His search was not immediately successful. In part due to the rumors, male dragons were in scarce supply; the species was on the brink of extinction. When Paramenter finally did hear of a dragon in the far-off mountains, he hastened to the place with a band of his elite warriors. Together they breached the dragon’s den and slew the beast. But afterward they found that the dragon was female—a mother on a nest, her body cooling around a single egg. In frustration the king broke open the egg in the hope that its occupant might be male, but the creature’s sex was indeterminate at that stage.
“I shall make do with the mother,” he decided at last. “After all, women are creatures of great wantonness when not guarded closely by family and husbands. And perhaps the heart of a female who has borne young can help me get a son.” So he had his men carve out the mother dragon’s heart, and right then and there he ate it.
Straightaway Paramenter began to feel some positive effect. With his men he set off for home, riding through day and night to reach his palace. There he called for his wife and concubines to be made ready, whereafter he spent the next few days in enthusiastic carousing.
Sometime later came the joyous news: the queen and all five concubines were with child. King Paramenter was so overjoyed that he threw lavish parties and cut taxes so that the whole kingdom might celebrate with him. But as time passed his mood changed, for the dragonish vigor seemed to be fading from his body. Eventually, as before he’d eaten the dragon’s heart, he found himself unable to perform at all.
In a panic he consulted his wizard once more. The wizard said, “I do not understand it either, my lord. The lore was very specific; the male dragon’s heart should have bestowed that creature’s purpose on you.”
“It was not a male dragon,” Paramenter replied impatiently. “I could not find a male, so I ate the heart of a nesting mother. It served well enough, at least until lately.”
The wizard’s eyes widened. “Then you have taken into yourself the purpose of a mother dragon,” he said. “Such a creature has no need of desire beyond the children it gains her, and you now have six on the way.”
“And what does that mean? I am a king, not a mother! Will I grow breasts now and nurse, and giggle over bonnets and toys?”
“Female dragons do not nurse,” said the wizard. “They do not dote on their young, who hunt and kill from birth, though those young live to carry out their mother’s purpose. To be honest, my lord, I do not know what will happen now.”
To this Paramenter could say nothing, though he had the wizard beaten in a fit of pique. He settled in to await the birth of his children, and in the meantime sent his scouts forth again to find a male dragon. But before they could return, one by one the queen and concubines went into labor. One by one each gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. And one by one the ladies died in the birthing.
The entire kingdom caught its breath at the news. Some of Sosun’s citizens began to speak of curses and offenses against nature, but Paramenter ordered the executions of anyone caught saying so, and the talk quickly subsided.
At least, Paramenter consoled himself, there was no further talk of his infirmity. The six baby girls were fine and healthy to a one, charming their nurses and anyone else who saw them. And while none were so blessed as to be male, all six grew up clever, charming, and lovely as well. “But of course,” said Paramenter to his advisers when they remarked upon it. “Naturally any daughters of my blood would be far superior to an average woman.”
An example of the latter was Paramenter’s new wife, whom he had married once the requisite mourning period for his old wife had passed. Though the daughter of a neighboring king, Paramenter’s new wife was a nervous little thing, inclined to flights of fancy. Paramenter discovered this during one of his visits to her bedroom, which he undertook every so often in order to keep up appearances. He had encouraged her to get to know his daughters, who were still young enough at that point that they might view her as their mother. “I would rather not,” she said after much hemming and hawing. “Have you ever watched those girls closely? They stand together sometimes, gazing at a spot on the floor or some sight beyond their window, and then they smile. Always together, always the same smile.”
“They are sisters,” said Paramenter in surprise.
“It is more than that,” she insisted, but could articulate nothing more.
His curiosity piqued, Paramenter went down to the nursery the following night to observe the girls. Ten years old now, they fawned over him as they always did, exclaiming in delight at his visit. Paramenter sat down on the highbacked chair that they brought over, and drank the tea that one of them prepared, and let them put up his feet and brush his hair and pamper him as befitted a man. “I cannot see why she fears you,” he murmured to himself, feeling amusement and pride as he watched his six jewels bustle about. “I shouldn’t have listened to her at all.”
A small voice said, “Who, Father?” This came from his youngest daughter, a tiny porcelain doll of a girl.
“Your mother,” he said, for he insisted that they address his wife as such. He did not elaborate on his words, because he did not want to trouble the girls. But they looked at each other and giggled, almost as one.
“She fears us?” asked his eldest daughter, a delicate creature with obsidian curls and a demeanor that was already as regal as a queen’s. “How strange. Perhaps she is jealous.”
“Jealous?” Paramenter had heard of such things—women resenting their mothers or sisters, undermining their own daughters. “But what has she to be jealous of? She’s beautiful enough, or I wouldn’t have married her.”
“Her place is uncertain,” said his eldest daughter. She leaned forward to refresh his tea. “I have heard the palace maids saying that until she bears a child, you can put her aside.”
“Then she must be terrified, the poor thing,” said his second daughter. Like her concubine mother, this one was caramel-colored and lithe-limbed, with a dancer’s natural grace. “You should help her, Father. Give her a child.” She stood on her toes to light his pipe for him.
Paramenter nodded thanks, using the gesture to cover his unease. “Well, er, that might be difficult,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t fancy her much; she’s such a scrawny fearful thing. Not my taste in women at all.”
“That’s easy enough to deal with,” said Third Daughter, a sweet little thing with honey-colored curls. She smiled at him from his feet, where she was paring his toenails. “Give her to your guards for a month or two.”
“Oh, yes, that’s a lovely idea,” said Fourth Daughter. She sat nearby with a book on her lap, ready to read him a tale. “At least ten or twenty of them, just to be sure. They should be large, strong men, warrior-tempered. That way you can be sure of healthy breeding and a fine spirit in the child.”
The king frowned at this, shifting uneasily in his seat at his daughters’ suggestions. “I cannot say I like that idea,” he said at last. “The guards would talk. Any child that resulted would be dogged by scandal her whole life.”
“Then kill the guards,” said Fifth Daughter, rubbing his temples with gentle musician’s fingers. “That’s the only way to be certain.”
“And after all,” added Youngest Daughter again, “who is to say the child will be a her? Perhaps we might gain a brother!”
This was a notion Paramenter had not considered, and with that thought, all his concerns vanished amid excitement. To have a son at last! And though it rankled that some common guard would be the father, the fact that no one would know eased that small ignominy.
As Paramenter began to smile, his daughters looked at one another and smiled as well.
So Paramenter gave the order, sending his wife to a country house along with twenty of his loyal guard for a suitable length of time. When they brought her back and the physician confirmed her pregnancy, he had the guards quietly killed, then ordered another kingdomwide celebration. His wife no longer seemed to have a mind, but Paramenter did not care so mu
ch, as this relieved him of the necessity of visiting her. At least she never spoke against his beloved daughters again.
You have guessed the ending of this tale, I see. That is well and fine, and I am not surprised; evil is easy to spot, or so we all think. Shall I stop? It isn’t my purpose to bore you.
Very well, then. Just a little more.
But first, might we have some refreshment? One’s throat grows parched with tale-telling, and I’m hungry as well. A late-season wine, if you have it. And meat, rare. Yes, I suppose this is presumptuous of me, but we dead-speakers know: there’s no telling when some folly might come along and end everything. One must enjoy life while it lasts.
If it is not even more presumptuous—will you share my meal? Such rich salts, such savory sweets. It would give me great pleasure to watch them cross your fine lips.
When Paramenter’s daughters reached their sixteenth year, noblemen from many lands began paying visits to Sosun. Word had spread widely of the girls’ beauty, and also of their accomplishment in other respects. Fifth Daughter could outplay any bard on any instrument; Second Daughter’s dancing won praise from masters throughout the land. His fourth girl was an accomplished scholar whose writings were the talk of the colleges. His third and youngest girls were renowned for their beauty, and so graceful, witty, and perfect was Eldest Daughter that his advisers had begun quietly suggesting she be allowed to inherit, despite generations of tradition.
Paramenter received his daughters’ suitors with justifiable pride, carefully choosing among them to ensure only the best for his treasures. But here he was stymied, for as he began presenting his selection to the girls, they became uncharacteristically obstinate.
“He won’t do,” said Youngest Daughter, on beholding a fine young man. Paramenter was dismayed, for the youth had arrived with a chest of treasure equivalent to the youngest daughter’s weight, but being a doting father, he abided by her choice.
“Unsuitable,” declared Third Daughter, right in the face of a handsome duke. That one had brought a bag of gemstones selected to match her eyes, but with a sigh, Paramenter turned him away.
After the third such incident, in which his second daughter declared the crown prince of a rival kingdom “too small and pale,” Paramenter’s eldest girl came to visit him. With her came Paramenter’s son, the rosy-cheeked child of his wife and her guards, who was now six years old.
“You must understand, Father,” Eldest Daughter explained. She sat at his feet, gazing up at him adoringly. At her feet, Paramenter’s son sat watching his sister in the same manner. “Wealth and rank are such poor ways to judge a man’s suitability. We have both already, after all. So it would make sense for our husbands to bring a little something more to the table.”
“Like what?”
“Strength,” she said. She reached down to stroke the boy’s wine-dark hair, and gave him a doting smile. “We desire strength, naturally. What else could any true woman crave in a man?”
This Paramenter understood. So he dismissed the first crop of suitors and sent new missives forth: each kingdom which desired an alliance with Sosun should send its greatest warrior to represent its interests.
Presently the new suitors arrived. They were a dangerous, uncouth crowd, for all that most were decorated soldiers in their respective armies. When the men had gathered in the palace’s garden, the sisters arrived to look them over.
“Much better,” said Third Daughter.
“Quite,” said Fourth, and as each of her sisters gave a favorable verdict, First Daughter nodded and stepped forward. She put her hands on her hips.
“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” she said. “Now, so that we may waste no further time, I shall explain our terms. We are sisters, raised as one; therefore we have decided to marry at the same time.”
The men nodded. The advisers of their respective kingdoms had prepared them for this.
“We would prefer to marry one man, as well.”
At this the men started, looking at one another in confusion.
Then First Daughter ducked her eyes, looking up at them through her lashes, and tilted her head to one side. “One of you,” she said, “can have all six of us in his bed at once. We will obey your every whim, submit to your every desire, and you will be pleased with us; of that you may be sure. But only one of you may receive this reward.”
Turning away, she smiled at her sisters, and they smiled back, as one. Then they walked away, though Youngest Daughter paused at the door to blow the men a kiss.
The bloodbath that followed killed off the best warriors of seventeen kingdoms and left ten more of the men maimed and useless for life. King Paramenter was hard-pressed to placate his fellow rulers, and the coffers of Sosun were sharply depleted by compensatory payments.
But the daughters had what they wanted. The warrior who survived the battle royal was a mountainous beast of a man, one-eyed and half literate, though possessed of great cunning and courage. The sisters doted on him as they had their father, and though his advisers shook their heads and the priests grumbled into their tea, Paramenter gave his blessing on the unorthodox union.
One month later his daughters all happily announced that they were with child. A month after that, their husband, whose name Paramenter had never bothered to learn, died in an unfortunate fall from the bower balcony.
So it came to pass that in the thirtieth year of Paramenter’s reign, a miracle occurred: a male dragon was spotted at last. Though Paramenter was getting on in years, he had never quite given up his hope of true manhood. His second wife had killed herself in the interim, but he was still hale enough to get a few more sons on some nubile girl. Donning his sword and armor once more, Paramenter rode forth.
After many months of travel, they found the beast. Paramenter was startled to see that this dragon, unlike the huge, deadly female he’d killed so long ago, was small and put-upon, with an anxious demeanor and deep mournful eyes. His men killed it easily, but fearful of the consequences, this time Paramenter had the heart cured to preserve it, then carried it back to Sosun uneaten. There he gave it to his wizard to examine.
“Be certain,” he said, “because the beast this heart came from was a pathetic creature. I cannot see how it is the male of the species at all.”
But the wizard—who had suffered during the years of the king’s disfavor and was now eager to prove his worth—immediately shook his head. “This is the right one,” he said. “I’m certain.” So with some trepidation, Paramenter devoured the heart.
At once he felt the effect. As proper marriages would take an unbearable amount of time, he summoned the twelve prettiest maidens from the nearby countryside to the palace. Over the next few weeks he worked hard to secure his legacy, and was pleased to eventually learn that all twelve of his makeshift brides were pregnant. At this Paramenter waited, tense, but there was no fading of interest within himself this time; it seemed the male’s heart truly had done the trick. He rewarded the wizard handsomely, then set the palace physicians to work finding some way to ensure his women survived childbirth this time. He wanted no more unsavory rumors to dog his reign.
Then came a night some weeks later when he awakened craving something other than a woman’s flesh. Restless and uncertain, teased by a phantom instinct, Paramenter rose and wandered through the darkened, quiet palace. Presently he found himself in the bower of his daughters. To his surprise, they were all awake, sitting in six highbacked chairs like thrones. Paramenter’s son sat at Eldest Daughter’s feet as usual, smiling sweetly as she stroked his deep red hair. Beside each of his daughters stood their own children, now five years old—girls all, again.
“Welcome, Father,” said his eldest. “You understand what must be done now?”
For some inexplicable reason, Paramenter’s mouth went dry.
“Too many, too fast,” said Third Daughter. She sighed and shook her head. “We had hoped to grow our numbers slowly, subtly, but here you are spoiling all our careful plans.”
“This was not our choice, remember,” said Fifth Daughter, lifting a hand to examine her small, flat, perfectly manicured nails. There was a look of distaste on her features, perhaps at their shape. “But even I must admit its effectiveness. The vanity of men is a powerful weapon, so easy to aim and unleash.”
Eldest Daughter stroked her little brother’s hair and sighed. “There will be sons now too, somewhere among the twelve new ones you have made. You chose a poor specimen to sire them, but that can’t be helped; men have hunted down the best male dragons for generations. Nothing left but cowards and fools. When a species diminishes to that degree, it must change, or rightly vanish into legend. Don’t you agree, Father?”
The children, Paramenter noticed then. His granddaughters. Each had taken after her mother to an uncanny degree, and each now watched him with shining, avid eyes. Seeing that Paramenter had noticed them, they smiled as one.
Eldest Daughter rose from her throne and came to him, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek. “You have done well by us, Father,” she said, with genuine fondness in her voice. “So we shall honor you in the old ways, as you have honored us.”
With that, she beckoned the children forward. They all came—even Paramenter’s son, not a dragon by blood but raised in their ways. They surrounded Paramenter, tense and trembling, but their mothers had trained them well. They did not attack until Eldest Daughter removed her hand from Paramenter’s cheek and stepped away. And then, like the good, obedient children they were, they left no mess for the servants to find.
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