Dragon and the Princess

by Jo Beverley

  All the pictures were faded by time, but the essentials were still clear.

  Rozlinda studied the main picture of the Dragon War. The sky was full of dragons, many breathing fire on farms and villages while knights hurled spears and farmers threw stones. More effectively, a group of men operated one of the huge lancing machines that had already killed one dragon. It sprawled on the ground, glittering red, green, and gold, impaled.

  Those machines had been rebuilt seven years ago, just in case.

  The castle walls made up the left foreground of the picture. On them, the king directed defense. Machines mounted on the battlements shot lances at one great circling beast. Its horned head snarled fire at the defenders, a forked tongue clear, and one set of mighty claws held a struggling, screaming man.

  What horrible beasts they were.

  On the dragon’s back, a wild-eyed, howling dragon rider urged it on—a rider with long bone-colored hair who wore a huge red stone in the middle of his chest.

  She had definitely just had a vision of a warrior of Dorn.

  “Princess, what is it?” asked Lady Petrulla.

  Rozlinda looked around, finding her anxious ladies and the sunlit garden beyond them as unreal as if they were the vision.

  “You are required at the apothecary, I believe,” Lady Petrulla prompted.

  “Yes.” Rozlinda carried on.

  The cluttered, aromatic room welcomed her, but it didn’t soothe the jangle of thoughts inside her mind. Had she just received a warning of war? Should she tell someone? There’d been no violence in the man she’d seen, but he had looked foreboding.

  Mistress Madder seemed as out of sorts as she. She was muttering, “There’s not enough,” as she scraped out the ornate pot where the crumbly mother stone was kept.

  Rozlinda pulled on plain oversleeves to protect her diaphanous ones. “Aurora is so stupid.”

  “Only in some ways. She was clever enough to figure out that if Galian of Gar killed the dragon, she’d have to marry him, blood family or not.”

  “Perhaps he thought of it.”

  Mistress Madder put the bowl of chips and dust on the worktable. “Who spends the most time studying the rules and traditions of Saragond? The archivists, the king and queen—and the SVP. She did it.”

  Rozlinda knew the apothecary was right.

  By tradition, the mother stone had to be prepared by the SVP, so Rozlinda set to pulverizing it in a pestle. “Do you know if she had a vision?”

  “Aurora? If she ever had a vision of more than her own selfish wants, I never heard of it. Concentrate on your work.”

  Rozlinda looked at the grayish powder. “It’s not enough.”

  “We have to try. If the child dies in her womb, it will be her own fault.”

  But Rozlinda could tell that Mistress Madder would no more wish that on any woman than she could. She began to add the other ingredients. “No children for me, then, even if Izzy flowers today.”

  “Not until the next tribute comes. But don’t you be in a hurry to pick your husband.”

  Rozlinda stirred everything together, not saying that she’d made her choice already.

  Jerrott of the White Helm, captain of her guard. He of the golden curls and sky-blue eyes. The best, the brightest, the boldest, and safely of the blood.

  “I’ll have plenty of time. Even if Izzy flowered today, I wouldn’t risk marriage until next year.” She looked at the empty mother stone box. “It could be disastrous.”

  “There’s always dragon eye,” the apothecary pointed out.

  Rozlinda’s hands paused. “Can it be relied on?”

  “Absolutely. Three small stones swallowed, and no child can start that month.”

  Rozlinda stirred again, allowing a little hope. As soon as Izzy flowered, she could marry. Babies could wait. She wanted Jerrott and to cease to be V. But then she grimaced. “I suppose we’re short of dragon eyes, too.”

  “Not that short,” Mistress Madder said, with an understanding smile.

  Rozlinda poured the potion into a vial, but then, as she stripped off the oversleeves, a new fear shivered in. “What if no more comes? Ever? No more dragon eyes. No more mother stone.”

  I’ll never bear a live child, so I’ll not be able to risk conception. I’ll have to live as chastely as the SVP all my life.

  “Of course it will. As long as everything is done right this time.”

  “It will be, I promise.”

  The apothecary looked up. “If you’re SVP, yes. But it’ll be Princess Izzagonda by then.”

  “She’ll follow the rules, too, I’m sure. We all know the dangers—”

  A bell clanged.

  It startled Rozlinda, but caused nothing but puzzlement at first. Then the apothecary cried, “The dragon bell!” and Rozlinda’s ladies burst in. “Hurry, hurry, Princess. A dragon comes!”

  “But it’s not due until next year. . . .”

  They grabbed her and towed her out. She heard a trumpet blast beyond the wall, and a voice calling. It had to be Jerrott shouting the traditional words. “To horse! To horse! A dragon comes.”

  Rozlinda laughed, broke free and ran, skirts hiked high. The dragon had come! By evening, Izzy, ready or not, would be SVP. In days there would be mother stone and dragon eyes, and everything would be all right.

  Aurora’s child would be safe, and she herself would be free to flirt, to kiss, to marry and have children. To cease at long, long last, to be V!

  She burst into her chambers just as her mother rushed in through another door, crown atilt, crying, “The bath! The Virgin’s bath!”

  “Is it really a dragon?” Rozlinda gasped as her clothes were peeled off. The bell still clanged.

  “Yes, yes! A clear sighting.”

  “And just one?”

  “Just one.”

  Rozlinda heard the relief in the queen’s voice and knew she, too, had feared war.

  “Everything must be done exactly as it should be,” the queen said forcefully.

  “Of course . . .”

  “But, Your Majesty,” Lady Petrulla whispered, “the princess has no gown.”

  Everyone froze.

  The Virgin must wear white for the sacrifice. All white. No other pure white gown was permitted in Saragond. But there’d seemed no point in preparing the costume for Rozlinda when Izzagonda was expected to take her place.

  Chapter 2

  “Aurora’s,” the queen said. “Find it!”

  The SVP’s gown was ceremonially burned once the tribute arrived. Last time there had been no tribute, and so the ceremony had never taken place.

  “It’ll never fit,” Rozlinda protested. “I’m half the size she was even then.”

  “Don’t exaggerate. And too large is better than too small. To the bath!”

  Rozlinda was swept into the next room and into a steaming bath. Many hands scoured her body as others washed her hair, giving her time to think.

  This must be what her vision had foretold, though she couldn’t understand how one meant the other. Still, it was good. The dragon was early, but it was here. Soon everything would be normal again.

  If everything went as it should.

  Was it crucial that the SVP gown be new? As the dragons had always come with clockwork regularity, the possibility of a used gown had never occurred before.

  Izzy burst in. “It can’t be a dragon! If she gets a dragon, I’ll never get one. Cousin Jesseletta will be ready in time. It’s not fair!”

  “Don’t worry, Izzy,” Rozlinda said. “If the dragons can come at any time, there may be one for you in a couple of years.”

  “Zlinda!” the queen protested.

  Izzagonda glared. “You summoned it, didn’t you? Just to spite me!”

  “Why on earth would I do that? And how?”

 
“You would if you could.”

  “Of course I would. Years ago. If you were ready, you could have today’s thrills with my blessing, and the status of having made the sacrifice.”

  “Then why can’t I? Mother, you heard her. I can take her place! No one need know.”

  The queen slapped her, the crack shocking everyone to stillness.

  “Do not even mention the possibility of deviating from the tradition, Izzy. Ever. Go to your room and prepare your mind. By tonight you will be the SVP, flowering or not, and you will observe every jot of your duties as your sister has always done.”

  Wailing, Izzy fled.

  “Mother . . .” Rozlinda protested.

  “She’s another Aurora, and I will not have it. Everything must go off perfectly. Everything.”

  A page girl rushed in. “It’s eaten a cow in Prubrook, Majesty!”

  She dashed away, and Rozlinda was pulled out of the bath to be dried. She hurried into a silk shift, lace-trimmed drawers, and fine stockings. At least white underwear was common, but this was another deviation. Every stitch she wore should be new, and only the stockings were.

  Her mother’s tight lips showed she noted it. “Sit!” she commanded, and Rozlinda collapsed onto a chair, her teeth beginning to chatter.

  What if this all went wrong?

  Two maids brushed Rozlinda’s hair, sometimes pulling out knots in their rush, and Rozlinda saw new lines around her mother’s mouth. “Don’t worry, Mother. I will do everything precisely as it should be.”

  The queen’s face relaxed and she put a hand on Rozlinda’s shoulder. “I know you will, dear. You always have. We do understand how hard it has been for you.”

  Another page girl. “It’s eaten two cows in Thretch County!”

  Another. “It’s taken a pig and her piglets near Cummins. All in one gulp!”

  One of Rozlinda’s deeper fears surged up. “Once upon a time, the dragons used to eat the princess. What if . . .”

  “Ancient history, dear. Probably myth, in fact.”

  But this dragon had come early. What if Aurora’s selfish folly had changed everything?

  Perhaps the queen felt her shivers. “Don’t be afraid, dear. It’s a tiresome business, but there’s nothing to it other than a small cut and a little blood. Truly.”

  Lady Petrulla hurried in, almost invisible beneath a mound of white. “It’s ill-omened. It’s even stained.”

  The skirts were edged with dusky green, and a few dark spots must be blood.

  “If you can tell me where we may find a pristine white dress, I will be grateful,” snapped the queen. “Dress her!”

  The mass of perfumed gossamer silk first smothered Rozlinda and then was tugged down so she could breathe. She twisted to look in the mirror. The gown hung off her and puddled on the floor.

  “I look like an iced cake that’s run!”

  “We’ll hitch it up with a belt.”

  In moments, that was done, the bulges of fabric above the waist doing nothing for the appearance.

  “Mother!”

  “There’s a bodice.”

  The clanging bell was giving Rozlinda a headache.

  Another page ran in, eyes wide and bright. “It swept right over the castle! It’s enormous!”

  Rozlinda’s arms were thrust into the stiff, sleeveless garment, which was laced at the back. It was more like a corset, and being slightly built, Rozlinda had never worn one. Thank heavens it was loose.

  But the queen said, “Summon the seamstresses. We can make it fit.”

  “Except in the bust,” Rozlinda pointed out, looking down at the jutting, empty mounds. In moments, they were being stuffed with silk veiling.

  I look ridiculous, she thought, close to tears. For the most important, most public day of her life, she was going to look ridiculous.

  I am the vessel of the blood, she reminded herself. I am about to make an important sacrifice to save my people from harm and to preserve peace. Calm settled over her. She’d prepared for this for seven years, so she was glad to have the privilege of doing it. And in hours, she’d be free.

  The Keeper of the Jewels presented the tiny crown, no bigger than an apple. Rozlinda hadn’t seen it since she’d watched Aurora leave the castle last time. It had looked so pretty, sparkling and trembling on the top of her head, with yards and yards of shimmering veil spilling out of it. Now she wondered.

  “How on earth does it stay on?”

  “Glue.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t fuss. It washes out. Sit.”

  When Rozlinda obeyed, someone dabbed cold stuff in a circle around the top of her head. “Don’t move,” the queen commanded, and pressed the crown in place. Rozlinda immediately developed a cramp in her thigh and a desperate need to scratch her nose.

  “Mother . . .”

  “Just a little longer . . . there. I think it’s solid.”

  Rozlinda shifted, and tiny hairs pulled. “Ow.”

  “Don’t touch it! The veil.”

  The enormous length of silk was carried over and many hands began to hook it to the crown.

  “Ow. You’re pulling my hair!”

  “Don’t be a baby, Zlinda. I hope you’re not going to make a fuss when the priest takes your blood.”

  “Of course not.” But that meant she had to grit her teeth and keep quiet as the veil was fiddled onto the crown. At the same time, two seamstresses took in rough seams in the corset.

  Another page ran in. “The people are gathering outside the gates, Majesty, calling for the princess to save them.”

  “No more time, then. Stand up, dear.”

  Rozlinda did, very carefully, feeling as if the crown might slide off and take most of her hair with it. The bodice still wasn’t snug, and the skirt trailed the floor. She must look a mess, and she desperately wanted this to be perfect.

  “Did you have a vision before your dragon, Mother?”

  “No, dear. To tell the truth, I never really had any sort of vision.”

  “Nor did I. Before today. I think it was a warning that the dragon was coming.”

  “Really? A good omen, then, but a shame it didn’t come last week. We could have had a new dress made. Are you ready?”

  Rozlinda persisted. “Did Aurora have a foretelling? Has any SVP ever had one?”

  The room had stilled and everyone was staring at her.

  “Not that I know of, dear. You can tell me all about it later. Now, look how well it’s turned out.” The queen turned Rozlinda to the mirror.

  It was like magic.

  The white skirts frothed out from beneath the bodice, which gave her the kind of figure she’d only dreamed of. The slight puddling on the floor was rather pretty. Impractical, but pretty.

  The twinkling crown, silly though it was, looked delightful, especially as her ladies spread the veil in a shimmering cloud around her. Rozlinda smiled.

  “There, see,” the queen said, smiling, too.

  A page dashed in to announce, “The king and the knights await!”

  Rozlinda was almost carried out of her chamber, some attendants managing the veil, others holding up her skirts at either side, her mother crying, “Hurry! Hurry!” and “Careful! Careful!”

  When she appeared at the great door, the maddening bell went silent. Instead, she was almost knocked back by the cry of acclaim. “The Virgin! The Virgin!”

  It came from all the people below in the castle bailey—her knights, magnificent in their shining armor, dragon lances aloft; the court, gathered in hasty finery to cheer; and all the town worthies who’d been able to cram in.

  Her father came to give her his arm down the steps. As he handed her into her white chariot, he said, “Here we go, then, blossom. Off to the dragon’s rock, then back for the ball.”

  Rozli
nda tucked in her skirts and veil and took her seat, smiling her thanks at him.

  “No smiling, dear,” her mother hissed. “Remember, this is a sacrifice.”

  As her guard took their places around the chariot, Rozlinda made herself look miserable, reminded that once, long, long ago, this sacrifice had been real. The princess had been eaten by the dragon. Had the knights’ role then been to prevent an unwilling victim from escaping?

  Her father went to take his place in the open carriage behind, along with the Priest of the Blood, who would be carrying the special knife. She wouldn’t think about that. Just a little cut, that was all.

  Following them would be a train of carriages for other priests and the more feeble gentlemen of high rank. Most of the men would ride, however, and many would be carrying lances as a symbol that they, too, would defend the princess from the dragon if necessary.

  Defend, or force?

  The chariot rolled through the arched gateway into the crowded town. Marching ahead of her, the Crown Crier began his bellow.

  “Oyez, oyez! A dead dragon has come to ravage Saragond. Behold a virgin princess of the blood, who will sacrifice herself to save us all.”

  The cheer almost deafened her.

  “Thanks to you, beautiful princess!” people cried.

  “Blessings on the princess!”

  “Blessings on the Virgin’s blood!”

  White flowers settled around her like snowflakes, and Rozlinda wanted to smile and wave. She kept her gaze ahead, however, and her face still. She would be the perfect SVP.

  “Oyez, oyez! If any man lay low the dragon and put his foot upon its neck, he will be rewarded by the grateful princess’s hand in marriage. Oyez, oyez . . .”

  There it was, the ancient remnant Aurora and Galian had used.

  Rozlinda noticed the way men in the crowd grinned at her, perhaps imagining for a moment becoming one of the highest in the land if only they were brave and skillful enough.

  She’d never thought of this peril.

  It was one thing for Aurora to secure the husband she wanted by having Galian kill the dragon. It was quite another to imagine being handed as a prize to just anyone—old or young, wise or foolish, honorable or wicked. When this was over, she was going to get that changed. After Aurora, everyone had to see how dangerous it was.