by K. C. Julius
She located the mirror easily enough, although she had to navigate her way around a gruesome gargoyle to reach it. Then it was simply a matter of easing behind the glass and ducking into the narrow tunnel behind it.
It opened onto a corridor identical to the one off which her own chambers lay. For a heart-sinking moment, she thought she’d somehow circled back there, but then she noticed that the wall torches were on the opposite side of the hallway, and the tapestry, depicting a seated lady in a golden field cradling a unicorn’s head in her lap, was one she’d never seen before.
Where are you, friend? she wondered, and then gave a little jump as the door just opposite her creaked open. When no one emerged, she smoothed her skirt and crossed its threshold.
The richly appointed room made her catch her breath. Gold-scrolled chairs framed a mahogany side table to her right, upon which stood a jade porcelain vase spilling with wild purple orchids. Wrought in iron on the wall was the coat of arms from the wax seal on the letter she’d received, its white alphyn against a field of red. Half a dozen arched mirrors reflected the light from the candelabras, which perfumed the air with lemon and jasmine. Magnificent paintings hung between the sconces, a feast for the eyes, their vibrant hues only achievable with malachite, verdigris, and ultramarine. And on either side of the canvases were shelves, stretching from the high ceiling to the floor, on which books—hundreds and hundreds of them—resided, their spines illuminated with leaf of gold, their hammered covers inlaid with precious gems.
Enchanted, Maura advanced toward a raised hearth before which a low divan and several ornately carved chairs were placed. Above these, filigreed birdcages, delicate glass windbells, and hanging sculptures revolved slowly in the warm air. Plush lapin rugs in bold red, magenta, and azure covered the floor, and she recalled the bales Cormac had sent off each year to be woven for the royal house of Konigur. Perhaps some of their wool had found its way here, to this beautiful suite.
She was far enough into the chamber now to notice another room, and the woman, dressed as if for a formal court evening, standing framed on its threshold. A gold circlet rested on her fair brow, crowning her honey-kissed hair. She wore a pale green samite gown slashed with rare cloth of gold and hemmed with miniver, and the skirt swung gently from side to side as the woman moved to close the distance between them.
Maura stood, arrested, for it was like looking into a mirror of her future, down to the deep violet eyes. Belatedly, she dipped into a low curtsey.
“Princess Asmara,” she murmured.
The princess opened her arms with a pleased smile. “You shall call me Aunt, child. Come, let me embrace you, as I’ve longed to do ever since my brother brought you to court.”
As if in a dream, Maura entered into the arms of her father’s only sister.
Releasing her, Asmara held Maura at arm’s length. “Let me look at you properly. All these months I’ve had to make do with peering through curtained glass or from behind a heavy veil.”
Maura took the opportunity to reciprocate. Up close, she could see tiny lines at the corners of Asmara’s mouth and eyes, and creases on her brow beneath her artfully applied powder. But her full lips and the sparkle in her amethyst eyes belied her age, for Asmara was of the long-lived Konigur line. She still had a lithe figure, and the low-cut neckline of her gown offered more than a glimpse of firm, unblemished breasts.
“Let us sit, niece,” the princess said. Hooking her arm through Maura’s, she drew her to the chairs and sat opposite her. Asmara’s eyes never left Maura’s face, and Maura felt herself flush.
Asmara noted it with a laugh. “Forgive me if I stare, my dear. You’re all that’s left to me of my brother Storn, and I would drink in that which I see of him in you. As much as I despised my elder sibling, I loved the younger. And I confess, looking at you is like a window into my past.”
Their resemblance to one another gave Maura a queer sort of happiness. It was proof that her mother had at least not lied about her father, as she had about so much else. “Now I understand why Urlion knew I was his niece,” she said.
“We share the same coloring, it’s true. Storn’s hair was black as tar. But you have his mouth and his arched brows.”
“What was he like, my… my father?” It felt disloyal to call someone other than her papa that, but she supposed Cormac had likely forgotten her by now.
“Storn was as lively and gay as ever a prince could be,” Asmara replied. “Oh, he was a mischievous boy, for sure, but his larks held no malice. He kept all manner of pets—parrots, dogs, even a monkey at one time. But Marigold was his favorite—a little grey squirrel with tufted ears. She wore a belled collar so he would always know where she was. Most of the time she sat perched on his shoulder.” She laughed at the memory. “Such a dear, dear boy.”
A hint of melancholy tinged her smile. “Of course, by the time he reached manhood, Storn’s favorites took another form, with flowing hair and rosy lips. The ladies of the court fell over themselves trying to win his favor, and he bestowed it liberally. He was beautiful, my brother, and a devilish charmer with his dancing green eyes.”
Beautiful. That’s how Maura’s mother had described him, even after he’d seduced her, and then discarded her while she carried his child.
Something of Maura’s conflicted feelings must have shown on her face, for Asmara laid a hand on her arm. “There was no harm in him,” the princess assured her. “But our mother died soon after he was born, and he was coddled and indulged by us all. He always had a generous nature—unlike Urlion.” Her voiced hardened as she uttered the name. “They were as different as the sun is to the moon. Storn was the best of us, although he worshiped our brother all the same. He never saw Urlion’s flaws.”
“But you did?”
Asmara’s violet eyes flashed. “Urlion was a tyrant! He never let me forget, not for a moment, that he was the firstborn. From my earliest memories, he bullied me, lording his position over me. If he’d had his way, he’d have used me as a pawn in his quest for power by marrying me off to a foreign prince, then banishing me from my homeland forever. He cared nothing for my happiness, nor anyone’s else’s—only his own.”
Maura found this hard to believe of the gentle, if sometimes querulous, old man she’d grown to know and love.
The princess raged on. “I might have pitied Leficia, his long-suffering wife, but she too was blind to Urlion’s true nature. She perfected the art of pretended ignorance of his many affairs, and would hear no word spoken against him. After she was long dead, and I learned what he’d done to that poor child, I hated him even more. I—”
She stopped short, a flicker of alarm replacing the anger in her eyes. “You must forgive me, my dear, for ranting on about old grievances.”
Maura wanted to ask what had happened to the “poor child” to whom her aunt had referred. But she hesitated. Her departed uncle had been ever kind to her, and she wasn’t ready to hear more ill spoken of him.
Asmara gave Maura a sweet smile and patted her hand. “In any case, I’ve put all that behind me now. I am at peace in my life.”
If her words rang false, Maura understood why. She didn’t think she could ever forgive Daera for what had happened to Dal, and for deceiving them all about her past. “It must have been difficult to find your way to this peace,” she said quietly, “if Urlion succeeded in denying you happiness.”
The princess arched her brows. “Denying me? Ah, but in this you are mistaken, my dear. I thwarted his plans by taking my vows. I emerged the victor, for I defeated his purposes and served my own.”
Asmara sat back and folded her elegant hands on her lap, a sudden gravity in her expression. “You must be wondering why, after all this time, I asked you to visit me. I’m afraid you are in danger, Maura, and I want to offer you my help.”
Maura felt a jolt of alarm upon hearing her aunt confirm her own suspicions. “I’m
grateful,” she replied carefully, “but may I ask what provoked this fear?”
The princess regarded her frankly. “There’s little that occurs in the castle of which I’m not aware. Although I remain, for the most part, in seclusion, my source is, shall we say, well placed. For example, I know that you’ve learned of the High King’s dalliance with Lady Maitane. I hope this hasn’t caused you too much pain?”
Maura was startled by this admission. Was it possible there’d been a witness to what had happened the previous night? “I intend to break off our engagement,” she said stiffly.
“And you have good reason to,” Asmara agreed, “but I doubt it will be that simple. It won’t serve the Nelvors’ interests if this indecent affair is made public. They’ll want to prevent that at all costs. No, if you want to be released from your pledge, there will have to be another reason for abandoning the wedding plans. And it’s best that you come up with one before they do. Otherwise you might find yourself quickly married off to one of their sycophants. And that’s if fortune smiles on you. Grindasa has always been a schemer, and if you are not already, you must be on your guard against her. She will feel no compunctions about contriving to make you appear guilty of some infraction… something that would make a marriage between you and King Roth impossible under the law.”
“Like a close-kin relationship?” Maura suggested hopefully.
Princess Asmara waved a dismissive hand. “Kings can marry where they choose. No, I’m thinking more along the lines of a charge of regicide.”
Maura felt the blood drain from her face, and wondered if this was what Roth’s mention of the melia berries was leading to. “I would never have harmed Uncle Urlion, and neither would Master Morgan or Leif. You must believe me.”
“I have no doubt, my dear. But there are those who will be willing to support such a claim made against you, if it furthers their own advancement with the Nelvors, no matter what the truth may be. That is why you must offer them another way to achieve their ends.” The princess leaned forward. “There is one, but it will not be an easy choice for you.”
Maura straightened. “What do you propose?”
“That you take a vow to the goddesses, as I did. I would welcome you here, and you would lack for nothing for the rest of your days, I promise you.”
She’s lonely, Maura realized. And who could blame her? Asmara had lived in isolation behind these walls for decades. And although the luxurious apartments bore no resemblance to the austere temples where acolytes of the goddesses usually resided, the thought of spending the rest of her life in a gilded cage didn’t appeal to Maura in the least.
In any event, it wasn’t an option open to her. “I’m already bound by another oath,” she replied.
“You mean your acceptance of Roth’s proposal?” The princess took up Maura’s hands and squeezed them encouragingly. “This can be easily rescinded.”
Maura shook her head. “This binding is not one to be broken.”
The sparkle dimmed in her aunt’s eyes. “You are the daughter of a Konigur prince. You are not required to serve a Nelvor usurper. I beg of you, by the blood we share, take the sacred vow!”
“I can’t.” Maura gently withdrew her hands from Asmara’s grasp. “But… there may be another way.”
“What do you have to offer the Nelvors that will prevent them from howling for your blood?” the princess demanded.
Maura didn’t flinch from the stern gaze so like her own. “The blood I share with another.”
Chapter 22
Leif
The climb to the top of the tunnel seemed to take Leif several lifetimes. More than once, he lost his grip on the golden scales embedded in the icy walls and slid back over hard-earned ground until he could stop himself to climb again. He dreaded meeting Syrene at every turn, her talons flexed to tear him to shreds, but although he could hear occasional angry roars, no dragon appeared.
By the time Leif neared the surface, his gloves were reduced to shreds and he was faint from hunger, but when at last he saw the shadowy flickering of a fire’s light above, a warmth spread over him that had nothing to do with its flames, and he forgot his raw hands and rumbling stomach.
Rhiandra was near.
Still, knowing this didn’t completely dispel Leif’s worry. His dragon was seemingly unharmed, yet something had prevented her from coming back for him. He was about to find out what.
When he came to the mouth of the tunnel, he found his way blocked by the blue tail of a dragon. He heaved a sigh of relief, and his heart leapt at the sound of Rhiandra’s voice, speaking in the Old Tongue.
“I must return to Mithralyn at once. Ilyria is at risk, I tell you!”
“Zal and Menlo will see that she comes to no harm, sister. They must be with her by now.”
“Our brothers will bring Ilyria back with them,” said a third voice, “and then we will decide what must be done. It is best for you to wait in Belestar until we are all together once again. You had a long flight to get here; surely you wish to rest.”
Leif crept closer, so close that he could reach out and touch Rhiandra’s shining scales if he wished. But he didn’t. He’d learned what perceptive beings dragons were, especially with regard to each other, and he felt certain she knew he was there. There must be a reason she hadn’t acknowledged his presence.
“But we’re not all here together!” Rhiandra’s voice sounded strained, as if this discussion had been going on for some time. “Gryffyn and Aed flew off not long after I arrived, Una. And where is Emlyn? Where is Syrene?”
There was a distinct pause before Una answered her. “Emlyn disappeared a week ago; we thought she might have gone off in search of you as well. As for the drakes, surely you will remember they are often away for weeks, hunting on the far side of the isle. But Syrene will be back soon from her feed; she never leaves the clutch for long. When she returns, one of us will bring you something to eat.”
“Why should I not go to feed on my own?” Rhiandra demanded. “Do you really intend to try to stop me, and keep me here against my will?”
“We’re safeguarding our future,” countered a new voice, this one lower in register than the others. “Your presence is required for this decision. You and Ilyria left once before, to bind, despite our grave reservations. We cannot risk you flying off again back to Drinnglennin and your bindling before we have reached consensus.” The dragon gave a derisive snort. “Although I don’t know why you’d want to, since your dragonfast is too cowardly to accompany and support you.”
Fynn knew then that Rhiandra hadn’t told the dragons he was here in Belestar. He couldn’t see the logic in this, especially as his absence weakened their argument for binding.
“You know nothing of my bindling, Menlo,” Rhiandra protested.
“I know enough to decide not to bind myself,” the drake retorted. “Perhaps if this elf-boy were as brave and steadfast as you purport, I might choose differently. But clearly the elves are as indifferent as humans are to the survival of our kind.”
This was more than Leif could bear. He laid his hand on Rhiandra’s tail and ran his fingers along it as he emerged from the tunnel. But when he reached up to climb onto the dragon’s back, he found himself instead pitched to the ground. He rolled onto the ice and scrambled to his feet to see that she had reared and spread her wings. She was using her body to shield him from the view of the other dragons.
“Behold! Syrene comes!” Rhiandra’s lashing tail swept Leif further from the fire. Then he heard a whispered hiss meant for his ears alone. “Go!”
Leif wasn’t about to creep off into the shadows. They would make their case together, as they’d agreed. He stepped boldly into the open.
But his dramatic appearance went unnoticed by the other dragons, who were all watching their golden sister’s approach. Only Syrene, the magnificent creature winging toward them, saw the intr
uder in their midst. Her roar caused seven dragons to swivel their heads in his direction.
“Your bindling!” A great white drake, who could only be Ciann, shifted his smoky gaze from Leif to his sister. “Why did you not tell us he was here, Rhiandra?”
Syrene hurtled to the ground and thundered toward them. “How dare you bring that creature to this place!” she bellowed, flecks of green and silver glinting in her narrowed topaz eyes. She was nearly double the size of the other dragons.
“Calm yourself, sister,” said a sea-green female. Una, the eldest. “This is the son of Elvinor Celvarin.”
“My dragonfast,” said Rhiandra, and Leif heard the mixture of pride and anxiety in her voice.
The golden dragon continued to glare at him, and he felt more than a faint alarm when he saw the black smoke streaming from her nostrils. Although every part of his conscious mind screamed at him to flee, he forced himself to take a step forward, trying his best to conceal how frightened he was.
“I’ve come on behalf of King Elvinor Celvarin,” he said, mindful of the need to address the dragons with formality. “My father sends greetings, and bids me remind you that elves have ever held dragons in great esteem.” He spoke slowly, dredging up the words he’d memorized under the elven king’s instruction. “The time has come for man and elf and dragon to live again in harmony on the Isle of Drinnglennin.”
He had been looking at Una, but now he ventured a glance at Syrene. He wished he hadn’t, for there was no mistaking her burning disdain. He blundered on. “The winds of… of change are gathering strength, and the last stronghold of… in the Known World will… all of us… will need… will need all of us to…”
It was no use; under Syrene’s fierce gaze, the lofty speech he’d so carefully rehearsed had deserted him.
Rhiandra tried to come to his rescue. “King Elvinor provided sanctuary for Ilyria and me.”
Her words gave Leif the breath of space to remember what he’d meant to say. “And I’m to… I’m to… extend the same invitation to you all.” He turned in appeal to the other dragons, who appeared only slightly less threatening than Syrene. “If you would come… if it pleases you to come to Mithralyn, we will offer you all a safe haven on the Isle while you seek bindlings.”
