The Seventh Sigil (Dragon Brigade Series)

by Margaret Weis

“Wait until we are back at home in Evreux,” she said. “Then we can make plans.”

  “You are always putting me off,” he protested. “First Gythe, then the war. Gythe is safe and the war is over.”

  Miri seemed remorseful. She kissed him tenderly. “I love you, Stephano. I will be proud and happy to be your wife. You make the arrangements. I have no idea how such fancy events take place. Unless you want a Trundler wedding,” she added with a laugh.

  She was teasing, of course. The lord captain of the Dragon Brigade could not very well be married onboard Miri’s uncle’s houseboat. Stephano turned to Rodrigo, thinking his friend would delight in the chance to plan a fashionable wedding.

  “Ordinarily, I would be only too pleased, dear fellow, but I am far too busy with my study of the seventh sigil and contramagic. I am writing a monograph, you see. When it’s finished, I suppose I shall have to submit it for publication.” Rodrigo fetched a deep sigh.

  “You are serious, aren’t you?” Stephano regarded his friend in amazement. “You are actually working at this.”

  “I believe I am what they term ‘inspired,’” Rodrigo said. “I found myself up before noon this morning writing away.”

  “Before noon.” Stephano smiled.

  “Shocking, isn’t it,” said Rodrigo gloomily. “I am sure I shall wreck my health.”

  About a month following their return to Rosia, Lord Haelgrund and the other dragons announced that they were going to fly back to their homeland, after having remained at the fort to rest and heal their wounds. Lord Haelgrund invited Stephano to travel with them, and he was glad to go. He wanted to personally thank the Duke and Duchess of Talwin for their help and hoped to persuade them to rejoin the royal court and reestablish relations.

  Stephano flew on Viola with Verdi and Petard accompanying them, for the wild dragons also wanted to pay their respects. Lord Haelgrund was still attempting to woo Viola, though, as far as Stephano could tell, the dragon was having little success. Viola appeared flattered by his attention, but she seemed to have no desire to settle down and said she was looking forward to riding with the Dragon Brigade, even though the future of the Dragon Brigade was up in the air.

  Stephano met with the duke. While gracious, he was noncommittal. The dragons had been deeply insulted and they wanted to take the measure of the new king before they made any decisions.

  Stephano and the three wild dragons flew from the duchies to his château, convenient for Viola, Petard, and Verdi, who were going to make their home in the nearby mountain range. Droal was there to welcome them, and though the old dragon had aged a great deal, he was cheered by the sight of the young dragons and the knowledge that they had decided to make their homes here with him and not in the dragon realms.

  “I expect you to keep an eye on them, Lieutenant Droal,” Stephano said. “Especially Petard. He seems to fly from one disaster to another.”

  “Pleased, Captain,” said Droal. He added with a snort, “And continue their training. Need improvement.”

  Stephano heard a wistful note in the dragon’s voice. “You must miss your brother.”

  “I do,” said Droal, his head drooping a little. He straightened. His head snapped up. “These young ones. His legacy.”

  Stephano spent the night in the château, making plans for his return with Miri as his wife. Together they would rebuild it as he had always dreamed. He could afford to do so, now that his mother had insisted on giving him a portion of his inheritance. He slept in his old bed, then, the next day, he traveled from Argonne to Evreux to be home for the coronation. Dag and Rodrigo, Miri and Gythe and Benoit were all there to welcome him.

  The old man was back in his usual chair by the fire. He was perfectly healthy, according to the physician. Benoit professed himself still weak, especially when there was any work to be done. As Miri noted, Benoit had no trouble making frequent trips to the beer barrel, but he was too feeble to put on the teakettle.

  “You old faker,” Miri scolded, then stopped to give him a kiss on the top of his head as she and Gythe fixed the tea.

  Since the Cloud Hopper was gone, Miri and Gythe were residing with Stephano. In an unusual fit of energy, Benoit had opened and cleaned out one of the upstairs rooms for their use. Dag was back in his boarding house, along with Doctor Ellington, who was indignant to discover that the mouse population had flourished in his absence.

  The first night of Stephano’s return, they gathered around the kitchen table for an official ceremony.

  “I hereby declare the Cadre of the Lost disbanded,” said Stephano.

  Rodrigo closed the strongbox, which was empty anyway, and tossed the accounts ledger into the fire.

  “We have known hard times, danger, and despair,” said Rodrigo. “We were marooned on an island. We flew with dragons. We fought demons.”

  “We came through it all because we were true to each other,” said Gythe softly.

  Everyone grew somber. Miri brushed her hand over her eyes, Dag cleared his throat with a loud rumble that scared the cat, and Rodrigo gazed into the fire, watching his accounts burn. Stephano knew what they were all thinking.

  “Our friendship won’t end,” he said insistently. “I officially declare that we are now the Cadre of the Found.”

  Everyone laughed, but no one said anything. Change was coming and they all knew it.

  * * *

  King Renaud’s coronation was a magnificent affair. Heads of state came from every nation of Aeronne. Queen Mary traveled from Freya, the Estaran king and a great many Travian princes also attended. Frau Madeleine Aalder represented the Braffan council, and all the bishops were in attendance, except the grand bishop, who sent his regrets, lamenting the illness that kept him bedridden. The archbishop of Westfirth conducted the ceremony in the cathedral in Evreux, which drew thousands of Rosians who came to cheer their new king.

  That evening, Stephano was in his room, dressing for the coronation ball. He stood in front of the mirror, wrestling with his cravat, and suddenly realized he was smiling. Only a few months ago, the thought of having to endure an evening at the palace would have filled him with dread. Tonight, he was happy, looking forward to the evening with eager anticipation.

  The reason for the change was Miri. She was attending the ball with him tonight. He was going to take her to the palace and introduce her into society. Miri, who would soon be Lady Miri.

  Rodrigo poked his head into Stephano’s room. “Are you ready? The carriage is at the door.”

  Stephano gave up. “It’s this damn cravat! I think something’s wrong with it.”

  “You are what is wrong with it,” said Rodrigo severely.

  He was wearing a sky-blue silk knee-length waistcoat with a flared waist. The coat was adorned with silver buttons, silver embroidery around the upturned cuffs, and a silver embroidered waistcoat. He smiled at himself in the mirror, pleased with the result.

  Stephano was wearing a new dress uniform coat. He was now able to afford the finest material and the coat was made of merino wool, soft and luxurious. The dragons on the front were stitched in silk, embroidered in golden thread.

  Rodrigo deftly tied the cravat, regarded him with a frown, then whisked off several infinitesimal bits of dust from his shoulder.

  “Such a refreshing change to see you cheerful at the thought of attending a ball. Generally you look as if you were being marched to your execution.”

  Stephano smiled at his own reflection in the mirror. “Is Miri ready? I am eager to see her in her new gown.”

  He had wanted to purchase a new dress for Miri to wear to the ball, but there had not been time to have one made. His mother had offered one of her own dresses, emerald green to match Miri’s eyes.

  Cecile had brought in her dressmaker to fit the gown. Miri had made trips to the palace for fittings, learning how to wear the hoop that went beneath the skirt. She described the hoop to Stephano as being like a large wooden birdcage that tied around her waist. Added to that were the silk stoc
kings with the ribboned garters, tight shoes with two-inch heels, the petticoat, the chemise, corset, and God alone knew what else.

  Cecile’s maid, Maria, gave Miri lessons in deportment, teaching her how to curtsy, how to properly greet dukes, earls, counts, duchesses, princesses, and marchionesses, each of which had to be addressed differently. Miri was in despair. Stephano assured her she would be fine.

  “After all, your curtsy is far better than Dag’s bow,” said Stephano.

  Rodrigo had tried to teach Dag the proper way to bow to the king as he went through the royal reception line.

  “You are going to be introduced to the King. You have to show your respect. This leg extended, bow at the waist, a graceful flourish of the hand,” said Rodrigo.

  “I can’t,” Dag protested, watching Rodrigo demonstrate. “I’m not built for that.”

  “Just try,” Rodrigo pleaded.

  When Dag extended one leg, his other foot slid out from underneath him and he toppled over heavily, almost landing on the cat. Gythe collapsed on the floor with laughter and Doctor Ellington fled the room, hissing. Rodrigo declared the lesson over.

  “When you arrive at the palace, just stand in a corner and don’t move,” Rodrigo advised Dag.

  Stephano could hear Dag’s nervous pacing downstairs. He was wearing his new uniform coat. As he bitterly termed it, he was “dressed to the eyeballs.” His new ceremonial sword—a gift from the king—kept tripping him.

  “I knocked on Miri’s door and told her the carriage was waiting,” Rodrigo said. “She answered with a Trundler expression, which I am fairly certain does not mean ‘Oh, joy!’ You had better go find out what is wrong. I don’t want to be late. Not tonight of all nights.”

  Stephano looked at his friend more closely. He had been so absorbed in his own affairs, he had not paid much attention to Rodrigo. Now he saw that his friend was glowing with some inner happiness.

  “Rigo, what is it? You are beaming,” Stephano said.

  Rodrigo flushed with pleasure. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I am supposed to keep this confidential. But I am bursting to tell someone.”

  He reached into his inner breast pocket and drew out a letter. Handing it to Stephano, he pointed at the last sentence: conferring upon you a knighthood.

  “My dear fellow!” Stephano exclaimed, choked with emotion. “Congratulations! No one deserves this more!”

  He embraced Rodrigo, who shed a few tears, and then hastily recovered himself, drawing one of his innumerable handkerchiefs from his sleeves.

  “My mother will be so pleased,” he said, dabbing at his eyes. “Her ne’er-do-well son finally amounts to something. I hope the poor dear lady doesn’t faint from the shock. I must go adjust my lace. You fetch Miri.”

  Stephano ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He reached the room that Miri shared with Gythe and knocked at the door.

  “Miri, the carriage is here.”

  “Come in, Stephano,” Miri called.

  Stephano entered, expecting to be dazzled.

  Miri was sitting on the bed. She was wearing her homespun Trundler dress with the pantaloons and the white blouse. The green silk dress was laid out on the bed, along with the petticoat, chemise, boned corset, the hoop, the silk stockings, and the shoes with ribbons and elegant little heels.

  “Miri!” Stephano gasped. He felt as if someone had doused him with a bucket of cold water. “What’s wrong? You can’t go to court dressed like that.”

  Miri looked at him. “I’m not going, Stephano.”

  Gythe rose to her feet and glided out of the room. As she passed Stephano, she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek, then closed the door behind her.

  “Miri,” said Stephano, a tight, painful feeling in his chest. “What does this mean?”

  Miri patted the beautiful dress with her hand, then she sighed and stood up.

  “I love you, Stephano. I have from the moment I found our lads beating you to a pulp. And I always will love you. But I can’t be your wife. I have tried. I really have. If I thought I could make you happy—”

  “You do! You will!” said Stephano, grasping her hands.

  Miri shook her head, her red curls gently brushing her shoulders. “The corset pinches me. I can’t breathe. The shoes are too tight. I trip over the skirt. And when I sit down, the hoop flips up and hits me in the face.”

  “Miri, it’s only a damn dress!” Stephano said impatiently.

  “Don’t you understand what I’m trying to say, Stephano? The life you want me to lead is like this dress. It would pinch me and trip me and make me miserable.”

  Stephano let go of her hands.

  “Did my mother put you up to this?” he demanded angrily. “Did she tell you not to marry me?”

  Miri drew back. Her red hair bristled. Her green eyes flashed fire. She put her hands on her hips.

  “Stephano de Guichen, you should know both me and your mother better than that!”

  He had never seen her so angry.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. The hell with the dress and the court and the king. I will give all this up. I will come live with you…”

  “And do what?” Miri asked gently. “Sell Calvados?”

  “If I have to!” Stephano said recklessly. “At least I will be with you.”

  “I love you for saying that, Stephano,” Miri said with a smile. “You think you mean it. But you don’t. Your dream has come true. Someday you will meet your lady. She will be gracious and lovely—”

  “You are my dream. You are my lady. Change your mind,” Stephano pleaded. “I need you.”

  Miri drew close to him, nestled in his arms. “Close your eyes, Stephano. Now, I want you to picture me. Where am I? Am I sailing the mists of the Breath or walking the halls of a palace in shoes that hurt my feet?”

  Stephano closed his eyes, but he did not try to picture her. He closed his eyes because he knew she was right and he could not bear for her to see the knowledge in his eyes. He embraced her, held her close to his heart.

  “I will be gone when you return,” said Miri. “Gythe and I are going to Westfirth to live with our uncle. We leave tonight.”

  Stephano opened his eyes and saw her on the boat, her red curls blowing in the wind, the sunlight shining in her eyes, the mists of the Breath pink and gold behind her.

  “I’m glad you understand,” said Miri. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “I wish I didn’t,” said Stephano. He brushed the tear away.

  The pain was almost unbearable. He turned and made his way blindly to the door. Flinging it open, he stumbled into Rodrigo.

  “Eavesdropping?” Stephano demanded angrily.

  “Of course,” said Rodrigo, raising his eyebrows. “I’m surprised you even have to ask. My dear fellow, I am so sorry—”

  “So am I,” said Stephano.

  He slammed the door shut behind him and walked down the stairs. Entering the kitchen, he found Gythe and Dag talking. When they fell silent, he knew they had been talking about him.

  “You know,” said Stephano.

  “Yes, sir. Gythe told me. I’m sorry, sir,” said Dag.

  Doctor Ellington gave a harsh meow.

  “Even the damn cat has something to say,” Stephano muttered.

  Gythe looked at him sadly. “Will you be all right?”

  Stephano managed a stiff smile. “Of course. Dag, I was thinking you should accompany Miri and Gythe to Westfirth. You will have to miss the ball—”

  “I don’t mind, sir,” Dag said earnestly. “Truly I don’t.”

  “Thank you, Dag. I will make your excuses to His Majesty.”

  “Good luck, sir,” said Dag.

  “I will meet you back at the fortress,” said Stephano. “We still have a lot of work to do.”

  He grabbed his hat from the bust of the late King Alaric and was almost out the door when he felt Gythe’s hand on his arm.

  Gythe took hold of his hand, turned it over, and drew a symbol on his
palm—a Trundler good luck charm. She kissed his palm, then closed his fingers over it.

  “Good-bye, dear brother.”

  Stephano kissed her on the forehead, then entered the hall and found Benoit standing there holding his cloak and hat. The old man’s eyes were red rimmed.

  “Don’t say a word,” said Stephano.

  “No, sir,” said Benoit. “Monsieur Rodrigo is waiting in the carriage.”

  He helped Stephano on with his cloak. Stephano went out to join Rodrigo in the carriage that was drawn by horses, not wyverns. The Sunset Palace was on the ground now, and Renaud had decreed the palace would remain on the ground. No longer would the king float above his subjects.

  “Do you want to talk?” Rodrigo asked.

  “No,” said Stephano.

  They rode to the palace in silence.

  * * *

  The Sunset Palace or, as one wit jocularly termed it, the Sundown Palace, now stood on the shore of the lake over which it had once sailed so grandly.

  Only a very few people knew the truth about Eiddwen’s sabotage or the fact that the palace had been in danger of crashing. Renaud told the people his father had ordered the palace to the ground due to the threat of attack from the Bottom Dwellers.

  Those nobles who resided in the palace had returned from their summer revels to complain that with the palace on the ground, their magnificent view of the countryside had been ruined. They did not complain in the king’s hearing, however.

  Everyone was in awe of King Renaud. The former naval officer had stated he intended to “run a tight ship.” He was a family man, not a bon vivant like his father. He put an end to what he considered frivolous pursuits: hunting parties, drinking bouts, and games of baccarat. The former king’s young mistress and her family left hurriedly in the night. Several of his licentious companions also departed in haste.

  Lights shone from every window this night, their reflection glittering in the lake. Carriages rolled up to deposit their bejeweled and dazzling occupants. The ships of the royal navy patrolled above the palace, no longer floating beside it.

  Stephano viewed the glittering lights and wondered how long he would be forced to stay before he could escape and go back home. His enjoyment of the evening had been ruined. He had looked forward to proudly walking with Miri on his arm. His dreams dashed, he faced another tedious event, one in which he would be constantly looking at his watch.