In silence the elders led me into the hall.
“You have brought nothing with you?” asked Elder Drewson, who looked somewhat troubled, as if he were not altogether happy with this turn of events.
I spread my hands wide to show I carried nothing. The silver ring on my finger gleamed as I did so, and Elder Macon said immediately, “The ring. And the earrings.”
Truly, I’d almost forgotten that I wore the little garnet and silver drops that had been my name-day present when I turned seventeen. With a pang I removed them from my ears and dropped them into Elder Macon’s outstretched hand, followed by the silver band I wore on my third finger. Why the Dragon should care whether I possessed such modest pieces of jewelry puzzled me, but I knew now was not the time to protest.
“Can you see that they’re given to my family?”
Elder Macon gave a grudging nod and slipped them into the pouch he wore at his belt. “Now we must be off. The horses await.”
Neither of those pronouncements did much to hearten me. I supposed it would have been too much to ask that they would delay my departure—the Brides were always immediately whisked away. And while I certainly did not dislike horses, I had very little experience of them. In Lirinsholme I walked everywhere, and my family did not own a single horse. One time when my father traveled to the capital in Lystare, he had borrowed a mount from Tylin, the goldsmith, but of course I hadn’t been allowed near the animal.
I let out a small sigh and told myself that it wasn’t that far to Black’s Keep. Four miles, five at the most. Of course, the last part of the journey would be up a twisting mountain path. But perhaps my poor horsemanship would slow us down, would help to prolong my arrival at the Dragon’s home.
In the alley behind the hall three horses waited. I must have shown some sort of question on my face, for Elder Drewson said, “Elder Dahlish cannot make the journey up the mountain any longer. Elder Macon and I will accompany you to Greyton, where someone from Black’s Keep waits to take you the rest of the way.”
Greyton was a small hamlet located halfway up the mountain. On a good day it might boast two hundred souls. Its inhabitants were shepherds and their families, and as well as those who carded the wool before bringing it to market in Lirinsholme. That was their only interaction with the residents of my town, for they stayed studiously apart from us. Well, perhaps not the only interaction. I’d heard it rumored that some of the young men of Lirinsholme would make the journey to Greyton to visit the women there, as they apparently were rather free with their favors, especially when compared to the carefully guarded daughters of the families in the larger town.
Elder Drewton helped me climb into the awkward sidesaddle, and I did my best to tuck my skirts around me in a more or less decorous manner. While I was thus occupied, the two men got on their own horses, and then maneuvered their mounts so Elder Macon was in front of me and Elder Drewson behind. I had no idea whether this was to make sure I did not bolt, or merely because they thought they’d be better able to offer me assistance this way, should I meet with some mishap during the ride.
We headed down the alleyway and then on to a narrow street fondly referred to as Pennypinch Lane. I saw then what the elders were doing—taking a course that used the quieter and less-traveled streets, and one that headed away from the town square and the crowds gathered there. After a few more twists and turns, we emerged through the northern gate, which was conspicuously untended that morning.
And then we were out on the hard-packed road that led away from Lirinsholme and up into the hills. Almost directly ahead of us was the rocky peak where Black’s Keep stood, as if glowering over the valley below. The red banner caught my eye once more, and I stared up at it for a long moment, wondering whose task it was to place it there, and how the Dragon determined which would be the fateful day.
I supposed I might know those answers soon enough, although the thought did little to cheer me.
Chapter Three
The residents of Greyton did not seem particularly curious about our arrival. A few brief glances, a whisper or two. I would have expected more, considering it had been some years since the Dragon last called for a Bride. Perhaps they had been instructed to look away.
Whatever the reason, we received no greeting, no sign that the Dragon or his retainers had even expected our coming. While unease traced its chill fingers across the back of my neck, the two elders did not seem particularly discomfited. They rode through Greyton’s one shabby little street and then paused on the other side of the hamlet, where the road abruptly began a series of switchbacks up the hillside to the peak where the castle stood. From this angle, it seemed to loom over everything, as if it were about to pitch right over the cliff and down onto the houses below. Of course this was just a trick of the eyes, but still I did not look forward to making that ascent.
Up here the grass was sparser, not as green as in the fields around Lirinsholme, and the wind blew constantly. Although it was just past midsummer, and the day had been bright and cheery enough, somehow a shadow seemed to lie over this land, something that dulled it and robbed it of color. It was too warm for me to shiver, but a frisson of unease passed over me.
Movement from above us caught my eye, and I saw then that a single horse descended the perilous track.
“He comes,” Elder Macon said.
“Who? The Dragon?”
The two elders exchanged an unreadable look. “Of course not, you silly girl,” Elder Macon replied. “The Dragon, leaving his castle? This will be one of the Dragon’s retainers, come to take you the rest of the way.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved I would be spared the Dragon’s company for that much longer, or annoyed that he would have a servant come to fetch me. Just another item for the castle, like a barrel of wine or a side of beef. It appeared he didn’t rate his Brides all that highly.
Of course he doesn’t, a sly voice inside me whispered. Or why would he go through them at such a rapid rate?
Having no answer to that, I merely waited in silence as the rider navigated the last of the switchbacks and then descended to where we had gathered. As he drew closer, I saw he was an older man, his iron-grey hair pulled back into a leather thong low on his neck. He rode as tall and straight as someone half his age, however, and looked at us with keen grey eyes.
“Bring her to me,” he said.
“Get down,” Elder Macon instructed.
“But—my horse—”
“The retainer will take you. You bring nothing with you, remember? That includes the horse. Now get down.”
I untangled my feet from the stirrups and then slid down to the ground. The stranger made no move to help me or bring his horse closer, but merely waited while I crossed the few yards that separated us.
“Come now,” he said, not unkindly, and reached down to pull me up into the saddle in front of him.
He must have been very strong, for I found myself hoisted into position without any apparent strain on his part. My situation was not all that different from the one I had maintained while riding sidesaddle, and yet I felt far more secure now, no doubt because I had the feeling this stranger would not do anything so foolish as to let me slip and fall. It was a little strange, to be so close to a man I had never met before. His manner, however, was so businesslike that it seemed clear enough he had nothing on his mind but my safe delivery to his master.
He uttered a brief, “Sirs,” before turning the horse around and beginning the ascent to Black’s Keep. I clutched the pommel of the saddle and swallowed, realizing too late that I had said no goodbyes to the elders. Well, they deserved little enough in the way of courtesy. They were only here because custom required it, and not because they cared anything for me, or for any of the Brides, for that matter.
The air felt cooler at these heights, with barely a hint of the midsummer warmth of the valley below. Or perhaps I was chilled by the enormity of what I had done…and by fears of what faced me in that dark castle on its
rocky peak.
Perhaps I had gone mad. No doubt my parents would see it that way, but I must confess I didn’t feel particularly mad. Apprehensive, yes. My thoughts were clear enough, although perhaps they were comprehensible only to me.
Why such a sacrifice, for someone who was none of my kin? As to that, Lilianth and I had been friends since we could barely walk, and, for good or ill, I felt closer to her than I did any of my own sisters, for all that I had a surfeit of them. My parents would mourn, and grieve, and wonder why on earth I had been possessed to do such a thing. Perhaps my mother, with a core of cool practicality that my father had never possessed, might begin to understand one day, after the hurt had begun to ebb just the smallest bit.
What waited for me in Black’s Keep, I didn’t know. No one had seen the Dragon, not in at least twice a hundred years, and even those were tales of greybeards spinning yarns by the fire, talking of a beast that had rained fire and wrath upon Lirinsholme for its brief moment of defiance.
I have to say that the man who expertly guided his horse up the steep mountain road did not seem particularly fearsome. If I had passed him on the streets of Lirinsholme I might not have given him a second glance, save to think he looked more like a fighting man than the craftsmen and merchants who made up the majority of the town’s population. We were a peaceful folk. Possibly some of that peace had been granted by the presence of the Dragon in the mountains above our town. After all, even the boldest of barons would think twice about attacking a town that had its own draconian protector.
The rider was not the talkative sort, and that gladdened me. I could just barely retain a sort of fragile calm while silent; trying to do so while engaged in any sort of conversation would have probably ended in disaster. As it was, I tried to focus on the sparse but delicate wildflowers in shades of blue and white to either side of the path, and the welcome coolness of the wind on my cheek, and the sound of a hawk diving somewhere off to our right.
But all the while the dark bulk of Black’s Keep grew closer, until finally the rider guided his horse up the last of the switchbacks—the animal blowing hard by the time we were done—and we rode onto a plateau bare of any vegetation, where the gates of the castle loomed before us. Here we stopped, and the rider helped me down off the horse before dismounting much more elegantly himself. From seemingly nowhere emerged a young man—barely more than a boy, somewhere around my sister Therella’s age—to take the reins and guide the winded animal off to what I presumed were the stables, although I could see nothing at that moment but the forbidding façade of the Dragon’s home.
“This way,” the rider said, and led me, not through the enormous iron-barred front doors, but off to the side, to a smaller entrance that appeared infinitely more approachable.
The interior was stone, true, but rich hangings covered the grey walls, and a clerestory window high above the door let in a wash of bright afternoon light. I followed the man down the corridor and up a short flight of steps, until he paused in front of a door and knocked.
It opened, and a sturdy-looking woman some years older than my mother looked out. When her gaze fell upon me, I thought I saw the slightest softening of a pair of very firm lips, but she said only, “Goodness, what a windblown mess she is!”
“The breeze was rather brisk,” the man agreed, something in his tone telling me he had had this sort of exchange with her before.
“That may well be. Off, then, for I have much to do.”
He gave her the slightest sketch of a bow, allowed me a ghost of a smile, and turned and went back the way we had come. It was silly of me to feel a pang at his departure, for I did not even know his name, but he had seemed kindly enough…and a kind face is a thing to look for, when one is a stranger in the Dragon’s keep.
But I had little time for wistful gazes, because the woman said, “I am Sar. I have the managing of the household, such as it is. I shall show you to your rooms, and we must get you ready.”
“Ready?” I repeated stupidly.
She did not roll her eyes, but I got the impression that she rather wanted to. “For your wedding, girl. You will be wed to the Dragon tonight. What do they call you?”
“I am Rhianne Menyon.” That was about all I could manage, for her words had chilled me all over. True, I had come here to be the Dragon’s Bride, but somehow I hadn’t thought that dubious event would take place quite so soon.
“Well enough. Now, Rhianne, follow me.”
And she led me up another flight of stairs, and yet another, and then another, until I began to wonder whether I would spend whatever remained of my life climbing one interminable staircase after another. The place had always looked enormous to me, perched on its mountain peak as it was, but only as I followed Sar through its labyrinthine corridors did I begin to understand how massive the castle was, and how it could have swallowed my family’s handsome town house many times over. I saw tapestries, and paintings in an archaic style that made me itch to go closer so I could inspect the artists’ techniques and try to discern what types of pigments they had used. But of course Sar would allow no such dawdling, but guided me through a set of double doors and into a large chamber complete with a hearth, a sitting area with a divan and a low table, and a tall window that let in a magnificent view of the valley below.
I wanted to rush to that window, to drink in the light—it offered an ideal prospect for painting—but Sar moved straight through that room and on into the next one, which was obviously the bedchamber. The bed itself could have probably accommodated my entire family with ease, and I looked up at its enormous burgundy-hung expanse and wondered whether it was that large so it could accommodate the Dragon’s bulk.
“Your wardrobe is here,” Sar said, flinging open the doors of a cabinet equal in scale to the bed. From within I saw the gleam of expensive silks and damasks, and even the glint of silver and gold trim. She eyed me carefully and said, “I’ll have Jaenne take up the hems. You’re not as tall as the last one.”
Last one? I swallowed at the implication and asked, “You mean…these were worn by the other Brides?”
She shrugged. “Some. We add some new and remove the older ones as necessary. Styles change…hems get worn.” Another flicker of those keen dark eyes, and she added, “Good thing you’re slender. We had a plump one some twenty years ago, and had to make up a whole new set. He was not happy.”
One might think a Bride-devouring Dragon would be pleased with a chubby girl, but I knew better than to say such a thing aloud. I also tried not to think too much about what it would feel like to wear clothing that had belonged to a parade of other women, all now dead. Well, perhaps I could try to select only the ones in the most recent styles. At least that way they most likely would only have been worn by one predecessor.
Sar went on to show me the well-appointed little bath chamber—“hot water is on its way up”—and then proceeded, after another quick look at me, as if to reacquaint herself with my dark eyes and hair, to lay out a very fine gown of rich wine-colored damask, its square neckline and detachable sleeves trimmed in flat gold braid and what looked like tiny rough-cut garnets. With the gown went a chemise of linen so fine one could see the light through it, and then silk hose and ribbon garters to hold them up.
“You’ll have to make do with your own shoes for now,” she said. “I’ll have more ordered, but he won’t want to wait on that…let me see them.”
At once I grasped my skirts and lifted them slightly so she could see my slippers. Odd how I did not entertain the notion of defying her, of saying my footwear was of no concern to her. She had about her a manner that brooked no argument.
Luckily, my shoes were fairly new, and fine enough, smooth black kid with lacings of silk ribbon. Quite the extravagance at the time, I had thought, but they had been purchased when my mother thought I had the prospect of a rich husband before me, and she had brushed aside my protests that something less costly would be more than adequate.
Well, I was about to ha
ve a rich husband, although not the one either she or I had imagined…
Sar gave an approving nod at my footwear and appeared about to speak when there was a knock at the door. At once she called out, “Bring it in!”
From the main chamber I heard the faint squeak of door hinges, followed by the shuffling of several pairs of feet. Those feet turned out to belong to two sturdy-looking manservants, each bearing a large ewer of water from which faint curls of steam emerged. Sar directed them into the bath chamber, where they poured the water into the tub. Then they hurried out, having unburdened themselves.
During this entire procedure neither one of them looked at me, even though I stood off to one side and watched the entire procedure with some sympathy. I knew just how heavy those ewers of water could be, and I only had to carry them up one flight of steps back home. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like to bring them all the way here, to my aerie in the Dragon’s tower.
“Half an hour,” Sar informed me. “Everything you need is in the bath chamber. And then I’ll return to help you get ready. The ceremony is set for sundown.”
Which was still many, many hours off at this time of year. I knew better than to argue, however, and only nodded. She sniffed, which might or might not have signaled her approval, and then left.
Much as I wanted to go to the window and gaze out on the amazing prospect it offered, I knew that doing so would only allow my bath to grow cold. It didn’t seem quite right, after those poor servants had hauled it all the way here, and so I went on into the bath chamber.
Dragon Rose (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms) Page 4
