Responsibility of the Crown

by G Scott Huggins

  Zhad clutched Responsibility. “We’re going to fly on a dragon?”

  Responsibility couldn’t tell if he was delighted or terrified. She gave a strangled squeal of assent.

  “And who is this?” asked Sir Cooriarh.

  “He is Zhad, of the Century Ship Ekkaia, who did us great service and now travels with us as our companion,” said Avnai. “It would please me if you would carry him with us.”

  “As you say, my prince.” Cooriarh lowered his neck to the quay.

  To Responsibility’s relief, there was a saddle at the base of the dragon’s neck, equipped with straps to secure its riders. Avnai busied himself with them as though he’d been riding dragons all his life, which, she reflected, was likely because he had. Finally, she was secured, with her wings about Avnai, and Zhad clutching her shoulders.

  Then Cooriarh launched himself into the sky.

  It was nothing like her own gliding fall. Between each stroke of the huge wings, they seemed about to fall, but they never lost more than a few feet of height before going higher yet. Sir Cooriarh snapped his wings out and Responsibility dared to look to the sides. The great black wings stretched out like vast, living fields.

  The dragon banked, and Zhad gave a strangled curse and gripped Responsibility’s shoulders as they slid to the right and fell, but suddenly they were rising in a column of warm air in a wide spiral. Below them, the ships and the docks dwindled to the size of toys, and yet they were still not on the level of the Kreyntorm. Cooriarh turned inland and flew over the city. With great sweeps of his wings, the dragon carried them higher and higher. Now Responsibility looked ahead of them and could see the highest towers of the great fortress that dominated the island.

  Cooriarh went into a shallow glide. Responsibility saw the wide plaza before the castle’s gates. It was full of people looking up at them. There were even two more dragons down there. They swelled in her vision. Responsibility clutched Avnai and braced for the shock of landing, but it was surprisingly gentle. Avnai undid the straps and helped them down. Responsibility staggered; the ground still seemed to move under her feet.

  She had never seen so many people in her life. Behind a line of soldiers armed with spears, a crowd had gathered, pointing and exclaiming to each other. Most of them were humans, but Responsibility realized with a shock that she saw faces in the crowd that were blue, or green, or crimson, and whose long wings matched her own.

  But now Avnai helped her away from the dragon and the crowd, toward a smaller party assembled in front of the Kreyntorm’s massive, open gates. On either side of those gates crouched a huge dragon. One was a dark metal color, similar to burnished steel. The other, even larger, was a deep blood red, and it wore about its neck what looked like a collar bearing a black pearl the size of Responsibility’s head.

  In front of these two behemoths stood a line of so many people that Responsibility could hardly pick them out. At least a third of them were halfdragons.

  A tall woman caught her eye. She wore her hair in a braid down to her waist, only the lines of her face betraying signs of middle age. She was flanked by her own guards and a hooded servant. Responsibility realized that some of the humans weren’t quite human at all. Some of them had scaled skin, silvery blue or shining violet, and while some of them did have hair, the silvery blue one’s head was bald and crowned with a ring of tiny horns, and it was a woman! What was she?

  All the while, Avnai guided her toward an older man about Cana’s age. He stood next to a bald woman who also had small horns around her head. He wore a blue silk shirt and a light mantle. His hair was dark red shot through with white, as was his short beard, surmounted by a circlet of gold worked in the shape of a winged dragon rearing its head.

  He looked at Responsibility as a man in a dream. Every now and then he would glance at Avnai, but his attention was all on her.

  Avnai stepped toward him, and now Responsibility could see the resemblance between the two. “Father,” he said. “I’ve found her. It’s Azriyqam.”

  The man opened his mouth and closed it, looking at her.

  This is my father. The words formed in her head, but they had no meaning.

  “Azriyqam,” the man repeated, and his voice was that of a much older man. He raised his hands, and Responsibility stiffened reflexively. She still couldn’t get used to that name, for all that she knew it was hers. Sorrow came into the man’s eyes, and he moved more slowly, reaching tentatively for her shoulders.

  At that moment, Responsibility realized that if nothing else, she and this man shared the feeling that this must be a vision.

  His hands fell lightly on her shoulders. “It’s really you,” the man said huskily. “You have her eyes; your mother’s eyes.” Tears fell from his own like rain down a porthole glass.

  Avnai put his hands on both of them. “Azriyqam, this is our father, the Crown Da’vid IV of Evenmarch.”

  Responsibility nodded and tried to speak, but the nodding motion seemed to continue and slip from her control. Darkness gathered at the edges of her vision, and the world turned dim and went out.

  * * *

  Responsibility woke to the stillness of the land.

  It was the first time in her life she’d lain in a bed that wasn’t, even if almost imperceptibly, moving to the rise and fall of the ocean. It was peaceful and disquieting at the same time, like a fever dream that is deep but not restful. She opened her eyes and blinked in the early morning sunlight.

  Morning?

  She sat up and looked around her in astonishment. She’d never been in a room like this. The walls were not of wood, but carved from white stone, and they vaulted above her, twice her height. She lay on a mattress covered in cloth so fine she couldn’t see the weave, nor feel the rushes the mattress was packed with. In fact, she didn’t think this mattress was filled with rushes at all; it was like sitting on a cloud. The bed was set into one of the walls of the room. Beyond this room, past its drawn curtains, she could see another, larger room, and beyond that an arch opening out to the sky.

  Where was she?

  Carefully, she rose. It was still hard to walk on the unnaturally-still floor. She stepped onto a white stone terrace shaped like a horseshoe. Two shallow steps led down to a richly carpeted space furnished with several couches and low tables. There was more furniture here than Responsibility had ever seen. There were several chairs of varying sizes and a small table with a set of drawers.

  Now she could see out to the balcony, which was surrounded by a waist-high, pillared wall. A short platform with steps allowed one to step over the wall and out to…nowhere. Beyond it, she could see the sky, the sea, and the cloudwall between them. A too-familiar view.

  Looking up at her from one of the couches was a halfdragon girl. She looked up at Responsibility with big eyes. Her skin was a pinkish-purple, and her eyes were like cut sapphires with dark slit pupils. Black hair fell in a plait down her back, and she wore a light gown of pale cloth, fastened at her hips by a gold-bronze belt.

  She put her embroidery down, rose, and made an elaborate bowing movement with her wings. “You are awake, kyria. Allow me to send for refreshment.” She spoke in the same strange tones Avnai did: precise to the point of exaggeration, every consonant shaped exactly. She went to the doors, carved from a black wood, and murmured instructions to someone without. When she returned, she asked, “Did you sleep well, kyria?”

  “I’m—my name isn’t Kyria.”

  The girl’s mouth opened and then shut. “No, of course not,” she said. “Kyria is a form of…of address. From a lower rank to a greater.”

  “Rank?” Responsibility was truly confused now. “I have no rank.”

  “I beg your pardon, kyria, but you have a very high rank indeed. You are the Princess Azriyqam of the Two Bloods. I am Lady Merav Enshaari, also of the Two Bloods. I have been asked to serve as your lady-in-waiting.”

  “What do you wait for?”

  Merav blinked. “I wait on you, kyria. It’s an hon
or.”

  That made no more sense. “Where are we?”

  “We are in your chambers. Do you not remember being brought here?”

  “I was—we had just landed in front of the…that big castle.” What had Avnai called it again?

  “You fainted, kyria. But I thought you had awoken before this. I will call a healer.” A human servant entered with a tray of fresh breads, fruit, and cheese. Merav indicated a low table and spoke to him in low tones. He bowed to them both and left.

  “What do you mean by this ‘two bloods’?”

  “You and I, we are of the Two Bloods. My father is a dragon, and my mother is human, just as your father is a human and your mother was a dragon.”

  How is that even possible? She looked around the rooms, still taking it in. If this was a prison, it was an improvement over her last one. “Is this where they keep us?” she asked.

  “I don’t understand,” said Merav.

  “The halfdragons,” Azriyqam said. “The Two Bloods—if that’s what they call it here. Is this tower for us?”

  “It is the Residence Tower, but the rooms on this side are reserved for halfdragons, yes.”

  Azriyqam’s rising hunger drew her attention to the tray, and she sat. The food included fresh fruit again, and bread and cheese, this time accompanied by some small, delicately fried fish. When she reached for the eating utensils, she found that the cutlery was bent and twisted into odd shapes.

  Well, she’d been using second-and-third hand tools all her life. Or ignoring them. She picked up the fish and held it awkwardly in her hands. She took a big bite. It was excellent, and she gave a small moan of pleasure. She wouldn’t starve, at least.

  She looked up to find Merav staring at her as though she’d grown another head. The girl looked away and pointedly picked up a fork and a knife. She slipped the twisted ends over her two index fingers. Azriyqam blinked. The twists in the handles of the cutlery formed a helical ring that held them steady on the long, single fingers of a halfdragon. Embarrassed, she put her fish down and awkwardly copied Merav.

  She studied the girl. Merav moved elegantly, with none of Azriyqam’s awkwardness. Her wings simply slid under the couch she sat on, while Azriyqam struggled to furl her own tightly about her elbows. Consciously, she tried to relax them as she got used to the fork.

  It was almost a relief when the healer came in. She was almost bone white in color. She bowed to Azriyqam perfunctorily and introduced herself as the Lady Chaya. Another halfdragon.

  All the freaks in one place.

  The healer examined her. Azriyqam felt almost like she was on display as she was commanded to open her mouth, tilt her head, and cough. “You’ve been through a lot,” said Lady Chaya, rising. “Your brother told me about your ordeal. The part he was present for, at any rate. You seem healthy enough except for recovering from exhaustion and a couple of days without food. Eat the fruit, and don’t overdo it at the banquet tonight.”

  “Banquet?” asked Azriyqam.

  “Haven’t you told her?”

  Merav shook her head. “There hasn’t been time.”

  “Your father has proclaimed a banquet to welcome you and your brother home,” Lady Chaya said. “By that time, I imagine you’ll be very hungry. Don’t eat too much, though, or you may throw it all back up.”

  “Please,” said Azriyqam. “Where is Zhad? And my brother?”

  “Your brother is with the Crown discussing any number of things. Your friend Zhad is sleeping, I believe. I would advise allowing him to do so. You were all exhausted by your ordeal. Even your brother, though neither he nor the Crown seem to realize it.” Her voice turned a bit sour at this. “You may as well call the tailors, Merav. She certainly doesn’t want to go to the banquet in these.” Chaya gestured at Azriyqam’s clothes.

  “Oh, my. Yes.” Merav hurried to the door to issue more orders.

  Chaya rose and made the same elaborate bow as Merav. “Princess, you appear to be in good health, apart from the malnutrition and dehydration. Drink plenty of water and fruit juice. Welcome home. We are all glad to see you returned to us.”

  Azriyqam didn’t know what to say. No one had ever been glad to see her before. Except Avnai, and she was still getting used to that.

  “And now, kyria,” said Merav, “perhaps you would like to take a bath.”

  “A bath? What is that?”

  Merav stared at her for a moment. “How is it possible you don’t know what a bath is? Kyria.” When Azriyqam did not answer, she said, “To clean yourself from your journey. Don’t you want to?” The look on her face suggested that she was considering the possibility that Azriyqam might not want to.

  Azriyqam had hardly had time to consider the salt and sweat that crusted her skin. “You mean scrub down? Yes, please.”

  Merav eyed her dubiously. “This way, kyria.”

  She led Azriyqam into another room dominated by a huge, flat-bottomed bowl. Two metal tubes ran into it, and two woven pull-cords dangled over it. “Your bath.”

  “But what is it for?”

  Merav opened her mouth and shut it, twice. Then she pulled the two cords.

  The clearest water Azriyqam had ever seen flowed from the tubes and into the bowl like liquid glass. She jumped at the sight of it.

  “You wait until the bath is as full as you like,” Merav said, slowly. “Then you get in and you ‘scrub down.’ Your brush and soap are there.” She pointed to some carved white objects that Azriyqam had thought were marble themselves. Merav’s voice slowed, as though she were speaking to an idiot child. “Your towels.” She pointed at two lengths of soft cloth hanging from a rack.

  Azriyqam stared. She couldn’t possibly mean—”Pollute all that freshwater? But that’s drinkable!” She and Merav stared at each other in mutual incomprehension.

  Then it occurred to Azriyqam. No. You are on land. Where freshwater comes from. It is not precious, here. “You can use freshwater for cleaning,” she said, in tones of wonder.

  “Well, of course we use it for cleaning. What else would we use?” asked Merav.

  “Saltwater. On a Century Ship, you use saltwater,” Azriyqam said. “Only a little freshwater can be spent on keeping the body clean. Just enough to wet down.”

  “Oh.” Clearly, this had not occurred to Merav. She hesitated. “Do you need a bodyservant? To help you?”

  A what? Azriyqam felt herself blush, now. “No,” she said, more sharply than she intended.

  Merav bowed, and left.

  Azriyqam shrugged off her tunic and stepped hesitantly into the water. She had never immersed herself in freshwater before, still less in warm water. She sat. She half-floated in the warmth—it was like a blanket wrapping itself around her—and she uttered an involuntary moan of pleasure. So, this was a bath.

  I could grow to like baths.

  After what felt like a good long while, she opened her eyes and nearly recoiled in horror at what she saw. The water around her was gray and translucent. She felt like running and hiding from what she had done to it. Then she remembered she wasn’t on the ship. Trembling slightly, she began to scrub, and saw the water turn grayer yet. Finally, feeling cleaner than she had in her entire lifetime, she rose and dried herself.

  She looked down at the sweat-crusted, filthy tunic on the floor. She couldn’t put that on again. But what else was there? Then she noticed the other doors in the room. Gingerly, she opened them. A halfdragon stared out at her, not ten feet away. She shrieked, stumbling back.

  By the time Merav ran into the room and asked, “Are you all right, kyria?” Azriyqam was staring at her own reflection in the full-length mirror. Her heart pounded, and the blood thundered in her ears, but she felt stupid.

  “I’m sorry, I just—I’ve never seen one that size before,” she muttered. She couldn’t tear her eyes from her reflection: freakishly tall and thin, covered in fine scales, between two ridiculously large and ungainly wings. She lowered her wings. She realized she was still standing there naked i
n front of Merav and instead wrapped them around her breasts and loins.

  Then she realized what was beyond the door. It was a room holding the finest garments Azriyqam had ever seen. Cloth that looked like it had been poured rather than woven.

  Merav coughed, delicately. “The tailor is here and awaits your convenience.”

  Azriyqam reached for what appeared to be a deep purple robe from one of the racks. As she lifted it down, it turned out to be the most bizarre combination of hanging cloth and loops she’d ever seen. She turned it this way and that, becoming more confused. “But how do you put it on?”

  Merav cocked her head to the side. “Have you never seen a robe before, either?” She plucked it from Azriyqam’s fingers and draped it over her shoulders so that most of the cloth fell down her back. This left two streamers of deep purple and two thin streamers of pale purple cloth dangling down her front. “Raise your wings.” Azriyqam did so. Merav looped the robe together over a series of unobtrusive buttons below her wings. Then she showed Azriyqam how to wrap the thin cloth crosswise over her breasts and around her back below the points where her wings met her hips. A wide belt secured the robe around her waist. Then Merav handed her another bit of cloth. “You have seen smallclothes before, yes?”

  “Yes.” Azriyqam blushed again and slipped them on under the robe. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair fell down her back, and the robe made her look—well, certainly more elegant than she’d ever dreamed she could look. But she was still what she was, and no tailor could change that.

  “I suppose the tailor is a halfdragon, too,” she said.

  Merav snorted. “Of course not. Tailors are human. Can you imagine one of us trying to sew?” She pinched her own long forefinger and thumb together.

  “All too well. I always had to make my own.”

  Merav blinked. “Truly?”

  “Of course. Who was going to make them for me? Where do you think those came from?” She indicated the tunic on the floor. “I suppose all of my clothing will have to be specially made, too.”