Had they all died of a broken heart, these Brides of his? Once I might have laughed at such a notion, no matter what the songs and stories might say of lovers wasting away and dying, all because of a heart betrayed. Now, though, it seemed not so far-fetched. I had reached out to him, and he had even reached out to me…only to turn from me at the last moment.
You know what he is, I tried to tell myself. Most likely he only seeks to protect you. How can one such as he have anything close to a normal life?
That sounded logical to me. Unfortunately, I didn’t want logic. I wanted him.
Somehow I knew he was the one thing I could never have.
Chapter Eight
He did not speak of what had passed between us that one evening, and so, perforce, neither did I. From time to time I caught Sar watching me with troubled eyes, and from that I guessed she was not quite as indifferent to the situation as she pretended to be, but what could she do? The management of the household lay in her capable hands, but his lordship’s heart was his alone to govern.
Oh, we rubbed along tolerably. Mine was not a temperament much suited to brooding, and I had not grown up in a household with three sisters without learning a good deal about getting along even when personalities clashed. Not that Theran Blackmoor and I did much clashing—we spoke of the weather, of my painting, of the food Sar set before us, and not much more than that. The little bit of ground I had thought I gained the night of my birthday was long gone.
Not that he did not show me courtesy. My painting of the valley of Lirinsholme was framed and given a place of honor in the main hall, so that anyone entering would see it almost before anything else. This might have been more of a gesture if anyone except the same score of people had an opportunity to see it; my quiet home back in town seemed a veritable whirl of social gaiety compared to the stillness of Black’s Keep. There were no visitors, and perhaps the maids chattered in the kitchens as they prepared the meals or sang as they swept the stairs, but if they did, I never heard them.
Once I had thought all I needed was unlimited time to paint, but I began to realize even that was not quite the blessing I once deemed it. My parents had not possessed the resources to have us taught the harp or lute, and I had no voice for singing, so I could not use music to fill up some of the empty hours. Sar brought me embroidery silks, an elegant carved standing frame, and some fabric. I used that to while away a few afternoons, even though I still disliked embroidery…and even though I couldn’t help wondering whence came that frame, and whether it had belonged to one of Theran’s erstwhile Brides.
The dreams of the stranger came to me at least once a week, and I continued on his portrait, although to what end I couldn’t begin to imagine. The work went slowly, however, as each dream seemed to reveal a detail hitherto unnoticed, and I found myself continually painting over sections I had thought already completed. Once or twice I tried telling myself that I was being ridiculous, that I should abandon the thing and move on to something else. After a day or so of neglecting it, though, the dreams would return with even greater force, as if compelling me to return to the painting, as if trying to tell me I could not leave it undone, and so I always went back to it despite my internal objections.
His was not the only painting that occupied my time, of course. I dutifully painted the triptych of autumn ivy leaves I’d already planned, working quickly before the subjects of the paintings fell quite away from their vines. I tried to amuse myself with doing watercolor sketches of various members of the household; Melynne quite blushed when I gave her the one I had done of her, while Sar only shook her head and attempted not to look pleased.
“And have you nothing better to do with your time than this?” she asked, although I thought she was rather tickled by the small portrait I had done of her.
At the time I had only shrugged, but truly, I really did have nothing better to do with my time…
And then autumn was truly upon us, the dark hours colder and colder. A fire burned in my chamber night and day, and the gowns Melynne or Sar laid out for me were no longer silk and linen but wool and velvet. Frost shimmered in the dead grass, and I saw storm clouds gathering on the mountaintops to the north. Winter was not here yet, but it threatened. That was the way of things in our part of the world, the summers glorious but too brief, autumn a burst of color remembered before the long dark nights came upon us and the snows wrapped everything in their solitude.
A fire was lit in the great dining chamber where Theran and I took our evening meals, although it did not seem to help all that much, being situated at the far end of the room from the dining table. I wished I had the courage to wear a cloak to dinner, but the one time I had mentioned it, Sar gave me such a scandalized look that I promptly abandoned the notion.
Still, I couldn’t help rubbing my hands against the chill as I sat there one night at the end of Octevre, and hoping that the first course would be a bowl of warm soup so I could wrap my fingers around it.
“You are cold?” Theran asked.
At once I put my traitor hands in my lap. “Not at all, my lord.”
“Rhianne.”
I knew that note in his voice. Lifting my shoulders, I said, “This chamber is rather chilly, yes. I’ll admit that it is beautiful, but consider me duly impressed. Do you not have someplace a little cozier where we may eat?”
A pause. “There is…a smallish room in my own suite where I have sometimes supped alone. It does have quite a pleasant hearth. Would that suit you better?”
“Oh, yes,” I replied at once. Whether my alacrity was spurred merely by the thought of eating my dinner in more comfortable surroundings, or whether it was inspired by my curiosity to see his chambers, hardly mattered. Of far greater importance was the fact that he seemed concerned for my comfort…and was not adverse to having me join him in a part of the castle that had been hitherto off-limits to me.
“Can you hold on for one more night? For I think Sar might be rather discommoded if we asked her to serve elsewhere this evening with no notice.”
“Of course, Theran,” I said, and let him go on to discuss the first touches of snow that had begun to decorate the mountaintops to the north. Inwardly, though, I found myself only wishing for an end to the evening and to the day that followed, so I might finally see his chambers for myself.
What I had expected of those rooms, I hardly knew, but what greeted me there was certainly not any of the rather confused visions that had crowded my mind’s eye. True, his suite was large, much larger than my own, with a great room twice the size of my sitting chamber, and a small eating area, a study, and a library offering tantalizing glimpses through each of their respective doorways. The door to the far left was shut; I imagined it must be what led into his sleeping quarters.
The furnishings were heavy and ornate, the upholstery rich wool velvet, but what surprised me more was that every tabletop was covered with small but intricate contraptions whose purpose I couldn’t begin to identify. Like me, he had a large worktable, this one located in an expansive alcove with windows that looked to the north and west. On the table were all sorts of tools, small hammers and picks and other instruments I didn’t recognize.
Theran stood to one side, watching me as I entered. He said no word as I moved through the room and went almost without thinking to the worktable so I could inspect the half-finished device there more closely.
“You made all these?” I asked. I knew better than to reach out and touch the delicate object, but I cocked my head to one side so I could see underneath just a little, get a closer look at the tiny gears and wheels and what looked like small glittering jewels.
“Yes,” he said, crossing the room himself so he could be by my side. Not too close, of course; no risk of those robes brushing against me this time. But still, I found myself very aware of his presence.
Again I had to tell myself not to touch, not to disturb the tiny components. “What are they for?”
“Oh, various things. I must confess
that half of them do nothing at all, save to move and make a pretty distraction for the eyes. See here.” And he stepped away from me, going to a handsome sideboard carved with the shapes of running deer, and touched one tall, slender device. At once it whirred into motion, its tiny golden vanes shimmering in the light, moving in a complicated yet delicate dance.
I clapped my hands together. “It’s beautiful!”
“Thank you.” He extended his gloved finger again, and the movement stopped. “It is something to while away the hours. Sar chides me sometimes for using up so many candles, but—”
“You—you do not sleep?”
At first he did not reply, but only stood there, staring down at the device as if he had never seen it before. Then, “I fear that is a solace deprived me.”
I could not even begin to comprehend what that must be like, not only to be cursed with apparent immortality in his inhuman form, but also to be denied even a few hours of blissful emptiness where he could forget what he was. Even with dreams of a stranger tormenting me, I would not have given up those hours of sleep for anything in the world. And what on earth could I say in reply to such a statement?
Luckily, I was saved from having to think of an answer, for Sar appeared then, two of the maids in tow. They all carried covered dishes in various shapes and sizes, and bustled over to the eating area I had spied earlier. The table had already been set, so it was a simple matter for the three of them to put the serving dishes in their designated places.
After they were done, the two maids scurried back out again, but Sar turned to Theran and inquired, “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“No, Sar, that will be all.”
She bobbed a curtsey and went out, but not before shooting a curious glance in my direction. Perhaps I was the first Bride to ever request warmer eating conditions. I found that difficult to believe, and resolved to ask her the next time I saw her.
In the meantime, though, the Dragon Lord had extended his hand toward me, indicating that I should come and take my place at the table. I did so, happily noting that it was much warmer up here. A fire roared in the hearth, and heavy curtains at the windows did an excellent job of barring any errant drafts. In this smaller room, the stone walls were covered with tapestries, and I supposed they helped as well.
“Better?” he asked, after I had seated myself.
“Much better. I could almost imagine it’s midsummer again.”
This was, of course, an exaggeration—I would not be wearing such a thick wool gown in Julende, and blazing fires were not of much use in Augeste—but he seemed to agree with my assessment, or at least not argue with it, for he nodded. “An excellent idea, Rhianne. My apologies for not thinking of it sooner.”
“No matter,” I replied airily. “We are here now, are we not?”
“That we are. Soup?”
“Yes, thank you.”
And so we ate, and talked of commonplaces once more, even as my mind churned with the revelation he had made just before Sar arrived, that he did not sleep, and apparently sat up nights working on those lovely little instruments, all to keep himself occupied. I wondered if he removed the gloves as he worked, and what his hands looked like without the dark leather covering them. His lips had felt rough, as if they were covered in scales. Were his hands the same way? Did he have claws?
I must have shivered a little at that thought, for he said, “Are you cold after all? Perhaps the fire is beginning to die down—”
“No, no, not at all,” I told him. “It’s lovely in here, and the food is lovely as well. I must thank Sar for being so accommodating as to bring our dinner up all those additional flights of stairs.”
“It is her duty to accommodate me.”
It was on my lips to tell him that was quite a high-handed thing to say. Then again, he had been lord of this castle for centuries. I supposed he knew nothing other than having people jump at his every command, no matter how whimsical it might be. My tone was somewhat gentler than I had first intended as I said, “Perhaps it is, but I find it no great chore to thank her for doing her duty well. It cannot be an easy thing, to manage a castle.”
The hood tilted to one side as he apparently considered my remark. “No, perhaps it is not. I hadn’t given it much thought, as she always seems to do what needs to be done.”
“So you see, then. Not that my home could compare to Black’s Keep, but there are always so many things to be taken care of—planning and preparing meals, laying the fires, cleaning, washing the linens, washing the dishes, drawing water for baths—”
“And you did all this yourself?” Of course I could not see his face, but his voice sounded distinctly amused.
“A good deal of it, yes, my lord. We had one maidservant to assist us, but my mother always said mischief finds a use for idle hands, and so we were not idle all that often, as you might imagine.”
“It sounds as if your mother might be a good deal like our Sar.”
In truth, she rather was, in her brisk, no-nonsense approach to most matters, and her estimable ability to follow up on all the household details, no matter how minute they might be. In appearance they were not much alike, save perhaps in coloring; my mother still retained some of her youthful beauty, while I guessed Sar had never possessed much even as a young girl. Despite that, though, they had a similar set to their chin whenever they thought I was being difficult. Perhaps that similarity was part of the reason I had adjusted to life in the castle far more quickly than I had any real reason to.
And perhaps, somehow, it was why I now thought of it as home. Easier to think that than to contemplate that it had anything to do with the enigmatic figure seated across from me.
“In some ways,” I said hastily, hoping that he had not noticed my hesitation.
He made no reply to my comment, but only returned his attention to the excellent meat pies that formed the bulk of our dinner that evening. I did so as well, although I found myself glancing past him from time to time so I could catch a glimpse of those lovely little devices in the other room. What else about himself had he kept hidden from me?
After dinner he seemed disinclined to send me back to my own rooms, but instead showed me into his library, which appeared equally astonishing in its own way. Some ten years before I was born, an enterprising young man in Sirlende had devised a way to print books with some sort of mechanical type, thereby putting a good many scribes out of work, but also making books far more readily available than they had been heretofore. Still, they were expensive, and most people I knew owned only one or two, if even that many.
But here were…hundreds? It was hard for me to say for sure, as all four walls of the chamber had bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and all of those shelves were full. Theran had so many books that they were also piled up on a table in the center of the room, and even stacked on the floor beneath that table.
“Do you read?” he asked.
“I was taught, that and to write and to figure. But we didn’t have much opportunity for reading. The only books in the house were the primer my mother used to teach us, and a cookery book she received as a wedding present, and a history of Farendon.” I didn’t bother to add that the history must have been written for the sole purpose of sending its unfortunate readers to sleep, as it was dry as dust.
“Ah, none of that sounds very interesting.” He went to one of the bookcases and selected a thick volume bound in dark green leather, with gold lettering stamped on the spine. I couldn’t make out the title from where I stood, however. “I had thought perhaps if you wanted to give your fingers a rest from painting, you might try reading something…if you could read, of course. Not all of—that is, not all girls your age can.”
No, they couldn’t. Lilianth could barely manage to write her own name; her parents had not set the same store in learning that my own did. I knew the Dragon probably meant that not all of his Brides had been able to read, which did not surprise me. After all, those girls had come from both wealt
hy families and poor. At least that much could be said for the selection process, horrible as it might be for those involved. There was never any hint that the more powerful families in Lirinsholme influenced the process in any way so their own daughters might be spared. In fact, a Bride had been selected the same year my mother married my father, and the unfortunate girl in that instance had been the daughter of one of the elders.
I pushed the thought of that long-dead young woman aside and said, “That sounds like a lovely idea. It has been wonderful to paint so much, but I must confess even that can become tedious after a while. One cannot curl up next to a fire with a painting—not unless you’re willing to risk an explosion. Linseed oil is quite combustible.”
He laughed and said, “Yes, far less risk of that with a book. I thought you might like to try this one.” And he held it outstretched in one hand, so that I had to approach and take it from him.
My fingers brushed against his as I retrieved the book. Whether he had meant for me to do so or not, I couldn’t say. Another one of those little shivers traced its way down my spine, and I swallowed. I should not allow myself to react to him so. After all, with every revelation he seemed to show himself as less human, as something that had not been a man for many, many years. And yet…
And yet I wished it could be otherwise. Hold me at arm’s length he might, but I found myself wanting more of his company, wishing to hear his voice, yearning for ways I might think of to bring us together more, rather than these formal dinners and nothing else.
Foolish, I knew. We could be nothing more than temporary companions, before…before what? My time here would not last forever. I did not know what lay in store for me, but it could not be pleasant, or the Dragon would not have need of a new Bride every five to seven years. It wasn’t as if he kept multiple wives around the castle, the way I’d heard was the custom in far-off Keshiaar.
Dragon Rose (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms) Page 11
