“You’re tired and hungry,” she had told Marcus in soothing tones. “And your poor hands! They could be hanging in a butcher’s stall, they’re so red and raw. Let me row, at least for a little while.”
He argued, of course, but in the end—rather to her surprise-he gave the oars to her, shifting position with her in the boat. Evelina didn’t do a bad job of rowing, once she got the hang of it. She could do most things she set her mind to; a characteristic that had carried her stubbornly through life.
Fortunately, she didn’t have far to go before she steered them out of the tributary that flowed past the cave and entered the main body of the river, Aston. Here, she was rowing with the current, not against it, since the river flowed south, carrying them in the direction they wanted to go.
“We should find a place to stop,” Marcus had told her before he’d fallen asleep. “It’s dangerous traveling the river in the dark.”
Evelina was in hearty agreement. She had no intention of spoiling her hands the way Marcus had spoiled his, and she could feel them starting to blister. Her back and shoulders ached, as did her buttocks, from the hard seat. When she saw lights ahead, bobbing up and down in the darkness, Evelina would have thanked God, had she known Him well enough to take the liberty.
The lights belonged to fishermen setting out from their small village for some night fishing. They used lantern light to lure the fish to their nets, and it was these lights that Evelina saw. She woke Marcus with a kick of her foot.
The fishermen were naturally quite astonished when a young woman rowed a boat into their midst and more astonished yet to find that she had a monk with bandaged hands for a passenger. Their confusion was cleared up when Marcus explained who he was. He didn’t expect them to believe him, for he had no way to prove his identity. To his astonishment, he was greeted with smiles and good cheer and enthusiasm. The king’s men, it seemed, had been here only two days before, telling the people that the prince had been lost on the river during a fishing expedition and asking them to keep a watch out for him. Not only were his people pleased to see their prince, there was a handsome reward being offered for his safe return.
“Yer Majesty,” said one of the fishermen, clapping Marcus on the shoulder. “Yer the best catch we’ve made all year. Beggin’ Yer Majesty’s pardon.”
The fact that he was wearing monk’s robes was quickly explained by a hastily made-up tale of falling into the river and being rescued by a passing monk, who gave him dry clothes. Marcus was more vague concerning Evelina, saying confusedly something to the effect that she had found him and nursed him. The fishermen received this information with straight faces. He was, after all, their prince.
They were quick to abandon their fishing to help the two lost travelers, and within moments Marcus and Evelina were on dry land with half the village surrounding them. One of the fishermen sent his boy off at a run to inform the village patriarch of their good fortune. The patriarch met the boy on the way, for he’d heard the commotion and was heading down to see what was going on. He greeted the prince and the lady Marcus introduced as “Mistress Evelina” with calm dignity and offered them his house for the night.
“Thank you, sir,” said Marcus gratefully. “I know my parents must be worried sick. If someone could carry a message—”
“No one in the village owns a horse,” the patriarch replied, and seeing the prince’s downcast expression, he added, “I will send our swiftest lad to find the king’s men tomorrow morning.”
Since that appeared to be the best Marcus could hope for, he accepted the offer with good grace. He was too exhausted and hungry to do much else.
The patriarch’s wife served up a hastily prepared meal of fish stew, left over from their own dinner. Marcus won the good woman’s heart by eating two helpings and swearing that he’d never tasted any food so delicious from the royal kitchen. The women of the village clucked over his injured hands and made up a poultice for him as he ate, then wrapped his hands in bandages.
Marcus, well-fed, safe, and warm, felt sleep creeping over him. He must have dozed off in his chair, for the next thing he knew, the patriarch was assisting him to a mattress on a floor in the corner—the patriarch’s own bed. He fell onto the mattress and closed his eyes.
“Thank you, kind sir, but I will stay with him,” Evelina said shyly. “My place is by his side.”
“No,” said Marcus, opening his eyes. “I cannot allow that. You are as tired as I am. Sir, I would be grateful to you if you could find a place for Mistress Evelina to stay this night.”
He meant this kindly, and he was startled to see Evelina cast him an irate glance. He couldn’t imagine what he’d done to upset her. She flounced out without a word, accompanying the patriarch and his wife.
He was drifting into unconsciousness when the red eyes of the dragon bore down on him, jolting him to heart-pounding wakefulness. Marcus found himself drenched in sweat. His hands stung and burned.
He was a long time going back to sleep.
Evelina, on the other hand, slept quite soundly and woke early the next morning, still burning with anger over the insulting manner in which Marcus had treated her last night. A perfectly good chance for him to get her alone and seduce her, and he’d thrown it away! True, he had been exhausted and his hands were bandaged, but any other man would have managed to overcome such minor inconveniences.
She was staying with the patriarch’s married daughter, and the young woman and her fisherman husband were up with the dawn. Being in awe of their guest, they both left the house as quickly as they could in order to give Evelina some privacy. The wife went to do her laundry on the river banks, the husband went to his boat.
Evelina lay on the straw mattress, making plans and discarding them, mulling over what she needed to do in order to catch her own particular fish. Time was running out. She remembered, suddenly, that the patriarch had offered to send a message to the king’s men. Already it might be too late. Evelina roused herself from her bed and walked outdoors. She found the village astir and the patriarch just leaving his house.
“Is His Highness awake?” Evelina asked.
“No, Mistress,” said the patriarch. “I went to ask if he needed anything, but he sleeps like a babe. He never knew I was there. I doubt the trump of doom could awake him.”
“His Highness is exhausted. We have been through a great deal together, both of us.” Evelina laid emphasis on that. With trepidation, she asked the burning question, “Have you sent the boy off to find the king’s men?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the patriarch answered. “Young Thom left with first light.”
Evelina sighed deeply. “And how long do you suppose the king’s men will be in coming?”
The patriarch frowned, considering. “When they passed through the village, they said that if we saw or heard anything of His Highness, we were to send word to Grafton, where they were camped. Now, Grafton is a day’s journey on foot, longer if the weather is bad, for the roads hereabouts are in a sorry state, and I don’t like the looks of the sky this morning. I’m thinking we’ll have rain before noon.”
Evelina clenched her fists to control the urge to slap the man. “How long, sir, before the king’s men—”
“Oh,” he said, pondering. “Tomorrow, but not before.”
Evelina smiled to herself and prayed for torrential downpours and footpads and snakes and every other mishap that could possibly happen to a traveler to happen to “young Thom.”
“I hope His Highness won’t be too disappointed,” added the patriarch.
“His Highness can use the rest,” said Evelina, and she smiled sweetly, for, at that moment, the heavens opened up and poured rainy blessings down on her.
11
“DRACONAS . . .”
“Lysira.”
“Can you talk?”
“Yes, only for a moment, though. Is Marcus safe?”
“He is with his own kind. He and the female who accompanies him—”
“Nev
er mind her,” said Draconas. “She is irrelevant.”
“I trust you don’t consider all females irrelevant,” returned Lysira, her colors bright. She was a young dragon and excited about her first venture into the world.
“No, Lysira. I find females extremely relevant, especially those who risk their lives to help me. This one human female, however, has nothing to do with our predicament.”
“I was teasing,” said Lysira.
“I know you were,” said Draconas. “And so Marcus is safe, at least for the moment.”
“He almost fell victim to the dragon. I was watching him, as you told me, and he very nearly let Grald into his mind. I warned him away. That is the first time I have ever spoken to a human. It was strange. But I liked it. I didn’t think I would.”
Draconas’s colors warmed. He wished beyond anything in the world that he’d met this vibrant young female in a different time— a time when he could have spent years letting his dreams twine with hers.
“What do you want me to do now, Draconas?” Lysira asked, and he saw her colors shimmer and tremble. She must have seen what he was thinking.
“There’s nothing you can do, not without tipping off Grald and the other dragons that you’re spying on them. You are careful to keep out of sight, aren’t you?”
“I am flying at such a high altitude that I have to come down every once in a while to catch my breath.”
“We’re about to be interrupted. I must soon leave you, Lysira. Tell me quickly, have you heard anything from Anora?”
“She has not communicated with me or with Malfiesto or the other dragons with whom I’ve been in contact. That is not surprising, though,” Lysira added, her colors darkening, “since we are the ones who spoke out against her.”
“Do not trust Anora,” Draconas warned. “If she tries to talk to you, do not let her into your mind.”
“She is an elder dragon, Draconas,” said Lysira gently. “And very powerful. If she wants to speak to me, there is not much I can do to stop her. You know that.”
Draconas did know He’d been holding Anora at bay thus far by keeping his colors to himself as much as possible.
“Just ... be careful, Lysira.”
“I will,” she promised and her colors were lovely and lingered in his mind.
“Draca.” A gentle hand touched his shoulder.
Stretching, Draconas sighed and blinked up drowsily at the motherly woman bending over him.
“Draca,” said Rosa, “I’m sorry to wake you, but it is noontime. You’ve slept the morning through. Anton is home for his meal and I thought you might be hungry—”
The illusory body of the girl that Draconas had assumed sat up in the bed and sniffed at the good smells wafting through the small house. Draconas had used this illusion before, and he was quite pleased with it. Being a human child, he’d discovered, gave him a great deal of freedom.
Human adults take a tolerant view of their offspring. As a child, Draconas could be as curious and inquisitive as he liked, poke and pry and snoop, and adults would sigh and shake their heads and the worst they might do would be to send him to bed without his supper. He had learned that many humans, who might otherwise keep their mouths shut tighter than a clam shell when in the presence of an adult, tended to blab freely in the presence of a child.
“How are you feeling?” asked Rosa anxiously.
“Much better,” said Draconas in the girl’s high and piping voice. “I am hungry. What’ve you got to eat?”
He threw off the blankets and sat up in bed.
“Not too quickly,” Rosa cautioned. “You’ll make yourself dizzy.”
“I’m fine, really,” Draconas assured her. He reached out his little girl’s hand. “Thank you for helping me, ma’am. And thank you for not telling . . .”
“I promised I wouldn’t,” Rosa said gently. “But you will have to go back to the Abbey someday soon, child.”
Draconas let his face fall and his shoulders droop. He ducked his head and made a swipe at his eyes with his hand. “I don’t want to,” he mumbled. “I want to stay with you.”
“There, there, child,” said Rosa, soothing him. “Don’t cry. You can stay with us a little while. Now come and eat something. You are much too thin. You need some meat on those bones.”
Draconas accompanied Rosa to the table. Anton was already eating, digging his spoon into a bowl of mutton stew. He welcomed the little girl with a broad smile and shoved a chair out with his foot.
Draconas picked up the spoon and was about to eat, when colors exploded inside his head.
“Draconas!” Malfiesto barked. “What’s this nonsense Anora has been spreading about her army preparing to attack a human kingdom? Is this true?”
Draconas dropped his spoon and put his hands to his temples.
“Child, what’s the matter?” Anton asked, alarmed. “Look at her, Wife. She’s gone white as sheep’s wool.”
“Army,” Draconas repeated inwardly. “What are you talking about? What’s this about an army?”
“That’s what I’m asking you!” Malfiesto raged in ear-splitting colors.
“Look, Malfiesto, this is not a good time. I can’t talk now. I’ll contact you later.”
“If you don’t, I will,” the dragon threatened. “Keep me informed! I’m taking charge, now that Anora has lost her senses. You are the Walker. You report to me.”
Draconas sighed. He’d been pleased at first to find that Malfiesto was on his side. Now, he wasn’t so certain. The irascible old dragon was likely to prove more hindrance than help.
“What’s the matter, Draca?” Rosa hovered over him.
“Nothing, ma’am. Just a pain in the . . . head,” said Draconas. “I’m fine now. This stew is really good.”
He shoveled food into his mouth, and Rosa sat back, reassured.
Adults, be they human or dragon, are always pleased to see children eat.
“This was my daughter’s favorite meal,” said Rosa, and she gave a little sigh.
“Where is your daughter? I’d like to meet her,” mumbled Draconas.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear. Our daughter is one of the Dragon’s Chosen.”
“She lives in the palace,” Anton added proudly.
“What does she do there?”
“She serves the dragon, of course.”
Draconas looked at them, puzzled. “Huh?”
Rosa and Anton exchanged glances.
“The holy sisters must have told you about the Dragon’s Chosen, Draca,” Anton said.
Draconas shook his head. “No, sir, not a word.”
“Don’t lie, child,” said Rosa. “Lying is a sin. The dragon won’t like it.”
“The dragon’s not here,” said Draconas impudently.
Anton choked on a mouthful of ale. Rising swiftly to his feet, he went to look out the window. Rose put her hand over Dra-conas’s, squeezed it tightly.
“You should not speak of the dragon that way,” she said loudly. “It is disrespectful.”
She looked at Anton, and Draconas saw fear in her eyes.
Anton sat back down. “No one’s about. Perhaps it’s not so surprising,” he said to his wife. “The girl is young yet, after all. Maybe they don’t tell them until they are old enough to be considered.”
“Old enough to be considered to do what?” Draconas asked. His child’s wide-eyed, innocent gaze went from one to the other.
“Oh, dear, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” Rosa’s hands plucked at her dress, twisting the fabric.
“I won’t tell,” Draconas promised. “Is it a secret? I’m good at keeping secrets!”
“No, it’s not a secret,” Anton said slowly, after a moment’s pause. “Everyone in Dragonkeep knows about the Palace of the Dragon. Being selected as one of the Dragon’s Chosen is an honor, after all.”
“When a girl is eighteen, she becomes eligible to be one of the Chosen. Our girl was selected almost immediately,” Rosa said, flus
hing with pride. “The dragon picks only those who can demonstrate that they are strong in the magic. The Chosen leave their homes and move into the palace with the dragon. They serve him and, in return, they are given everything they want.”
“What’s it like inside the palace?” Draconas asked eagerly.
“My goodness, child, we don’t know,” Rosa said, smiling. “We’ve never been inside.”
“But you’ve seen your daughter since she moved in,” Draconas persisted.
“No, not in many years,” Anton replied, and his face was shadowed. “Once a woman enters the palace, she’s not allowed to leave. That’s one of the rules. And not a very good one, if you ask me.”
“But we get letters from her,” Rosa said hastily, with a worried glance at her husband. “Twice a year she writes to us about how happy she is and how much she enjoys serving the dragon. As strong as you are in the blood bane, Draca, I’m sure you’ll be chosen to serve the dragon.”
“Maybe . . .” Draconas was cautious. “Where is the palace?”
“Now, Draca, don’t be a tease,” said Rosa. “Everyone knows where the palace is.”
“And everyone knows that we are forbidden to go near it,” Anton said sternly. “That includes children.”
Draconas gave them a mischievous grin and held out the bowl. “Could I have some more to eat, please? It’s really, really good.”
Rosa, gratified, ladled out more stew.
Anton rose from the table. “I have to get back to the forge, Wife. I may be late for supper. We’ve a deal of work to do all of a sudden. A large order came in this morning. An order for weapons.”
Rosa set down the bowl in front of Draconas, who watched and listened, all the while pretending to be absorbed in his meal.
“Weapons?” Rosa repeated. “What sort of weapons?”
“Throwing darts, mostly. As many as I can turn out as fast as I can turn them out. One of the Blessed came by the shop this morning to tell me. And it’s not just me. Every blacksmith in the city has been told to drop all other work and turn his hand to this.”
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