Lyric's Curse (Dragonblood Sagas Book 1)

by Wideman, Robyn

  As her Aunt Izzy combed out her hair, Sibylle couldn’t help but feel sad. Why did she have to marry? She had brothers who could carry on the family bloodlines. Why should she have to accept marriage just because the king found it convenient and advantageous to have her marry into another royal family?

  Sensing Sibylle’s dark mood, Izzy asked what the problem was, “What’s chewing on your toes, lass? You’ve been sulking and brooding for days.”

  “Stupid weddings, stupid royal weddings! Why do I have to get married”?

  “Marriage between royal families strengthens ties and makes the king’s allegiances stronger,” replied Izzy.

  “Does it though? Lord Dumont was supposed to marry a Harbough girl, but the Harboughs hated the Dumonts so much, they only agreed to marry off a half cousin. An ugly girl the size of a bred mare and the face to match. Lord Dumont was so insulted by it that he hanged the girl and started another war with the Harboughs. The king’s marriage plans didn’t work very well that time, did they?”

  Izzy kept combing Sibylle’s hair. “Well, you do have a point there,”

  Sibylle knew she did. “Exactly!” More often than not when the king took it upon himself to play matchmaker he made a royal muck of it. Arranged marriages for the purpose of peace are one thing, but half of the king’s proposals created more issues than they solved.

  Izzy sighed. “It doesn’t matter what I think, Sibylle. We are subjects to the king and if your father doesn’t accept the kings order ….”

  “We go to war, and our estate and the village of Middale are destroyed. Everyone we know is killed and I still have to marry some horse’s backend of a man that the king chooses, unless he hangs me as an example to anyone thinking of challenging his word,” replied Sibylle. She had thought of trying to refuse, or sneaking off, but the dangers it would create for her friends and family made running an impossible option.

  “What you need, Sibylle, is a champion. A young man that you could live with having to marry.”

  “I’ve met every eligible age royal male on the Isle. They are all mindless baboons and ill-tempered war mongering whoresons. Even the ones who are almost acceptable are so useless in a fight, they would have no chance of winning.”

  “So you need a champion who isn’t royal blood,” replied Izzy.

  “Aunt Izzy, you know that never happens. The whole point of this stupid marriage was to find a royal match.”

  “The king told your father to marry you off. He also told your father that he would hold a tournament and that your hand in marriage would be the prize. He also left the rules of the tournament to your father.”

  “Even if father changed the rules so that all eligible men could enter, a royal would still win. They are the only ones who know how to joust. No commoner is a knight.” Sibylle frowned, she could not see where Izzy was going with this.

  “I swear you are a daft child somedays. Does every tournament feature a joust?”

  “No, the winter solstice celebration is always on foot. It’s an open weapons format.”

  “Then you ask your father to make the tournament the same as the winter solstice tournament.”

  Sibylle thought about her aunt’s idea. It wasn’t normal to have an open weapons tournament for a birthday celebration. Then again, it wasn’t normal to have a tournament to determine who would get her hand in marriage. Perhaps her aunt was on to something. “Okay, even if father agrees, and then the king agrees, who do I pick as my champion and how is he going to beat the royal contestants?”

  “There are plenty of big strong lads in Middale that would be suitable. As for winning, most of the royals are not real warriors. They joust in tournaments for fun but, they leave the real fighting to soldiers. They aren’t nearly as good with swords and axes as they are lances. When’s the last time a royal won the winter solstice tournament?”

  “Last year it was Talon Horne. He also leads his father’s armies into battle. He’s a real soldier,” said Sibylle in despair. Talon Horne was a right ass and the thought of marrying him filled her with dread.

  “Oh, dear. I do not like that young man. I hope he doesn’t win,” said Izzy.

  “Me too, Aunt Izzy, me too.”

  “Then we simply have to get your father to make it an open tournament and we’ll find someone who can beat Talon Horne and all the other nobles.”

  22

  THE ICE COLD WATER SPLASHED against Lyric’s body, waking him with a fright. Lyric jumped up immediately. His half-asleep confusion was ended with a giggle.

  Celine stood at the edge of the loft with a bucket in her hand.

  “Why did you do that?” asked Lyric. He shivered from the cold water.

  “It’s time to wake up,” said Celine as she stood there grinning.

  “Why didn’t you just call me?” complained Lyric.

  “If I called you, you would have gotten dressed before getting up,” said Celine.

  Lyric realized he was once again naked standing in front of a girl. As quickly as possible, Lyric covered his groin and turned away from Celine. He clawed at the ground for his clothing until he found them.

  Celine laughed as Lyric stumbled around the loft.

  One hand simultaneously trying to cover his groin and his butt while using the other hand to get dressed. Twice he lost his balance and almost fell over. Each time he had to use his free hand to balance against the wall, exposing him again. “Please, can I get dressed without the audience?” asked Lyric as he flopped onto the bed in defeat. He covered himself with the blanket while waiting for Celine to leave.

  “Fine, have it your way,” said the amused Celine. She slid down the loft ladder until she was almost at the floor. She then tightened her hands and slowed her descent until she was touching ground once again.

  “It’s safe now,” yelled up Celine.

  Lyric peeked out from the blanket and saw she wasn’t lying. He then dressed and headed down the ladder. When he got to the bottom he gave Celine a dirty look and then stomped off towards the house.

  Celine giggled and called him back. “You need to wash first.” She pointed to a second bucket sitting on the floor. I brought you some water.”

  Lyric grumbled his thanks while giving his hands and face a cursory wash.

  “No, Lyric, you need to be clean or Aunt Valeria will send you back outside. Scrub your face and make sure you have no dirt under your nails.”

  Lyric could see that living with three women was going to be much different than living by himself in the alley. Scrubbing under his fingernails? Was that really necessary, he thought to himself. Once he was done his second washing, Lyric presented himself to Celine for inspection.

  Celine grabbed Lyric’s face and moved it around as she inspected behind his ears and around his neck. She then checked both of his hands before declaring ready to head inside for breakfast. “You should pass inspection, although your clothes aren’t exactly clean.”

  “I washed them yesterday,” said Lyric in protest.

  “I know. I was there, you were letting your wally hang out while you waited for them to dry. That doesn’t mean your clothes are clean. Not there’s much there to clean. The dirt was probably the only thing holding those threadbare disgraces together.”

  Lyric sighed, “These are my good clothes. The other pair is worse.”

  Didn’t anyone get you new clothes?” asked Celine.

  “No,” said Lyric as he shook his head. “I lived in an alley for three years.”

  “You lived behind an alley?”

  “No, I lived in the alley. Between a warehouse and a brothel. It was a good alley. I had shelter and no one ever found me. My alley was safe. I never got beat up in my alley,” said Lyric with a hint of pride.

  “I suppose living in an alley is a good explanation for the ratty attire,” conceded Celine. “Did you get beat up outside of your alley?”

  Lyric nodded profusely. “All the time. First, I used to get beat up at the orphanage every day, but I s
nuck away. Then once I was on the streets, I’d get beat up by the street rats. Those kids are very territorial. I learned where I could steal from and which streets to stay away from.”

  “How did you end up with Aunt Azina?” asked Celine.

  “I got caught at the war school. The highborn students beat me pretty good. I would have died if Azina had not found me. She let me stay with her, and she trains me and teaches me to read. It’s nice, I get to eat every day, and sleep in a real bed.”

  “A real bed?”

  “My real first one ever, the orphanage had wood beds with no cushions just a blanket and pillow,” said a wistful Lyric. “But this loft is really nice too. I like it just fine.”

  Celine turned away from Lyric and wiped away the start or a tear. “I can’t imagine how you survived all this time. I’m very glad Aunt Azina brought you here, Lyric.”

  Lyric hadn’t noticed the effect his story had on Celine. “Me too!” he said with a bright smile.

  23

  DESPITE HER ARROGANT AND AT TIMES HAUGHTY attitude, Shayla Finch enjoyed walking through the markets of Riversend. As a member of a lower noble family, Shayla didn’t have knights of her own, nor did she have a large number of vassals at her private disposal. The majority of the vassals that owed her family allegiance worked the family lands. Mostly they were, woodsman and hunters who doubled as soldiers when the King required. The Finch estate had several house servants and cooks who could go to the market for fresh supplies, however, Shayla enjoyed the markets and often did this task herself.

  Oakenreach, the Finch estates, was a beautiful place. Nestled in a deep wide valley with a winding creek and a small lake, Oakenreach lacked little when it came to beauty or a bountiful supply of fertile lands and game filled forests. What it did lack was people.

  Shayla enjoyed the sounds of people hustling about, haggling for goods complaining about the weather and worrying about their tax burdens. While the commoners who filled the bustling village of Riversend might be considered below her, Shayla found the raw unreserved nature of commoners more comforting than the rigid and proper peers who tended to visit Oakenreach.

  Even the food found in the markets was to her liking. Spicy fire roasted peppers filled with yam and cinnamon, honey dipped rabbit legs and panat, the chewy bread the locals favored, all simple yet taste filled dishes cooked right there in the open markets. One always knew what part of the market they were in simply by the odors.

  As Shayla wandered around the markets inspecting the produce and ordering goods to be sent to Oakenreach, her mind wandered towards dragons.

  Layton Finch had spent a lifetime searching for answers about his dragonblood. Using his position as a merchant’s mage, her father had been able to travel far and wide, and in each new place, he would research historical references to dragons and dragonblood. His personal library in Oakenreach contained copies of records from all over the world. Stories and legends of the dragon wars, the history of dragonblood rulers overthrown during the wars, and accounts of the powers that different dragonblood men and woman had obtained over the years. Some of the data was hearsay and little more than old maids’ stories meant to frighten young children, however, many of the records were factual and told the tale of the world before dragons were hunted to extinction.

  At one time, the world was ruled by dragonblood. The powerful dragon magic made those who possessed it powerful warriors and mages. Those with the blood that bonded with a dragon became even more powerful. While Shayla’s mother was the descendant of current kings and queens, it was her father with his dragonblood, whose long ago relatives had been rulers of the land.

  When dragons returned, so would the powers of the dragonblood. Shayla intended to use her powers, whatever they might be, to gain power. She would be a queen.

  The current King of Oxvein, the kingdom which Oakenreach and Riversend owed allegiance to, was King Robert Horn. A third generation king, Robert Horn was a fat, slovenly, and rather dim witted man. Under his leadership, the kingdom was slowly falling apart. Already the lands west of the mountains had declared themselves to be a kingdom of their own, and the villages to the far south were refusing to pay taxes, claiming the kingdom didn’t do enough to protect them from the nomadic tribes who raided form the east.

  King Horn was desperately holding onto his throne, and would likely be overthrown within the year. The only question was who would do it. Several lords were already privately securing allies in a bid for loyalty in the coming war. But they didn’t know what Shayla knew. They didn’t know that dragons were coming back.

  Ever since she first realized the significance of her own dragon mark, Shayla had started studying her father’s papers while he was away on his business trips and expeditions to find new information. Shayla knew almost as much as her father and his companions in their dragon society, much more than anyone thought she knew.

  While her father was old and likely to die before the return of dragons, Shayla was young, rich and beautiful. She intended to use all of those assets to assemble an army of followers that would make her Queen of Oxvein. In time, she would expand the kingdom and rule all of Partha, uniting all three kingdoms into one great empire. But first, she needed to gain the power of dragons. She needed the dragons to return!

  Done with the markets, Shayla returned to the village stables and retrieved her mount. It was time to return to Oakenreach. Later, a wagon would arrive from Oakenreach to retrieve her purchases.

  Once she was away from the stables and on the path through the forest, Shayla dug her heals into the flanks of her stead, encouraging it to a gallop. Another of Shayla’s simple pleasures was riding fast. The wind blowing through her hair and the way her heart pounded with excitement as she galloped through the forest gave Shayla great joy.

  As she galloped through the forest, Shayla couldn’t help but smile. The only thing that could beat a fast horse would be to ride a dragon. That would be amazing beyond belief, but if the records were to be believed, a distinct possibility. It would all depend on what type of dragon she bonded with, assuming she could bond with one of the great and mysterious creatures.

  Shayla’s stead started to lose steam, the hard gallop had stolen its stamina. With a small amount of disappointment, Shayla pulled back on the reins. She loved to race, but she wouldn’t kill her horse for simple enjoyment. Despite having to slow down, Shayla was making great time. The gallop had brought her almost to the edge of the forest. Within the hour, she would be back in Oakenreach.

  Ahead of her, Shayla noticed an old woman and a young man standing beside a wagon. As she got closer, Shayla could see that the wagon had a broken wheel. The young man seemed to be taking instructions from the old woman on how to fix it. Shayla slowed her mount down even more. The broken down wagon took up most of the road.

  When she reached the wagon, Shayla greeted the pair, “Hello there, having problems I see?”

  The old woman waved at Shayla, “Hello lass, could we get you to give us a hand? My son isn’t strong enough to lift the back of the wagon on his own, and I’m not as strong as I once was.”

  Looking the two over, Shayla couldn’t help but wonder why they hadn’t cut a small tree down to use as a lever, but instead of embarrassing them with the question, Shayla decided to take a closer look. She got off her horse and came over to the wagon to inspect the wheel. She’d see what the problem was.

  As Shayla leaned over to inspect the axle, she was struck by a hard blow to the back of the head. Shayla slumped to the ground unconscious.

  …

  The old lady looked down at Shayla then turned to her young companion. “You shouldn’t have hit her so hard. We need her alive!”

  The young man grinned, “I held back, this time.”

  Turning to the woods, the old lady yelled out, “Ewan, Armando, get over here and get this wheel back on the wagon.” Next she pointed a finger at her young companion, “Tie her up and throw her in the back of the wagon. No mistakes, Deshawn, w
e must not fail the brotherhood.”

  Deshawn nodded in agreement. The old woman might be a worrywart but she had a point, Shayla Finch was a valuable prisoner, one that meant a great deal to the Sacred Blood Brotherhood. It was vital that they got her away from her family’s lands before anyone knew she was missing.

  24

  “FATHER, CAN I HAVE A MOMENT of your time?” asked Sibylle.

  Lord Lamar, grateful that his daughter was still speaking to him after finding out about the king’s decision, was glad to talk with his only daughter. “Of course, my dear, what would you like?”

  “I’ve been giving this royal tournament a great deal of thought. I’ve decided that if I must be married, and the king insists on holding this stupid tournament that I’d like to participate in its planning as much as I can. If that is okay with you, Father?”

  Relief flooded Lord Lamar, he had worried that Sibylle would do something stupid like run off, and risk their position with the king. A stubborn headstrong girl, Sibylle was prone to doing what entered her mind despite common sense dictating otherwise. That she was accepting the fact that she had to get married was a good sign. Perhaps Sibylle was finally becoming an adult.

  “I would be very glad to you plan the tournament, and the subsequent wedding. Nothing would please me more. I just want you to be happy child, but we all have a duty to the king.”

  “I know, Father, and I know you’ve done your best to accommodate my wishes. You warned me what would happen if I didn’t choose, but I didn’t listen. I don’t blame you for my mistake.”

  Lord Lamar hugged Sibylle. I wish you had been born a boy. You have as much spirit as your brothers, if not more. You would have made a great warrior. However, the gods are cruel and you must fulfill your role.”

  It’s not the gods that are cruel, thought Sibylle, its kings and old men who think woman are not their equals who are cruel. “Thank you, Father.”

  “Did you have any particular ideas that we should discuss?”