A Dragonbird in the Fern

by Rueckert, Laura

  Mother and Aldar knelt in front of us again. As Mother smoothed on my stockings and replaced my shoes, she whispered blessings, ending with, “I love you, my dragonbird. Never doubt that.” My heart swelled, and only the crowd gathered around us prevented me from falling into her arms.

  Next to me, Aldar quietly murmured to Raffar. It was a private moment—no translator told me the meaning—but Raffar grasped the translator’s shoulder with affection.

  The first half of the ceremony—the request that the gods support us—was over, and we filed back into the Great Hall for the second half: the joining of families.

  Portraits of my grandmothers and grandfathers hung on the wall, flanked by other more distant relations. Scilla’s portrait had been propped on a shelf above them only weeks earlier. Every time I saw her there, I forgot how to breathe. From my place on the edge of the room, I glimpsed Pia, and the way she rubbed her stomach after she looked at Scilla’s picture. My eyes swept to the floor for just a second. Scilla’s passing had left feelings of guilt all around, but especially with her former gurdetta.

  The Servant motioned to me. It was my turn to speak. First, to the family already gone.

  “Dear grandparents, dear family,” I said. “Thank you for the lives you led before us. I ask you to welcome my husband to the family.”

  Serenna translated my words for Raffar. Normally the groom would say something similar, but he was silent. The Farnskagers had a different connection to their dead, it seemed.

  For days, I’d pondered what I should say to my sister. Nothing seemed right. How could she accept our union when I was stealing her husband, her future? But how could I say I was sorry she’d died and wasn’t here to marry him herself? Raffar might take it as an insult.

  I drew in a deep breath. “Scilla, I am grateful for the time I had as your sister, and I wish it had been decades more. While you walk this earth, please keep special watch over me, and I will do my best to help you move on.”

  A feather-soft caress brushed my cheek. Not a scratch this time.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  Mother swallowed so hard that I heard it behind me. She laid a hand on each of our backs, the sign that we’d move on to the living family members now. Raffar spoke first, and Serenna translated: “Queen Ginevora of Azzaria, I ask for your blessing in this marriage.”

  Normally, he should have thanked my parents for raising me and said something about them keeping me safe, but with Scilla’s death so recent, I understood why he’d omitted it.

  But I was still alive. “Mother, Father, thank you for bringing me up and keeping me safe all my life. We ask for your blessing today.”

  With beaming faces, my parents assured us they were happy with our marriage. I turned to Raffar and he to me. For a few seconds, neither of us said a word. We just stood. I studied the lines in his face, the strange hybrid figure and the leaf and the other patterns and curves. Then I looked past them to the forehead and cheekbones and chin hidden there. His eyes drank me in too, then his lips twitched upward, and a little thrill whirled through my chest.

  But it still wasn’t over. Keeping my mind on the lengthy ceremony was a chore. Mother and Father told stories about their marriage and gave advice. Raffar sidled closer to me, and the back of his hand brushed against mine. His eyes locked on my parents, and he nodded as he listened to their translated words of wisdom, but when his hand moved ever so slightly, I couldn’t help but think he was paying as little attention as I was.

  Mother laughed at something Father had said and stepped forward to kiss my cheek. “Enough from us. Congratulations, Jiara.”

  Father strode to me and did the same. He kissed me again, my forehead this time, like when I was a little girl, then nodded to Raffar in an old-fashioned handover.

  The king took my fingers in his. He pulled me a step forward, and I was enveloped in that leather and forest scent again. My heartbeat tripped as he—very chastely—pressed his lips to mine. We were being watched by a hall full of people, after all. But for a few seconds, those people disappeared. My lips tingled and warmth crept up my neck and into my cheeks as I imagined our next kiss, in the bedroom we would share.

  A hot sting flared along the back of my neck, but I barely had time to think about it because my eardrums nearly burst with the guests’ applause. We turned to the crowd, smiling, and I ran my hand along my nape to shoo away the insect that had stung me. Warm wetness made me glance at my fingertips.

  Blood.

  Too much blood for a simple bite. That was no insect.

  Scilla.

  Father saw it too and pressed a square of cloth to my hand. As surreptitiously as possible, I dabbed at the cut until the blood stopped flowing.

  Oh, Scilla. What do you mean? Marrying Raffar was acceptable. Kissing him, thinking of . . . later, was not? There was nothing else I could do. And I was doing this for her, at least partially. But was I ascribing more logic to Scilla’s actions than was warranted? Maybe there was no thought behind her action. Maybe it was all a coincidence.

  Wine made the rounds and two hundred candles were lit, bathing the room in a soft glow. Friends and family members gave well wishes and advice, until it seemed there was one speech for every candle.

  Finally, the small orchestra seated on the raised platform began to play: a cheerful hammering on the dultimo, the delicate plucking of the hazetto, the heart-stirring draw of the bow on the cello. Like waves, like waterfalls of intricate droplets of music, the sounds filled the hall.

  Mother and Father led us to the dinner table. Within seconds of sitting, servers brought out shrimp and crabs and octopus and fish. I remembered Raffar’s reaction to octopus the other day, but there was also pork and vegetables, rice and noodles. And then, two servants came in bearing a huge platter with what appeared to be an immense roasted bird, the size of a calf.

  The crowd talked and laughed. Raffar leaned close and whispered in my ear.

  I shook my head at him. “I don’t understand.”

  He gulped his wine and chuckled, waving to where Aldar, Pia, and Serenna were chatting on the opposite side of the room. Pia and Serenna hurried over, and Raffar repeated himself. Pia shook her head, but Serenna related the name of the bird and the orange mush next to it, both typical foods from Farnskag. As soon as the words touched my ears, I forgot them. I gulped a swallow of wine myself.

  As we ate, one of the translators hovered close by in case we needed more translation. But the food was delicious, the room was loud, and my mind was exhausted. When my mother’s oldest aunt approached the orchestra and asked to present a song, my attempts at concentrating on our conversation died.

  “Mother!” I called. If she didn’t catch her before the song began . . .

  The queen was deep in conversation with Llandro.

  “Mother!”

  As the first warbly notes drifted through the room, Mother’s head snapped to the side. Her shoulders fell. One song from my great-aunt wasn’t a problem. Getting her away from the stage before she sang something highly inappropriate was. Luckily, she presented an unexpectedly sweet song about a new marriage and two strangers who became each other’s world. Serenna whispered lyrics in Raffar’s ear. By the end, his hand rested on mine.

  Mother rushed to the orchestra to beg my great-aunt to come meet us. We praised her song, and the evening was saved.

  The hours dragged by. After dinner—the huge bird was juicy and delicious—Raffar and I did a customary walk around the hall to greet each of the guests. Pia hit full gurdetta mode, scowling at anyone who dared to crowd me. Speaking with Serenna or Aldar was slow, and the amount of wine with dinner hadn’t helped. Three times, I stifled a yawn.

  If this had been a standard Azzarian wedding, I would have accompanied Raffar to his home an hour ago. Normally, it would have been almost time for bed.

  My palms grew damp at the thought of it. It didn’t matter what normally would happen. Tonight, I would sleep here in my chambers. Raffar would re
main in the east wing. His culture, too, said the final step in becoming his wife was to be brought to his home. We’d leave tomorrow morning, and we wouldn’t share a bed before we reached Farnskag.

  Chapter 7

  Zito’s arms were so much stronger than they appeared. He squeezed them around my waist. “Don’t go, Jiara.”

  My throat closed up. I squeezed back, my arms circled around his thin shoulders.

  It was the day after the wedding, and the entire family stood in front of the palace. Mother and Father, Llandro and Ottario, Zito. Raffar and his translator waited a few paces away, close enough to observe, but far enough that we had some privacy.

  A line of Farnskager carriages waited in the drive before us. The first and third held luggage and two guards each. Raffar and I would travel with Pia and Aldar in the middle carriage. The rest of the guards held the reins of the heavy-footed elephant birds as they chuffed and twitched their useless wings.

  Mother’s mouth was pressed in a narrow line, the corners raised in a pitiful attempt at a smile. “Zito,” she said, “I told you at breakfast. Jiara will be fine. Let the rest of us embrace her. She needs to go with her husband now.”

  Zito ignored her and nuzzled my stomach with his head. Father took a deep breath and embraced me over Zito. “I’m going to miss you,” he breathed. “Every day.”

  Tears welled in my eyes, and I tried to draw them back into my body. If Zito saw me cry, it would be even harder on him.

  “You two are smashing me!” Zito giggled and wiggled against me. “I’m squished like the inside of a tortellini!”

  I gulped a laugh and wiped at the moisture in my eyes. Father and I broke apart, and I leaned forward to kiss Zito’s shiny hair. “I’ll be back to visit you.” I just didn’t know when. In a year? Or two?

  Zito’s giggles disappeared. He launched himself at me again. “Don’t go, Jiara! I already lost Scilla. Don’t you leave me too!”

  Everything inside me withered, and the tears I’d struggled to hold in streamed down my cheeks. I hugged him so hard, his ribs flexed inward. I had to swallow before I could speak. “Zito, I promise, I will come back and see you again. And someday, you can come visit me.” I met Father’s gaze. We’d have to weigh the risks. How unsafe would it be to ride through Loftaria? But how necessary would it be to escape Scilla’s ghost?

  Over Zito’s head, I swiped at my tears and looked up to Mother to see if they’d be sufficiently hidden. She nodded, and I gestured to Llandro.

  He tugged Zito away with one arm and hugged me with the other. “Good luck, little sister. You make a great sacrifice for Azzaria.”

  I clenched my eyes shut. I didn’t want to think of it like that, like I was doomed to some horrible fate. I would be the queen of a powerful country. Together with Pia, I would find out the truth about Scilla’s killer. I would get to know a new culture.

  And learn a new language.

  I bit my lip. Why had I thought about the language now, of all times? This moment wasn’t the time for fear. I had to be strong for Zito. And for Raffar and his guards, who were all watching me. They couldn’t see their new queen fall apart.

  Llandro swallowed hard, forced a smile, and lifted a struggling Zito onto his shoulders, murmuring something about him having the best view now. Ottario brushed Llandro’s cheek with his lips and said, “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. Have a good trip, Jiara.”

  Mother moved forward. She cupped my cheeks in her palms. “Remember our talk. You don’t have to be ready. You will learn—every day. Trust your instincts. Learn from your mistakes.”

  I nodded, and she pulled me into a hard embrace. “If you ever need anything, remember this,” she whispered in my ear, “first and foremost, you are my daughter, little dragonbird. Not just the wife of a foreign king. You need only to get me a message.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” I whispered back.

  When she released me, I nodded to Raffar, who strode forward and offered his hand. I rested my palm lightly on his, as a monarch did in public, but he twisted his hand around and clasped my fingers. His eyebrows were raised as if he wanted to ask if I was all right. I did my best to smile.

  He squeezed my hand again, and his voice rumbled in a soothing way. A breeze swept up from the sea as Gio bid me farewell and Raffar helped me into the carriage. The walls were polished dark wood and the seats were soft and covered with buttery brown leather, but they might have been the iron bars of a prison for all I cared. They were taking me from my home.

  Once Raffar was seated next to me on my left, and Pia and Aldar took their places across from us, the elephant birds lurched forward. I leaned out the window, smiling as hard as my cheeks would allow, waving a cheerful goodbye.

  As soon as the carriage made it around the curve, I snatched the curtain next to me and pulled it shut. Pia grasped both of my hands, and despite Raffar’s and Aldar’s presence, I let my tears flow.

  __________

  An hour outside of Glizerra, past the sea salt harvesting ponds, then masses of rice fields, farmland, and fruit trees, a dozen hopping children blocked our carriage’s path. I’d pushed the curtains back before we’d left the city limits and had been waving to our citizens whenever I saw them.

  “Pay the toll!” a particularly fearless boy yelled, both arms outstretched as if he could block the entire road himself.

  Apparently, this time, a wave would not suffice. Raffar didn’t want us to disembark anywhere unplanned, but I beckoned the boy to my window. Beside me, Pia tensed. The female Farnskager guard who had been assigned to me was named Freyad, and she deftly sidestepped her elephant bird mount until she was only an arm’s length away. As the boy grinned up at me, I dropped one coin for each of the children in his hand. When he whooped and scurried back to the others, the elephant bird stumbled back a fidgety step. The boy distributed the money, and the group dispersed.

  Raffar shook his head at me.

  “It’s bad luck to refuse beggars on the way to the groom’s house,” I explained. “Nowadays, only children do this.” Surprising that more children hadn’t come out. But we’d surely see plenty before the end of the trip.

  Aldar translated with Pia listening intently, nodding like she approved his translation—or was relieved to understand it—and Freyad leaned close to the window to hear the explanation too. Her elephant bird was nearly twice as tall as an average man, with a long, wiry neck and a sturdy body covered in soft, gray feathers. Its triangular head sported round, black eyes the size of plums.

  Native to Farnskag and other northern regions, the elephant bird couldn’t fly, but its muscular, tree-trunk-like legs allowed it to run faster and longer than any Azzarian animal. At top speed, we could probably make it the thousands of miles to Raffar’s home in ten or twelve days, even considering the carriages they were towing. But we’d be traveling extra slowly, greeting citizens until we left Azzaria, making contacts as we rode through Loftaria, and finally, getting to know my new country once we reached Farnskag.

  When the children had cleared the way, the carriage wheels ground the gravelly road below us and we started forward again. Freyad remained close to my window. Her cropped black hair was barely long enough to shift with her movements.

  My hand rose to my intricately twisted hairstyle. Normally, my hair hung past my shoulders, almost to the middle of my back. Long hair was popular in Azzaria. Maybe it made me vain, but I’d always loved mine, black and gleaming like Mother’s. I turned back to Aldar. “All women wear their hair so short in Farnskag, right?”

  Aldar nodded, but seemed to reconsider. “It’s tradition. Not everyone follows it, especially those who are not exclusively female. Most women do, but I suppose some might shave their heads. But long hair?” He shook his head.

  I imagined myself shorn, looking like a half-grown boy, like Zito. Pia frowned sympathetically; she must have read my mind.

  Don’t be a baby. Without an Azzarian servant to help me, I wouldn’t be able to pin it so e
legantly anyway. Gurdettas didn’t waste their time learning fancy hairstyles, and Farnskager maids wouldn’t have any reason to know how. But with a childish ache in my chest, I asked anyway, “Will I be expected to cut my hair too?”

  “I don’t think anyone would force you to do it,” he said. “Either of you.” He nodded at Pia, whose eyes were suddenly pinched. She covered her mouth with her hand, and I was about to ask if she was all right when Aldar translated my question for Raffar.

  My husband glanced out the window at Freyad. He said something to Aldar, and his eyes smoothed over my hair, then studied the floor of the carriage.

  Aldar grinned, but instead of translating, responded to Raffar. Raffar barked a phrase back at him, and, if anything, Aldar’s grin grew wider. Even Pia suppressed a smile.

  “King Raffar respectfully requests you to leave your hair long. In fact, he asked if you would remove the pins that are holding it up now, and wear it loose, like you did the first time he met you.”

  My head snapped to my left. Raffar abandoned his study of the floor to look out his window. Apparently, the wild rhododendrons were fascinating, because he wouldn’t turn his head back to Aldar or me. Warmth blossomed in my chest.

  I caught the interpreter’s eye, and the barely restrained amusement in his tattooed features made me bite my lip for fear I’d laugh out loud. I put on my smoothest princess expression and responded, “You may inform the king that I would be happy to leave it long.”

  Pia’s expression relaxed again, and she smirked openly. Aldar translated, and Raffar slowly turned in my direction, his face—was it possibly slightly pink?

  “However,” I continued, “as long as we travel through Azzaria, I must wear it pinned. This hairstyle is a symbol of marriage, and it’s important that the citizens see tangible proof of our alliance.”

  Raffar nodded as Aldar spoke my words.

  “In Loftaria also,” I added. “We may have been enemies for many years, but we share a long border. They know our customs. It is perhaps even more important to keep up appearances for them.”