After the Dragon

by Wendy Palmer

  Trick sighed and gulped another hefty shot of brandy from his flask.

  Mizzle walked back over to the mirror and he watched her go with a wistfulness he never would have suspected in himself when he was sober.

  Fillip sat up sharply. ‘Don't mention that in front of Cerise.'

  'Why on earth not?’ asked Faustus. ‘Now I won't be able to think of anything else.'

  'She wants a divorce, and she needs the High Priest for that,’ said Fillip.

  'Why does she want that?’ Lithia asked. ‘Because you're a lying bastard?'

  Fillip turned a stringent look on her. ‘Speak Bourchian now, do we?'

  Lithia nodded.

  Mizzle said, ‘It is time.'

  'To have another drink?’ asked Faustus brightly.

  'To contact Cerise.'

  Fillip dragged his chair over, and Trick, Lithia, and Faustus gathered behind them.

  Cerise was waiting. She held up a yellowed parchment with a crooked smile.

  'Read it out,’ said Fillip, while Trick tossed back another few gulps of brandy.

  Cerise unfolded the parchment and began to read in her mellow voice. ‘"It is hereby certified that the door to the Bourchian treasury in Port Told shall remain locked by sorcery until the Bourchian king wins back the land and remuneration ceded to Livania after the Second Day War."’ She looked up. ‘Which, you will remember, your uncle lost just before your father killed him.'

  'Cerise,’ said Fillip, on a warning tone.

  'And,’ went on Cerise, ‘this book says a DarkElf laid the spell on the door.’ She showed them a battered red book and raised an eyebrow at Mizzle.

  'It wasn't her,’ protested Faustus.

  'I did not say it was, Faustus Ullwyn.’ When Faustus withdrew slightly, she added, ‘You were presented at court some years ago.’ She looked at Lithia then. ‘Your Majesty,’ she said with a nod.

  'Your Majesty,’ said Lithia solemnly enough. She was very flushed. Cerise hid a smile.

  'I get the hint,’ Fillip said. He introduced Mizzle and Mouse and even Trick, who could not be identified as the High Priest by his Livanian name.

  Cerise demonstrated this. ‘Faustus,’ she said. ‘Where is Patrick Ullwyn?'

  'Who?’ squeaked Faustus.

  'Your cousin,’ she said, husky and calm. ‘He would be around your age, I'm sure.'

  'We don't know, Your Majesty,’ said Faustus helplessly, not without a guilty glance at Trick. Trick had on his innocent face and Cerise didn't look twice at him.

  'Back to business, Risa,’ commanded Fillip. ‘You can plot my downfall on your own time.'

  'Yes, Your Majesty,’ said Cerise.

  'Is there a description of the DarkElf?’ asked Mizzle.

  Cerise checked the book. ‘No fingers on his left hand.'

  So it had been Jarrett who obliged the mad Bourchian king twenty years ago. Mizzle had to have suspected that, to have asked. He must have gone on to the pirate ship just after spelling the treasury door closed.

  Mizzle nodded but she put it aside. ‘Do you have a record of which land and how much money was ceded?'

  Cerise was very well organised. ‘Yes,’ she said, consulting yet another piece of paper. ‘The shire of Gourthen north of the River Salding.'

  'Salding used to define the border before my uncle ceded Gourthen,’ said Fillip.

  'And fifty thousand pieces of gold,’ finished Cerise.

  Mizzle shrugged. ‘Lithia, give Fillip back his war spoils,’ she said with just a hint of mockery.

  'That won't work, Mizzle,’ said Cerise, safely miles away. ‘He has to win it, you see.'

  'But it does not specify that it must be through warfare,’ said Mizzle.

  'It does not,’ confirmed Cerise with the same formality, teasing a DarkElf. Fillip shot her a warning look.

  'I will act as proxy for Livania,’ said Mizzle. ‘Who will act for Bourchia?'

  'To do what exactly?’ asked Faustus, half fear, half hope.

  'Bourchia has to win, you realise, Mizzle,’ said Trick.

  'Play me in a game I know nothing about,’ she said.

  'A card game should work,’ said Cerise, before Trick's tongue got away from him.

  Lithia said, ‘No one's asked if I agree to this.'

  'Do you want a war or not?’ asked Trick. He tried again. ‘Do you want to avoid a war or not?'

  'But the people of Gourthen might be happy to be Livanians. The children will have always been Livanians.'

  'Technically,’ said Fillip. ‘But raised by Bourchians, surrounded by Bourchian towns. No Livanian in their right mind has settled there.’ He hesitated. ‘I'll help you repatriate any not in their right minds.'

  Lithia slowly nodded and Mizzle turned to Trick. ‘I will play a game with you,’ she said. ‘Think very carefully about what you are about to say.'

  Trick shut his mouth, considered her, and said instead, ‘Let's just see who draws the highest card, shall we?’ He took out his pack of cheat cards from a pocket. ‘I'll shuffle.’ As he did so, he said, ‘I, Bourchia, bet you, Livania, that I will draw the higher card. If you lose, you will cede Gourthen and a barrel full of gold.'

  'I accept,’ said Mizzle with great gravity in the face of his flippancy. She took the top card and produced a knave.

  Fillip and Lithia both shot Trick sharp looks but his draw was the queen of hearts. ‘Bourchia wins,’ he said simply, and then shot a wicked look through the mirror at Cerise. ‘With the queen, no less,’ he said. ‘Lucky me.'

  Cerise half-smiled, half-blushed.

  'Cerise,’ said Fillip, glaring at Trick. ‘Go down to the treasury with a mirror, would you?'

  * * * *

  Mizzle focussed on the overused mirror. Lithia had just signed a hastily drawn up contract handing back the land and, not without a slight wince from her, the gold.

  'Do you need me to think of the treasury?’ asked Fillip.

  'No,’ said Mizzle. ‘I will concentrate on Cerise.'

  After a moment, the treasury door loomed in the mirror. The image was slightly distorted as they looked into an oval mirror but out through a long rectangular one. The door was huge and wooden and heavily scarred from previous attempts to get in. Cerise smiled at them with a key in her hand.

  'Shall I?’ she asked her husband.

  'Be careful,’ he said. ‘Remember a DarkElf did the spell. Sorry, Mizzle.’ He said in an aside to the others, ‘Normally when the key is put in the lock, the person holding it is given a rather nasty shock. Risa must really believe we've beaten the conditions of the spell.'

  Cerise turned the key. A click reverberated through the mirror and the door slowly swung open. Cerise walked into the treasury, with her two guards carrying the mirror after her.

  The treasury had not been touched in twenty years. It was very full. Cerise turned back to the mirror. ‘Are you coming home now, Fillip?'

  'Soon,’ he said.

  Trick said in his ear, ‘If a woman asked me home in a voice like that, I'd be going.'

  Fillip just frowned. ‘Cerise,’ he said. ‘That ruby ring there.’ She obligingly picked it up. ‘That should have been your wedding ring.'

  No matter Cerise's feelings for Fillip or the marriage, she had proved herself a dutiful wife. She slipped the ring on.

  'And Cerise,’ said Fillip. ‘That large crown there. That's for who rules the country.'

  She picked it up. ‘I shall keep it aside for you.'

  'Put it on your head, Risa,’ he said softly. ‘We both know who rules Bourchia, and it's not the one who just spent three straight years in Livania.'

  Cerise positively glowed. The crown was too big for her, and she looked rather rakish as she peered out from under it and said, ‘Come home, Fillip.'

  'Oh, go home, Fillip,’ said Trick in anguish. Cerise took the crown back off and smiled at him. ‘Or by Fortune's ankles, I will,’ he added, smiling angelically back at her. He couldn't seem to help himself.

  'Stop
that,’ said Fillip sharply. ‘Both of you.’ Trick was not in the least abashed but Cerise turned back to her husband, eyes sparkling.

  'Very clever,’ he said. ‘I will be home soon, Risa. Just a few last things to take care of.’ He raised one hand. ‘Don't spend all of it.'

  'Goodbye, Fillip,’ she said. Mizzle let go and she and the mountain of gold behind her faded away.

  'I don't know what she wants a divorce for,’ said Lithia. ‘She plainly loves you.'

  'No, she doesn't,’ said Fillip.

  'Why did she keep asking you home then?'

  'So I can speed up the search for the High Priest, so she can get her divorce,’ said Fillip without a trace of embarrassment or bitterness. ‘And you—’ he turned on Trick. ‘Behave yourself. That's your queen and my wife.'

  'I live but to serve my queen,’ said Trick. His head spun and he swayed on his chair.

  Fillip's hackles settled. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You go sleep it off, why don't you? All of you,’ he added, eyeing Lithia.

  'I don't know that you needed the gold back,’ grumbled Lithia. ‘Your treasury was fuller than mine.’ She let Trick help her up.

  'National pride,’ said Fillip. ‘I'll give it back as a wedding present.’ They went out the council room, through the great hall and up the stairs. Lithia's guards had been waiting at the council room door and now came trailing after them.

  'Wedding?’ said Lithia, who had given a strong hint to Rissun and now pretended not to know what that meant. They reached Trick's room.

  'You need an heir,’ said Fillip mildly. ‘Preferably more than one.'

  'I'll give her a hand,’ said Trick, hanging on his doorknob and not in control of himself. ‘Come inside, Lithia.’ And he gave her the same sweetly innocent smile he had used on Cerise. Lithia smiled back, blushing.

  'Stop it, Trick,’ said Fillip sharply.

  Trick struggled to obey. Only by focusing on Mizzle did he pull himself away from Lithia. He stood staring, transfixed by the DarkElf while the others went away. Faustus kept looking back, and Lithia did, too.

  'Help me,’ Trick said. ‘I can't stop myself.'

  Mizzle opened the door while he was still leaning on it and he half-fell into his outer room. His servant leapt up from the bed he slept in and Mizzle waved him away.

  'Gods,’ Trick said, and, ‘Coming to bed?'

  Mizzle flashed that tiny smile. ‘Not yours,’ she said.

  'Jarrett's?’ he asked, and in the face of the look she gave him, he finally sobered. ‘Fortune help me, I cannot control my tongue.'

  'I am aware,’ she said, all ice and dry humour. She took his arm and helped him across the room. Her touch gave him hot flushes and chills running one after the other over his body.

  She let him drop upon the bed, and he immediately curled into a ball, tired now that the brandy was burning out of him. He felt her sit beside him on the bed and went very still.

  'What is this language you and Fillip use?’ she asked. She mirrored back all the gestures she had seen the two of them use.

  He rolled over and looked up at her. Of course she had noticed. ‘Only the Company is allowed to learn that,’ he said.

  Mizzle leant closer. He could have reached up and touched her face or played with her hair and he was horrified with himself for thinking of it. And now he had thought of it, he had to clasp one hand with the other to make sure he didn't do it.

  She said, ‘I will learn it whether you teach me or no.'

  He sighed. ‘I have no doubt.’ He wanted very nearly nothing else but to sleep, and Mizzle insisted on this now. He raised his hands to her eye-level. ‘Very basic, no sentences.’ He ran through the signs she had already seen, calm, hide, silence, trust, safe/good, and added yes, take-care, friend, run, incitement, and wait/not-yet.

  'We cut down on the need for a lot of words by using negative.’ He signalled—not-safe/good—'See, that means danger. You saw Fillip do that.'

  'Yes,’ she said.

  'And this is goodbye,’ he tried, but Mizzle just reclined back on the pillows like she had taken his invitation to bed seriously.

  'We are leaving tomorrow morning,’ she said.

  He blinked. ‘Does Lithia know?'

  'I have told only you,’ she said. ‘I do not find it necessary to inform the Empress.’ She stood. ‘But I will tell Faustus and Mouse now.'

  He listened to her leave, lying back in the darkness. They were leaving. Mizzle announced it to him and did not let Lithia know. He almost just went to sleep but his conscience, ill-heeded thing, finally caught him. Lithia had cut him loose and he had turned around and hooked her in again. Even in his drunken stupor, he had understood the significance of the looks she threw back over her shoulder as she walked away from him and Mizzle. He got up and headed to Lithia's quarters.

  As he came down her hallway, he heard a muffled explosion from her room. He kicked into a run and reached the doors just as the guards went in. Lithia stood alone and unharmed, but glass glittered over the floor and table, and a dent cracked the wall.

  She had thrown the crystal ball that Fillip had given her that morning and turned to look at him with tears shivering in her eyes and reflecting the light like the glass shards.

  'Sorry,’ she said. ‘I gave way to a temper tantrum.'

  Trick sent the guards out with a word and a gesture and gathered her up into a hug like a child. He had not held any woman since Linnet. She stood quiescent in his arms while he stroked the hair from her face and kissed the top of her head and murmured stupid things as if platitudes could help against betrayal.

  He did not know how they came to be kissing except that she had turned her face up to his, but he only stopped her when she slid her hands under his shirt, not at all as innocent as she seemed to be.

  He pushed her away. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I never should have encouraged you.'

  She stood with her hands clasped over her lips and looked at him with her big green eyes. He poured her a cup of the thick kafa and dumped in sugar and judicious dollop of brandy from his flask, never mind the trouble it had already got him and her into. He pressed it into her hands. She took a sip and started coughing.

  'Is it Mizzle?’ she asked when she got her voice back.

  He didn't know any more if it was Linnet or Mizzle or both of them. He just shook his head.

  Lithia smiled, small and painful to watch. ‘I think she can only catch men who are not already in love. That's why Faustus is so far gone but Fillip is hardly affected—not that kind of marriage, my foot. If she stays much longer she'll have most of the lords wrapped around her finger.'

  Trick had been so busy trying to resist Mizzle he never noticed other men weren't having the same problem. But he could not believe Lithia's theory, for it discounted anything he had ever felt for Linnet.

  'It's probably good we're leaving, then.’ He had not meant to be so harsh.

  Lithia swallowed a mouthful of kafa as if were ashes. ‘You're leaving?’ Then she straightened. ‘Of course. I shall arrange for supplies and money for you.'

  Trick opened his mouth to refuse it, but of course he could not. So he bowed and said, ‘Thank you, Tal Lithium.'

  And she bowed too, with just the tiniest trace of whimsy, so that he knew she was not so badly hurt and he could leave with impunity.

  She said, changing the subject, ‘It was always my intention to give that land back. I don't know why I'm so angry with him.'

  Trick shrugged, relieved more than he would have guessed that she could still treat him as a friend. ‘He played us both for fools.'

  'And I must accept it,’ said Lithia, with a shake of her head.

  Trick wiggled fingers at her. ‘I hold grudges,’ he said, ‘If you don't. I'll have our revenge for both of us.'

  He didn't mean it, and did, and did not. But he made Lithia smile. He said goodbye to her, with no more than a kiss on the cheek.

  * * * *

  Trick went back down to his room, lea
ning against the wall as he walked in the aftermath of exhaustion and too much alcohol. Faustus was waiting for him outside his room, sitting on the floor.

  Trick did not think to hide his sigh. ‘What do you want?'

  'Why does she love you and not me?’ Faustus pushed himself up and stood only an inch away.

  He had to mean Mizzle. He had to be still feeling the effects of the brandy to ask such a question with hair hanging in his face and tears in his eyes. Trick had to be as well, for he was not wise in his response. ‘Why does any woman, Faustie?'

  Faustus had him pinned against the wall a moment later, with his sword blade across his throat. Trick was not sure how that had happened. He thought he could get his sword free and didn't try.

  His cousin's eyes burned into him. He looked pale and fevered. That look piercing at him was more painful than the blade rasping across the scab on his throat that Yury had left.

  He could not but provoke him. ‘Ullwyn, is this how you play lover? No wonder women don't like you.'

  'I hate you,’ said Faustus, leaning on the blade. ‘And when you are dead—'

  The blade cartwheeled out from between them. Mizzle had hold of Faustus's wrist and was twisting. Trick saw she had one of her swords in her other hand and he wondered if Faustus would die. The Ullwyn sank to his knees, staring up at Mizzle like she was Fortune.

  Mizzle let go of his wrist with a tossing gesture and he fell backwards and scrambled away from them.

  'Go,’ she said, and he got up and ran away down the hallway.

  She turned to look at Trick. He waited, against the wall where Faustus had pushed him, and he was not surprised when Mizzle laid her own blade against his chest.

  'Do you wish to die?’ she asked. ‘I will oblige.'

  She did not ask a rhetorical question. He hovered for a long moment, not knowing to say nay or aye in the face of her anger. Then his confusion coalesced into a black certainty.

  'Do it,’ he said, hovering on the edge of exhaustion and with nothing else in his head but that he wanted what she offered.

  Mizzle took the blade away and backed up a step. He had called her bluff without intending it. DarkElves could perhaps not comprehend a death wish that did not involve taking enemies down as well.