Parasite Soul

by Jags, Chris

  “It is possible,” she said with affected disinterest, “That with time we might make something of him.”

  Some of the nobles muttered with astonishment behind their silken gloves and peacock fans. Tiera’s words, cutting as they might sound, were apparently high praise.

  “Thank you, my lady.” Simon executed a clumsy bow. To his considerable bewilderment, he realized that he found Tiera’s perfection rather dull. His attention drifted instead to her handmaidens. The redhead at Tiera’s right hand was of local stock, a freckled young woman clad in a modest tunic. She seemed to Simon to be lacking spirit. Her eyes, dull and listless, remained fixed upon the floor. He found himself wondering how she might be treated out of sight of the court, and suspected he didn’t want to know.

  But the other girl, the one standing to the left of her throne…! Simon felt his gaze drawn to her magnetically. Granted, he didn’t leave his home village often, but he could say with certainty that he’d never beheld anyone like her. Her hooded eyes, olive skin, and raven tresses - collected in an unusually high-set ponytail - conspired to mark her as a foreigner; possibly, Simon thought, from the eastern empires which lay far beyond the Banshee’s Teeth. There was a delicacy about her features, as though they could shattered like pottery; though if Simon was any judge, she was no fragile maiden. Her slim, athletic form suggested endurance and agility rare amongst the women of Cannevish, while an undeniable strength lurked in those dark, vertiginous eyes.

  Her attire was nearly as mesmerizing. Wherever she was from, her sense of fashion would have brought a landslide of scandal down upon the head of any local woman. Simon had no name for the fabrics which draped her body nor the style in which they were cut, but they displayed an alluring wealth of skin. Thin strips of some unidentifiable gossamer cloth, pinned by a jewel, criss-crossed her breasts; what Simon could only think to describe as some form of dress hung low on her hips, slit up one leg to expose a tantalizing sliver of flesh beneath. The garment bore no resemblance whatsoever to the modest skirts or bulky bustles of local women. Spiting every unwritten dress code in Cannevish, her belly was bare, a silver ring glinting brazenly at its center.

  Nor did this strange foreign woman seem as subservient as her local counterpart. She returned Simon’s stare boldly, lips quirking slightly. Here, he told himself, was a young woman who was afraid of very little. She was extraordinarily fascinating, and he found it difficult disengaging her gaze even when Tiera coughed delicately but pointedly.

  “I see my handmaiden is of interest to you,” she said crisply.

  Embarrassed, Simon refocused on the glacial snowscape of the princess’ face. “Forgive me,” he mumbled, flushing. “I haven’t… seen many people from kingdoms other than our own.” Admitting that, he had never felt like more a peasant. Studying the buckles on his shoes, he waited for the inevitable critique of his intelligence.

  “I suppose that’s to be expected,” Tiera answered dryly. “I don’t suppose you get much in the way of culture out in the provinces.”

  Simon thought of his own skull mounted on a pole and judged it better to say nothing.

  “Still, I understand your interest,” the princess continued. She reached out and gripped the foreign handmaiden’s pointed chin with one hand, roughly twisting her face toward her own and examining it critically. “Niu here was a gift from the emperor of Jynn. Father brought her back for me. She’s quite the gifted singer for a barbarian.” She released Niu’s face dismissively, fading imprints of her fingers visible on the handmaiden’s flesh. Simon fumed silently, though he was smart enough to betray no outward sign of irritation. Refocusing, he tasted the girl’s name, Niu, and found it odd but pleasantly exotic.

  “Let us return this conversation to the matter at hand,” King Minus leaned forward slightly. “I have promised the hand of my daughter to the man who was able to slay the dragon which plagued the land. You are that man, and I will keep my word. You will marry the Princess Tiera.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Simon’s mind buzzed furiously. He thought his trembling legs might give out beneath him. When first he’d signed up to try his luck with the dragon, the idea of marrying into wealth, power, and fame had been exceptionally alluring. Inspired by the discovery of his sword, he would have given anything to leave the drab monotony of his father’s farm behind. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure what he’d let himself in for. He felt no attraction to the cold-blooded harpy whom he was destined to marry, for starters; he didn’t fit in amongst these courtiers with their poufy sleeves and powdered wigs, and he never would. Was a life of privilege truly worth the barbed whispers, the plotting? Worse, might he not wind up in a ditch with a knife in his back before he could sully the royal bloodline with peasant blood?

  Simon seemed to see the threat of a severely truncated future etched plainly in the shadows of Minus’ creased face. He glanced again at the foreign handmaiden and made up his mind.

  “Your Majesty,” he said again, hesitantly, fumbling for words which would not end with him dangling at the end of a hempen rope. “I am of the most humble stock. I do not know my letters, nor do I have talents superior to any other common man. I do not believe that I am suited to marry the Princess Tiera.”

  Minus and his daughter simultaneously raised one eyebrow. The court held its breath collectively. There would be much speculation later, over tea or wine, as to what the rustic simpleton now known as Simon Dragonslayer could possibly have been thinking.

  “I am grateful to have freed your kingdom from the dragon,” Simon continued carefully. “I do not desire a reward.”

  Minus considered him impassively for a time. Simon felt his innards shriveling under that raptor’s gaze.

  “If that is your decision,” he said at length. Was that a note of undisguised relief in his voice? “But it will not be said of me that I am an ungenerous man. What reward would you claim of me instead?”

  It was in Simon’s mind to say Nothing, Your Majesty, as would have been prudent. Instead, his treacherous mouth said “Niu’s hand, Your Majesty. If she is willing.”

  A shocked silence blanketed the court. Niu’s hands, far from donating themselves to marriage, jerked as though in preparation for self-defense as she studied the princess in alarm. Tiera sprang upright, her white face taking on crimson hues. For a withering eternity, she stared unblinking at Simon, her lips set in an O of disbelief. Writhing under that gaze of molten ice, Simon cursed his traitorous tongue. What had come over him?

  When at last Tiera spoke, she might have been addressing a slug who’d refused access to a garden of prize lettuces.

  “You have been offered the hand of a princess,” she hissed. Her eyes flooded with poison, and Simon couldn’t meet them. “You would reject that offer, and ask for the hand of a servant?”

  “If… if his Majesty accepts,” Simon stammered. “As I said, my station in life… I dare not…”

  “You… ungrateful… provincial… whoreson!” Forgetting all courtly protocol, Tiera stabbed an arched finger at Simon as though she were about to incinerate him with a bolt of lightning. Her face now resembled a beetroot.

  “Tiera!” Minus said sharply, one hand raised. “Let us consider this man’s counteroffer.” He leaned forward speculatively. “You say you would be satisfied with the hand of this handmaiden?”

  “If… if she would consent.” If Simon could have crawled into a ground squirrel’s burrow and curled there in the dirt and darkness, he would have.

  The King leaned back in his throne, fingers steepled, a calculating smile playing about his lips. “You would be willing to proclaim as much before the people?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “You will return to your inn while we reflect upon the matter.”

  “Father!” Tiera began, incensed. “Niu is my handmaiden, I will not allow…”

  “Quiet!” King Minus barked, and Tiera, fuming, subsided. “As I said, we shall deliberate.” He returned his attention to Simon. “You will
say nothing – not to anyone - until a decision has been made. Is that plain?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Simon didn’t need to be told what would happen if he disobeyed this command.

  Minus waved his hand. A gauntlet clamped down upon each of Simon’s shoulders and he was steered firmly from the throne room. He was glad of his escorts, certain as he was that his legs were ready to give out. He didn’t dare spare a parting glance for the Princess or the foreign handmaiden. Had he gone mad? What had possessed him to make a fool of himself in front of the most powerful people in the land? To have offended them?

  Well, he thought wryly as he fought to control his churning stomach, I won’t be getting much in the way of sleep tonight, unless it’s of the permanent kind. He imagined his broken body bleeding into the refuse of the canal where it had been dumped, fodder for rats, and shivered.

  Much of his trip back to the inn was a blur. There were more people out and about now, but he couldn’t seem to see their faces. All he could see was a hangman’s noose, or an executioner’s axe, or whatever awaited him. The insult to the princess had been grave indeed, and he was a damned fool if he didn’t think there would be repercussions.

  He thought his brain might start to boil, so he tried to refocus his thoughts. Images of the eastern girl, Niu, began to flood his mind, relieving some of the pressure. Had she bewitched him with some foreign sorcery? He couldn’t otherwise explain his lapse in judgement. While he supposed his recent determination to attack a dragon - with nothing but a rusty old sword that he didn’t know how to wield - hadn’t been the finest example of rationality either, at least he’d been pursuing a clear goal. To have achieved that goal, where so many others had failed and then to throw the reward away on a mad whim…!

  You choked, Simon thought. You saw the princess and got frightened. Her otherworldliness, her station in life; it was all too much for you. You reacted in fear. You were more afraid of her than that dragon.

  Was that entirely true? He thought of the olive-skinned handmaiden again. There was something about her, something Simon had never felt before, neither in the presence of the prettiest girl in his village nor a princess. Something which had stolen all reason from his mind at the merest glance. Which bought him full circle, back to spell. The young woman was clearly an enchantress. He’d heard of such things; women who could bend men’s minds to their whims. Still, as Simon recalled every detail of her lithe and nubile form with a clarity he’d never before experienced, he wasn’t entirely sure it was his mind he was thinking with.

  The guards accompanied him into the inn for a word with the innkeeper. They slipped the proprietor a small bag of coins. The man made a show about being leery of the continuing presence of king’s men hovering around his establishment, scaring away his ‘honest’ customers, but a few extra serrins quietened him soon enough. The guards then warned Simon not to leave the building or to discuss anything said in court with anyone in the establishment, advising him that both they and the innkeeper would be keeping an eye on his movements. Simon understood; he was under house arrest until the king could reach a decision as to how many more dawns he would see.

  Much as he wanted to launch into reckless flight from the myriad curious eyes, he took the stairs to his room carefully. The world around him seemed to have been engulfed in a dreamlike haze which had slowed his mind and movements. A long day of ominous introspection awaited him. He’d gone from peasant to Dragonslayer to pariah in less than twenty-four hours.

  Simon sighed deeply as he reached the third landing, located his chambers, and wilted onto the straw-stuffed bed without removing his boots. He stared at the ill-fitted beams above his head and thought it might be a mercy if they caved in, as they threatened to, and ended it all. He’d been an imaginative, restless lad, as long as he could remember; head in the clouds, mind racing off on the kind of adventures most folk just didn’t seem to have anymore. Never before in his life had he stopped to consider that his father’s farm just might have been the place for him after all.

  III

  The House of Minus kept Simon waiting. Morning became midday, midday reddening into evening at a snail’s tortuous speed. Simon spent a good deal of time pacing, at least until his downstairs neighbor began vigorously thumping the ceiling of his own chamber. He tried to take meals, but only picked at them. At intervals he visited the common room, longing for company and advice, but striking up conversation with the inn’s patrons proved worthless because he was expressly forbidden to discuss the only thing that was on his mind.

  Give me the noose or cut me loose, he thought, thinking of an ancient children’s ballad which glamorized the exploits of an arrogant highwayman who had taunted the authorities from behind the bars of his cell. The possibility still existed that his boon would be granted – if the foreign handmaiden acquiesced – but the longer he was made to sweat and stew, he felt, the fainter that chance became. He prayed to Vanyon Afterlord to keep him from his domain; to close the gates to the Realm Beyond and refuse him access. Upsettingly, he discovered that he’d lost his prayer stone, likely during his fight with the dragon, so he wasn’t sure if Vanyon would even hear his prayers. Still, talking to his god leant him the courage to tolerate the terrifying wait.

  Having returned his partially uneaten platter to the kitchens by way of a grudging maid, Simon threw himself onto the bed and stared at the shutters as the sky beyond them darkened. Unable to shake the sensation that the whole city was scrutinizing him – people, animals, buildings, everyone and everything - he’d kept them closed all day. Somewhere beyond the tangle of threadbare streets, across the lake and over the mountains, his father waited anxiously for news of his son. Knowing that made Simon homesick. His life as a farmer’s son hadn’t been so terrible, after all; not the destiny of a young man’s dreams, of course, but at least he hadn’t had to worry about offending the chickens and getting his head cut off.

  If only I hadn’t found that stupid sword.

  A sudden sharp rap rattled the shutters, startling him out his reverie. He sat bolt upright, astonished.

  “Who… who is it?” he quavered, unable to anticipate the answer. Anyone aware that he was housed at the inn was hardly likely to approach him via the window, and besides, his room was on the third floor.

  “Hurry up and open the window, please!” someone hissed. A woman’s voice, he thought, oddly accented, clipped and precise. His heart began to thump. Was it possible…?

  He rose cautiously and padded across to the shutters, which, in shielding the unknown, had taken on a sinister aspect. He considered his traveling bag and the remnants of the ruined sword lying near it. Was this some sort of trap? Was he to be murdered quietly, to prevent a public spectacle? Perhaps his death would be made to look like a robbery, the King would offer his condolences, and he would be remembered as the dragonslaying hero who nearly managed to marry a princess, a hero for the common folk without the pesky complication of sullying the royal bloodline.

  “Would you open the window?” the voice came again, more urgently. The speaker sounded exasperated. “I can not maintain my grip here forever, you know. Do you want me to fall?”

  Simon’s body seemed to move of its own accord as he threw the shutters wide. He knew who he hoped to see, and he was not disappointed. Tiera’s foreign handmaiden, Niu, was clinging to the windowsill. Her fingers were white with the effort, her athletic legs braced against the side of the moonlit building. She wasn’t smiling.

  Incredulous, Simon took her arm and helped her inside. She accepted the help but shook his hand away irritably the moment her feet touched the floor. She was wrapped in a dark traveling cape, and a hefty leather bag was slung over one slim shoulder. Hands on hips, she studied Simon with a none-too-friendly expression.

  “Close those,” she told him, jerking a thumb toward the shutters, and he moved numbly to comply as she flung her bag upon the bed and unlatched it.

  “What,” Simon managed breathlessly, “Are you doing here?�
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  “Well,” Niu said, pretending to consider, “I might this moment be performing my final duties for the night and retiring to my chambers, but someone disrupted my life by suggesting that I marry him in place of the princess.”

  “I’m sorry. But why are you here?” Simon couldn’t keep a note of hope from his voice.

  Niu pulled a face. “Since my head is now on the chopping block, I thought maybe, just maybe, the man who got me into this situation - a Dragonslayer by all accounts – might feel obliged to help me out of it.”

  “They’re going to kill you?” Simon’s voice was hushed. “I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking clearly…”

  “Yes, that is obvious.”

  “I don’t know what came over me.” Simon couldn’t look at her directly. “I thought you put a spell on me.”

  Niu blinked incredulously. “How old are you?” She’d retrieved a second dark cloak from her bag, along with a mat of hair which might have been a wig… or some crawling monstrosity from the Dead Lagoon.

  “Sorry,” Simon mumbled again.

  “The princess is livid. You have offended her deeply. She had me dragged off to my chamber and put under guard. I would already be dead if the King was not concerned that killing me would offend the emperor of Jynn. There was thankfully some debate as to whether I was a gift or on loan.” She tossed the cloak and wig across the Simon. The tangle of hair, it turned out, was a false beard; it had seen better days. Perhaps it had smelled better then, too. “I am to be whipped tomorrow, fifty lashes. Afterward I may still be executed depending on the Princess’ whims. Only I do not plan to be there.” Standing, she placed her hands on her hips and stared challengingly across at him. “You are going to help me out of the city and away.”