by Chrys Cymri
Fianna dropped a final portion of straw on the stable floor. Resting a moment on her pitchfork, she wiped a grimy sleeve across her sweaty forehead. The smell of horse dung seemed to cling to her very skin, and she studied the stalls left between her and the main doors. Four more to muck out. Her muscles ached already. Taking a deep breath, she moved on.
‘My lady.’ Ern, the stablemaster, suddenly stepped in front of her.
Fianna straightened. She was tall for her eleven years, but still had to tip back her head to look him in the eye. ‘You’ve told me, in here, I’m Fianna.’
‘Not today, Your Highness.’ He gently but firmly removed the wooden handle from her grasp. ‘I haven’t forgotten the grief of fourteen months’ standing. Today is your mother’s death day.’
‘I didn’t forget,’ she told him bitterly. ‘Please let me work.’
‘You should be with the King--’
‘My father hardly ever knows when I’m gone.’ The words hung in the warm air. Fianna turned her head, regretting the outburst. A princess did not speak that way of the man who was her ruler as well as her sire.
‘Aye, lass, I know.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ern reach out, then drop his hand away before it could touch her. ‘It has been but a year. He might now change.’
And the dragons might come down from the Sacred Mountains and sit one of their own upon the Throne. Fianna winced at the saying. It had been one of her mother’s favourites. ‘You’re right. I’d better go.’
‘I’ll get Jeremy to finish here.’
Fianna nodded. She glanced at the last stall. ‘Tell him Midnight likes to sleep in the right corner. I always put extra straw there for him.’
‘Aye, my lady.’
The shower rooms were empty. Most of the pages were still at their duties, cleaning stalls, repairing tack, training the dogs, the multiple tasks which young nobility were expected to undertake in their earliest service to the King. Fianna stripped off her dusty clothes, dropped them into the communal barrel, and stepped into a hot jet of water. A child of the royal family, she had discovered when she had first come to the stables just under a year ago, was expected to keep to the lighter duties in the castle itself. Carrying messages, greeting visitors, serving the King.
Fianna slicked back her long hair. She liked the stables, the kennels. Animals were often better than people when you wanted to someone to talk to. Midnight was one of her favourites. The gelding always nuzzled her in greeting, and never minded if she left tears in his mane.
Once she’d rinsed, she had no excuse to delay any longer. Fianna reluctantly left the shower, grabbing a towel as she stepped into the next room. Heat rose from the floor, drying her skin as she scrubbed her scalp with the towel. As usual, it took longest to convince a brush to tame her mass of hair. She was convinced that a curry comb would work best, but she couldn't see Ern agreeing to let her use one for such a purpose. And the tell tale strands of red she’d leave behind would give her away.
Beyond the drying room was the dressing area. Fianna opened the wooden door to her own wardrobe. Fortunately she had one set of court silks still unworn. They’d only been sewn for her a month ago, so they’d still fit. She slipped the trousers over clean undergarments, tucked the shirt into the waist before tightening the belt. Dark green and black. Not the royal colours, but the red badge was in its place above her left breast. A golden bar across the top, cutting across the golden wings of the dragon, marking her as heir to the Dragon Throne.
Fianna laced up her boots, then stared out the window. A wind was playing with remnants of snow, swirling white flakes across the cobblestones. The entrance to Secondus castle was several hundred feet away, and Fianna was tempted to use the underground passage from stables to pages’ quarters. She put the thought aside. It would not do for the King’s daughter to be seen entering the castle from the servants’ halls.
Gritting her teeth, she made her way across the courtyard to the main entrance. The chill stripped the last of the shower’s warmth from her body, and she was grateful for the mulled wine warming over a brazier just inside the thick doors. She ignored the guards’ respectful salutes as she dipped a mug into the spicy liquid.
‘Your Highness.’ Fianna was unable to stop the grimace at Bernard’s low voice. ‘Your sire will meet you in the Queen’s apartments.’
A Queen must be able to hide her emotions from public view. Her father’s advice helped her to swallow her dislike of the Court Recorder, assisted by a helping of mulled wine. ‘All right, I’m going.’
Fianna had occasionally heard guests to the castle complain at its size. Since she’d grown up in it, she couldn’t understand how they got lost down the rambling corridors, or wandered into the wrong wings. Her father knew it even better than she did. He had always won their games of hide and seek. Back in the days when they had played games together.
Her mother’s apartments were on the third level of the north wing. Fianna stopped outside the painted door, automatically checking her clothes, her hair. The seal had only been broken today. The edges of the plaster were rough. She laid a hand on the wood, then pushed it open.
The dust of a year’s neglect stirred at her entrance. Fianna shut the door behind her, then stood in the gloom, remembering other times. Her mother had never been strong, and had spent much of her time in her rooms. But they had been happy, the three of them. In the evenings, Fianna and her father had often come here for games and tales. A game board still stood by one grey window, the players ready. And a book rested on a bed-side table, next to the chair where her father had often sat, holding the hand of her mother as she laughed at his gentle teasing.
But last year the winter had been long and harsh. The winds which blew off the dragons’ Sacred Mountains seemed to find their way in through the thick stones of the castle itself. Despite the efforts of the best mages, her mother sank gradually from life. In one of her last, lucid moments, she had pressed into Fianna’s hand the gold and ruby Summoning Ring. Fianna raised a hand and touched the band where it rested against her neck, held fast on a chain of gold.
‘Take one last look.’ Her father’s soft voice startled Fianna. She glanced at him, but Stannard was studying the room. ‘Fourteen months have passed since I placed my seal on wet plaster outside this door. But the seasons turn on, and the year is soon over. This is the last time we will see this place as she left it. Tomorrow, all must change. Will you want these rooms?’
‘No!’ The violence of her response finally made him look at her. ‘Leave them like this.’
Her father sighed. He ran a hand through his short cropped hair, and for the first time she realised that the once red head was now chased through with grey. ‘The year of mourning is now past, Fia. These apartments must be opened again, and we must both dress in lighter colours. Life must go on.’
Fianna felt her hands bunch into small, useless fists. ‘I don’t want to forget her.’
‘No, you must not.’ Stannard shook his head. ‘Always remember how you felt, fourteen months ago, and again today. Anyone who dies leaves others behind to mourn. Remember that, when you are Queen, and have to order knights into battle. For every one that dies, more are left with dark clothing and empty rooms.’
‘We’re not at war,’ she said stubbornly, kicking at a pattern in the carpet.
‘Not at the moment. But one never knows what may come from the Third Kingdom.’ He walked over to the bed and retrieved the book. ‘You should have this. It always was your favourite.’
Fianna numbly accepted the volume, the cover dry and cracked. The emblem of the royal house was etched into the leather, the dragon’s long neck curved around the title. ‘Will I ever meet a dragon, Father?’
‘You might, at your coronation. The Family appeared at mine.’ He moved through the bedchamber, touching the game board, studying a portrait. His next words were soft, as if meant to be heard only by himself. ‘Yes, you are now my heir.’
‘But I already was,’ Fianna protes
ted. ‘You said so.’
‘Only if no boy were born to your mother.’ He returned to her, touched her briefly on one shoulder. ‘That’s why your aunt wasn’t Queen, though she’s three years older than I am. In any other family, the firstborn inherits. But the Dragon Throne goes to a male, if one exists. Come, Fianna, your mother’s body must be put to the flames. Her spirit has now had time to leave her.’
Fianna allowed him to take her from the room. She kept the book with her as they descended into the catacombs beneath the castle, pressing the tome against her chest like a shield. With a calm, steady voice, her father spoke the final words over her mother’s casket, his torch spluttering in the damp. Then he dropped the flame onto the oak, and they turned away as the fire began at their backs.
The rustle of papers and a heavy sigh made Fianna look up from where she sat by the fire, using the light to practice in her copybook. She absently rubbed an cramped hand as she watched her father move to add another log to the flames. ‘So, Fianna, what did you think of that last judgement today?’
‘Why didn’t you tell that man to shut up?’ she asked. ‘He kept going on and on about how it wasn’t fair that he didn’t have more land, and that you wouldn’t do anything about it.’
‘What would you have done?’
‘Told him that I decided who had land, so he should just go away and be happy with what he’s got.’
His light eyes regarded her for a moment. ‘And what gives you the right to say that?’
‘Because I’d be Queen.’ He smiled slightly, and Fianna flushed, uncertain. ‘Doesn’t that make me right?’
‘A ruler is no better or worse than those he rules.’ Stannard leaned back in his favourite armchair. He lit his pipe for his nightly smoke, a habit Fianna’s mother had tried and failed to break. Fianna had always secretly liked the rich smell of the tobacco mixture her father used. ‘I am King because I sired by the last king, and you will be Queen merely because you were born to my wife. Ability has nothing to do with it. You didn’t become my heir by proving yourself the best suited to rule. Only by pure chance were you born to the royal house rather than to a village farmer. Keep that in mind. I’ve found it helps me maintain a more humble perspective.’
Fianna frowned, trying to understand what he meant. ‘But why did you let him keep talking?’
‘Sometimes, a king has to judge. Other times, he has to remain silent.’ Stannard smiled around his pipe. ‘The man simply wanted me to listen.’
‘And if you didn’t want to?’
‘What I wanted wasn’t important. There are many times when a ruler’s own personal wishes have to come last.’
Fianna frowned to herself. I, she decided, would’ve told him to shut up.
Her father shifted in his seat, retrieving a document. ‘I’ve been reviewing names for a new Castellan.’
Fianna tensed. ‘That was mother’s job.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed gently. ‘And for the past year, we’ve all been doing our best to keep the household running smoothly. Bernard keeps reminding me of all the extra work he’s done.’ He shared a grimace with her. ‘You’re not yet old enough to take the duties on yourself. My old friend, the Duke of Cassern, has a young daughter raised to the challenges of managing a castle. He’s offered to bring her here. Her name is Marissa. Do you think that would be a good idea?’
‘I guess so.’ Fianna stared at the fire. For some reason she suddenly felt cold.
Early flowers were beginning to respond to the first warmer days of spring. Fianna waited at the castle entrance, at the side of her father, as servants spread blooms across the courtyard. Bernard had told her how important the Duke was, as head of the second house of the Fourth Kingdom, and he’d instructed her to wear royal colours to honour the man. Fianna felt her skin twitch under the new clothes, red tunic a shade lighter than her trousers, gold threads woven through the material. She fully expected the Duke’s family to gawp over her, and tediously list the eligible boys of rank which might be interested in a marriage pact, though her father had always calmly insisted that she would be free to pick her own consort. The only thing which lightened the day was the newly forged coronet holding back her long hair. This was the first time she’d ever worn the gold circlet of her status, and its slight weight made her straighten with pride.
Two knights rode through the gates first, blue and orange silks flapping against mail. They formally presented their swords hilt first to the King’s guards, then took up positions on either side of the entrance. The Duke came in next. Fianna only glanced at the dark bearded man, finding his stallion far more interesting. The dappled grey moved well, eagerly arching his neck as he scented the stables nearby. Few fighters rode whole males, most preferring the more controllable geldings and mares.
The stallion was reined in a few yards from the entrance to the castle proper. Stannard moved forward, taking hold of the horse’s reins before one of the waiting grooms could dash in. ‘Latham,’ he said warmly. ‘Welcome, old friend.’
The Duke grunted. He slid to the ground, and the two men clasped forearms, the gesture of equals. Stannard glanced back, and Fianna obediently came to his side. ‘My daughter, the Princess Fianna.’
Latham bowed. ‘Your Highness. You’ve grown since I last saw you.’
Fianna wondered why adults so often told her that. Then she repeated the words the Court Recorder had drilled into her. ‘Duke Latham, you honour our house with your presence. We are the stronger for your friendship.’
White teeth flashed under the thick moustache. ‘Well spoken, my lady.’ He turned his head. ‘May I present my own daughter, the Lady Marissa.’
His daughter had dismounted a short distance away while they spoke. Now she walked up to them, her flowing dress a bright green which went well with her brown hair. She must’ve changed in the city, Fianna decided, noting the lack of mud on the silk. Stopping beside the Duke, she dropped into a quick curtsy. ‘Your Majesty, Your Highness, I’m proud to place myself at your service. I hope that I will please you in my efforts.’
‘You have come highly recommended,’ Stannard said warmly. Fianna glanced up at him, startled by a new note in his voice. ‘I’m sure you will do well. Otherwise, I’m certain we could use more assistance in the kennels.’
‘Come now, sir,’ Marissa said, smiling, ‘surely I have a sweeter nature than that?’
Stannard stared at her for a moment. Then he laughed, the first genuine laugh Fianna had heard from him since her mother’s death. She shifted restlessly, not understanding the joke. ‘She’s certainly worthy of you, Latham. Come, let’s go inside, and discuss your duties over a glass of wine.’
The change began slowly. Happy in her duties in stables and kennels, and new experiences gained in the practice yard with dagger and spear, Fianna didn’t take much notice when Marissa began to use the King’s first name. She was nursing bruises and pride from a fall from a warhorse the first time the Castellan called her father by his family nickname, Stan, and plans for recapturing the respect of her fellow pages seemed far more important.
Summer came, and Marissa spread her interests. She ventured into the kennels one day, the wide skirts she favoured out of place in the warm, doggy environment. Fianna glanced up, annoyed. The kennelmistress was allowing her to assist with a whelping bitch, and the first puppy was yet to emerge. It was the kennelmistress who spoke to the woman. ‘Castellan, how may we serve you?’
Marissa twitched her skirts back from the whelping box. ‘I came to speak to Fia.’
‘Fianna,’ she told Marissa. Only her father used that nickname. ‘I’m busy right now.’
‘I’m sure Ellenor can manage on her own.’
Fianna saw the quiet plea in the kennelmistress’s eyes. As Castellan, Marissa outranked Ellenor. Rising reluctantly to her feet, Fianna asked her, ‘Next time?’
‘Next time,’ Ellenor promised, then leaned forward again.
The sounds of a working castle surrounded them as Fianna fo
llowed Marissa across the courtyard. Pages were practising in the training yard, wood thwacking against wood as training swords crossed. In the horse ring beyond them, a stallion was being put through his paces, circling his handler at the end of a lounge line. From beyond the walls came the sound of arrow tips driving into straw, and laughs as the archers sought to best one another.
Then they were inside the castle. Servants moved quietly through the hall, cleaning tiles, restocking firewood. The rich smell of freshly waxed wood tickled Fianna’s nose, and she put a finger against her nostrils to prevent a sneeze.
Marissa led her into the Castellan’s office, a small room on the ground level of the castle. Changes had been made since Fianna’s mother had occupied it. Gone were the family portraits and paintings of the hawks bred by her own family. Maps of the Fourth Kingdom hung in their stead, and an etching of the Sacred Mountains.
Fianna dropped into a chair opposite the large desk. No one could sit before a member of the royal family did, so her father had told her it was only polite for a sovereign to take a seat as soon as possible. Marissa, hampered by her skirts, lowered herself more gently, patting the folds into place around her. ‘You don’t mind me calling you by your first name, do you?’
‘No.’ Fianna shrugged. ‘The other pages do.’
She was rewarded by a quick frown at such a familiarity. ‘I wanted to ask you about your duties. We see so little of you in the castle.’
‘I attend my father whenever I should,’ Fianna said slowly, wondering what the woman was getting at. ‘And I see him every evening for my lessons.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better for you to be assigned to castle duties?’ Marissa gave her what was obviously meant to be a winning smile. ‘I mean, it can’t be nice to clean out stables and walk dogs--’
‘Lady Castellan, I asked to be assigned to those tasks.’ Fianna stood. ‘If that’s all you wanted me for, I’ll go now.’
‘You need to learn other skills,’ Marissa continued, rising as well. ‘And it would be good to see you in something other than trousers.’
Fianna felt anger rise in her, fought against it. Her father had taken her to task before about her temper. ‘You, my lady, are not my mother. Only my sire outranks me, and unless he says otherwise, I will continue in my chosen duties.’
She returned to the kennels in time to see the last three pups born. The seventh was weak and small, and the kennelmistress was not surprised when it died in Fianna’s hands. ‘Oft occurs to the runt,’ she said dismissively, more interested in examining the healthy pups.
Fianna stared down at the limp body which barely covered her palm. A moment ago, it had been breathing, albeit weakly. Now its spirit was gone, after only seconds of life. ‘What do we do with it?’
‘Place it with the usual refuse.’
Something inside Fianna protested at such a dismissal. ‘I take my leave of you,’ she told the woman formally.
Inside her locker she found an old shirt, red and gold. Wrapping the body carefully in the folds, she approached the stable hand on duty for the use of a horse. He saddled up a mare for her, and agreed to give word to any searching for her that she had ridden into the city. She paid little attention when one of the guards on duty mounted and followed after her. Such precautions had followed her throughout her life.
The guard pulled closer to her as they left the castle, and Fianna smiled at his caution. She had visited both of the other two cities of the Fourth Kingdom, and found them ordinary and boring. In Secondus, magic literally ran down the twisting streets. Parts of the city were known to disappear for days at a time, only to emerge at another sector within the walls. Maps were meaningless, and many a traveller had found a journey which should only have taken minutes expanding to fill a day as he followed the ever changing paths. No one knew the reason for the unpredictability. Some thought it came from the siting of the Mages’ College at the foot of the castle, others that it was an ancient protection against invasion. The only ones immune to the magic were those of the royal household, for whom the streets always remained fixed.
Fianna thought she felt an awareness when she entered the city proper, just below imagination but not quite concrete enough to call reality. As if Secondus recognised her as one its special ones. As she usually did, she issued a mental welcome, pleased at her special treatment.
Some of the citizens she rode past recognised her. But as she wasn’t wearing the colours of her house, they merely nodded acknowledgements and let her continue on her private business. Fianna rode without pausing, though smells from the food stalls by one market made her stomach rumble. At the city gates the guards saluted her as she passed outside.
Warm days had hardened the springtime mud to hard earth outside the walls. Fianna carefully directed the mare around the wide gashes of cart wheels, then sent her into a canter up into the nearby hills. She buried the pup under one of the large trees. The first to die in my service? she thought, lowering the wrapped body into the small hole. She glanced up at the guard, but he was politely staring off in the distance. Nobody had ever died in her presence before, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that this puppy was not to be the only one during her reign.
She stayed outside the city longer than she had planned. Despite the lateness of the evening, she still stopped her horse beside the Sign. ‘What do you think?’ she asked the guard beside her. ‘Will it speak today?’
Two cylinders of rolled metal, thicker and sturdier than anything the kingdom’s smiths could forge, rose from a slight hill. Several horses could ride between them at once. The pillars supported the massive Sign, holding it a hundred feet above their heads. Welcome to Secondus was spelled out in golden letters, bright against the red background.
‘I’ve never heard it make a sound, Your Highness,’ the guard said.
‘Neither have I.’ Fianna looked up with longing. ‘My sire says it stopped speaking during his father’s reign. And, before that, it even used to sing.’
‘Sing?’
‘A tune in praise of Secondus.’ Fianna kneed her horse between the supports, but the only sound was a breeze wisping weeds against the metal. Once again she wondered who had built the Sign, and why.
They continued back to the city. As she rode back up to the castle, the white towers tinged red by the setting sun, Fianna recalled that she was due to meet her father early this evening. Gritting her teeth against the urge to gallop her horse over the hard cobblestones, she instead counted the twists in the road up to the castle gates.
Jeremy was lounging in the stables when she rode in, and he willingly took the mare from her, promising to give her a good rub down. Fianna hurried into the shower rooms, washing quickly before donning court clothes. Then she hesitated. Her father’s offices were across the courtyard, through the entry hall, down one wing, and along several corridors. A fifteen minute walk. Or, if she used the servants’ passages, which wove behind and between the royal rooms, she could run and be there in five minutes.
He’ll forgive me this once, she decided, and set off along the underground corridor to the castle. The hallways had recently been redecorated, and the smell of fresh paint still hung in the air. Some of the doors had not yet had their signs returned, but Fianna knew her way well enough without the notices. She halted outside the door to her father’s study, taking several deep breaths and adjusting her tunic. She smiled at the deep rumble of his voice. Then a higher tone made her lean closer, the door tipping open at her slight weight.
‘But she should be in the castle.’ The voice was Marissa’s, indignant. ‘Have you seen her out there, Stan? Covered in horse muck like any common page.’
‘There are no common pages in Secondus.’ Her father sounded amused, and Fianna felt herself exhale in relief. ‘All of them come from noble families. It can only stand to her good if Fia forms friendships with them now. One day, they will be her knights and subjects, with more reason than duty alone to protect her and her kingdom.’
‘If she does become Queen.’
Fianna tensed at the remark. ‘I was old when she was born, Maris. I think it unlikely that I will sire another child now.’
‘But if we do have a boy?’
‘If you ever became pregnant, and gave me a son, by the laws of the Fourth Kingdom he would inherit the Dragon Throne.’
Fianna drew back, the door shutting softly. For a long moment, she was numb with shock. Suddenly the looks her father had exchanged with Marissa over the dinner table made sense. The long rides away from the castle, just the two of them, Marissa’s nightly appearances in the King’s apartments when Fianna was taking her leave... Her father was going to marry this woman. Just into the second year after her mother’s death, and he intended to betray her memory by taking a new wife.
Maybe it won’t happen, she thought hopefully. Maybe he’ll see it’s wrong. I won’t say anything yet. She hurried through another exit, entering the main castle corridors. Now she would be late, but her anger at her father’s intended betrayal should be taken as understandable dismay for being tardy.
Rumours began to flow and eddy through the castle. Marissa was granted a new set of rooms in the ground floor, near one of the enclosed gardens. New dresses were ordered for her, incorporating the royal colours. Several maids were elevated to ladies-in-waiting. Fianna scowled at the whispers between her fellow pages, and worked harder than ever on her new lessons on horse ailments and their cures. She also had her first taste of command, drilling a squadron of mounted pages on placid mounts for mock battles in the summer tournaments.
‘You have a sure touch with both people and horses,’ the training master told her one evening, holding the reins of her mare as she ran her hands down a swollen leg. But as she started to smile at the praise, he continued, ‘You’ll always have a place as a knight and a commander, even if...’
He trailed off. Fianna rose slowly. ‘Even if what?’
Jacard looked away. ‘I speak out of turn, my lady. The announcement is only hours old.’
‘Announcement?’ she demanded. ‘What announcement?’
A flush of red crept up the man’s face. ‘Your pardon, my lady. I had thought you knew. The King has announced that he will take the Lady Marissa as wife.’
‘The tendon is bowed,’ Fianna heard herself say. ‘Could you ask the healer to see to her, Jacard? I should attend the engagement dinner.’
Without waiting to hear his mumbled response, she moved to the showers. The exhilaration of the day’s successful exercises had dropped away, leaving behind it a growing anger. So, she was the last to know. Her father had declared his intentions, and not thought of telling his only child.
Only child for now. She closed her eyes, letting hot water run down her hair, pound against the stiff muscles of her back. I know he’s old, but Marissa isn’t. And she’ll be Queen, and she’ll be able to tell me what to do. If she wants me in the castle, away from the stables, she’ll have the right. She could even make me one of her ladies-in-waiting.
The thought made Fianna use one of Ern’s favourite oaths. The words sounded grandly horrible, echoing against the tiled shower room. Fianna scrubbed herself furiously. She was never going to serve Marissa. No matter what, she was going to be far from here before that woman tried to give her any orders.
In the dressing room she automatically reached for silks. Then, her lips thinning, she instead lifted out woollen trousers and a cotton jerkin, both in the dull colours of a stable hand. In the armoury she chose a dagger and a sword short enough for her reach. Using the servants’ passageways to climb to her rooms, she packed a few items into a pair of saddlebags. She saddled her favourite mare, then leaned against her for a moment, fighting for control of her emotions. Then she left her mount in the stall, the mare chewing impatiently at her bit.
The engagement dinner had already begun, the nobles present at the castle seated around the table to toast the couple. The conversation stilled as Fianna appeared at the door, her hand flexing above the hilt of her sword.
‘Fianna.’ Her father rose from his seat, his calm, commanding voice a rebuke. ‘You will apologise to Lady Marissa for this entrance.’
So, he wasn’t even going to try to explain. Already he was taking the side of his new consort. ‘Your lady she might be,’ Fianna said angrily, ‘and your Queen, but she will never be either to me.’
Marissa started from her seat, speaking quietly to Stannard. He brushed her words away. ‘That sounds near to a challenge, my daughter.’
For a moment neither of them moved. Then Fianna looked at his wide shoulders, his height, and the equally tall man waiting behind his chair as King’s Champion. ‘I do not challenge you, Father,’ she said finally, lowering her hand. Turning on her heel, she strode from the room and the castle.
A guard fell in behind her as she rode the mare through the gates. Fianna set her mount into a trot, soon losing the guard as the streets twisted and changed behind her. Pausing only to buy some food from a street stall, she hurried from the city.
The night was clear, the roads lit blue and green by the double moons, and Fianna enjoyed the feel of the fresh air on her face as she chewed a meat roll. She knew exactly where to go. Her aunt lived in a small town near the kingdom’s borders. Several years ago, Fianna had visited her, and she remembered the landmarks back to Lundern. The Lady Sallah would take her in while Fianna decided about her future. Her heart light, Fianna pressed the mare into a rocking canter, and let the miles slide past under her mount’s hooves.
A storm blew over a few days later. Fianna cursed the lack of foresight which had made her neglect to pack a rain cloak. Her food supplies dwindled, and her stomach grumbled with hunger. She kept the mare plodding on under the grey skies. Finally, five days later, she rode into Lundern, the streets all but deserted in the late evening.
Her aunt’s mansion was set apart from the rest of the town. Fianna passed the grand entry porch to go on to the stables, a lifetime’s training reminding her that the needs of her horse came first. A stable hand rose from a hay bale as she opened the doors. ‘And who be ye?’
‘Fianna, Princess of the Fourth Kingdom and niece to the Lady Sallah.’ Fianna dismounted and, when the man showed no signs of assisting her, led the mare herself into a stall. ‘Would you send word that I have arrived?’
‘Be she expecting ye?’
‘No.’ Fianna placed water and hay into the stall, and removed bridle and saddle as the mare began to feed. At least the small stables were well organised. She easily found cloths and blankets. Rubbing the mare dry, she draped a blanket over the horse, then grabbed the saddlebags.
‘Go to the house,’ the stable hand told her when he returned. ‘Ye will wait the lady’s pleasure in her hall.’
Fianna nodded curtly. Already wet through, she walked unhurriedly to the house, ignoring the rain slicking her hair. A servant opened the door for her, then left her standing in the hallway. Fianna watched water drip from her clothes onto the black tiles, wondering if the servant had got lost looking for her aunt.
The woman finally returned. ‘The Lady Sallah will see you now,’ she said formally. Fianna followed her to a large room, finding her aunt seated behind a massive table. The servant closed the door behind her as she left.
‘Aunt Sallah,’ Fianna said, starting to smile.
The old woman rose and came around the table. The flickering oil lamps brushed over the tightly bound grey hair, and brought no warmth to the blue eyes. Strong hands rested on a thick cane as she studied Fianna. The sternness in her gaze made Fianna swallow. ‘What would you have of me, girl?’
‘Shelter and sustenance, my lady.’ Fianna edged towards the warm fire, wondering why her aunt wasn’t offering her a blanket or a hot drink. ‘I have ridden a long way.’
Sallah rested back against the table. ‘And why is the heir to the Dragon Throne not in Secondus Castle?’
‘He who sits on the Throne has taken another woman to wife.’ Fianna caught a s
hift in the harsh lines of her aunt’s face, and knew that her description of her father had found her some approval. ‘I couldn’t stay.’
Sallah nodded. ‘You will have to work for your keep.’
After her initial start of surprise, Fianna raised her head proudly. ‘I’m skilled in stable and kennel.’
Her aunt smiled slightly. ‘I know of your skills with horse and hound. But I will teach you much more. You must be able to take the Throne when the King dies. Has he taught you aught about ruling?’
‘I’ve stood beside him while he’s made judgements,’ Fianna answered. ‘He’s taught me that a ruler must use both justice and mercy, and ask the opinion of others before deciding anything important.’
Sallah laughed. Fianna blushed at the mocking note. ‘Then I will teach you what he did not. A ruler answers to no one. All decisions are ultimately hers, despite whatever counsel she weakens herself by taking. Therefore, it is best that she depends on no one, needs no one. Only then is she strong.’
‘But I might not be Queen.’ Fianna found her face heating at the injustice. ‘Marissa might have a son.’
‘Only if Stannard can still sire a child.’ Sallah leaned forward. ‘That is the reason why he has decided to remarry, after all.’
Fianna blinked. ‘What is?’
‘Why, to have a son, of course.’
Yes, of course, Fianna thought. Sallah was right. Maybe this was why her father hadn’t liked to have his sister in the castle. She knew too much about him. ‘He’s betrayed both us,’ she said angrily. ‘My mother, and me. Weren’t we good enough?’
‘You’ll still rule.’ Firelight added a red tinge to her aunt’s eyes. ‘With me to assist you, we’ll ensure that you will one day be Queen. But you must agree to obey me, while you live under my roof and eat at my table. Do you understand?’
Fianna nodded. ‘I understand.’ Yes, she reflected bitterly, I understand a lot of things now.
‘Then take my offer of hospitality.’ Sallah smiled grimly. ‘Yes, you will need to learn to take whatever you can, Fianna. That is the way to power. Take what you need to get what you want. Including a Throne.’
A servant led her to a small room on the third level of the house. Fianna gratefully warmed herself in a bath, then changed into dry clothes. She stared out the window for awhile, physically tired, but her mind not letting her rest. In that direction lay Secondus, and beyond it, the Sacred Mountains of the dragons. For a moment, she wished that a dragon would come to carry her away, even as one did a King several centuries ago. That would make her father sorry, wouldn’t it? He’d leave Marissa and ride into the mountains, pleading for her safe return. And the Family would demand that he put her onto the Throne...
Fianna turned away and crawled into her bed. Strangely enough, although she couldn’t remember the exact details of her dreams the next morning, they were not about dragons, but unicorns.
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First Chapter Dragons Can Only Rust
