rafe ate his supper in no more than three bites, it seemed to Maida, and then was ready for bed. As he disappeared into the loft, Maida sat down to milk and Peg carefully closed the Journal in her lap, her face creased into a frown.
“Anything new tonight?” Under Maida’s strong hands the milk hit the bucket with a rh
ythmic whit, whit, whit.
“Everyone has a story or two about this or that Dragon Priestess that they knew or knew about when they were children.” She sighed, deeply. “But no key that would unlock the door. No sign pointing to how they found the Little Dragons and learned to communicate with them.”
“Well, I have a little piece of information to cheer you up.” Maida paused in her milking. Peg’s eyebrows went up, her attention caught. “The scars on the Princess’s back? I was right. They were made by the captive Dragon.”
“Did she tell you the story then? What happened?”
“She and her sister and two friends, other children of noble houses, were playing with it in the castle courtyard when it got very excited and upset. It’s eyes changed colour. Did you know their eyes were like rainbows, with colours moving in spirals?”
“Yes, I knew that.”
“Oh.” Maida paused, disappointed that she her prized piece of information was old news to Mother Peg.
“Go on girl.”
“ And it raised the crest on its head, the first time they had seen it do that. It was a Blue Dragon, by the way.” Peg nodded. “Anyway, at that point it suddenly turned on them, growling and slashing with its claws. They ran, but it followed, tearing its chain out of the stone wall. It killed Liandra’s sister and one of the other children, knocked Liandra on her face, jumped on her and clawed her back, then flew away over the wall.”
“Was it perfectly tame up until then?”
“I don’t know. It must have been, or would Anglewart have allowed the children to play with it like some sort of pet?’
“How old was it then? How big? How big was it when it first hatched? What was it like? Did they learn anything about it during the time they were playing with it?”
Maida rose to put one goat back in the pen and fetch another. “Mother Peg! I don’t know! I tried to ask more questions, but she clammed up tighter than a locked box!”
Mother Peg sighed again. “Oh, I want so much to know!”
“Well, I think she’s slowly coming to trust me a little. Maybe she’ll tell me more as time goes on.”
Chapter 29: Ev
Ev tried to calm her breathing. There wasn’t much air in the stuffy depths of a laundry cart full of dirty sheets. Marle had known that the bedding from the Women’s Retreat House was washed in an open-air laundry down by the river. They had come up with a plan: Ev would find out where the laundry carts waited to be wheeled away. Once down at the river, they often sat untouched for several nights, since it took most of the week to wash and dry their contents.
When the laundry servants left for the day, Ev would slip out and hide somewhere under the wharves along the river. This would be the most dangerous part. Even though the wharves were only a few hundred meters from the laundry, a hunting Dragon would easily spot a young woman running down the cobbled street between the two if it happened to soar overhead. It would be important to listen, watch, spot doorways, overturned carts or anything else she could hide under if she was caught along the way. When darkness fell again, she would make her way to Marle’s rooms.
Marle explained that whatever the Key was, knowledge of it must have been lost in the times of the Terror, but the Old Ones were working to put the puzzle back together again, and Mother Tess was sure that the Key was an important piece. It was indeed time. Mother Tess had sent for her.
Ev’s chest hurt from trying to suck in enough air, She felt as if she were suffocating. Could that happen under a pile of sheets? Would it be possible to black out and then die from lack of air? She ached to stand up, shake the sheets from her shoulders and fill her lungs.
A metal latch rattled, followed by the groan of hinges and heavy wood. There were voices in the hallway where the full laundry carts stood, lined up along the wall. Ev didn’t recognize them. They must be laundry servants who worked down by the river. She also couldn’t hear what they were saying, the words muffled by the folds of linen all around her. She clutched her own knees, curling tighter to fight her panic.
In a few minutes she regretted that she had burrowed right down to the floor of the cart. As it began to roll it bumped and lurched, grinding her bones against the wooden boards. Ev bit her lip to keep from crying out, but the next bump nearly drove her teeth through the flesh. She settled on gritting her teeth together hard.
After an endless, bruising journey, the cart rattled to a halt. “Over here,” someone shouted, and the cart moved again until it banged into something, probably another cart. This brought an “oof” out of Ev, but apparently no one heard her under the crash of the two carts, because no one investigated.
Chapter 30: Melisande
The bag of herbs from the chambermaid was dwindling, but it had done its work. Melisande was clearly recovering. By the third night in the dungeon, she felt well enough to put on the dress Imelda had brought for her and move to one of the simple wooden chairs that furnished their cell. Imelda shook out the covers and re-made the bed.
”I wish I could have my embroidery,” Melisande told her. “Something to do with my hands.”
“I’m sorry. I had only a few minutes to grab what I could.”
“I know. I’m not criticizing. You were a Godsend that night, as always. It would just be nice to have something to keep busy, make the time pass, worry less.”
No sooner had those words left Melisande’s mouth, when they heard the scrape of the iron door at the end of the corridor, heavy boots on the stone floor. Two of the King’s Men appeared at the barred door to their cell, unlocked it and entered. Behind them came Ermin, cloaked and evil-looking. Melisande stood, her regal stance, while she cringed inside.
“You will come with us, your Highness,” Ermin had a smooth voice, understated. “Are we coming back here, or should Imelda take our things?” Melisande asked.
Ermin sneered and shrugged his shoulders. “Take your things if you like. You’re not coming back.” Melisande’s skin tightened into goosebumps. Imelda gathered up their few possessions once again.
At the door leading out into the courtyard, Ermin picked up something dark from a hook on the wall. As he turned, he unfolded a pair of travelling cloaks and held them out. Imelda helped the Queen put one on, then pulled the other around her own shoulders. The armed men escorted them out into the darkness. Imelda glanced at the stars. It was close to morning. Were they to be tied out for the Dragons?
Chapter 31: Maida
Aden, the King’s Bailiff, came with four men carrying two wooden boxes filled with fresh supplies for the Princess’s meals. Rafe, as always, disappeared from sight as soon as the flicker of their lanterns appeared far down the trail. As they entered the clearing, Liandra ran out into the barnyard, ignoring her already-ruined shoes. “Aden, take me home!” she commanded.
“It’s nice to see you too, my Lady,” Aden responded.
“Just take me home,” she insisted.
“You know I cannot do that, my Lady, but I have food and wine for you, the best the Castle has to offer. Also, some fresh clothes.” Aden was too well trained a servant to look at the wreck of a dress Liandra was wearing, or her hair tangled and flying free, but the contrast to the clean and neatly dressed party from the Castle made everyone think the same thought.
As Aden and Peg conducted their business, exchanging full boxes for the empty ones, discussing arrangements, Liandra continued to storm about, now demanding, now begging to be taken home. Aden ignored her until it was time to leave, when he politely wished her well.
The Princess screamed and ranted until the Castle party was well out of sight, then collapsed on the front step, sobbing. Maida considered comforting her, but a little shake of Mother Peg’s head warned her away. Maida and Peg went about their business.
Suddenly the Princess shrieked. “Who’s that?”
Maida ran out of the kitchen. “Who?” she asked
“There! There’s a man looking at me from the loft of the barn. He’s gone now,
but I swear he was there.”
Maida paused, then decided there was no alternative. “That’s Rafe,” she said.“He lives here.”
“Oh, I thought there was someone else here, someone, well, different.” Maida took in a startled breath. “He’s frightened of me, isn’t he?” Liandra looked thoughtfully at the dark barn. Suddenly she called out in the direction of the open loft door. “Rafe! It’s all right! I won’t hurt you!” Maida started again, then she smiled at the Princess, who, amazingly, smiled back before returning to the kitchen.
That morning, when Maida went to the stable to milk, Rafe was restless. “’Cess!” he said to Maida.
“Yes, that was the Princess.”
“’Cess,” Rafe repeated.
The next evening, Peg was in her room preparing for that night’s journey. Rafe crept cautiously to the kitchen door. Liandra was sitting in her usual place by the hearth, her breakfast coffee in her hand. Rafe stared at her through the door, his eyes as round as dinner plates.
“It’s all right, Rafe,” Liandra told him. “I won’t hurt you.” Rafe continued to stare. Liandra turned to Maida. “He lived in the Westlands before, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Maida responded
“He’s telling me now.”
“He’s …?” Maida searched for words.
“I can hear him, in my head, not in words, exactly, but I can hear what he means,” Liandra told her. “That’s why he’s frightened of me, because he knows I’m from the Castle.” Liandra paused, then understanding dawned on her face. “He was left out for the Dragons, wasn’t he?” Maida was too shocked to respond. Liandra turned back to Rafe. “My father’s men did bad things to you, but I won’t hurt you.”
“Now that’s a promise you’ll have to keep,” Maida told her.
“What do you mean?”
“Think! Rafe was left out for the Dragons. Hiding him here means breaking your Father’s laws. If you ever mention that Rafe is here, you will put him and us in grave danger, even yourself, if you don’t report him right away.”
Princess Liandra blanched slightly at the thought of what could happen to anyone caught breaking her Father’s laws. “Oh,” she said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
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