Dragon's Maid

by Kimberly A Rogers

  The inquisitor’s cheeks mottled, but he only offered a half bow before whirling around and stalking away.

  Sir George then offered her a deep bow. “My lady. May I have the honor of a dance?”

  Damaris dipped an answering curtesy. Resting her hand atop his proffered one, she allowed him to lead her into the great hall. There were gasps as guests and servants alike noticed her, but she paid them no heed as her gaze flicked over the faces. She couldn’t see Tancred.

  They moved through the line of dancers, forming circles and chains with the others, until they finally made it to the far end of the great hall. It was only then that she saw him. Tancred wore a white tunic embroidered with silver along with pale grey trousers stuffed inside boots of the palest leather. He looked the epitome of a nobleman.

  Then she was on the dais, being escorted toward him. Sir George uttered a cheerful greeting, she paid no attention to, before he bowed to the marquise and held out his hand. Damaris’ breath caught in her lungs for a moment before Sir Reed nudged his wife’s arm, and the woman sighed as she placed her hand in Sir George’s. The interaction between the two was too familiar to be faked . . . or so she hoped.

  Sir Reed nodded to her, pale green eyes flicking over her gown. “Silver suits you.”

  “It does, indeed,” Tancred intoned. There was a flicker of concern in his eyes, however, as he added with deceptive lightness, “I was beginning to fear you’d learned of our unexpected guest and chosen to abandon the feast because of it.”

  “I met him outside the doors. Sir George rescued me.” She tried to add that there had been another uninvited guest in the gardens, but the words refused to come. Instead her mouth moved into a smile before different words spilled out, “Would you do me the honor of joining me for a dance or two?”

  “How about three?” he offered with an answering smile.

  It was torture to dance with him. The first two dances they only touched hands and occasionally brushed close to each other as they circled around each other and other couples. They were never close enough that she could whisper anything to him. Both a frustration and a relief as the burning beneath her skin sharpened the more time passed. How close was it to midnight? She didn’t know.

  The dragoness . . . She didn’t know, couldn’t remember, if she had promised to linger. However, her neck prickled with the sensation of being watched. Twice she caught Clotho’s gaze fixed on her as the housekeeper moved along the edge of the hall, overseeing the servants carrying trays and keeping goblets filled. Another time, she saw Captain Huon standing in the shadows cast by the fireplace, his good eye observing the entire room. A few times she caught glimpses of people pulling away from black slashed with silver, and she knew the inquisitor had entered the great hall.

  The music changed and then Tancred caught her by both hands, pulling her close as he lead her into a different dance. There was no exchange of partners or distance forced between them this time. She linked her fingers with his as they moved in a circle, their heads bent toward each other. “There’s something I must tell you,” she whispered.

  She felt his lips brush against her forehead before he murmured, “I can guess. Though I’m disappointed there’s not a wedding tonight.”

  Damaris looked up to meet his dark gaze as the dance called for her to step away briefly and then to link hands again as they circled in the opposite direction. Everything she wanted to say burned away. The only words she heard herself speak were the ones she wanted to scream were untrue. “You’ll have an answer instead. If you meet me in the gardens, by the roses, at midnight, I promise you’ll have your answer.”

  He smiled. “I accept.”

  “Tancred, there’s a small matter requiring your attention,” Sir Reed murmured apologetically from the side. “Sir George is inviting you to get involved before your other guests are disturbed.”

  Following the men’s gazes, Damaris could just make out the distinctive robes of the inquisitor as he stood on the dais. The marquise and Sir George were facing him. Sir George was slowly shaking his head. Tancred sighed. “All right.” He glanced at her and winked, “I’ll be there.”

  She watched him walk away with Reed at his side. The sight alone tore at her as did the knowledge that she would never see him again, never remember him. She blinked away tears and then turned and slipped through the crowd of dancers. She needed more distance . . . She needed to prepare for midnight.

  By the time she had run up to her chamber, a few traitorous tears had escaped to dampen her cheeks. She stumbled at the sight and smell of a small repast waiting for her. Bettrys’ doing, no doubt. There was less than a half hour until the midnight watch was sounded, leaving her little time. She managed to undo her laces and wriggle out of the silvercloth gown on her own, tossing it onto the bed beside the other too fine gown. She slipped into a plain dark green gown and found a bag in the bottom of her wardrobe.

  After tossing two more of her plainest gowns into the bag along with a few amenities and a small coin purse with the wages Tancred had given her after three months of service, she took the linen wrapping from the gold and silver gown to tie around the meal. Two meat pies, a block of cheese, and a loaf of bread as well as a flask of water. It would tide her over for a few meals if she rationed everything. She scrambled for her sturdy leather slippers, but didn’t have time to put them on when she doubled over from the fire burning her from the inside. Tossing the wrapped meal as well as her shoes inside the bag, Damaris stumbled toward the door. She snatched her cloak and threw it around her shoulders as she hurried down the corridor and the flights of stairs.

  She saw no one as she hurried out of the keep. However, she hadn’t taken more than five steps into the inner bailey when she heard a shout from behind. A quick peek revealed black slashed with silver. The inquisitor. No.

  Following the sound of merrily playing music, Damaris darted from the shadows into the area of the inner bailey where most of the servants had gathered for their dancing and celebration. She ducked through the dancers, passing Owen as he danced with Agatha. Weaving her way through the crowd, she felt only a fractured hint of relief that she couldn’t hear or see the inquisitor anymore. It was only a matter of time before he caught up with her.

  Her gaze caught on a covered wagon and a man bustling around it. Two guardsmen stood by the ponies’ heads, but their backs were to her. She hurried over to the merchant as he worked to secure the back of the canvas. “Sir, may I purchase passage?”

  He jumped at her question, but at least he didn’t shout as he squinted at her. “Passage? You’re leaving tonight?”

  She nodded. “I was a maid in the earl’s household, but I’ve been released from service at my family’s behest. My father has fallen ill, and they fear he won’t live to see summer. I need to return home.”

  The lies fell so easily and quickly from her lips that she almost believed them herself. She shifted her feet as the merchant tugged on his thick white beard. Then, he nodded toward the back. “All right. I can take you as far as Mirab.”

  Damaris nodded, recognizing the name of one of the larger towns in the foothills before Cian Gwenith’s mountains gave way to the plains and rolling hills of the south where the true cities were built. “Thank you, sir. That is my destination.”

  “Climb in and secure the flap behind you. I don’t want these goods getting wet with the storm.” The man didn’t say another word as he walked around to the front of the wagon.

  She heard him talking to the guardsmen. Stepping up to the back of the wagon, she grasped the edge of the cart only to stop and look back. The stars were clouding over. She couldn’t see much beyond the servants dancing around the bonfire. Tancred . . . was probably in the grotto. She wished she could see him, could explain.

  Then the wagon started to roll forward. Damaris scrambled to throw her bag in first and then she pulled herself up. The wheels bounced, and she knocked her foot against the side of the cart as she fell through the flap. She felt wo
od beneath her bare foot and realized she’d lost one of her slippers. There was no going back to retrieve it.

  She secured the flap with shaking fingers before she pulled off the remaining taimana slipper. She placed it in her bag and then put on the practical leather slippers that were far more suited to a mere maid. Leaning against a bundle of woven wool blankets, Damaris let out a shuddering breath. Her dream had turned into a nightmare. And now . . . she was going to be alone again.

  * * *

  Damaris still hadn’t arrived. Midnight had come and gone. Tancred jumped up from the stone bench and paced in front of the grotto. Had she changed her mind when he had been so late in coming to meet her? No. She wouldn’t do that. Once Damaris made a decision, she rarely changed her mind on the matter.

  She was only delayed. A frown appeared as he recalled her words about the inquisitor. The man had been stubborn enough to attempt to demand a hearing before the nobles that night. If Sir George hadn’t stepped in, he might not have been able to resist showing the inquisitor what happened when you attempted to hunt a dragon’s mate.

  Fortunately, Sir George had been able to force the man to retire to his chamber and Commander Warin had been set as guard to ensure that he stayed there until dawn. Tancred rubbed his hands together. Damaris would give him her answer, and then they would face the inquisitor together at dawn. And, every noble in the north would bear witness to the fact that she was his future countess. No, he would talk her into marrying him before they saw the inquisitor. They didn’t need every noble present for the ceremony. Having Helena and Sir George as witnesses before the priest would carry enough weight, and then the inquisitor would be forced to tread far more carefully in questioning the Countess of Silvermere.

  The sky had begun to lighten by the time he finally left the grotto. Worry and confusion warred for dominance in his thoughts, but he shoved them both aside. Damaris must have gone to bed. Maybe they had just missed each other, and she’d gone to bed thinking he wouldn’t come to the grotto after he missed her appointed time.

  He reached her chamber and tapped on the door once before testing the handle. It gave beneath his touch, allowing him to swing the door open. “Damaris?”

  There was no answer.

  The fireplace was cold, the fire allowed to die instead of being properly banked. Tancred walked toward the bed, stopping at its edge. It hadn’t been slept in recently, and the wedding gown he’d gifted her was spread across the coverlet. Beside it was the silvercloth gown she’d been wearing at the feast. But of Damaris herself, there was no sign.

  “She’s gone.”

  He spun around to find Huon stepping inside the room. The captain of the guard closed the door behind him before he pulled a hand out from beneath his cloak, revealing a taimana slipper. “I found this in the bailey near where the traders’ wagons had been sitting. She’s left with one of them no doubt. Six of them left last night to beat the coming storm out of the mountains.”

  Tancred stared at the slipper. She’d left it behind or lost it. Her protection against dragon magic would only be partially effective, protecting her against the harshest elements but still leaving her susceptible to magic such as curses. “Inform Sir George and the Marquise of Carabas that I will return tomorrow.”

  The captain stepped in front of him, blocking the door. “No.”

  “What do you say?”

  Huon’s good eye remained steady and unblinking as he rumbled, “You cannot leave the keep now with a king’s inquisitor under your roof and expecting an audience. It is the height of foolishness, and you cannot be selfish in this matter. The woman is not your only concern. You must also protect the rest of your household. Let her go.”

  “She needs my help.”

  “What will you do? Fly after her and expose yourself to the rest of the kingdom? Use your head, boy, and ignore your heart before you condemn us all.”

  Tancred’s jaw slackened before he lunged at the older man. Catching him off guard, Tancred slammed him against the wall as he hissed, “You’re the spy. The one who sent word to my king about her.” He felt something hard beneath the captain’s tunic and yanked out a taimana medallion. The phoenix was etched into its surface, marking its purpose even though he couldn’t sense it. “All your magic hidden in here, giving you new life as a pure human in the eyes of all other races who would know you otherwise.” His grip tightened on the medallion as he glared up at the man. “Who are you?”

  “I am Huon son of Pyramus. Our clan belongs to those of the Burnt Wilderness.”

  “A separatist,” Tancred hissed, smoke filling his mouth. “And, you came here to spy.”

  It wasn’t a question, but the older dragon gave a curt nod. “I was given a task just as you were, only I do not forget my duties for the sake of an ill thought bond.” His good eye lightened to fiery orange and a hint of resonance filled his rumbling words as he warned, “Do not forget your control. The king’s inquisitor is waiting to meet with you. You don’t have time for any of this. Let her go.”

  Tancred tightened his grip on the medallion before he shoved away from the traitor, the spy. He ran a hand through his hair, combing it away from his face, before he jabbed a finger at Huon. “You will provide answers as to everything you have been doing in my territory after the inquisitor is taken care of, make no mistake.”

  Huon very deliberately placed the taimana slipper on the small table next to the door. “We cannot protect everyone, no matter our personal desires. Sometimes sacrifice is required, and we are not the ones who do the choosing.”

  It took every scrap of will for him not to shift into a form better suited for breathing fire and fighting another dragon. Allowing Damaris to move further and further away from him was . . . torture. He wanted nothing more than to go directly after her. But, she wouldn’t have wanted him to expose himself like that. No, he had to get rid of the inquisitor first.

  The blight of a man was waiting in the great hall, standing on the dais as though he were lord of the keep, and not Tancred. The highest of his noble guests were seated at the table on the dais with the marquise, her husband, and Sir George standing near the inquisitor. As soon as they saw him enter with Huon on his heels, they moved to take their own places at the table.

  The inquisitor didn’t as he immediately shouted, “Where is Damaris Desrosiers? I am taking her to Eryri!”

  “On what charges would you remove a member of my household?”

  “She is a dragon lover and a witch.”

  Tancred stepped up onto the dais and stared down at the shorter man. He forced himself to remain calm and unaffected by the ridiculous claim. “The senior inquisitor who interviewed her did not share your suspicions. In fact, she sent a writ of innocence found regarding Damaris Desrosiers. The matter was merely rumors that had gotten out of hand.”

  The man sneered. “You are a liar and should be in custody as a suspected dragon lover.”

  Tancred spread his arms wide. “I speak in defense of a woman found innocent by one of the king’s senior inquisitors and you dare to accuse me? Where will it end?”

  “You only seek to protect the witch because she enchanted you into thinking of her as a lover.”

  “No, she is my betrothed and the daughter of a respected merchant.” He paused deliberately and then asked, “Does the family of loyal servants to the crown truly need to fear an inquisitor?”

  “If they are consorting with dragons, yes.”

  “Do you see any dragon in this room?” he asked drily.

  The inquisitor flushed. “You are to be arrested for your . . . your disrespect to the crown! You dare to mock me! I will see you stripped of your titles and lands. Your people will be turned out of these lands and the estate reclaimed by the crown.”

  “You have neither cause nor authority to do such a thing, Master Inquisitor,” Sir George’s voice rang out above the angry mutters of the watching nobles. “Never have I witnessed such hubris and insolence as you have displayed here this m
orning. You would turn our most powerful allies against my uncle for the sake of your dented pride. The persecution of the Earl of Silvermere and his betrothed will not be tolerated. Your position among the inquisitors shall also be reexamined with the utmost scrutiny.”

  The man spluttered without a single word forming. Sir George came around the table and clasped forearms with Tancred. “Please accept my apologies, Silvermere. I do not know why this man believes he can ignore all semblance of the court or persecute whomever he chooses, but I assure you that my uncle will be informed of his misconduct.”

  “The king is the one who sent me after the woman!” the inquisitor protested in a shrill voice. “She’s a witch and a dragon! Anyone who attempts to protect her is also one of their number! The king sees this, and so do I! We know what you are trying to hide!”

  Sir George gestured and his men rushed to drag the overwrought inquisitor from the great hall. He sighed, looking older than his years, as he turned from Tancred to the still murmuring nobles and then turned back to Tancred with a weary nod. “If I cannot speak for my uncle, then please accept my own apologies. I will find a way to make the king see what is happening is not right.”

  Damaris might have run away in an attempt to prevent the inquisitor from coming after him. Or she feared he would do something rash if she’d stayed and the inquisitor came after her. Tancred slowly nodded even as he plotted the best way to fly down the mountains and find her. “For all our sakes, I hope you are successful, Sir George.”

  * * *

  Tancred shifted uneasily in his chair, trying to keep his fire under control as one of the three counts present in the Marquise of Carabas’ sitting room spoke. “The king’s inquisitor dared to threaten an earl! The only earl in the north! While witnessed by not only ourselves, but also the king’s nephew and heir.”

  “Yes, Brentwood, we were all present,” the marquise interrupted, “but what do we intend to do about this escalation?”