Dragonswood

by Janet Lee Carey

  “Would she believe me?” Anger and fear sharpened my question to a shriek.

  Smoke twined from the dragon’s nose. “I think she might if you made it clear you have no desire to marry the man she loves.”

  I thought of Prince Arden locking Bion in the tower, knocking him to the floor when Bion tried to tell him the truth about Sackmoore, and punching his brother in the jaw.

  “I would never marry Arden.”

  “Not even to be queen?”

  “Not even to be queen.”

  “Just so.” Lord Kahlil’s left eye swiveled up. Flicking out his long tongue, he furled a bat and drew it into his mouth with a soft crunch.

  I ran my hand over the dragon scale blankets I’d slept under. From a boy, the younger prince Bion showed no fear of dragons. The same cannot be said of Arden. I say Tess is better suited to Bion. Had he known even then that I loved Bion?

  “Onadon wanted you on the throne, Tess. He’ll be disappointed, but I am not.”

  It saddened me to think I’d let him down. I’d wanted so much to please the father I’d been apart from all these years. Poppy too would disappoint the fey. Steeped in my host’s wine, I wasn’t sure how much I’d said the night before. “Did I mention Poppy last night?”

  “You didn’t. Is she pleased with Pendragon Castle? Is Tupkin minding his manners?”

  “Tupkin? Why bring him up?”

  “He goes everywhere with her. He was a nuisance here.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “He can be a pest.”

  “He kept leaping up and swiping the air, trying to catch a will-o’-the-wisp in his claws. He didn’t, of course, they’re much too quick for him. What did you want to tell me about Poppy?”

  I signed. “She has no interest in Prince Arden either, sir. She’s met someone.”

  Lord Kahlil flicked out his tongue, waiting.

  “A fey man named Jyro.”

  “The juggler?” The dragon’s laugh was deafening as a landslide. His enormous mouth opened to a red cave. His ribs shook. I covered my ears until he was done.

  “Yes,” he said. “Of course she likes him. Jyro spied her the night we rescued Tanya. The boy talked on and on about her.”

  “She saw Jyro that night too.”

  “Mmm,” he rumbled.

  Were they meant to be together even then? I dismissed the thought; too romantic for my blood, though Poppy would have liked it. “She’s set on Jyro. I don’t think she can be convinced to marry Prince Arden now,” I said. “Where does that leave the fairy prophecy?”

  I looked up in his eyes, shining gold as the flit hives; they were very old, vivid with life, altogether wild.

  “The prophecy says The Prince shall wed a Fairy child. It does not say which prince, does it? There are two.”

  “A fey queen would protect Dragonswood. My father said so. They all think so, and Prince Bion isn’t going to be king.”

  The dragon swiped and munched another bat. “Can you see the future?”

  I saw things in the fire-sight; small, blazing glimpses. They did not predict earthquakes, wars, a kingdom’s future. Thus far the visions had been more personal and seemed meant for me alone. “No, my lord. All is dark.”

  “Not so dark, Tess.” Kahlil scratched under his wing. “I doubt Prince Arden will be interested in Lady Lizbeth. You told me Prince Arden tackled his brother. It was what Bion said about Lady Adela’s kidnapping that set him off, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye, it was.”

  “Yesss,” he said extending the s into a thoughtful, serpent’s hiss. “Love will win out, I think, if you bring them together.”

  “She is my enemy!”

  “Set that aside, Tess.”

  “Aside? Set it aside? She tortured me. She nearly had me drowned. I had to run and take my friends with me lest she arrest them all, and she had Tom dragged through town behind—”

  “I heard this all last night.” It was the only time he’d interrupted me.

  I looked up. Of course Kahlil knows it all. He dropped the turtle in the millpond, scorched his wing saving Tanya, and here I am arguing with the ancient dragon. “You don’t know what you are asking, my lord.”

  “I know what I am asking. I also know whom I’m asking.”

  “I won’t go to her. Find another.” I grabbed my rucksack and quit his den.

  The dragon scales cloaked me against the chilly day. Fog swirled around rocks and trees as I circled the pond and settled in the lee of a standing stone.

  Saints! I’d be a fool to go to her or help her in any way. I was glad she was locked up. I hoped they’d hang her by her arms from a ceiling hook. There must be more than one way to turn Prince Arden against Lord Sackmoore. Surely I could come up with something better. Wandering down narrow paths through tangled greenery, I circled God’s Eye’s rocky shoreline, returned to the small pond near Lord Kahlil’s cave a little more refreshed, but with no clear plan. I shouldn’t have to go to her. There has to be another way. Perhaps if I wrote down some thoughts, made a list?

  I had the quill and small ink block from the hunting lodge with me in my rucksack. Princess Rosalind had used dragon scales to make her book on Dragon’s Keep. Lord Kahlil’s scales were large and cumbersome, plenty of room to write. A bit of rubbing and some drops of pond water made a good, black ink.

  One scale wrapped about my shoulders, the other on my lap, I set my thoughts down beginning with the argument in the tower, I teased out clues. Partway down the scale an idea emerged. What if we found one of the women Lord Sackmoore paid to abduct Lady Adela? As the story went, the knights killed the cutthroats guised as witches when they rescued the lady, all but one, as I recall. Find her and she could tell Arden the truth about Adela’s abduction. But how could I hope to find the kidnapper who’d survived, and even if I did, why confess her crime knowing she’d be hanged for it?

  God’s teeth! Was there no solution?

  I leaned against the standing stone, the lake mist still rising thick as dragon smoke around God’s Eye. Rewrapping the small ink block and slipping it back in the rucksack, I washed my inky fingers in the pond. Black ink coiled in the water.

  How could I help Bion without going to my enemy?

  A sudden tempest swirled around me. I held my writing scale, my cloak flying out. It seemed as if I had unleashed my fears and by this, brought on a storm. But it was dragon wings made the gale that blew my hair back. From the mist, a female dragon came into view, circling once before landing outside the dragonlord’s lair.

  Her back was to me and her curving tail encircled half the pond, the tip dipping down in the shallows where frogs leaped, suddenly disturbed. My chest pounded, but I got to my feet. She was larger than her little sister, Ore, who’d been the runt of the hatchlings. Her golden right eye swiveled to take me in while her left turned the opposite way, scanning the cave entrance as Lord Kahlil emerged.

  As he stepped outside, I was reacquainted with his impressive size. Twice as long as Eetha, Lord Kahlil was nearly as large as the Malarkey.

  Eetha bowed to him, her snout blowing dust at his feet. Her father had been the famed dragonlord Lord Faul.

  Lord Kahlil returned Eetha’s greeting with a single nod. His great age showed in his darker scales, battle scars, and wrinkled eyecups. Even so he looked stronger than the younger dragon. He is a great warrior who has been only a short time at peace with men, I thought. I’d fear him more if I didn’t already know him. Spying him in full view here on the ground, I wondered at my foolhardiness to have argued so heatedly with him back in his cave, like a vole standing firm against a tomcat.

  “My lord, the will-o’-the-wisps told me Bion is in trouble,” Eetha said.

  “Prince Arden locked him in the tower.”

  “Shameful!” Eetha whacked her tail, the tip-most splashing water down my front. I wiped my face with one hand, clung to the lettered scale with the other, holding it up like a shield, writing inward so the ink wouldn’t run. The dragon did not ask my pa
rdon for the splash. I did not expect her to.

  “We should take Arden back to Dragon’s Keep,” she said. “Bion should be king.”

  “It would only start a war, Eetha. Arden is already convinced Bion wants the crown.”

  “Doesn’t he?”

  Lord Kahlil shook his head.

  “Then we should free Bash from the tower.” I heard her care for him in the way she spoke his nickname.

  Lord Kahlil pointed with a talon. “Tess has already tried to free him. Bion refuses to go.”

  Again Eetha whacked her tail. This time I jumped back to miss the splash.

  The dragonlord kept me in his gaze “Tess? Come by.”

  I stepped around the pond, standing to their right away from the water.

  At last Eetha acknowledged me. “You are the half-fey girl the will-o’-the-wisps told me about,” she said. “I am Eetha.”

  “Good morrow, Eetha.” I curtsied best I could, still gripping the scale. I’d met Ore, now Eetha, two of the four Princess Rosalind raised. It was an honor even if she had splashed me twice.

  “I see you write on dragon scales as Rosie once did.” If dragons smile, then she was smiling.

  I was glad she was not offended that I’d used a scale, and warmed to hear her call the queen by the simple name Rosie.

  “She might use the skill to help free Bion,” said Lord Kahlil.

  Startled, I dropped a scale, picked it up again. “What, my lord?”

  “You said you are afraid to face Lady Adela.”

  “I said I refused to face her,” I corrected.

  He ignored my remark and went on. “I know the risks you would be taking, Tess. Even if you did choose to go to her she might not listen to you, but if you acted as a messenger and delivered a written message about Lord Sackmoore’s deceit, she might read its contents. After that she’d be willing to help.”

  “It would put me in danger.” I was shaking all over.

  The dragon narrowed his eyes and gave a low growl. “Bion is in danger,” he said. “Will you do it?”

  His question went to the heart. “For him I will, sir.”

  “Write your letter,” he said. “Let there be no guise in the words, only truth about Lord Sackmoore. Convince her he was behind her kidnapping and she will do the rest. Now Eetha,” he said, turning back to her, “here is our plan.”

  Our plan, he called it. How generous of him, to be sure!

  But Bion was in danger. For him I used my ink block to mix new ink, for his eyes and wicked smile, for his moods and corners, for his hands that whittled a doll for Alice, that offered me drink in the tower, that touched my neck as he asked if my chin still hurt. But mostly for the man who had taken in four starving strangers even though our presence had endangered him, the man who would not give up on his brother, though his brother had given up on him.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  IT IS A mighty thing to ride on a dragon’s back. Flight beyond dream.

  Straddling Eetha’s broad, scaly neck, I held her upright spiny pads, and clung hard with my knees as she rose over God’s Eye. Lake Ailleann shrunk below us till it seemed button small. Riding the gusts beyond the shore, Eetha wheeled south along the water for Black Swan. My body thrummed with her flight, lifted as she lifted, soared as she soared.

  When the moon hung lantern bright above, I saw my reflection below us in the sea and wondered at it. Just one of me, yet I’d taken many forms. Tess shaped by the blacksmith’s blows, outsider in the human world. Tess jailed as a witch, cast in the millpond, stinking leper. Huntsman’s guest, pretend wife, fey man’s daughter. Now Tess, Prince Bion’s champion. Dragon friend and dragon rider. I’d thought the woman skimming over the water in my fire-sight was a fey scout, but it was myself I’d seen long ago.

  I was high above the world. How wide the sky. How vast the ocean. How free I felt flying to my enemy.

  Tiny islands dotted the coastline below. With the exception of Dragon’s Keep, which is a quarter the size of Wilde Island, most isles near our shores are little more than single hills with slim beaches where seals and sea lions gather.

  Black Swan was large enough for a lord’s castle, forest, farm, and pasture. Enough land for serfs to till soil and host a small town with its own craftsmen.

  Dragon wings can be loud as a garrison thundering down a road, or quiet as a breeze. I’d discovered this when we crossed the sea, and was grateful for Eetha’s skill as she soared above the western quay. Sentries stood watch at the dock where a single ocean vessel was moored. The ship the Gray Knight and Lady Adela arrived in, I supposed. If there were other smaller fishing boats on the isle, I did not spy them. With the surrounding sea, it was a prison sure if boats were outlawed here. I wouldn’t put it past Sackmoore.

  We approached Lord Sackmoore’s castle from the back side. It was built in the very image of Pendragon Castle, though much smaller. A high guard wall enclosed the expansive lawns and gardens. The moat’s surface caught the white moonlight. The drawbridge was up.

  Black swans swam on an oval pond. The nooks in the garden maze nearby hosted artfully clipped junipers, each trimmed to the shape of a living creature. One bush was a bear standing on his hind legs. Another nook housed a giant rabbit the same size as the bear. I had never seen the like.

  Eetha landed in a stand of cypress trees just inside the guard wall. Three windows on the second story were still lit. The will-o’-the-wisps told Lord Kahlil the lady was held against her will, but there was no need for a tower or dungeon cell on this island. She had no means of escape. I almost felt sorry for the woman—almost.

  My fingers ran along the edge of the dragon scale scroll tucked in my belt. This was the final draft. The dragonlord had torn the letter eight times before approving the ninth. “Eetha, the lady has three deerhounds.”

  Eetha wrapped her tail about her clawed feet. “Are they with her on this island, do you think?”

  “I don’t know, but the dogs, at least, will scent me even if I’m well hidden.”

  “Go carefully then,” said Eetha.

  A kind thing to say, but no real help. Still, Eetha couldn’t go any closer herself, large as she was. I had to go in alone.

  Wrapping my cloak about my front, I covered the wretched letter. Only the image of Bion in the tower made me leave our hiding place. Past pond and maze, I crouched behind the courtyard fountain to study the upper-story windows. Only two lit now. Tugging cloth from my pack, I tied a veil over the lower half of my face. It covered my stitched chin, but that wasn’t the reason for it. I had no desire to be recognized. Lady Adela would see a secret messenger, nothing more than that.

  Scurrying to the door, I checked it, found it locked, and retreated to the fountain again. I was hunched there wondering what to do next when a familiar pock-faced youth led Adela’s dogs out on their leashes. The deerhounds were alert to intruders. Ears pricked and noses sniffing, they howled. With snapping teeth they lunged for my hiding place.

  The boy dragged behind, shouted, “Stop, ye bloody turds!” A window flew open. Overhead Lady Adela called down, “Curse my darlings again, knave, and I’ll whip your pimpled hide! Now take them out to the lawn, and be quick about it!”

  “My lady. Yes, my lady,” the boy called, still trying to yank the barking dogs straining at the end of their leashes toward the fountain. Running this way and that, they had bound their tethers into a single braid.

  The boy had had no time to shut the door with the “bloody turds” dragging him bodily after me. But he had them more in hand now. Dashing for the door, I slipped unseen into the kitchen, where I ducked under a chopping table to catch a breath. I was hiding amid rushes, meat bones, and onion skins when a man stormed through with his candle. The Gray Knight, I guessed, though I saw only his slippers and hose. He slammed the door, muttering, “Damn dogs!”

  The kitchen went pitch dark when he left. Under the table my heart thudded, but I gave honor where honor was due. The deerhounds had done all, opening the wa
y, showing me the lady’s room. I whispered, “Thank you, darlings,” before leaving the kitchen to climb the servant’s stairs. The chamber door was half open. Silently I crept in.

  Lady Adela leaned over her parchment at her candlelit writing table. She did not notice me in the dark corner. Sighing deeply, she dipped her quill, and used one hand to keep the page from curling. A silver cup of sand was to her right. It irked me to see her at her desk, a frown of concentration on her face. Had God construed a scene to taunt me, a kind of holy joke? Lady, page, quill, and candle were all too familiar.

  Night after night at home I’d hunched over my small table drawing things I’d seen in Dragonswood, the foxes, deer, owls up in the branches, the will-o’-the wisps, and the fey scouts riding dragonback. Confined to the blacksmith’s house, pen and parchment had been my one consolation. Hadn’t I held the curling corners of the page just so? Sprinkled sand on the ink to speed the drying process before I hid my drawings? Not only that, I’d written letters for extra market money when I could, so the tools of my beloved art and my small livelihood had been the same.

  Show her mending, needling a tapestry, even reading by her fire, anything but this. A holy joke indeed. It was like seeing my own reflection across the room.

  She was dressed in green velvet, her sleeve rolled up to write. Ink stained her wrist, a blot cloth bunched beside it. She’d always worn her hair pinned up or in a long plait down her back. Now it was undone. Black locks spilled over her shoulders and down her back. She looked younger by it, and frailer.

  Witch hunter. Torturer. Remember who she is and do what you came to do.

  Steeling myself, I whispered, “I have a message for you regarding Prince Arden.”

  She turned, gasped, and dropped her quill. Bounding for the door she shut it carefully with only the slightest click. My heart sped. I was shut in with her.

  “Who are you?” She eyed my veiled face, tattered cloak, and muddy shoes.

  “A messenger with a letter for you.” I did not address her as my lady. She didn’t deserve it.