Dragon's Maid

by Kimberly A Rogers

  “There have been no incidents.” She glanced up at him as she asked, “Surely you did not spend your entire patrol of the valley worrying that Agatha had caused trouble again, Captain? As I said before you left, time will help heal the prick to her pride.”

  “As much trouble and mischief as that spoilt chit stirs up, why would she go silent?”

  Damaris shrugged though her cloak likely obscured the move. “Perhaps, because Owen no longer has many opportunities to flirt his way into my path?”

  She didn’t add that the guardsman had begun waiting outside the hothouse when she entered or left in order to flirt at her more. Although, he always turned around and went back to the inner bailey or his patrol if Tancred was walking with her. A little more than a fortnight had passed since he’d gifted her the rose plantings, and she’d only just begun to feel all five would survive being transported. After some pushing, the dragon had finally revealed the name of the rose merchant he’d purchased them from and she recognized it as an old friend of her father’s. The merchant in question had often purchased plantings from Dumi Desrosiers when he needed roses that would survive more northern environments such as Talhaearn.

  The thought that the plantings could have originally come from her father’s gardens had left her in tears. Much to the dragon’s dismay. He had given her a wide berth in the ten days since that conversation, aside from muttering he wouldn’t have found the roses if he’d known she would turn all weepy. The memory of his wide eyed alarm still brought a slight smile to her face. Typical male, not knowing what to do in the wake of tears he didn’t understand. It seemed even dragons were not immune to that particular shortcoming.

  “It is the calm before the storm.”

  She blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “This silence from Agatha and even Clotho to an extent,” the captain stated. “It is the calm before the storm. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Damaris opened her mouth to answer and then a shout rang through the air, “Winged approach!”

  She looked up to the sky just as five hippogriffs plummeted through the clouds, their pale wing feathers almost obscured by the ribbons of black and silver hanging from their harnesses. It felt as though a rope had been tied around her lungs and was slowly being tightened as she watched the hippogriffs land in the inner bailey. Four soldiers leapt off, their black tabards embroidered with three silver roses, while two people obscured by black cloaks dismounted more slowly from the hippogriff in the center of the formation. The colors left no doubt as to their identities . . . They were from the king’s court, four of his soldiers and the black cloaked strangers.

  “Return to the keep,” Captain Huon ordered in a low voice before he strode toward the hippogriffs and their riders, his white cloak snapping out behind him as he walked into the wind.

  Damaris forced herself not to run as she changed her course to reach the kitchen entrance. Even when she passed out of sight of the hippogriffs and their riders, she didn’t dare run. She had to find Tancred and warn him. The sinking feeling that the calm had ended stuck with her, whispering doubts through her mind. Why had the king’s men come here? There had been no messages from the king alerting Silvermere to an imminent arrival. Nor had anyone reported the inquisitors were coming north before the thaw finished clearing all the passes.

  Perhaps, it was not the beginning of a storm. Perhaps, it was merely an envoy from the king regarding something else, something . . . something safe. Although, for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single thing that something might be that would warrant an unexpected visit.

  “Are things not adhering to your plan?”

  She jerked her head up to see Agatha grinning at her from the doorway leading to the kitchens. Biting back a demand to know what the younger woman had been up to, Damaris merely pulled her cloak closer as the wind regained its teeth. “I’m certain I don’t know what you mean, Agatha. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have duties to attend.”

  The girl didn’t move out of the way as her grin grew even more smug. “Not for long.”

  A small frisson of worry crept over her. Whatever had Agatha this happy would likely mean trouble. Still she refused to show any hint of her growing sense of dread to the girl. Agatha would pounce on it as evidence of her guilt faster than a starving cave lion could pounce on a deer.

  The door to the kitchens abruptly opened and Clotho’s slim black shrouded frame appeared. Her squinting expression never changed as she looked from Agatha to Damaris. “The earl’s household is commanded to appear in the great hall. There are no exceptions.”

  For the first time the triumph in Agatha’s expression faded. She looked uncertainly at her mother, who pulled her out of the doorway with a whispered hiss. Damaris didn’t even attempt to eavesdrop on the two as she hurried through the door and into the heat of the kitchens. After making her way to her chamber, she shed her cloak and patted at her hair. Thankfully, the wind had not been able to do too much damage and it only took a few moments for her to secure it with a clasp at the nape of her neck.

  Only when she was confident her appearance wouldn’t cause anyone to think she’d been attempting to run or looked less than sedate did she make her way to the great hall. Much as her instincts shouted at her to find Tancred to ensure he was ready for this . . . intrusion, she didn’t dare go now. He would insist she enter with him, no doubt, and that was something she couldn’t do without stirring questions as to whether she was playing at being countess.

  She slipped into the great hall and stepped into a world of hissing whispers as the servants milled about. She stayed near the back of the crowd, not wanting to draw any extra attention to herself. No sooner had she entered than the crowd abruptly fell silent and parted into two halves, leaving a clear path from the main doors to the dais where Tancred was not standing.

  Worry and frustration battled for dominance as she eyed the empty place where the Earl of Silvermere should’ve been standing to greet his visitors no matter how unexpected. Where was he? Surely, he hadn’t been in his other form. Or had he?

  Damaris balled her hands in her skirts, clutching at the wool, as she fought to remember whether the dragon had intended to wear a different form today. No. They had an agreement. The days when he wasn’t presentable to the rest of the keep were the days when she stayed in the bookroom, ready to prevent the same sort of incident that had led to her becoming his companion. He wouldn’t break that agreement.

  It had to be some other reason for his delay. Perhaps, Huon had warned him and . . . Her thoughts trailed into nothingness as an unfamiliar voice called out, “Damaris Desrosiers, reveal your presence.”

  She didn’t have to so much as take a step before the servants around her pulled back. Refusing to duck her head as though she had done anything wrong, Damaris squared her shoulders and walked through the gap formed around and in front of her until she’d gained the center of the great hall. Her skin prickled beneath the weight of so many eyes, but she ignored it.

  They were waiting for her. Captain Huon stood at the base of the dais and with him were the king’s soldiers and two strangers, a man and a woman, dressed in black. As she drew closer, Damaris could see slashes of silver fabric trimming the hem of their black robes. They were from the king’s court though they did not wear the roses themselves.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Tancred’s baritone filled the great hall despite the fact he wasn’t yelling. “Why have you gathered my household and now single a maid out?”

  Damaris’ steps slowed as she caught a glimpse of Tancred’s expression. Meeting his eyes she gave her head the tiniest shake, praying he would listen. Tancred’s expression didn’t fully lighten, but at least he no longer looked on the verge of breathing fire. His tall lean frame carried authority better than the two strangers before him, though he was still wearing dirty boots and a leather jerkin over his pale grey tunic. Combined with the white cloak draped across his shoulders and the sword at his belt, it was clear h
e had been in the training yard. He hadn’t even taken time to brush his windblown hair, which only made him look wilder as he stared down the strangers.

  “I am the Earl of Silvermere,” he stated with deceptive mildness, “and it is my right as a noble of the king’s court to know the reason for your visit. Especially as it has disrupted my entire household in the fulfillment of their appointed duties.”

  The man and woman exchanged glances before the man turned to face Tancred. “We are inquisitors from King Stephen. Word was sent to us that the woman called Damaris Desrosiers is a witch and dragon lover. We were dispatched to investigate the truth behind the claims.”

  It took all of Damaris’ will not to search the crowd for Agatha. Her attitude made sense now. She’d spread the lie beyond Silvermere’s borders to the ears of the royal court. A stone weight dropped into her stomach as she fought not to react. She met Tancred’s gaze and widened her eyes ever so slightly, pleading for him not to forget himself.

  Tancred frowned. “A witch and dragon lover? Who made these accusations?”

  “We cannot reveal that,” the woman replied. She raised a hand and gestured to Damaris as she directed the royal soldiers, “Take her into custody.”

  Damaris didn’t struggle as two of the soldiers wrapped beefy hands around her upper arms. She saw Tancred take a half step forward before he stopped, thank Shaddai. “You will question her here. I dislike the idea of one of my people being removed from the estate without any evidence of wrongdoing beyond hearsay.”

  “We do not fall under your authority,” the man retorted.

  “However,” his fellow inquisitor interjected, “we shall accommodate your request. As you say, we have no evidence beyond hearsay claims. The king was very clear as to treating the accused mercifully until the allegations are confirmed.” She offered a cold smile as she added, “Surely your housekeeper knows a room where I may question Mistress Desrosiers?”

  Tancred nodded. “Clotho.”

  The housekeeper’s expression looked more pinched than usual as she came forward and offered a curtsey. Damaris met Tancred’s gaze once more, reading the worry in his eyes, before the male inquisitor stepped up onto the dais and blocked her view. Then, she was guided to follow the female inquisitor and Clotho out of the great hall and past all the eyes still watching.

  Clotho led them to one of the smaller storerooms. It was empty save for a few barrels, but it seemed to meet the inquisitor’s approval as she dismissed the housekeeper. Damaris caught the other woman’s gaze once more and was surprised to see something rather like concern in her eyes. The door slammed shut between them before she could decide whether she’d truly seen the emotion or merely imagined it.

  The female inspector was older than her male comrade, silver dusting her smooth black hair and lines forming at the corners of her brown eyes. Her light tanned complexion spoke to her Belfarad heritage, even though she lacked any of Belfarad’s more distinctive jewelry or a safri in place of a typical kirtle. The only distinctive marks about her clothing were the slashes of silver, her identity wrapped in the royal court.

  She didn’t offer a name either as she studied Damaris. “You are Damaris Desrosiers, the indentured servant at Silvermere?”

  “I am Damaris Desrosiers. However, I was released from my indenture three months ago.”

  “And, your position now?”

  “I am the personal maid to the Earl of Silvermere.”

  “I thought you were his companion,” the woman interjected with a deceptive softness to her words.

  Damaris nodded. “The earl calls me both, however, my role is that of maid.”

  “You are Kushite.”

  “Yes.”

  The woman studied her for a long moment and then asked, “Were you born in Cian Gwenith?”

  “No. I was born in Belfarad after my parents made their way to Ebura,” she stated simply.

  “I see. Where did your parents come from?”

  “One of the royal cities in Kush beyond the desert.” Damaris paused then added, “I fear I cannot tell you more than that since my father did not often speak of his past. It was too closely tied with my mother and her death was a deep wound.”

  “I suppose that is understandable.” The inquisitor paced around her in silence for several moments before she abruptly asked, “How long have you practiced magic?”

  “Never.”

  “Were your parents dragons?”

  “No, they were as human as you and I.”

  The inquisitor acted as though she hadn’t even answered, her expression and tone hardening as she spat another question. “How long have you had the earl in your spell?”

  “He’s not under any spell.”

  “You admit to drawing sigils in the ash of a fireplace here in Silvermere’s keep?”

  “No.”

  “When you ensorcerelled the earl, did you use magic taught by your parents?”

  “No.”

  “Then it was learned from another. A dragon? Or by instinct?”

  “Neither. I have no magic.”

  The inquisitor smiled. “Yes, that is what all of your kind say. However, we shall have the truth from you. Even if it takes more time and some persuasion.”

  Damaris’ thoughts went to Tancred. The fact that only the woman was questioning her was worrisome. Was Tancred also under suspicion? Was he being interrogated? She could only pray he wasn’t alone with the other inquisitor if that was the case. If the man’s questions were similar to his companion’s, Tancred could not be trusted to keep his control without other people present.

  “Were you trained in magic as a child or born into it?”

  “Neither.”

  “I don’t believe you. Was Dumi truly your father or did he merely foster you?”

  “He was my father, and he was just as human as I am.”

  “Did you ensorcerell the Earl of Silvermere into believing he is in love with you?”

  Damaris shook her head. “No. He is not in love with me.”

  * * *

  “How often does the woman spend her nights with you?”

  Tancred ground his teeth together as the fire grew hotter in his chest as he met the inquisitor’s beady gaze. He forced himself to lean back in his chair before he answered with feigned boredom, “She does not spend her nights with me. That answer is not going to change no matter how times you ask or change the words you are using.”

  The inquisitor sniffed as he leaned back in his own seat, a smug lift to his brow. “Then, you cannot say that she does not practice dark magic or is a dragoness herself.”

  “Would a practitioner of dark magic allow herself to be an indentured servant for years?” Tancred countered. “I have my doubts.”

  “Yet, you made her your . . . companion after only three years out of a ten year term of indenture.”

  He didn’t ask a question this time. He didn’t need to with the insinuation layered thicker than a blizzard on his observation. The annoying gnat of a man was testing his control. He didn’t recognize him from the few times he’d been obligated to appear in King Stephen’s court. Nevertheless, he tried to take care in how he answered so he didn’t contradict anything he’d once said in earshot of the royal court.

  Tancred blinked slowly and then replied simply, “I questioned her in the library and found her to be an intelligent educated woman of the merchant class. She was wasted as an indentured servant since her main assignment was that of cinder maid, so I elevated her to the position of personal maid.”

  “Surely, you did not need to free her from her indenture in order to do so.”

  There was movement behind the inquisitor and Tancred glanced up to see Huon’s impassive expression. He looked as though he’d been carved from stone, still in the same position he’d taken since they’d retired to the library with the inquisitor and the two royal guards who hadn’t accompanied Damaris. Yet, he’d heard the man shift his weight. Tancred inhaled slowly, detecting worry emanating
from the captain. He had to retain control.

  Damaris would not be pleased if he revealed himself to be a dragon. That thought anchored him even more than the sight of his captain of the guard. For Damaris’ sake, he would be careful. Meeting the inquisitor’s gaze, he stated simply, “I acquired her indenture papers because the merchant who originally indentured her was not permitted to do so as he was still indebted to me. When I decided to utilize Mistress Desrosiers’ skills, I thought it best to end her indenture first. I prefer my servants to be in my keep of their own volition. It prevents . . . unrest, and I much prefer my household when it is running smoothly.”

  “Have you considered that she arranged the indenture simply as a way to get inside your defenses? You are the Earl of Silvermere, the second most powerful noble in the kingdom. The most powerful, until after the woman arrived here, since the Marquise of Carabas was not yet appointed.”

  “If that was indeed her target, you would have to assume that she would then attempt to join the marquise’s household and yet she remained here,” Tancred pointed out.

  The inquisitor raised an eyebrow, a sardonic look dominating his sharp boned face. The man should eat more. “I believe it reasonable that the woman recognized a far better opportunity to stay close to you than she could have with the marquise. You are unmarried, my lord, and unmarried men can be . . . lonely and perhaps more willing to turn a blind eye to the suspicious behavior of a woman if she is appealing enough.”

  “So you think me a lonely fool who cannot tell friend from foe,” he mused before he leaned forward in his chair, grasping the arms in a stranglehold as he pinned the inquisitor with his gaze. “As you say, Master Inquisitor, I am the Earl of Silvermere. Believe me when I say I have long ago learned to recognize the difference between friend and foe and a comely face or figure is not enough to distract me from noticing such signs. Now, I believe this interview has run its course.”

  “My lord, I must protest.”

  Tancred rose from his seat, nodding to Huon, and then strode from the library. The inquisitor managed to keep pace despite his short stature, still grumbling protests until his tone changed to something far more aggressive when Tancred found the storeroom with the other royal guards stationed on either side of the door. “My lord, you cannot go in there. You cannot interrupt an interrogation by an inquisitor.”