Consorting with Dragons

by Sera Trevor

  “Are you all right?” Larely asked. “I can help you back to your room.”

  Jasen waved him off. “No, I’m fine,” he said. “You two have fun.”

  “Wait,” Risyda said. She went to her bedside table and pulled out a small pouch. “Take this in the morning. I had it made by a dragon-blessed healer. It banishes wine-induced illness.”

  “Why don’t I just take it right now?”

  “Because I’m having a premonition,” she said dramatically. She shut her eyes and put her fingers to her temple. “Yes, it’s becoming clearer… I’m seeing you, tomorrow, desperately ill. Your valet will witness your illness and declare you unfit to go to lessons. So ill, in fact, that you must not be disturbed for the entire day. But maybe not too ill to sneak out for a while.”

  Jasen grinned. “My lady, your gift is truly awe-inspiring. I think you may be right.”

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Jasen felt as ill as he’d imagined he would. He warned Rotheld, who insisted that getting up and walking around would make him feel better. He soon changed his opinion when he tried to lace Jasen’s corset. On the first pull, Jasen was colorfully sick all over the floor. After having to clean that up, Rotheld retreated without further protest, nodding in agreement when Jasen said he didn’t think he’d be up for lessons, or for taking any luncheon, either.

  Once he was gone, Jasen mixed up the powder Risyda had given to him in a glass of water and drank it. He felt better almost immediately. He took out his forbidden shirt and trousers and got changed. He knew his flaming red hair made him too recognizable, so he added a knitted cap that laborers often wore; this wasn’t the first time he had thought of escape, and so had asked Larely to smuggle him one earlier. Once he thought everyone was up and out for breakfast, he made his way down the stairs and out the servant’s door, and just like that, he was free.

  The day was bright and beautiful in the way it often is after a good rain. He breathed in the cool, sweet air. As much as he loathed to admit it, Polina was right about one thing—it did remind him of home. He walked about aimlessly for a little while, not sure of what to do. Part of him wanted to go to the draemir, but he felt it was too chancy—he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

  He decided to go for a walk in the Bedrose Gardens. While the lords and ladies were often allowed to take strolls in the gardens, there were many areas they weren’t allowed to explore for fear of getting their fine clothes dirty. Back in Grumhul, Jasen spent a lot of his time outdoors, going wherever he pleased; no one was ever too fussed about getting dirty, because mud was an inescapable fact of life in Grumhul.

  He left the path, climbing through bushes and trees to get to off the normal trails. To his surprise, he found a patch of beautifully chaotic wildflowers—very different from the rest of the orderly gardens. He lay down, immersing himself in the bright colors and sweet fragrance. For awhile, he was content to watch birds flit above him, singing songs that Jasen had never heard before. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but when he finally stood again, he felt refreshed. After leaving the wildflowers, he wandered until he found the orchards, which had trees bearing several kinds of colorful fruit. He grabbed a few for a snack before heading off to explore some more.

  Eventually, he made it back to the more well-trod area of the gardens. He heard young voices calling to one another. Curious, he followed the sounds until he came upon a field, where twenty or so finely dressed children were playing a game. All of them except for one: a girl who looked to be about eight years old sat on the edge of the field near a pile of rackets and balls. She had hair so blonde it was nearly white and large blue eyes, currently wet with tears.

  Jasen approached her. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  She eyed him warily. “They won’t let me play,” she said. “They say I’m too little.”

  Jasen looked over at the other children, who were using delicate rackets to bat a tiny ball back and forth over a net. “It doesn’t look much fun to me, anyway,” Jasen said.

  “I wanted to play catch-a-ball, but they say that it’s a game for babies.”

  “I’ll play with you.”

  She wiped her nose with the back of her arm. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  The girl got to her feet and picked up a medium-sized leather ball.

  “So how do you play?”

  “You don’t know how to play catch-a-ball?” she asked, her earlier wariness returning.

  “I’m not from around here,” he said, which was true enough.

  That seemed to satisfy her. “You throw this ball to each other, but you back up a little every time so it gets harder. Whoever misses a catch or doesn’t throw the ball far enough loses.”

  That didn’t sound like a much more interesting game than the racket one, but Jasen didn’t say so. The girl tossed the ball to him, which he easily caught. It was a little lighter than the balls they used in Grumhul to play mudball, but about the same size. He dropped it on the ground, rolled it into the crook between his foot and ankle, and then popped it into the air, catching it on his back between his shoulders.

  The little girl’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “That was amazing!”

  Jasen grinned. “Thanks,” he said as he let the ball roll off his shoulder.

  “Do it again.”

  So he did. After that, he juggled the ball between his knees before sending it sailing up into the air again. He bounced the ball off his head before catching it in his hand. The girl applauded, and he took a bow.

  “Can you teach me how to do that?” she asked.

  “Well, unfortunately it takes a bit of practice. But I can show you the basics of mudball, if you want.”

  “Mudball?” she said, screwing up her nose. “What a terrible name for a game.”

  “Names can be deceiving,” he said.

  “And what’s your name, then?”

  Jasen hesitated. “It’s Jay.” He hoped she wouldn’t ask where he was from—he’d like to make sure it didn’t get back to anyone that he’d been here.

  “That’s a good name,” she decided. “My name is Erada, and I’m eight years old.”

  The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. “It’s nice to meet you,” Jasen said. “Come on—let’s go to that end of the field there.”

  Jasen taught her basic volleys and kicks. Fortunately, her shoes and her dress were much more sensible than the usual courtly clothing. She was a quick study, and soon they had a good volley going back and forth. She tired of it eventually and asked him to start doing tricks again. He was happy to oblige her. Back in Grumhul, he used to play mudball often, but he’d abandoned it during the last year or so. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed it.

  After a little while, Jasen became aware that all of the other children had stopped their game and had crossed the field to watch him. He did an exceptionally tricky kick. They all oooh’d appreciatively.

  “What are you playing?” asked one tall, serious-faced boy of twelve. He resembled Erada, so Jasen guessed that he was her brother.

  “It’s called mudball,” Erada said loftily.

  “Can we play?” asked a dark-haired girl.

  “What do you think?” Jasen asked Erada. “Should we teach them?”

  Erada gave it some serious thought. “All right, I suppose so”

  Jasen marked out two goals and explained the game, and after briefly teaching them a few moves, they began to play. It was awkward and slow-going at first, but the children caught on with surprising quickness. Soon they were laughing and running along the field. Jasen forgot about his worries and lost himself in the game.

  After some time, they all stopped to rest. Jasen learned a few of their names—the serious boy was called Ados and was indeed Erada’s brother. They thankfully didn’t express a lot of curiosity as to Jasen’s identity.

  “Why is it called mudball?” Ados asked as they all got up to resume their game. />
  “Where I’m from, there’s a lot of mud. Usually, we coat the ball in mud to make it more difficult to kick, and the field’s usually muddy, which also makes things slippery.”

  “That sounds like fun!” Erada said.

  Jasen grinned. “It is.”

  Ados looked thoughtful. He raised his hands, and a cloud appeared above the field, a little ways off from their position. He made a gesture, and water came crashing down. He picked up the ball and rolled it in the newly-created mud. “There,” he said, his face deadpan. “Now it’s mudball.”

  Jasen couldn’t help but laugh. They all rushed out again, getting themselves thoroughly muddy as they played. The children shrieked with joy as they slipped in the mess. Jasen hoped they wouldn’t get into too much trouble for soiling their clothes, but what kind of monsters would deny children the joy of getting well and truly dirty once in a while?

  The game soon devolved into a mud fight. They were having so much fun that none of them noticed they were being watched. Erada had just pounced on Jasen and was smearing mud onto his face when Jasen heard a throat being cleared. There, standing beside them was an older woman who looked as if she was about to explode with outrage—and the king. Jasen froze.

  Erada followed Jasen’s gaze. “Hello, Papa!” she said.

  “Papa?” Jasen echoed faintly.

  “Children!” the woman said. “I am extremely disappointed in you! Is this the way proper young lords and ladies behave? Stop this foolish nonsense at once and line up!”

  The children did as they were told. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?” the woman continued. “Just look at you! Look at the state you’re in! What could have possessed you? Who is responsible for this?”

  The children all looked over to Jasen, who remained sitting in the mud. He had hoped the woman and the king would remain distracted enough that he could sneak away, but that now seemed unlikely. He stood up and kept his head down.

  “And who are you, young man?” the woman said.

  Before he could answer, the king said, “Lord Jasen? Is that you?”

  Jasen wished that he could sink into the mud and disappear, but since that wasn’t an option, he gave him a little bow. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “What are you doing here?” the king asked.

  “…playing mudball?”

  The king laughed. The sour-looking woman glanced back and forth between the two of them uncertainly. The king looked to his daughter. “Did you all get plenty of exercise?”

  “Oh yes, Papa, and we had so much fun, too!”

  The king turned his attention back to the woman. “Well, Madame Certia, it seems your new program is a success, yes?”

  “I suppose so, Your Majesty, but how are they to return to their lessons in such a state?”

  “Perhaps lessons can be put off for one afternoon,” the king said. He addressed the children. “Although you should be more mindful of your play in the future.”

  The children bowed and curtsied while murmuring their agreement, but they were all exchanging excited looks. The reward of canceled lessons didn’t seem like a good motivator for behaving better in the future, but Jasen wasn’t about to protest.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Madame Certia mumbled. She clapped her hands. “Straighten up, children! You may not have lessons this afternoon, but you will still conduct yourselves with proper decorum! Follow me—straight line, if you please!”

  The children followed Madame Certia off the field, which left Jasen standing alone in the muddy field. The king bowed slightly to him and offered his arm.

  “I’m going to get you all muddy,” Jasen said.

  The king smiled. “I do not mind.”

  They followed Madame Certia and the children off of the field and down the main path. Jasen held the king’s arm stiffly at first, not sure exactly how he should be acting. He didn’t even dare look at him, keeping his gaze fixed instead on the ground.

  “And how did you manage to escape Lady Isalei today?” the king asked.

  Jasen sneaked a peek at his face. He was smiling at him, his kind blue eyes dancing with amusement. Jasen couldn’t help but smile back. “Oh, I’m very ill today. Too ill to get out of bed, in fact.”

  “I am sorry to hear it.”

  Jasen had a sobering thought. “Someone will probably spot me if we walk along the main path.”

  “That is most likely so,” he said. “Perhaps we should not enter by the main path.” He stopped. “Wait here for a moment.”

  The king went ahead, catching up with Madame Certia. While he spoke to her, Erada peeked at him from the line and waved, a big grin on her face. He waved back. A few moments later, the king returned to Jasen’s side. “Now then,” he said, offering his arm again. “Which path shall we take?”

  They ended up winding back around towards the orchards. “I was supposed to be more refined the next time I saw you,” Jasen said as they walked.

  “I am glad to find you unchanged.”

  Jasen almost didn’t continue, but it wasn’t as if he had much to lose. “I was thinking that you didn’t want to see me.”

  The king stopped. “Why would you think that? Surely Lady Isalei told you I wanted to meet with you again.”

  “She did, once, but said nothing after that,” Jasen said. He paused before continuing. “And then I heard you were meeting with others…”

  The king took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. “Lady Isalei is a wise woman. I rely on her advice for the finer points of courtly manners, and none are more knowledgeable than she in matters concerning marriage matches. However, she and I are having a… disagreement at the moment. As a compromise, I agreed to entertain other consorts before you, for appearance’s sake. There is much that is delicate about this situation, as I am sure you understand.” The king took his hand. “But she was to tell you of my strong desire to meet with you again. It seems she did not properly convey that sentiment.”

  Jasen hadn’t been fully aware of the tension he’d carried in his heart until the moment when it was released. He felt so light that he might float away. “No,” he said with a small smile. “She didn’t.”

  The king returned his smile and tucked Jasen’s hand back into his arm. They resumed their walk, taking their time as they strolled through the trees. “Was my silence what prompted your, ah, ‘illness?’” the king asked.

  “Maybe a little,” Jasen admitted. “It’s also been a bit of a shock being here. Things in Grumhul are much different.”

  “I remember,” the king said. “I have only visited once, when I took a tour of all the Allied Realms when I was crowned king. I enjoyed my stay there more than any other. I am very fond of your Queen Urga, but like you, she is restless in the Draelands, especially during Court.”

  “My mother and Queen Urga were good friends,” Jasen said. “I have a hard time imagining her here, too. Especially in the middle of hog-breeding season.”

  The king laughed. “Yes, she always said she preferred the hogs of Grumhul to the ones of Court. While I disagree on that account, I do admire how plain-spoken she is.”

  “Really?”

  “Why does that surprise you?”

  “Well, I didn’t think that anything Grummish was much admired outside of Grumhul.”

  “Perhaps by some, but I am not among them. I wish there was more of Grumhul in the Draelands.”

  Jasen nudged him with his shoulder. “I could always teach you how to play mudball.”

  The king laughed. “I am a bit too old for mudball, I think.”

  “You’re never too old for mudball. Even my dad plays sometimes. Besides, you aren’t that old, are you? Maybe ten years older than I am?”

  The king was silent for a moment. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty.”

  “I had been a king for three years by your age,” he said. “I was a husband the next year, and a father the year after that. I was a widower at twenty-eight.” His gaze was now fixed off i
n the distance. “I feel older than my years.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jasen said.

  The king patted his hand and turned back to him, his expression light again. “Do not apologize. I could use the reminder that I am not an old man.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  They continued on for a while until they reached the wildflowers. The king’s face lit up. “I have not visited this garden for a long time. I used to spend some time every day here when I was younger.”

  “I think it’s my favorite,” Jasen said.

  “Mine as well. I had to fight with the gardener, Awen, to get her to agree to a plot of wildflowers. She’s a disciplined woman and not particularly fond of disorder.”

  Jasen cocked his head. “You specially requested this? Why?”

  “It reminds me of my mother’s homeland of Rakon. There are many beautiful fields just like this. It is my opinion that Nature is the most skilled gardener of all.” He gestured in the direction of the other gardens. “But of course, I also admire the skills of our human cultivators. Awen has a dragon-blessed gift for plants. Her work is impressive.”

  “But you like the wildflowers better.”

  The king smiled. “I do.”

  As they strolled through the garden, Jasen took a moment to appreciate the sun on his face and the fresh air all around him. The enjoyment only lasted a few moments. He would be back at his lessons soon, bound up in the suffocation of it all again.

  “Is there something wrong?” the king asked.

  “No,” Jasen said, and then, “Well, yes. I’m not relishing going back.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’m not used to being so monitored. They make you feel like a child. And there’s so much that I’m expected to do, and I can’t make sense of any of it. There are so many rules.”

  “And you do not do well with rules.”

  “I’m not used to having them! Or at least, the ones in Grumhul make sense: Don’t go off in the swamp alone. Avoid spitting directly in people’s faces, even if you don’t like them. Try not to drag your sleeve in your soup. All sensible. But here, there’s a thousand things you must do, and each and every one of those tiny things holds equal weight, even though there isn’t any reason behind it that anyone can explain to me. And then there’s the uncomfortable clothing, and history and politics and music and dance and it’s all foreign to me, and the others laugh at me and I don’t know how to deal with it—any of it! I don’t!” He realized, with mortification, that his voice had become loud and high, and he was not so much breathing as panting.