by K. C. Julius
Gazing out her window, Maura might have been the only person in the world. The lovely gardens below were deserted, and she had no view beyond them. She was grateful she and Leif had been installed in this wing of the castle. Besides Princess Asmara, they were the only ones in residence, and Master Morgan said they were unlikely to meet Urlion’s reclusive younger sister during their stay, for Asmara had taken vows to the goddess and stayed cloistered in her chambers seeing no one, not even the High King.
But Maura reminded herself that Borne might be in Drinnkastel as well. Master Morgan had told her the shepherd had been with her brother the night he died, and had carried Dal’s body away from the scene of his murder. She hoped to be able to thank him for this service, yet she also feared, despite the wizard’s assurances to the contrary, that Borne might somehow give her away.
Which brought her back to her greatest worry—what Urlion wanted from her. Naturally the reappearance of dragons, and their subsequent bindings, would be of great interest to the High King, and she understood why the wizard had felt compelled to tell him of this. But the more people who knew about Ilyria and Rhiandra, the more dangerous it was for both her and Leif—and perhaps even more so for the dragons themselves. Drinnglennin had a troubled past with dragons, and the Purge on the continent was a terrible reminder of how quickly fear could turn to hate.
These fretful thoughts were interrupted by a scratch on her door, and she opened it expecting her supper tray. Instead Leif was grinning on the other side.
“Oh, it’s you!” she cried, hugging him with relief. She hadn’t liked being separated from Leif upon their arrival. While they’d both been schooled in courtly manners during their months in Mithralyn, Leif was still a village lad at heart, impetuous, and a half-elf to boot, and she’d feared he’d let slip that he was the son of the elven king, or that he’d recently been made dragonfast.
She drew him quickly in. “How did you find me?”
“I met your maid by chance in the hallway.” Leif was already exploring her room, lifting figurines and poking behind the bed hangings. “Your chamber’s ever so much grander than mine, but I’ve a view of the moat, and the river beyond. There are masses of people milling through the streets!”
“I believe it’s ever so here in the capital, and with the Twyrn beginning in two days’ time, there’s bound to be folk coming in from all over the realm.”
Leif plunked himself down on an overstuffed chair, giving the cushions an approving bounce. “Rab says we’re to attend the opening ceremonies as the High King’s guests! He knows because I’ve been sent special clothes to wear. Can you imagine? I never thought to go to such a grand event, let alone in a king’s company.”
“Who is Rab?”
“My manservant!” Leif shook his head in amused wonder.
They both turned at a light rap at the door. “That will be my supper tray,” said Maura. “Have you eaten?”
Leif pulled a face. “If you want to call it that. I got a cream soup and some decent bread, but…”
Maura put a finger to her lips. She opened the door to a serving girl clutching a tray laden with smoked fish, a thick joint of meat on a bed of steaming carrots, fresh berries in clotted cream, and a selection of cheeses. “I can manage this,” Maura said, lifting it from the startled servant’s hands, “and if it isn’t too much trouble, could I have another tray just like it?”
The girl’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped.
“Travel gives me such an appetite,” Maura said airily, then closed the door with a swing of her hip. She set down the tray and collapsed, laughing, into the chair opposite Leif. “You should have seen the poor thing’s face! I’d be the size of a bred coilhorn if I actually ate that much!”
She saw that Leif’s attention was already focused on the tray. “Please, go ahead,” she urged. “I’m not really hungry.”
By the time the second tray arrived, Leif had already polished off the contents of the first. He graciously helped Maura with hers as well, then leaned back and patted his stomach, releasing a most impressive belch. “Begging your pardon,” he said, although he appeared more satisfied than sorry. “It’s good to know your uncle keeps nearly as good a table as my father, at least for some.”
Maura laughed. “I expect they’re uncertain as to who you are.” She sobered, remembering she had her own charade to play. “I hate having to lie about my identity.”
Leif waved a dismissive hand. “But you haven’t. You are the daughter of the late Prince Storn.”
“So my mother says, but she’s a proven liar.” Maura sighed. “Now I have to become one too, and tell people I was raised abroad. I learned a bit of Gralian from the tutor that Papa… the tutor who came for lessons at Fernsehn, but I’ve never used it. I’m sure to be found out.”
“Master Morgan said it won’t matter,” Leif reminded her. “King Urlion knows the truth, and his court will accept whatever he chooses to tell them.” He plucked up a stray berry he’d missed and popped it into his mouth. “You know what to say: you were raised in a cloister in a remote part of Gral, where you had Drinnglennian women to attend you. You had no need to learn the language of that land.”
Maura remained unconvinced. “I don’t understand why the High King is taking an interest in me all of a sudden. Master Morgan told me Urlion has always believed Storn died without issue.”
“And that’s the answer to your question!” said Leif brightly. “Now he’s discovered a long-lost niece… who also happens to be dragonfast. Of course he’s taken an interest!”
At the mention of the dragons, Maura found herself suddenly longing for her bed, although the light was just beginning to leave the sky. Perhaps in her dreams, she would soar with Ilyria over Mithralyn.
Leif, as always, seemed to sense her mood. “You’re weary,” he said, rising politely.
“You don’t have to leave yet,” she said, then failed to stifle a yawn.
Leif was already lifting the latch. “Don’t worry. I’ll come by in the morning.”
She gave him a fond smile. “For breakfast, no doubt.”
* * *
She awoke to early birdsong. Lying in the soft feather bed, she wondered what a lovechild with å Livåri blood was doing housed like a princess in the High King’s castle. She was reminded of what Halla said when Maura confessed she knew little about what being a Lurker meant.
“My mother hid the truth from us all,” Maura had lamented. “I can only assume it was because she was ashamed. I can’t help but feel the same.”
Halla’s eyes had blazed. “You’re right. You know nothing of the å Livåri. I should be proud to be one of them. It’s only because they’re different that ignorant folk revile them.”
Halla’s indignation had given Maura something to think about. But it was unlikely she’d learn anything more about Lurkers here at the palace.
She rose and slipped into a soft robe, then cracked open her chamber door.
The young maid from yesterday lay curled up on a roll of bedding outside it. The girl, who was not much older than Maura was, scrambled to her feet, her round face still heavy with sleep. “Good morning, m’lady.”
“Good morning… what shall I call you?”
“Heulwin, m’lady.”
“Heulwin? Such a pretty name; I’ve never heard it before. Where do you come from?”
“Glornadoor, m’lady. Heulwin means sunshine in our old tongue.”
“’Tis fitting for you,” Maura declared, for although the girl was dark-haired and her skin sallow, her brown eyes were warm and bright.
Heulwin blushed and smiled shyly. “I’m to collect some things for you, now that you’re awake. I’ll only be a moment, m’lady.”
Bobbing a quick curtsey, the girl hurried away and returned a few minutes later with her arms laden with clothing. Behind her, a boy in palace livery bore a br
eakfast tray.
After the boy had left, Heulwin laid out an array of undergarments and three exquisite gowns. “Your own things aren’t ready yet, m’lady,” she said. “These were chosen by Princess Asmara.”
As the daughter of a textile merchant, Maura was no stranger to fine fabrics, and she could see immediately by the quality of the material and the intricate stitching that these dresses were of the highest standard. The sea-green Olquarian silk, its dagged sleeves sewn with gold thread, was a feast for the eyes. Its bodice, bedecked with precious crystals, fanned to a full skirt with an impressive train. Equally splendid was the high-waisted silk brocade of antique russet and gold, its sleeves and hem trimmed with velvet. But it was the third gown, of ianthine satin the color of Maura’s eyes and hemmed with vair, that most delighted her. The sumptuous material slid like cool water under her fingertips.
“These dresses are priceless,” Maura exclaimed.
“Which will you wear today, m’lady?”
When Maura hesitated, the girl lifted the sleeve of the russet gown.
“As you’re having an audience with the High King today, might I suggest this one? It’s cut in the latest fashion of the court.”
Maura nodded, relieved not to have to make the decision herself.
“Begging your pardon, m’lady, but I think before you’re dressed, we’ll need to do something about your hair.”
Maura cast a glance at the burnished mirror over her dressing table. “Oh my!” She sank down before the glass as she surveyed her untidy locks. “Perhaps you should just cut it all off.”
Heulwin gasped. “I never would! Your hair is gorgeous, m’lady, like… like an autumn forest.” She lifted a stray strand from Maura’s brow. “It’s only a bit…”
“Wild,” laughed Maura, “and more than a bit! Do you think you can tame it, Heulwin?”
Their eyes met in the mirror, and Heulwin raised her chin.
“You leave it to me, m’lady. Just leave it to me.”
True to her word, Heulwin had Maura’s unruly mane under control in remarkably short time. It was soon gathered in a loose cluster and held with an amethyst clasp, the curls falling in a mass of delicate tendrils over Maura’s bared shoulder.
Heulwin smiled at her in the mirror. “Now the dress, m’lady.”
When she’d been buttoned into the gown, Maura turned to face the maid. “Do you think it suits me?”
Heulwin’s eyebrows shot up. “Suits you, m’lady? See for yourself.” She pointed to the full-length mirror standing in a corner.
Maura barely recognized the beautiful young woman reflected back at her. The gown couldn’t have fit her better if she’d been measured for it. She turned to admire how the cut of the bodice accentuated her high breasts and how the sleeves spilled gracefully to her fingertips. Combined with the magic Heulwin had worked with her hair, it gave Maura a rush of much-needed confidence.
She grasped the maid’s hands. “Thank you, Heulwin! I believe I can face anything now.”
Heulwin flushed with pleasure. “Including your breakfast, m’lady?” She inclined her head toward the untouched tray. “You’ll need something to tide you over. I imagine waiting on kings can be a tiring business.”
Maura laughed. “Very well. I think I can manage some bread and marmalade.”
Heulwin lifted the small pitcher that had accompanied Maura’s meal. “Some ale, perhaps?”
When Maura hesitated, the girl filled her goblet. “My ma always says a spot of ale’s just the thing to calm the butterflies.”
Grinning, Maura accepted the cup, feeling much lighter of heart than she had the previous night. “I’d love to thank Princess Asmara for these beautiful gowns,” she sighed, as the maid began to make up her bed. “I know that she leads a secluded life, but… does anyone ever see her, Heulwin? Do you?”
Heulwin looked up from the pillow she was fluffing. “No one sees the princess, m’lady, save Llwella.”
“Llwella?”
“She’s Princess Asmara’s companion. In a way, nobody ever sees Llwella either.” Heulwin dropped her voice. “She wears a veil—always. The word ’round here is she suffered some childhood mishap that scarred her face. To be honest, it gives me the willies not being able to see her eyes, while all the while she’s looking at me from behind that veil. There’s nothing that occurs here in the west wing that Llwella doesn’t know about. Not that much goes on here, mind you,” she added dolefully.
A scratch at the door interrupted the conversation; it was the High King’s herald, looking very grand in a red tabard with a white alphyn emblazoned over his heart. “I’ve come to escort her ladyship to King Urlion,” he announced.
Maura felt steadied by the approving light she saw in the young man’s eyes. Still, her heart was racing as she rose to obey her sovereign’s command.
The herald led her through a maze of corridors to the ornate halls in the main part of the castle. Unlike the deserted west wing, these halls teemed with members of Urlion’s court, many of whom cast curious glances Maura’s way before acknowledging her with a nod or discreet bow. It seemed no one had yet heard the tale of her recent “discovery” in Gral, although one elder courtier started as though he’d seen a ghost at the sight of her. Fearing Heulwin’s artistry might have come undone, she had to resist the impulse to touch her hair.
All the while, Maura kept a watchful eye out for Borne, the one person who did know the truth about her. Master Morgan had assured her the man would keep her secret… but what if he was mistaken?
“So I’m to pretend not to know Borne when we meet?” she’d asked the wizard.
Master Morgan nodded. “It’s the prudent course. He will do the same.”
“But I’d like to thank him, for… what he did for Dal.”
“As I’m sure Borne would like to thank you for saving his life,” he replied, for she’d told the wizard about coming upon the injured shepherd in the high meadows of Branley Tor. “But unless an opportunity arises when you are entirely alone together, which I think unlikely, you’ll have to hold your mutual gratitude in abeyance. You will meet, certainly, in Urlion’s court, but it must seem to be for the first time. I’ve every confidence you can both manage this convincingly.”
Maura wasn’t so sure. Yet a familiar face would be welcome now, however much she must dissemble when she encountered it.
It seemed fate was smiling on her, for as she entered the most magnificent hall she’d seen thus far, Leif was waiting there.
“Sorry I didn’t come for breakfast!” he said, falling in step beside her. “Rab took me to hear the pipers practicing!”
He hadn’t bothered to keep his voice low, and Maura was acutely aware of the heads turning in their direction. Suddenly, she felt dwarfed by the alabaster columns rising to either side of them, each studded with the escutcheon of Urlion Konigur’s white alphyn, and out of place before such grandeur—the frescos and banners, the richly dressed courtiers.
What am I doing here, the bastard daughter of a Lurker, in the halls of the High King?
As if guessing her thoughts, Leif took her arm. “Look up, Maura.”
She raised her gaze to the magnificent ceiling. A dragon soared across its painted sky—a bronze dragon, with burnished scales and golden eyes.
“Ilyria,” she whispered.
You may not be well-born, the dragon seemed to be reminding her, but you are dragonfast.
The herald came to a halt before two massive doors. Maura lifted her chin and drew a steadying breath, then she and Leif passed through the imposing portal into the presence of Urlion, the High King of Drinnglennin.
Chapter 12
The heat of the king’s chamber rebuffed them, for despite the mildness of the day, a fire roared in the royal hearth. The air reeked of pungent herbs, and Maura’s first inclination was to fling open all the shuttered wind
ows.
But all such thoughts fled when she saw the figure seated by the fireside. His face bore the traces of long illness, but his legendary good looks were still discernible.
Here was the sovereign ruler of all the realms, Urlion Konigur.
Maura dropped into a curtsey, then dared to raise her eyes, searching for the king’s face for some evidence of their supposed shared lineage. But Urlion’s brown eyes, heavy brow, and hawk-like nose bore no resemblance to her own features.
Staring back at her, he must have seen something familiar, however, for his eyes widened and he declared, “Remarkable! You are the echo of my sister at this age.” He held out a slightly trembling hand. “Come here, child… Maura, is it not?”
Her heart thundering in her chest, Maura stepped forward, dropped to her knees, and placed her lips on the High King’s proffered hand. She looked up to see him smiling at her.
“You may have Asmara’s eyes, but I see a gentler nature resides in them. Come, child, sit here by me.”
Maura cast a quick glance at Leif, who had as yet gone unremarked by the king.
Following her gaze, Urlion said, “Ah. Forgive me for not welcoming you as well, lad, but it’s not every day one meets a long-lost niece. How are you called?”
Leif grinned, then remembering his court manners, bowed deeply. “I am Leif El—” He cast an anxious glance at Maura.
“Elvinor!” said Urlion affably. “That’s right—Morgan told me this. So we are cousins, in a manner of speaking, Prince Leif, by dint of our shared royalty!”
“Er… not exactly, sire,” said Leif. “I’m… that is, I’m not Elvinor’s heir, nor a prince. My mother and King Elvinor never married.”
The king waved a dismissive hand. “Nevertheless, the royal blood of your father runs through your veins, and that’s good enough for me.” Urlion dropped his voice conspiratorially. “More importantly, I understand that both of you are dragonfast. To think that dragons have returned to Drinnglennin once more! I could hardly credit these tidings where I first learned of them, but I have Morgan’s word on it, and his is the last I would doubt.” He gestured for Leif to be seated as well. “I would hear all about these dragons of yours.”
