by Jasmine Walt
“Think about it. The elves want three princes, and if they succeed in capturing or killing us, our entire kingdom is doomed. If only one turns up…”
Alistair shook his head, torn between amusement and exasperation. “Of course. I should have seen it.”
“It’s a good thing you’ve got me around, then.” Drystan clapped him on the shoulder, then turned him about. “Now, shall we go before him or follow him at a distance?”
3
“And just where do you think you’re going in a dress like that?”
Dareena froze halfway to the door at the sound of Mr. Harrin’s voice. Turning, she saw him standing farther down the hall, eyes glittering, arms folded across his chest. He looked her up and down in a way that sent unpleasant shivers down her spine—his gaze was lascivious and displeased all at once.
“To the festival, of course,” Dareena said calmly. “All women of age are required to attend and are automatically given the day off by order of the king. You know that.”
Mr. Harrin grunted. “Idiotic rule, that,” he said. “Taking away my most valuable employee on the busiest day of the century. You’re not going to get picked, anyway.”
“I know that,” Dareena said, “but even so, I am required to attend.” She didn’t bother telling him that she was actually looking forward to the festival. That would only make him grumpier.
“If you know that, then why did you bother putting on such a fancy dress?” Mr. Harrin’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you get that thing, anyway? You can’t afford to buy something as fancy as that.”
“It was a gift from Gilma,” Dareena said evenly, even as her anxiety rose. Would Mr. Harrin actually try to prevent her from leaving? Legally, he couldn’t, and the moment someone saw her waiting tables, the guards would be called to drag her away. But he could always throw her into the cellar, if he had a mind to. Even though he was an old man, he was still stronger than her.
“Then wear it to our wedding,” Mr. Harrin insisted. “Come on, Dareena, you don’t need to waste your time on a sham like this.” He grabbed Dareena’s arm as she turned to leave. “You’re not going to be Chosen. Your best bet is to pledge yourself to me.”
“And so what if it is a sham?” Dareena protested, trying to yank her arm from his strong grip. “I deserve at least one good day off. I’m not going to pass up this opportunity to have a good time just because you’re worried about something that won’t come to pass. Let me go, Mr. Harrin.”
“Fine,” he huffed, releasing her. “But don’t get too friendly with any of the men. We’ve got a wedding to plan, Dareena.”
Dareena left as quickly as she could without actually running. She didn’t correct Mr. Harrin on his assumption—there was always a chance that she would accept his marriage proposal, and if she rejected him now he might very well set his sights elsewhere.
Stop that, she scolded herself as her heart began to sink toward her shoes. It was a lovely day, with music and laughter ringing in the air, and the smell of sugary pastries and roasting meat. She would not let Mr. Harrin spoil this special day for her.
“Dareena!” Tildy squealed, distracting Dareena from her melancholy. She turned to see Tildy running up the street toward her, bedecked in a sunny yellow dress she’d worked on all year. “By the dragon, where did you get that dress? It’s stunning!”
“Gilma gave it to me,” Dareena said, sweeping Tildy into a hug. “But yours looks far lovelier. It looks even better on you than I thought it would!”
Beaming, Tildy performed a quick little spin to show off the dress. As she did, a trio of men walking past paused to look. Tildy might not have had the choicest figure, but she had rosy cheeks and flaxen hair and looked like a ray of sunshine in the middle of the street.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing Dareena’s hand. “Let’s go to the festival!”
The two women raced down the street together, holding hands and laughing like they were little children again. Soon, they found themselves amidst the sea of tents Dareena had walked through yesterday, but this time they were all set up and boasting all manner of goods and entertainments. To their left, a soothsayer read fortunes from people’s palms. To their right, a merchant from farther south was selling brilliantly colored handwoven rugs. Farther up the path, a man in brightly colored clothing lay on a mat, contorting himself into all kinds of impossible positions as the small crowd gasped in horror and amazement.
“There is truly something here for everyone,” Dareena murmured.
Tildy and Dareena spent the rest of the morning wandering through the tents, sampling the food and marveling over the wares. Dareena attracted a good deal of attention—quite a few women asked her how she came by the dress and where they could get one for themselves. Several men asked Dareena to dance, and before she knew it, she was swept off to the dancing square along with Tildy.
The dancing square had been set up in the center of the festival area, with various performers playing lively, upbeat tunes that got the blood pumping and Dareena’s feet moving almost of their own accord. She quickly found herself separated from Tildy as she danced with partner after partner, until nearly two hours later, she finally begged off for a drink, sweaty and more than a little flushed from all the dancing.
“Well, you look like you’ve been having a jolly good time,” the woman behind the lemonade stand chuckled as Dareena ordered a dipperful. She groaned as the cool, sweet liquid hit her tongue—lemonade was a rare treat, and it was easily one of the best things she’d tasted in a long time.
“I’ve been dancing for the last two hours,” she said breathlessly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I think I’ll be needing another one of those—I’m parched!”
She paid for another drink, and then, feeling refreshed, wandered through the tents for a while on her own. Tildy would catch up to her eventually, and after all that dancing, she felt like being by herself for a bit.
None of the men she’d danced with had dared to follow her when she’d left—it was perfectly acceptable to ask the women to dance, but trying to lay claim to any of them before the Hunt had finished was forbidden. The dragon king would be extremely displeased if one of the Chosen had lain with a man on the day of the festival—if the Dragon’s Gift came to the castle already pregnant, it would be an absolute disaster.
Still, Dareena thought as her mind wandered back to the last man she’d danced with. His name was Cole Barris, he was the son of Hallowdale’s treasurer, and he had seemed awfully interested. Why shouldn’t Dareena invite him to dance with her again? He would be a good match, much more pleasing to the eye than Mr. Harrin, and well-off enough that she would be taken care of. It wasn’t as if Dareena would actually be Chosen—everyone knew that with her coloring, it was impossible.
“You bitch!” a familiar voice shrieked, cutting through the gay atmosphere. “You’ve ruined my outfit!”
Dareena spun around to see Lyria standing a few feet away in front of a vendor cart selling pieces of honeycomb. Honey had dribbled down the front of her dress, staining her white bodice, as she clutched a piece of honeycomb that had undoubtedly just been handed to her. The vendor, a slim, mousy-looking girl, trembled, her brown eyes wide with fear.
“I’m sorry, miss, but I did warn you—”
“You did no such thing!” Lyria’s cheeks were pink with rage. “You simply handed it to me like the thoughtless twit you are, with no regard for my outfit. Do you have any idea how much this dress cost? More than what your silly cart makes in a year, I’d wager!”
She lifted her hand to slap the girl, but before the blow could connect, Dareena stepped in.
“You should be more careful,” she said, grabbing Lyria’s hand. “You never know where your hand might land if you keep swinging it about like that.”
“Dareena,” Lyria spat, her blue eyes sparking with anger. She yanked her hand from Dareena’s grip. “Get out of my way. This insolent whore needs to be punished!”
“Do you
really want to be seen smacking around a helpless girl on the day of the Dragon’s Hunt?” Dareena asked, arching an eyebrow. “The huntress and her escorts are everywhere. They could be watching you right now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lyria said, but her eyes darted around, looking to see if the huntress was, in fact, watching. “The huntress wouldn’t care. I’m sure she punishes impudent servants all the time. It comes with the territory of being royalty,” she added with a smirk.
Dareena stared at her for a long moment. “I would change that dress, if I were you,” she said. “White really isn’t your color.”
Lyria gasped, and Dareena marched away before the woman could answer. She half expected Lyria to yank her back by the hair, but she must have taken her warning about the huntress watching to heart, because nothing happened.
It took a few minutes for Dareena to cool off after the encounter. Eventually, she slowed her pace, then stopped at an apple cart. As she munched on a golden apple, she reflected that the one good thing about Lyria being Chosen was that at least Hallowdale would be rid of her for a few weeks. But it had been foolish of Dareena to slight her that way, especially in such a public fashion. If Lyria didn’t become the next Dragon’s Gift, she would make Dareena’s life hell when she returned to Hallowdale.
“Well, hello there,” a female voice purred in her ear, cutting off her train of thought. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?”
Slowly, Dareena turned toward the voice. Her heart stopped at the sight of a tall, flame-haired woman leaning against one of the tent poles behind her, dressed in shining armor. The dragon crest emblazoned on her chest left no doubt in Dareena’s mind as to who she was.
“Huntress,” she murmured, dipping into a deep curtsy. How long had the huntress been standing there? And why did she want to speak to Dareena, of all people?
“Rise,” the woman said, a curious note in her voice. “What is your name? I don’t recall you amongst any of the noble families I met with yesterday.”
Dareena’s face flushed as she realized the woman’s mistake. “My name is Dareena Sellis. I am a serving girl at the Hallowdale Inn.”
“A serving girl?” The huntress blinked in surprise. “You don’t look it in that dress. Where did you steal that?”
Dareena stiffened at the insult. “I didn’t steal it from anyone,” she said coldly, raising her chin to meet the huntress’s gaze squarely. The huntress’s eyes narrowed, and Dareena forced herself not to flinch.
What in blue blazes are you doing? a voice—likely the voice of reason—screamed in Dareena’s mind. You should throw yourself on the ground and beg her forgiveness before she burns you to a crisp!
But to Dareena’s surprise, the woman threw back her head and laughed. “You have fire,” she said. “You will do.”
“W-what?” Dareena sputtered as the huntress started to move past. “Do for what?”
The huntress paused. “You seem like a woman who is prone to speak her mind,” she said, turning around. “What do you think of Lyria, the lord’s daughter?”
“She’s very beautiful,” Dareena said cautiously. “But I’m afraid that her particular beauty only runs skin-deep.” Had the huntress witnessed her altercation with Lyria after all?
Dareena expected the huntress to be disappointed or displeased, but to her surprise, the woman grinned. “I think we’re going to get along just fine,” she said, and with that parting remark, disappeared into the crowd.
“DID SHE REALLY SAY THAT?” Tildy asked, astonished. The two women sat in the grass, feasting on a pair of turkey legs for dinner. The high noon sun shone on them, turning Tildy’s hair to gold and illuminating the sparkle in her eyes.
“She did,” Dareena said. “But I have no idea what she could mean. Do you think she wants me as a handmaiden?” The thought worried her. She had absolutely no training or experience in that kind of work, and she wasn’t particularly keen on spending her days around royalty. That said, it might still beat the prospect of lying with Mr. Harrin every night.
Tildy snorted. “A woman like that would want a squire, not a handmaiden,” she said. “It really sounds like she’s thinking about picking you.”
Dareena shook her head. “We already know who’s going to get picked,” she said around a mouthful of meat. “Lyria is the top choice, and I’m betting Cyra will be right behind her.”
“If anyone deserves to be queen, it’s Cyra,” Tildy said, an admiring look in her eye. Cyra was the daughter of a wealthy merchant, and she spent much of her spare time looking after the homeless. “She would rule with a gentle hand.”
“The Dragon’s Gift doesn’t actually have any authority,” Dareena reminded her. “She is only there to bear the king’s children. Beyond that, she isn’t given any responsibilities.”
Tildy huffed. “I think that’s ridiculous. If the gods consider a woman worthy enough to be the Dragon’s Gift, then surely they consider her worthy of greater responsibility. Women should have a say when it comes to how this country is run.”
Dareena smiled. “Perhaps one day things will change,” she said, though she doubted it. The kingdom of Dragonfell only recognized power, and women had none. That was why the only females in the Dragon Force were the king’s daughters and the odd dragon born female. Everyone else who wielded either weapons or the power of office was male.
“Well, there’s no point in worrying about things we can’t change,” Tildy said, tossing her bone aside. “Let’s enjoy the festival while it lasts.”
The two women spent the rest of the afternoon doing just that—talking and laughing with friends, enjoying spectacles from various performers, and simply relishing the rarity of a day off. Most of the townsfolk, with the exception of nobles, were forced to toil day in and day out to scrape a living. It was nice to be able to take some time off and simply appreciate friends and family and the joy of being alive, even if it was just for this one day.
But soon enough, dusk descended upon Hallowdale, and with it, quiet. Everyone knew that the time was growing near, and the air grew charged with anticipation.
Finally, the quiet was broken by the signal they’d all been waiting for—the drums. A single beat echoed through the tents, over and over, calling everyone away from the festival and to the town square. Guards herded all of the marriageable women together, pushing through the crowds. Tildy and Dareena grabbed hands to keep from being separated.
“I’m nervous,” Tildy whispered as they were lined up in two rows facing each other. “I didn’t expect to be nervous.”
“I know what you mean,” Dareena whispered back, looking up to the podium. Lord Hallowdale stood there, and behind him, the huntress who had come down from Dragon’s Keep to choose the three women who would participate in the Selection Ritual. Two soldiers flanked her, and they all looked magnificent and foreboding, the waning sunlight setting their armor and hair ablaze, their expressions somehow fierce and stoic at once. Standing before them was enough to make anyone nervous, and as Dareena glanced around, she saw that she and Tildy weren’t the only ones.
In fact, the only one who didn’t seem nervous was Lyria Hallowdale. She stood tall and proud at the front of the line opposite Dareena, in an ivory gown rather than the white she’d worn earlier. Dareena bristled at the faintest hint of smugness on Lyria’s aristocratic features. She was obviously counting her chickens already.
And why shouldn’t she? Dareena asked herself. If she were in Lyria’s position, she would be just as confident.
“Citizens of Hallowdale,” Lord Hallowdale boomed as the drums finally silenced. He looked quite regal dressed in a red and gold tunic likely worth a lifetime of Dareena’s wages. “We are gathered here today to celebrate one of the holiest events in our country’s history—the Dragon’s Hunt.”
The whole town listened as Lord Hallowdale launched into a lengthy explanation of the history of the Dragon’s Hunt. It was nothing Dareena hadn’t heard before, so she listened with only half an ea
r, her attention on the women standing behind him. The huntress she had met was there, but Dareena had not met the two female soldiers flanking her. There was something similar about their features, as if they might be distantly related, but the huntress was the only one with the amber eyes that all dragons bore. They all wore the armor of the Dragon Force, though, and since only dragon-blooded females were allowed in the Dragon Force, the other two must be dragon born.
Finally, Lord Hallowdale finished his monologue. “We are honored by the presence of General Tariana, who has been sent by King Dragomir to conduct the Hunt on his behalf.” He gestured to the amber-eyed huntress, and Dareena struggled to keep her jaw from dropping. Tariana was the general of Dragonfell’s Dragon Force? “She and her entourage have watched the women of our fair city throughout the day and will now begin the ceremonial walk before announcing the Chosen.”
The three women descended from the podium, and every woman on the ground stood a little taller. They slowly prowled down the center of the two lines together, meeting the gaze of each woman they passed. Some of the women flinched, while others held themselves ramrod stiff beneath their regard.
Relax, Dareena told herself. She forced her muscles to loosen, and as she did, some of the nerves began to ease. This was nothing to be afraid of. The huntress would finish her walk, announce the Chosen, and then Dareena would go home. She would hold onto the memory of this extraordinary day as she went back to her ordinary life, and that would be that.
By the time the huntress and her entourage came to where Dareena and Tildy stood, Dareena was calm and collected. She met the first dragon born’s eyes without flinching and was utterly unsurprised when the woman’s gaze flicked away quickly. The other dragon born’s assessment was the same, and Tariana didn’t even look at her. Dareena couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed—after their talk earlier, she’d thought the huntress would at least acknowledge her.
But then again, perhaps it was for the best that she didn’t. There was no point in getting her hopes up that perhaps the huntress had seen something in Dareena that the others did not. Dareena herself didn’t see anything within that would help her stand out, so why should anybody else?