by Jasmine Walt
She smiled broadly, and the crowd, overcoming its shock, clapped and cheered. Before Dareena knew what was happening, the three girls were being carried off by the crowd, who were chanting their names. Dareena exchanged helpless grins with the other girls, and if they looked displeased by the fact that she’d been Chosen, they didn’t show it.
The three women were carried to the feasting tent, where long tables had been set out with food. They were deposited at the head of the lord’s table, and Dareena was inordinately pleased to see Lyria forced to sit near the foot of the table while she sat to the lord’s left. Normally Lyria would have sat near her father, but since the huntress sat near the lord and his wife, there was no choice but to put her toward the end.
“I know you weren’t expecting this,” Mira said in a low voice. She was seated to Dareena’s left. “But I’m glad they chose you instead of Lyria.”
“Shhh,” Cyra scolded from Dareena’s other side. “She’s only a few seats away from us.”
“And so what if she is?” Mira tossed a skein of strawberry-blonde hair over her shoulder. “It’s not like she can hear us over all this noise, and even if she could, there’s nothing she can do. If she tries to interfere with us in any way, she’ll be executed. The law is clear.”
Dareena swallowed, glancing at Lyria out of the corner of her eye. She’d schooled her expression into cold indifference, ignoring everyone around her as she cut up her roast with a knife and fork. For a split second, Dareena felt pity for her. It had to be a shock, having the rug ripped out from beneath her, and the added humiliation of being forced to sit on the far end of the table…
Lyria lifted her chin and met Dareena’s gaze with such blazing hatred that Dareena wanted to recoil. Her momentary pity vanished, and she gave Lyria a cool look before returning her attention to her companions.
“I’m sure she’ll find a way to survive,” Dareena said, reaching for her goblet of wine. “It isn’t as if she’ll have to go back to being paupers, like Mira and me. The real issue is what happens when we come back.”
“She’ll be waiting to exact vengeance on us,” Mira said, sounding worried.
“I won’t let that happen,” Cyra said fiercely. “I heard all about that scene with the honeycomb vendor earlier today—Lyria got her comeuppance. She should have known better than to pull a stunt like that the day of the festival.”
Dareena shrugged. “She thinks she’s infallible,” she said. “At least her mistake means I get to see the Dragon’s Keep. I never would have had this opportunity otherwise.”
Cyra’s gaze softened. “I am truly happy for you,” she said, patting Dareena’s hand beneath the table.
The sincerity in her tone melted Dareena’s reservations, and she finally relaxed.
“Whatever the reason,” Cyra continued, “the gods chose to bless both of you today. It isn’t every day that common folk get to visit the Dragon’s Keep and dine with the royal family.”
“Why do you think you were Chosen?” Mira asked Dareena, leaning in a bit closer. “Did you make friends with the huntress?”
“I think that lovely dress had something to do with it,” Cyra said, running a finger down the seam in her sleeve. “You turned quite a few heads today.”
“Lady Tariana did talk to me for a moment,” Dareena admitted, eyeing the huntress. She sat a little farther up the table, embroiled in conversation with the lord, who didn’t look very happy. Dareena had a feeling he would be having words with the general about her choice later on, once they were in private. “She seemed to want to know what I thought of Lyria. I don’t think she likes her very much.”
Cyra raised her perfect eyebrows. “I don’t see how a huntress could possibly have a grudge against Lord Hallowdale’s daughter,” she said. “It isn’t as if the king or his family visit Hallowdale, and I don’t think Lyria’s ever visited Dragon’s Keep.”
“Maybe Lyria did something to slight her yesterday,” Mira suggested. “Dragons are known to have quick tempers—Lady Tariana could have decided Lyria wasn’t worthy and chose Dareena to spite her.”
Dareena bit her lip. “I’m not sure why, but it feels odd to think I’m simply a pawn in someone else’s revenge.”
Cyra laughed. “Dareena, we are all pawns in this grand game of chess. The sooner you realize that, the easier your life will become.”
Dareena frowned. “And just what do you mean by that?”
“I mean,” Cyra said, her normally gentle voice growing dark with warning, “that if you think any of us are going to enjoy any kind of autonomy when we arrive at Dragon’s Keep, you are going to have a horrid time. Whichever of us gets chosen as the Dragon’s Gift will merely become a vessel for the future dragon king to pour his seed in. The Dragon’s Gift will have to let go of all she was—her friends, her family, her past, however colorful it might be. She lives to serve, nothing more.”
Cold dread seeped into Dareena’s limbs. “Gilma,” she cried, straightening in her seat. “Who is going to take care of Gilma?”
“You mean the old woman who lives near the edge of town?” Mira asked incredulously. “That’s the least of your worries right now.”
“I can’t abandon her,” she snapped, bolting to her feet. Dareena had promised to check on her at the end of the night. How could she do that if she was stuck here?
“Excuse me,” she said, bowing hastily as shocked gazes turned her way. “There is an urgent matter I must see to.”
She turned to go and slammed into a guard’s broad chest. “You’re not to leave the table,” he said sternly, clamping his hand around her upper arm.
A gust of wind whipped past her, and the next thing she knew, Tariana stood next to her. “And you are not to lay a hand on any of the Chosen,” she said in a soft but menacing voice.
“Lady Tariana.” The guard instantly lifted his hands, palms up. “I meant no offense, but—”
“What do you think would happen,” Tariana said lightly, brushing her fingers against Dareena’s arm in the exact spot where the guard’s hand had been, “if one of my brothers, or gods forbid, the king himself, found bruises on this lovely girl’s arm? Do you think they would show lenience?”
“N-no,” the guard stammered, his eyes widening as he backed away. He dropped to the ground, prostrating himself at her feet. “Please, my lady, forgive me.”
“Much better,” Tariana said. She turned to Dareena, and Dareena forced her mouth closed, which had been hanging open in shock. “Now, Miss Sellis, what is so important that you feel the need to abandon us in the middle of the feast?”
6
The next morning, the Chosen were bundled into a carriage, each clutching the small pack of belongings they were permitted. The huntress had informed them to only bring what they truly felt they could not live without—everything else would be provided for them once they arrived at the Dragon’s Keep.
For Dareena, deciding what to take had been simple. She did not own much aside from the clothes on her back, her coin purse, meager as it was, and a silver ring with a white stone that had belonged to her mother. Her mother believed there was an elven ancestor somewhere in her family and that the stone, which had been passed down through the generations, held some sort of magic. Dareena had never seen any evidence to support that, but the stone brought her comfort regardless. She fingered it now as she watched Hallowdale disappear into the distance through the carriage window, wondering how long they would be gone.
It was a three-day journey to Dragon’s Keep, and the huntress had not said how long they would stay, much to Mr. Harrin’s chagrin. He had been very displeased to learn that Dareena had been Chosen, and he told her that since she hadn’t obeyed his wishes when he’d asked her to stay, not to bother slinking back to him.
Now Dareena had two strikes against her—Lyria would seek revenge, and Mr. Harrin would never hire her again. At least her value on the marriage mart had gone up—all Chosen were considered blessed by the dragon god, and families cons
idered any matches made with them to be good luck. But Dareena would have to find someplace else to live once she was sent away from Dragon’s Keep. Even if she settled down with a nobleman in Hallowdale, Lyria would find a way to make her life miserable.
“Was your friend Gilma taken care of, then?” Cyra asked, interrupting Dareena’s thoughts. She sat across from Dareena in the carriage, a solemn expression on her face. “I saw you go off with Lady Tariana yesterday, but I don’t know what happened.”
“Oh, yes,” Dareena said with a smile. “Once I explained the situation, Tariana found someone to help.” That someone had been Tildy, who had been more than happy to care for Gilma in Dareena’s absence, especially when Tariana had pressed a shiny silver coin into her hand. Dareena had said goodbye to her that night, and it had been both tearful and joyous. She’d promised to bring Tildy something back from the capital once she’d returned.
Mira shook her head. “You are the luckiest person I have ever met,” she said. “Everyone thought Lady Tariana was going to take your head off—instead, she helped you. She must really like you.”
Dareena shrugged. “Maybe that dress I wore yesterday brings good luck.” She’d packed it with the rest of her meager belongings for precisely that reason.
Cyra laughed. “You did look very good in it, but there’s something about you, Dareena Sellis,” she said, her eyes glittering. “Something that is potent enough to attract the attention of dragons.”
Dareena swallowed hard at that, remembering that all too soon, she would stand before the dragon king and his sons. The thought of being scrutinized by the four most powerful men in the land, men capable of breathing fire and causing great destruction, was enough to make her skin grow clammy.
Despite her rash of good luck, Dareena held no illusions that she was to be the Dragon’s Gift. She would get her moment to shine in the limelight, and she would have to be on her best behavior. The last thing she needed was to bring shame with her when she returned to Hallowdale. Lyria would be expecting exactly that sort of thing…and Dareena had no intention of giving her any ammunition.
“OH,” Mira sighed, pressing her nose against the carriage window. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Cyra and Dareena exchanged twin looks of amusement. It had been three days since they’d set out on this journey, and they’d finally arrived in Paxhall, Dragonfell’s capital. As the carriage rolled over the bustling cobblestone streets, Dareena stared into the distance at Dragon’s Keep, located at the center of the sprawling capital. It was majestic, constructed entirely of shimmering red stone and iron, with Dragonfell’s banner flying from its turrets. She’d never seen such a grand building in all her life, and they were about to spend an entire week in it!
Soon enough, the cobblestones disappeared, leaving a smoothly paved road beneath the carriage wheels as they passed through the tall iron gates of the Keep. The carriage pulled into the courtyard in front, and a guard helped them to the ground. Looking around, Dareena hoped to see Tariana or the other Dragon Force soldiers, but they had already gone—presumably to stable their horses and enjoy a bath after the long journey. Dareena was a little disappointed they weren’t here for their introduction to the Keep, but they likely didn’t have time—she was sure they had to report to the king as soon as possible.
“Look,” Cyra whispered, nudging Dareena’s arm. “We’re not the only ones to arrive just now.”
Dareena looked where Cyra pointed. Two other carriages were coming up the road, each carrying their own trio of Chosen. There would be thirty women total, Dareena knew, from the other nine provinces of Dragonfell, and the thought made her nervous again. How many of them would be common folk like her and Mira? It was more likely that most were noble born like Cyra, and undoubtedly there would be a few Lyrias strutting about like they owned the place.
“What are we supposed to do?” Mira said underneath her breath, looking around. There were three guards standing by, but they didn’t seem in any particular hurry to herd them anywhere. “Are we just going to stand out here all day?” She shielded her eyes from the sun, unusually warm and bright this morning, a sign that summer was fast approaching.
“I think they’re waiting until the others arrive,” Dareena said.
The two carriages finally made it across the drawbridge and up the hill to where Dareena and the others stood. Dareena studied the other girls as they descended the carriage, and her heart lifted a little—about half were noblewomen, with fine dresses and regal bearing, but the others were common folk like her.
“Has a commoner ever become a Dragon’s Gift?” Dareena asked Cyra out of the corner of her mouth as the other Chosen approached.
“Once, I think,” she answered, her gaze also trained on the competition. “But I don’t remember who.”
Once all of the Chosen were gathered together, the guards ushered them up the steps to the porch just in front of the Keep’s enormous iron doors.
These were no ordinary castle doors, Dareena observed as she studied them. They were easily thirty feet tall each, with strange symbols etched along the edges. The handles on the doors were fifteen feet up and obviously ceremonial—they were much too large and heavy for any man to lift, even if he could reach them. There was probably some kind of lever or contraption on the inside that could open them if needed, but Dareena highly doubted they were used often. Smaller doors were set into the larger ones, and it was through these that people came and went.
As Dareena stared, one of the smaller doors opened, and a man in deep red robes strode out. He was tall, with a shiny bald head and a thick black beard, and while his face was stern, he did not seem unkind.
“Welcome, Chosen,” he said to the women, spreading his arms wide. “I am Tarius Bellamin, steward of Dragon’s Keep. I am here to go over the rules of your stay and see that you get settled.”
The steward pulled a scroll out of his sleeve and reviewed a list of do’s and don’ts. The Chosen were expected to be in the dining hall promptly at seven o’clock in the morning for breakfast and in their rooms by nine o’clock in the evening. After dinner, their time was their own, but in the mornings, the commoners amongst them were expected to take classes in decorum, and in the afternoons, they would all learn about the history of the dragons.
“While traveling about the Keep, you must be accompanied at all times,” Tarius said. “You will each have a maid assigned to you, who is responsible for dressing and coiffing you each morning and will also serve as your escort to and from classes. There are certain areas of the Keep that are off-limits—your maids will ensure that you do not accidentally wander near them. Above all else, you are not to engage with the princes. They have been instructed not to go near your quarters or speak to you before the ceremony. Should you accidentally run across one of them, you must bow and smile politely, then move on.”
“What if we should run into the dragon king?” one of the other girls asked. “What if he tries to speak to us?”
Tarius gave her a smile, and it was not a particularly pleasant one. “King Dragomir may do as he likes,” he said. “Should he request your presence for any reason, you must not refuse him.”
Dareena exchanged uneasy glances with Cyra and Mira as a chill ran down her spine. What exactly did the steward mean by that? Why would the dragon king want to summon any of them? Would he single them out for inspection? Goosebumps rushed over her skin—from all accounts, King Dragomir was a fearsome dragon with little patience who, in recent years, had been known to eat vassals who had displeased him. The last thing she wanted was to end up beneath his fiery regard.
I guess I’ll just have to follow the rules then, Dareena told herself as their group was finally herded inside. Not a particularly easy thing to do, as she had a naturally defiant spark. But she would have to curb that spark during her stay, because even though Tariana had taken a liking to her, and the steward did not seem like an evil man, she had a feeling that her life might depend upon it.
7
Alistair knew where his siblings stood; both believed the elven prince had lied through his teeth to confuse them when he’d said his family wasn’t responsible for their mother’s demise. His first instinct was to think the same, but he tossed and turned all night, sleeping badly. The next day, he woke up with a small yet insistent voice in his head whispering, “What if?”
It bothered him that he was falling for what Lucyan believed to be elvish manipulation, but each time he convinced himself to leave it alone, the voice returned.
What if he hadn’t lied? What if the elves were innocent?
He ignored the question at first, but by dusk, he’d concluded that he owed it to the kingdom to at least investigate the issue. Because if the elves hadn’t murdered his mother, then the war that had plagued his people for years was meaningless, and they ought to focus on finding the real culprit instead of wasting resources fighting the wrong enemy.
Normally, he would have gone to Lucyan about this—his brother excelled at applying the right amount of pressure on people to get answers—but he knew he couldn’t. He recalled his generally collected brother’s dark, dangerous look after the elf king had escaped them. Lucyan wouldn’t be reasonable. He’d dismiss the possibility that the prince told the truth unless presented with hard evidence.
The official way was also out of the question: if he contacted the council, there was a strong possibility that their father would hear of it, which was never a good idea.
Alistair made his way from his chambers to the guards’ quarters in the east wing of the Keep. There, joyous cries still resounded, so many hours after they’d brought Taldren back. The men had never expected to see their beloved captain again. Taldren had gone to war at the order of the king, but before becoming a soldier of the Dragon Force, he had been a member of the Keep’s Guard.