Ice & Smoke

by Elizabeth Belyeu

  And I had no idea whether to be devastated or relieved.

  "How sad it is, when madness strikes one of royal blood." Braith stepped around the end of the stall, and leaned back casually against it. "Yesterday she fancied herself a knight—and today, a knight's charger, to be kept in a stall and curry-brushed now and again."

  "You should be in bed," I said, hurriedly wiping my damp face.

  "My eye may hurt as easily here as anywhere, and the arm's wound is little enough." Nevertheless, I noted, he had it in a sling. Between that, and the bandages holding a fresh poultice to his face, he might seem to be at death's door. His color was good, however—for one as pale as he—and he seemed to be walking well enough.

  I got to my feet, brushing dirt and hay from my skirts, and cast about frantically for a topic of conversation. "How is it that an injury to your dragon wing becomes an injury to your human arm? I would have thought that a dragon who could not fly would translate more accurately to a man who could not walk."

  "It more naturally would, but I took some pains to translate it otherwise. I do have some limited latitude in that, if I focus properly." He crossed his good arm over the bad one, stiff and careful. "I am told you quarreled with Prince Tristan."

  "Did he say that?"

  "I suppose he... implied it. He and Genevieve are both acting quite odd."

  He waited, but I said nothing. This was for me and Tristan to discuss, before it became known to anyone else.

  "You have acquired a tunic, at least. That must be more comfortable for venturing outdoors," I said at last.

  "Yes, though I do not think anyone will ever lend me another, when I keep losing or ruining what I am lent. What has Genevieve to do with your quarrel?"

  "How fares your old wound?" The tip of it was visible through the collar of the tunic, which was likely Owain's and too broad through the shoulders. It was a small, reddish scar, looking much older than I knew it to be. I swallowed a sudden, intense desire to touch it.

  "It is well enough, if tender still when pressed upon. My recent transformations have done it no good but little hurt. Shall I not send Tristan to speak with you? You should learn to reconcile peacefully if you are to be together all your lives."

  "No! I do not wish to speak to him now."

  We both fell silent as Owain entered the stable, barely glancing at us before dropping to his knees beside his horse. Peering over the wall of my stall, I saw that for the first time, Lightning was making no response to his master's presence, though he was breathing still.

  "Lightning, my lad, look here. I brought you a carrot," Owain crooned. "And some bran, only look. You know how you love bran."

  Lightning did not move.

  "This is your fault, dragon," Owain muttered.

  "Mine? I hardly summoned the ghouls."

  "No, but we were forced to fight them only because you held us here."

  Braith looked baffled, even angry. "That, too, was no fault of mine, prince."

  "It did not have to be so! If you had not dodged your duty and evaded my every attempt—" Leaping to his feet in anger, he visibly caught sight of me for the first time, and his words stopped cold. "Ariana. I did not know you were here, I would not have... been so ungentlemanly."

  "Owain, my friend," I said, "I know you are distraught by your poor companion's condition, but you cannot blame Braith for it. What was he to do, when he cannot drop the circle except in death?"

  "Of course," he replied. "How nonsensical. You are right, I am simply overwrought. Are you not hungry? There is an excellent dinner waiting."

  "I will accompany you," Braith said, although I had not actually spoken of leaving. Well, I was in fact starving, and I could not avoid Tristan forever. Bemused, I let Braith accompany me back to the tower.

  Dinner was, in fact, excellent. Genevieve had somehow acquired more eggs, and baked thin little cakes with honey, and a thick soup of her strangely cooked and strangely seasoned vegetables. A dish in the manner of her people, surely. She poured ale around the table, refusing at all times to meet my gaze. I tried to quash the inner voice that muttered, As well she should, the harlot. Genevieve and I had been friends too long for me to believe she would set out to seduce my betrothed. I was sure she had meant only to express her joy in having met Tristan, without any idea of his returning her regard.

  Tristan, on the other hand, had no excuse whatsoever. And I could see that he knew it, when I took the seat beside him, and commenced to eating my supper without sparing a word or glance for him. His eyes darted sideways at me continually, and many a time he opened his mouth as if to speak, only to fall all the more profoundly silent. Not a word was said all around the table.

  "You should eat, Tristan," I said, without looking up. "You will need your strength."

  Looking a bit green, he took a very large gulp of ale.

  When I had eaten my fill, I stood, and asked the others if they would very much mind taking their plates elsewhere, so that Tristan and I could speak privately.

  The room cleared as quickly as if it had been on fire.

  "Ariana—"

  "How dare you speak to me."

  "Ariana, I'm sorry—"

  "You are sorry only that you were witnessed."

  He rubbed both hands over his face. "I never had the slightest intention of hurting you."

  "And kissing another woman behind my back could not possibly hurt me."

  "I did not set out to kiss her! I never decided—and yet somehow I was doing it anyway! I am so sorry, love—"

  "Love?" I turned my chair, the better to see his full face. "You do not love me."

  "I do, I swear I do. You are as dear to me as my own parents, my own brothers—"

  "Yes. It appears I am much like a brother to you." I took a deep breath, and stepped off the precipice. "As you are to me."

  He stared at me in utter, confounded silence—and then a new expression stole over his face, tentative hope and shamefaced relief. "Then you are not in love with me either?"

  "No, I do not think I am. The way you looked at Genevieve... I know I have never looked at anyone in such a way. You are in love with her?"

  He swallowed, nodded. "I was... struck with her from the first day, and the more I knew of her, the deeper my regard grew... but I did not dare to dwell upon it. I tried to turn my thoughts to you, my friend and—and my duty. I could not help seeking her out when possible, but told myself it was myself alone who would suffer from it, that you would never know my feelings and that she... I never dreamed she felt so about me. I am so terribly sorry, Ariana, that you discovered the situation in such a shocking way."

  I regarded my hands broodily. "I do not know how we shall explain this to our parents, you know. And what will your father say when you bring home a mermaid bride?"

  He shrugged uneasily. "Her sheer novelty will lend our story romance and thus popularity, I think. In any case I am of age; by law, even my father cannot stop us."

  "And you do not care that she loved another first? I believe that may be what she feared, why she hesitated to tell you—that and the concept of her once being part fish."

  "What nonsense, how could I mind that? Did you not see her, how beautiful she was, how graceful in the water? As for loving that pig-begotten sailor, well, so she has lamentable taste in men. Her current regard for me must prove that well enough."

  I laughed, to my own surprise, and soon Tristan was laughing, too, and I was glad, so glad that we could be friends still, that I had not lost him utterly, even if I would never be his wife.

  The realization struck home at last. I would never be his wife. Tristan and I would not marry. That quickly, every last thing I had thought certain about my future was obliterated. I would not have him as my companion, and I would never be a queen.

  "Ariana?" Tristan sounded alarmed, and only then did I realize my laughter had turned to weeping, my arms clasped around myself as if I were freezing.

  "Tristan, whatever will become of me?" I tr
ied to laugh but it only seemed to make my sobs more ghastly.

  Tristan pulled me from my chair to his lap, despite the pain this must have caused, and held me tight. "Ariana, I gave my promise to you, and you have the right to hold me to it. I know it is not only a companion, but a life that you lose in this, a life that you have always depended upon. I have always felt that we could be happy together. If you wish it, Ariana, we will marry."

  "What of Genevieve?"

  He hesitated. "I would not be the first prince or king to have a mistress, if you will both consent to it."

  For a moment, the idea was tempting. I could have all that I wanted, even… well, if Tristan had a lady, he could not object to my having a gentleman...

  But I would follow that train of thought no further. What farce of marriage would this be? And for what—so that I could be queen? Did I want power so badly as to trade my own honor for it, and that of my friends? No. I did not even want the power, so much as I was accustomed to it. I could grow accustomed to something else.

  "I thank you, Tristan," I said. "It speaks well of you, that you desire so much to do right by me. But I do not think either of us would rejoice in such a union. No, I will make my own way."

  He brushed my hair away from my face, politely not speaking his relief. "I am by no means your only option, you know. The moment you return to Caibryn, every prince, duke and earl in the ten kingdoms will be angling for your hand. And there are... others, too, that you might have as soon as you wish it."

  I bit my lip and said nothing.

  "Why, even Owain is unmarried still," Tristan added, grinning, "if your heart is set on a prince of Dewgent."

  This had me laughing once more. "Is it not odd, that he is still not wed? He is a man these six years!"

  "Oh, he is prodigious picky, this brother of mine. I have not seen him look twice at any maid who was not heir to a kingdom and lovely as summer besides. So you see, you could not win his heart on either count."

  I gasped in outrage, punched his arm, and got to my feet. "I don't know why I ever tolerated you, my rude and heartless former betrothed. I have no time for your nonsense when there are dishes to be tended to." I kissed the top of his head, gathered what dishes remained on the table, and left for the kitchen.

  I found Genevieve and Elaysius outside the tower door, trying desperately to look casual and unconcerned and not at all like eavesdropping wretches.

  "You eavesdropping wretches," I said.

  Genevieve, her eyes wet, threw her arms around me.

  "You had best take good care of him, Gen," I said, juggling dishes until I could return her embrace. "And be careful in court. It can be a most bloodthirsty place. Tristan will guide you."

  She nodded vigorously, wiped her tears, then took my dishes and half-dropped them to the ground. She grabbed both my emptied hands and spun me, smiling more radiantly than I had ever seen. Elaysius fluttered around us, singing nonsensically.

  "Oh, hush, fairy! And Gen, do not be such a ninny. You are out here with me when your—when a gentleman waits inside to ask you a question. Will you keep him waiting?"

  With no further ado than a kiss on my cheek, Genevieve dropped my hands and ran inside.

  "Come, Elaysius, we will give them the privacy I was not granted," I muttered, gathering my dishes and taking hold of Elaysius with my free hand, dragging him along as I walked toward the kitchen. "And how long have you known of all this, most unexpectedly close-mouthed of fairies?"

  "That Genevieve was a mermaid? This I have known since she first played her pipe," he replied, settling onto my shoulder. "That she loved Tristan? Somewhat longer. Thou wouldst have noticed, I think, hadst thou loved him in earnest, and therefore cared more where he spent his time. Oh, I had hoped things might indeed work out just as they have! Thou art a brilliant star among ladies, dear princess, to have such forgiveness and forbearance! And see thy reward—that thou art free now as well!" With this, he hurtled away into the sky, looping and whirling, and singing at the top of his miniature lungs.

  "I know not what you mean," I murmured, my face warming, and hurried toward the kitchen.

  I did not see Tristan nor Genevieve again that evening, nor anyone else for that matter, mostly by my own preference. I sought my bed early, and wept there, in sheer overwhelmed reaction to all the madness that had been my recent life. The next I knew it was morning, the dawn cool but bright against my windows—too early even for breakfast, but perhaps I could see how Owain's horse was faring, and whether I could offer any help there.

  The stable, its air heavy with Lightning's labored breath when last I left it, was entirely silent now.

  "Oh, poor fellow," I whispered, kneeling to stroke the long neck of the horse that would not get up again. "Oh, poor Lightning. And poor Owain!"

  But Owain was not here, nor Gareth, and I would not have expected them to leave him alone, even in the night. Did Owain know yet? Had Gareth perhaps gone to fetch him? Or had he reacted in a more usual Gareth-like way, and gone to hide somewhere and weep?

  I called Gareth's name, and thought I heard a movement from the back stall in response. When I reached it, however, I found only a mouse, disappearing into a knothole in the wall. I turned back for the front of the stable—and stopped, startled, as two figures entered, one pulling the other roughly by the hair.

  "Look!" Owain shouted, shoving Braith roughly to the ground before Lightning's body. "Look what you have done! My poor Lightning—my brave lad that I raised from a foal—and it is your fault!" Owain's face and voice were rough with equal parts sorrow and wrath. I opened my mouth to call out, try to soothe him before he harmed Braith or himself—but he was not done speaking.

  "My friend is dead, dragon, because you would not bend your will to mine as you are sworn to do."

  My breath stopped, and I remained very, very still.

  "This death could as easily have been my brother, or my own self. And it happened because you have kept us trapped here, when you should have capitulated when I first arrived, as should your father have."

  Braith's good eye seemed to catch fire. "My father? What mean you—"

  "Back on the ground, slave!" Owain kicked at Braith's bad arm as he tried to rise. "Your father is dead because he broke his oath, and not for aught that I did. Remember that, when you choose whether to obey my commands."

  "You have given no commands."

  "Well I know it, for you have taken every pain to avoid being alone with me. But you are alone now, dragon." He snatched Braith by the collar of his tunic, jostling his bad arm so that he gasped with pain. "And by the debt you owe me, Braithandelgar Clan Deyontaer, you will give me your true name."

  Half-crouched and in pain on the stable floor, eyes glassy as if witnessing a horror he could do nothing to prevent, Braith breathed a word in dragon-tongue. "Harsik."

  "By your true name, then, Harsik, I charge you to obey my commands. Tomorrow at dawn you will challenge me to fight. You will lose, and when you lose, the circle binding us here will be dispersed. You will then take to the forest and await further instruction from me. You will come when I call you. Do you understand your orders?"

  "Yes," Braith hissed.

  "Yes what?"

  Braith's face twisted with hatred. "Yes. Master."

  Owain did not release him so much as throw him down, with a kick for good measure, and left the stable without looking back.

  I stood frozen with horror and shock as Braith slowly, painfully got to his feet.

  "Hello, Ari," he said. "Allow me, if you will, to tell you a more... comprehensive version of the story of King Danvael Dragon-friend."

  PART FIVE

  Chapter 15

  "You already know, I think, that Danvael was the younger son of a shoemaker, and had the rare good fortune of persuading a knight to take him on as squire." Braith settled onto the milking stool, adjusting his sling with only a brief grimace; on the whole, he looked considerably more calm than I felt. My legs would not consent to st
illness, but drove me from the window to the stalls and back again. I tried not to look at the dead horse.

  "Potential future knighthood," Braith continued, "was a great rise in the world, and he aspired to nothing higher. His kingship was quite accidental, really. And it started with turning against his knight and master."

  Things were beginning to come together in my mind. "The knight who slew your mother. And your new-hatched sisters."

  He nodded. "Young Squire Danvael had never thought of dragons having children, or feelings. Confronted with undeniable evidence of them, he tried to stop his master—first with words and then with violence. Without his efforts, I would certainly have died, and it is entirely possible my father would have, too. The knight was no indifferent fighter."

  "And so Rindargeth owed him a debt. And you as well."

  "Not I, in fact—Danvael declined to accept oath from a newborn child. But he accepted my father's oath, and with it his true name."

  I turned toward him in my pacing. "You spoke of that once before. Tristan mentioned it too—that a dragon was forced to obey anyone who had his true name."

  "Yes. I could not escape inheriting the task my father had already begun—but without my name, Owain could give me no further commands."

  "Thus you avoided speaking with him alone, to keep him from demanding your name… The debt has passed from your father to you, and from Owain's father to him, but Owain is not the eldest! Should not his brother Taran be your master?"

  "He would be, but for Danvael's sense of justice. Taran would inherit the kingdom; therefore, when he lay dying, Danvael informed both his wife and my father that the dragon-debt, as a sort of consolation prize, should pass to the younger son, then hardly more than a babe in arms."

  "So Rindargeth was the Red Dragon of Gwynhafod." I shook my head, trying to make this idea settle into place in my brain. It was something like discovering one's kitchen maid to be a princess... or a mermaid. "I suppose one might call him red, though I remember him as more of a brown color."

  "He darkened with age, as is not uncommon."