A Dragon's Curse

by Lucy Fear

  “Maeve? Are you all right?” There was a hand on her shoulder. When she looked up, Idris was kneeling in front of her, peering into her face concernedly. She felt the sudden sensation that his blue eyes were pools she might fall into, and it was so strange that she shook herself.

  “I’m fine,” she said, letting him pull her upright. “The gate just… hit me harder than usual, that’s all.” He didn’t question her, though his expression was skeptical.

  “Well, in any case, welcome to Serenalis.” She looked away from his face and gasped. Even in the Court of Bones, they had heard of the city of eternal night, but she hadn't imagined how beautiful the sky would be. The stars were brighter than she had ever seen; she almost felt she could reach up and pull them out of the sky. Idris led them a few steps forward where there was a ledge overlooking the whole city. Spread out beneath her, under the glow of thousands of colorful lanterns, was a bright patchwork of fabrics, the innumerable roofs of market stalls. The air was full of the smell of spices, of the cries of vendors plying their wares, and the faint sound of music in the distance. “What do you think?” Idris asked from his position beside her, his hands held behind his back. Maeve was struck by how regal he looked in that moment.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said. “It’s so lively and colorful. We’re really going to go down there?” She was excited, but also a little nervous. The streets were crowded and noisy.

  “That’s the main market. It’s a little bigger than usual because of the holiday, but we don’t have to go there if you don’t want to. The place I plan to take you is in a quieter part of town, and I’ll be with you. You can let me know if you’re uncomfortable,” he said.

  She flashed him a grateful smile, taking the arm he once again offered, and then they walked down into the city. Idris clearly knew where he was going, leading them through a warren of narrow side streets without any hesitation. But even the alleys were clean and well-lit, the buildings painted brightly. The few citizens they passed, fae of strange forms that Maeve had never seen before, greeted their prince with cheerful courtesy and he responded in kind. Once again, she was struck by the difference between this court and her own. When she walked among her own people, they either cowered in fear or circled with predatory menace.

  Finally, they walked into a small, out of the way shop. It smelled strange to Maeve, who had never had reason to know the scent of either sawdust or varnish, but the atmosphere was otherwise cozy, with warm wood paneling and dust motes sparkling as they floated in the light. “Prince Idris. It’s been many years,” said the person at the counter, a wizened old fae with a crest of black feathers and a rather beaklike mouth.

  “My apologies, Fiachra. I don’t play much anymore,” he said, bowing his head in apology. “Today, I’ve brought a friend. Maeve needs a flute.” Maeve wanted to know more about the revelation that Idris also played an instrument, but Fiachra smiled and took her by the arm.

  “A flute, eh. What kind of flute? Do you prefer metal or wooden? Transverse or end blown?”

  “Er… I don’t know. The one I used at home was bone, I think. I didn’t know there were so many options,” she said, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

  “Never fear. I’ll show you what we have in stock and you can try them out. How’s that?” Fiachra said, patting her arm gently, and leading her over to a case on the back wall.

  About an hour later, she found something she was truly happy with: a simple-looking wooden flute with a beautiful tone, soft and low like the call of an owl. Idris was sitting on a chair in the front of the store with a drink in his hand. “Did you find something you like?”

  “I did. It’s a little different than what I’m used to, so I’m not sure whether I’ll be able to play for Beltane,” she said quickly, embarrassed that she might not even be able to fulfill the whole reason he’d brought her here.

  He shook his head. “No matter. I’m glad you found something. How much do I owe you, Fiachra?” Maeve opened her mouth to protest, feeling like an idiot. Of course, they would have to pay for the flute. This wasn’t like home, where the royalty took whatever they wanted. She was ashamed for not realizing earlier, and even more ashamed to let Idris pay for it when his family was already doing so much for her.

  But Fiachra spoke before she could. “Tell you what. I’ll give you the flute, if you’ll do this old man a favor and play for me,” he said to Idris with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “You want me to play right now?” Idris said, raising a brow in skepticism. “I warn you that I’m terribly out of practice.”

  “If I let you beg off for another day, you’ll always be too busy to come,” Fiachra replied, wagging a clawed finger at the prince. “Come into the music room now. The cello should be tuned and ready.”

  Maeve followed after them, more than a little curious, and watched Idris sit down at a large stringed instrument. He plucked the strings one by one, listening to the notes vibrate on the air with an expression of satisfaction. “What shall I play?” he asked, turning to the elderly shopkeeper.

  “You should play whatever you feel moved to play, of course,” Fiachra replied with a slight smile. Idris made a small noise of assent and placed the bow against the strings. His first few notes were tentative, perhaps because it had been so long since he had played. But Maeve could almost see the moment that it came back to him, and the tension left his shoulders. The sound of the cello filled the room, low and soulful, and it touched a chord within her. There was something sweeping and romantic about the music he had chosen, and she allowed herself to get lost in it. It was over much too soon.

  She wiped a tear from the corner of her eyes. “That was beautiful. You really should play more often,” she said. Idris stood up, his cheeks slightly pink, and handed the bow back to Fiachra.

  “I’m not that good at it,” he mumbled, furiously scratching his nose. “But I’m glad you liked it.” Fiachra had a wide, knowing smile on his face that Maeve couldn’t quite understand, but they left the shop a few minutes later. Idris showed her a few other places in the city and took her to lunch in a small cafe, but she couldn’t get the memory of the music out of her head. She was now determined to play for Beltane, as repayment to Idris, both for the flute and for the gift of the music he had shared with her.

  *************************

  When they returned to the estate and Idris had taken his leave of Maeve, he went back to his room. Rhosyn had cleared his entire schedule, which was impressive, if ridiculous. He didn’t know what she thought he’d be doing that would require the entire day. Or perhaps he didn’t want to know. Still, now, he had nothing to do, which made him uncomfortable. Acting on a half-formed impulse, he ducked under his bed and pulled out an instrument case, brushing off the dust with a sigh. He couldn’t forget the look on Maeve’s face when he had finished playing. It made him want to play for her again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Warm sunlight streamed into Maeve’s room, waking her early on Beltane morning, but she didn’t mind. Even though she still wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the festivities, she had been drawn into the sense of joyful anticipation that permeated the entire estate. The only thing that truly worried her was the fact that, in order to participate, she would have to accompany the others in returning to the main palace, with the full court in attendance. In order to remain inconspicuous, she would be joining the ranks of Princess Rhosyn’s handmaidens. This made her feel somewhat better, but she was still anxious as she put on the green sundress that Fenella had chosen for her, which was embellished with iridescent blue dragonflies along the hem.

  Rhosyn came to her room just as she was finished dressing, wearing a similar dress but lavender in color and embroidered with pink flowers. “Oh, good. You’re already dressed.”

  “I thought we weren’t leaving for hours yet,” Maeve said, both confused and alarmed. She might have been physically ready to go, but she was no way near psychologically prepared. And she had wanted to p
ractice on her flute at least once more before she would have to play in public.

  “Oh, we aren’t, don’t worry,” Rhosyn replied. “But it’s traditional for all the unmarried women to make flower crowns for the household, and I thought you might like to join us.”

  “But I don’t know how to make a flower crown,” she said, the only protest to which she felt she could put words. She never felt like she belonged at these kinds of things, but Rhosyn was always inviting her anyway. The princess seemed determined that Maeve be included in every aspect of life at the estate, and as time passed, she found herself protesting less and less.

  “It’s easy. I’ll show you,” Rhosyn said cheerfully, taking her by the arm. “It’ll be really fun; I promise.”

  And so, a few minutes later, she entered the courtyard with Rhosyn and a few other young women, and began learning how to weave flower crowns under Fenella’s expert tutelage. It wasn’t that difficult, just as Rhosyn had promised, and soon they were all talking and laughing as they wove the blossoms together.

  “You never did explain what this holiday is all about. What are we even celebrating?” Maeve asked Rhosyn quietly as she finished her first crown and set it upon her own head.

  “Oh. I forgot you won’t have celebrated before. Beltane is supposed to be the first day of summer. It’s about the joy of returning warmth and fertility,” she said. “We drink May wine, cover everything with flowers, and dance around the maypole. Traditionally, couples spend the night out in the woods and fields, celebrating more personal rites to ensure the land’s abundance in the coming year.”

  “What?” Maeve exclaimed squeakily. “Is that um… expected of… everyone?” Rhosyn took one look at her horrified and embarrassed expression and burst into laughter.

  “No! Of course not. I mean, if you’re interested, I’m sure there are several people who’d be more than willing,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Maeve shook her head hurriedly. “But it’s no big deal if you aren’t. You can just head back to the palace after the feast with my parents and Oisin.”

  “So, you’re going to stay?” Maeve murmured, curious despite herself.

  “I don’t have anyone in particular in mind,” Rhosyn said, her lips pursed thoughtfully and her eyes twinkling. “But we’ll see what happens.” Maeve had a sudden impulse to ask about Idris, but she squashed it. She doubted that the siblings discussed their love lives with each other, and furthermore, she didn’t know why she cared. Or she did, but she refused to examine this curiosity more closely.

  After each of them had made several flower crowns, others of the household came out to receive them. Rhosyn explained that there was a bit of teasing and flirtation among those of courting age, involving who received crowns from whom, but it wasn’t a contractual obligation. Maeve was still careful not to give her flowers away to anyone who looked too interested. Couples tended to make them for each other, so when the Lord and Lady appeared in the courtyard, they were already wearing matching ornaments of honeysuckle and starwort. Idris trailed behind them, looking somewhat uncomfortable as several young ladies thrust their creations in his direction, and then his eyes met hers.

  “I’ll take one of Maeve’s,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Since she has so many.” She felt her cheeks go red as everyone’s attention suddenly centered on her. She picked up a crown of primrose and lilac and placed it on his head, and he smiled, a brief but natural smile that made her heart turn over. He turned and followed after his parents, and Maeve shook herself.

  “Interesting,” Rhosyn said, her tone somewhat smug. Maeve was too afraid to ask what she meant. They gathered their things together and followed the others through the gate to the main palace.

  It was like the castles of her girlhood dreams, soaring towers of white stone, stained glass windows, copper roof tiles flashing in the sunlight, and banners flapping in the breeze. But it was obvious that the main part of the festivities were out on the lawn. Long tables were set out in the courtyard, and in front of the main gate, wood had been stacked for several bonfires. Lord Aidan and Lady Rowan opened the celebration with a few simple words and the blessing of a communal cup. The drink tasted like honey and flowers on Maeve’s tongue, and she cheered with everyone else when the fire shot upward with a whoosh of sparks.

  Almost immediately, the music began, and people started dancing around the fire. Maeve sat and watched at first, smiling and clapping with the others, but then Rhosyn suddenly appeared from within the crowd and pulled her into the dance. She had no idea what she was doing, but no one seemed to be paying attention, and she picked it up after a few rounds. It was a fast dance with a lot of whirling and clapping, and at the end of every set, they exchanged partners. Maeve didn’t pay much attention to who she was dancing with, since she usually didn’t know them. It wasn’t as if this was a dance that allowed much conversation. Once, she was even paired with Rhosyn, which was fun. But then, unexpectedly, she found herself flung into a familiar pair of arms.

  Idris looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. They whirled around the fire together, and Maeve found that she couldn’t look away from the intense gaze of his crystal blue eyes. She was keenly aware of the strength of his arm around her waist and the warmth of his hand as it gripped her own. The song came to an end, and there was a brief, strange moment where they stood, staring at each other and trying to catch their breath. But, as the musicians started to wind up for another song, Idris pulled them out of the way of the dancers, into the shelter of a nearby archway.

  “I didn’t know you were dancing,” Maeve said, still somewhat breathless but wanting to dispel the awkwardness between them.

  “I wasn’t, but then Rhosyn pulled me in to take her place.” He was frowning slightly, but Maeve thought it was more thoughtful than annoyed. “You dance very well, by the way,” he added with an upward quirk of his mouth. His outfit was a bit more colorful than usual, spring green and periwinkle blue with embroidered ivy trailing over his collar. She had the sudden desire to trace it with her fingers, and she clenched her fist to keep her hands from getting ideas.

  “Well, thank you. I’ve never done it before, so I’m glad I didn’t make a fool of myself,” she replied, smiling up at him. He had a strange expression on his face, surprised and almost disbelieving, and then it was gone.

  “No,” he said in a low voice. “You look lovely today… I mean,” he said, the tips of his ears flushing, “you look nice every day, but this color suits you. It makes your hair even more striking.” To her increasing surprise, he picked up an errant lock and placed it gently behind her ear. She didn’t know what to think, but her heart was beating wildly. He swallowed. “Maeve…” The sound of a bell interrupted whatever Idris had been about to say, and he shook himself. “That’s the signal for the feast. Shall I escort you?”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you,” she said, putting her arm through his elbow, a pose that was becoming somewhat familiar. She thought she could feel the eyes of the entire court upon them, wondering who she was, and what she was doing on the arm of the prince. But Idris did not seem at all concerned, even though, to Maeve’s mounting horror, he led her up to the high table and seated her in between himself and his younger brother. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to sit here?” she whispered, panicked.

  “You’re our guest. My mother told me you’d be sitting with us,” Idris said, unperturbed. As if on cue, Lady Rowan turned and smiled at the both of them. “Besides,” he continued as he sat down beside her, “if we let you sit down there, I have no doubt the court would be on you like wolves on an injured deer, trying to figure out who you are and what use you might be to them.” Looking down at everyone taking their seats below the dais, Maeve couldn’t disagree. Even now, many of the courtiers kept glancing up at them, their gazes speculative.

  Still, the feast was delicious, even though the food was clearly of the enchanted variety. Having spent the past week eating the filling, ‘real’ food at the estat
e, going back to magical food was something like a pleasing novelty. Prince Oisin was a clever and charming child who was happy to converse with her, and it did wonders for easing her nervousness, which, she supposed, had been the idea. The freely flowing wine might also have been a factor.

  The meal began to wind down, and people started to drift away from the table. Idris had left a few minutes earlier, and Maeve started to wonder if it was nearly time for her to take her leave of the festivities, when suddenly Rhosyn was standing at the arm of her chair. “You did bring your flute, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” she replied nervously, pulling the case out from under her legs. She had practiced and practiced, but now that the time came to perform… Rhosyn, as usual, didn’t want to hear any excuses. She pulled Maeve by the arm until they were standing by the fire. There was already a group of musicians around it, their faces shadowed in the firelight as they played a cheerful tune. “But I didn’t prepare to play with anyone,” she whispered desperately to the princess.

  “I know. Just wait for them to come to a stopping point. It’ll be fine,” Rhosyn said, swaying to the music unconcernedly. Maeve took out her flute, her stomach full of butterflies, but with the dim light masking everyone’s faces and the alcohol in her veins boosting her courage, she thought she might actually be able to do it. As Rhosyn had predicted, the music petered to a stop after a few minutes, and in that pause, she put the flute to her mouth. The melody was light and meandering at first; it had made Maeve think of a lively mountain stream. But as the tune slowed and deepened, another instrument, something low and stringed, joined in. She didn’t dare stop to look for the mysterious musician, but she felt they were speaking directly to her, taking a song that had alone been gentle and wistful and turning it almost sensuous. The two melodies twined around one another, perfectly balanced, and no one else dared to join in. Time was suspended in that moment, the music and the firelight, and when the last note of the song finally died away, Maeve felt a pang of loss and regret, even as she looked around frantically for whoever had joined her song.