Dragon's Maid

by Kimberly A Rogers

  Brentwood slammed his fist against his palm as he stated fiercely, “Stephen must abdicate the throne. The man has gone mad, searching for dragons, and now he’s killed nobles. The Baron and Baroness Marcell Guise were only the first and their lands have been seized. Shaddai alone knows what he intends to do with their daughter.”

  “My uncle will not sign away his right to rule,” Sir George said, his expression grave. “It is not in his nature. Not after how long he fought to claim the crown and reunite the kingdom.”

  “The same kingdom he is tearing apart with his fears?” the marquise murmured softly. “I do not like this conversation any more than you do, Sir George. However, the fact remains that Cian Gwenith will not survive leaving your uncle on the throne. He has isolated the nobles and the common folk by stopping our trade with other kingdoms and closing the borders. Now, he’s begun putting people to death for charges that cannot be proven true and forcing confessions . . . It is only a matter of time before someone decides to go to war. An abdication would be better.”

  “Only if it was handled with the utmost care,” Sir George responded. He rubbed his chin. “We would require the support of every noble in Cian Gwenith in order to truly avoid bloodshed.”

  “I agree,” she replied simply. “Which is why I believe our best tactic is for you, Sir George, to approach each noble family individually. However, in order to show you already have support and are not attempting to trap them, you should have one of your most powerful allies present at these meetings as company.”

  “I elect Silvermere,” Brentwood stated. He looked to his fellow counts who all nodded.

  Tancred gripped the arms of his chair, not daring to look back at Huon. He’d kept the other dragon at his side in the fortnight since Damaris vanished, not quite trusting him not to disappear now he’d been discovered. “Me?”

  “Yes, you are the better known noble among the southerners and until Carabas came to power, you were the most powerful noble in the land.” Brentwood glanced at the marquise and then added apologetically, “And you weren’t appointed to your title by the king we are attempting to force off his throne.”

  The marquise shrugged a shoulder. “It is the truth, and it is the best choice.”

  Tancred bit back a sharp retort and simply inclined his head. The three counts left soon after, not wishing to know too many details about Sir George’s plans. Then, Sir George left to prepare his hippogriff.

  It was only then that Tancred allowed his head to drop into his hand. “I am trying to find Damaris, not overthrow a king.”

  “Going with him will allow you to search for her in the south.”

  He slammed his hand against the arm of the chair, swearing. Sir Reed stepped in front of his wife’s chair, raising a hand. “Silvermere, we are trying to help you.”

  “No, you are attempting to manipulate me into going along with your little coup that I am forbidden from being involved with by my king.”

  Reed’s brow furrowed, but then his eyes went wide. “Helena, get out.”

  She rose from her seat and looked around her husband. Her eyes also widened and she muttered, “Not another one.”

  Huon grabbed Tancred by the shoulder, and he realized smoke was drifting out of his open mouth. No doubt his eyes had changed color as well. He shoved the other dragon’s hand away and then rubbed his eyes. “Alastair will vouch for me. I am not like your rogue.”

  “Is Damaris also . . .?”

  “No. She’s human.” He glanced over his shoulder and waved toward the glowering Huon. “Huon is like me. He’s sworn by his true name to protect and safeguard the people of Silvermere.”

  “Are there any others?” Helena asked drily though she kept a firm grip on her husband’s arm . . . and the poker from the fireplace.

  Tancred shook his head. “There’s no time for a full explanation. I was sent by the dragon king to investigate the Five Kingdoms ten years ago. Circumstances led to me being appointed the old earl’s heir, and my king forbade me from directly interfering in kingdom politics. It is not my place as a dragon. However, I will risk my king’s displeasure to help Sir George. Because it may be the only way I find Damaris again, and I cannot stop searching for her until I’ve done so.”

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  Two Months Later . . .

  “Are you nearly done, Demi?”

  Damaris startled out of her thoughts to see Cadi, another maid, standing over her. She glanced back down at the mending pile and nodded. “Just finished the last patch.”

  “Excellent! Mistress Opal said to send you to her and now I don’t have to finish your work,” she said cheerfully, her smile bright against her dusky skin. “Best hurry though, Demi.”

  Damaris nodded. The housekeeper was a kind enough woman, but she could be rather short when she was feeling stressed. And these days, everyone in Eryri felt stressed. She hurried upstairs to the main floor of the house and found Mistress Opal with her husband, the steward, and with a young Kushite woman dressed in fine velvet of the darkest grey. Damaris immediately offered a curtsey as the three turned at her approach. “Your ladyship, I didn’t realize I was interrupting.”

  “It is perfectly all right, Demi,” the baroness responded mildly. She offered a smile that almost hid the grief in her eyes. “Opal, I shall leave the matter in your hands.”

  “Yes, your ladyship.” The older woman immediately hurried over to Damaris. “Go to the market, Demi, and find silver roses to decorate the baroness’ rooms. Vernon will give you the funds for it.”

  She murmured her assent, collected the coins from the steward, and then slipped from the house. The capital’s streets were far quieter than they had been when she arrived two months past. More and more people were afraid to leave their houses . . . or they had been sealed in by the order of inquisitors.

  Damaris couldn’t remember when this had changed. She couldn’t even remember much of her life in the north other than always being cold unless she slept by the fire. She couldn’t remember what had happened to her mother and sister . . . or was it her aunt and cousin? Those details remained blurry. She’d asked Opal about it since she also served as the household’s healer and the woman had speculated that she must have struck her head and injured her memories, which was why the details were so difficult to recall yet she could remember growing up with her father’s silver roses. And then there were the dreams . . .

  She had such fanciful dreams that she couldn’t even begin to imagine how she’d come up with them. Dreams of dancing with a handsome if slightly wild looking man with unruly hair. Though she never saw his face. She’d even dreamed of wearing a dress of silver fine enough for any noblewoman. Her, a maid!

  Forcing her thoughts away from the impossible, she quickened her pace as she entered the market square. There was only one merchant still in the city that sold silver roses. The old woman looked up as Damaris approached. “Remembering things?”

  She smiled at the odd question. “I remember how to select the best blooms to please my mistress.” She selected five of the best and fullest roses and then counted out the cost. “Thank you, Eve.”

  The old woman harrumphed. “I wouldn’t be thanking strangers if I were you, Demi girl.”

  A shout rang out, and Damaris instinctively pressed herself closer to the merchant’s rose cart. Royal guards with their black tabards embroidered with three silver roses rushed into the market. They came toward the rose cart and then swung around to surround a cloth merchant’s cart. A girl’s terrified cry filled the air before the guards reassembled, dragging a girl who could not be more than sixteen by her arms. There was a ripping sound as one of them trod on the train of her silk gown.

  “Count Erstford’s youngest daughter,” Eve murmured. “Why would they take her?”

  Damaris didn’t dare answer. She waited only long enough for the soldiers to vanish up the road toward the palace before she hurried home. The other servants listened with dread to her story
and then one of the kitchen maids turned to Opal and Vernon, her face drained of all color. “What will they do to her?”

  “Surely they must release her,” one of the undercooks offered. “Her father is a friend of the king. The inquisitors made a mistake.”

  No one replied.

  Three days passed without incident, then Damaris heard a sharp cry from the baroness’ sitting room as she carried up a tray for tea. She peeked inside to see the baroness shakily lowering herself into a chair. Her personal maid stood by her side, wringing her hands. Though older, she looked the far more distraught of the two as she spoke. “I am sorry, m’lady, but Jacques is insistent we leave before the city is closed. I know she was a friend to you, and I wish I had better tidings.”

  The baroness slowly closed her eyes. “I cannot believe they had her executed. She was barely turned seventeen. Why? Why did the king order this, Ana?”

  “She confessed to being a dragon lover.”

  “Confessed?”

  Ana looked ashen beneath her dark complexion as she responded softly, “The inquisitors tortured her until she admitted it. M’lady? My papers . . .”

  The baroness nodded. “Yes. Go to Vernon, he has them and a letter of recommendation for you both. Shaddai bless you both and allow you to reach Belfarad safely.”

  Ana bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, m’lday.” She barely glanced at Damaris before hurrying out of the room.

  “Demi?”

  Damaris offered the baroness a cup of tea. “I am sorry for the death of your friend, m’lady.”

  The woman nodded slowly as she accepted the tea. “Thank you, Demi.” When Damaris moved to leave, however, she called out, “Wait. Please sit with me for a while.”

  “Of course.”

  Moments passed in silence before Damaris couldn’t help but ask a question. “Why do you stay?”

  The baroness smiled joylessly. “I am Mary Guise. I live by the king’s goodwill, and he has forbidden me from leaving Eryri. As much as I miss my parents and grieve them in private, I do not wish to join them in death just yet.” She hesitated a moment and then asked, “Where is your family, Demi? Is there some place for you to go that is away from this madness?”

  She shook her head in response. “No. I have nowhere to go and my family . . . is long gone. There’s no one who would look for my return anymore.”

  The older girl’s eyes softened, and she reached out to grasp Damaris by the hand. “Perhaps, we could make our own family. Would you be my lady’s maid since Ana is leaving?”

  “There are other maids who’ve been here longer, m’lady. I wouldn’t wish to upset them.”

  “Most of the servants who have somewhere to go have been granted their release papers and letters of recommendation,” the baroness murmured. “I do not blame them. I would leave if I were able. Please, will you be my lady’s maid? I should like to have a friend in all this.”

  “Of course, m’lady. It would be my honor.”

  The older girl smiled. “Thank you, Demi. Though, I insist you call me Mary when we don’t have company.”

  Damaris returned the smile as Mary squeezed her hands. If nothing else, they would not be quite so alone.

  * * *

  She was dancing with the stranger again, trying to see his face through the shadows. She never succeeded no matter how she tried. He remained elusive though she could hear him chuckle at times. The impression of handsomeness remained and of something wild in his manner.

  “Demi.”

  The stranger faded into the shadows of her mind as she blinked away sleep. “Mary?”

  The baroness knelt beside her cot, a candle casting its flickering light across her face. “There are two men downstairs who’ve come to see me. Sir George and an earl. They are refusing to leave without a meeting. I need you to come with me.”

  Damaris pushed aside her blanket as she sat up. “Of course.”

  She donned a simple green kirtle over her chemise and helped Mary into a dark blue robe, the more elaborate bliauts and kirtles eschewed for the late hour. Mary murmuring under her breath that she wished to share her inconvenience without a single word passing her lips.

  It seemed to have the desired effect as a tall, broad shouldered man with golden hair and clean shaven cheeks immediately bowed upon their entrance into the baroness’ sitting room. “Forgive me, Baroness Guise, for disturbing your rest. I hope you will show mercy on your servant after you’ve heard why I and my companion came tonight.”

  Mary bowed her head regally. “I am certain you must have a purpose, Sir George, to come so late in the night. Please introduce your companion and let us hear what it is.” Catching his wary look toward Damaris, she added quietly, “Demi is the soul of discretion and I will leave if she does.”

  Sir George bowed his head again and then motioned to his companion who was cloaked in white. The man lowered his hood, revealing piercing dark eyes and dark wavy hair pulled back from his face. He was almost as tall as Sir George, but not nearly so broad. “This is Tancred, Earl of Silvermere, representative for the northern nobles.”

  “What reason brought you here, George?” Mary asked quietly, “That you have the Earl of Silvermere with you and you act as though we never knew each other?”

  Broad shoulders slumped and Sir George’s head lowered. “I’m sorry, Mary. I never thought your parents would be in any danger, not with the history of friendship between our families. I was relieved to hear you were still alive and not locked in one of the towers.”

  Damaris touched Mary’s arm, both to support her and to remind her that she was not alone. The earl’s dark gaze weighed on her, yet she did her best to ignore him. She’d served in his household as a cinder maid, yes. Nevertheless, there was no reason for him to stare so. She didn’t think he would even remember her as one of the many servants of Silvermere.

  “An old friend would not visit under the cover of nightfall,” Mary murmured. “Why are you here in truth?”

  “The nobles are assembling with the purpose of removing my, of removing King Stephen from the throne. A peaceful abdication with his heir ready to assume the throne. However, this plan will only work if we have the support of every noble house . . . including yours.”

  “You wish to take the throne from your uncle.” Mary shook her head. “He will execute everyone when he discovers your plot.”

  Sir George raised a hand. “He’s not going to discover us. And, you must know that I do not come to this decision lightly or happily. I never wished to be king. However, I cannot stand by and turn a blind eye to the danger my uncle represents to our own kingdom. He sees dragons and treachery in every corner. He’s turned against his oldest friends and cut off our kingdom from the rest of the Five, including Belfarad. He gave the order three days past that anyone approaching the borders will be apprehended and executed for treason. Mary, I failed you once. I do not wish to fail you or our people a second time.”

  Damaris looked from her mistress to the earl. He was still staring at her, brow furrowed as if she were some unknown creature. His gaze turned to the baroness, and she felt oddly bereft. Then, he spoke. “Baroness Guise, we have approached nobles in the north and a number of them in the south though you are the first of the nobles being held in Eryri. All we have spoken with are of a similar mindset. To save the kingdom and the people, the rot must be cut from the throne of Cian Gwenith. I believe this is the only option to avoid another civil war.”

  Mary nodded slowly. She grasped Damaris’ hand in a tight squeeze, distracting her from her shock at knowing the baritone from her dreams, though her voice remained calm. “This decision is not one that can be entered lightly. I cannot ignore the fact that I am watched more closely than others by the king. He has already struck against my family or else you would be speaking with my father.” She drew a deep breath, nails digging into Damaris’ skin, before she added, “I ask you to give me time to consider what I must do. Please come here tomorrow and partake in the evening meal wit
h me. I shall give you my answer then.”

  Sir George offered a bow while the earl merely flipped up his hood. Damaris could hardly bear to look at him now, her cheeks burning with dismayed realization. She’d been dreaming of the Earl of Silvermere. How could she have been so . . . so foolish? Pining after a nobleman and worse he was a nobleman who was so far above a cinder maid the idea of him actually paying her any heed was . . . laughable. Oh Shaddai, she hoped he never learned she’d once been among his servants. Her memories of her time in Silvermere were scattered amongst the fog to the point that she could only pray she’d never done or said anything to horribly embarrass herself.

  * * *

  Tancred didn’t bother to hide his scowl as he read the missive from Huon. The last trade wagon had been found stuck in one of the border towns with Belfarad. There had been no sign of Damaris.

  Balling up the parchment, he tossed it into the fireplace. Watching it burn only made his own throat ache with the need to breathe his own fire. The closest he had come to finding Damaris had been discovering the other taimana slipper traded to a baker in Mirab who had taken pity on the woman in need of food and water. Then, she had vanished once more and the trail had gone cold.

  He’d started searching for her in the faces of every Kushite maid he saw in the noble households and in the villages and towns they passed through to gather allies. She was never there. And, it burned at him. Huon had revealed that she’d been upset over an emerald woman the night of the feast. Yet, they hadn’t had any guests who appeared in emerald gowns or even wore emeralds. It didn’t make sense.

  Neither did her disappearance. No, he was certain that something else or someone else had been involved in Damaris vanishing. He’d even questioned Huon for hours to find out what he knew. Very little, beyond the odd comment about an emerald woman.

  Tancred ran a hand over his face, swallowing smoke. He couldn’t lose control. Not now and certainly not here. The handmaid to the baroness had distracted him for hours, yet her scent wasn’t Damaris’ and she didn’t truly look like her. Her eyes weren’t dark brown but a light green and her skin had been a few shades lighter, closer to tan than to brown.