Sea Dragon Heir

by Constantine, Storm

  VARENCIENNE APPROVED OF HER chambers, although they were very different from those she had left behind. The main door opened onto a short corridor, filled with pale light from overhead windows. From there, Goldvane conducted the women to a large sitting room, and then withdrew. Here, the walls were of stone rather than the wood panelling Varencienne was used to, and adorned with tapestries that shivered in a breeze she could not feel. The windows were high and narrow and had folding wooden shutters rather than curtains. In the creamy stone hearth, a fire burned, and utensils were set out ready to prepare refreshment. Varencienne went to inspect these alien implements. A black metal trivet was set into the surround of the hearth and could be swung out over the flames. Hot beverages at home always appeared on a tray and she had never witnessed them being prepared. Stone was always polished to a gloss and wood varnished. Here, stone was rough as in nature, and wood pale and full of sap. “Doesn’t appear to be a housekeeper,” Oltefney said, with suspicion. “Perhaps she was busy,” Varencienne suggested lamely. Oltefney shook her head. “I doubt it. What kind of an establishment has no housekeeper, and only a man to see to all?” A maid was found loitering in the bathroom polishing taps, and Oltefney took charge of her at once. Presently, a kettle was boiling on the trivet and pungent tea had been measured out into a clay pot. Varencienne took off her cloak and gloves and went to explore her new home. The bedroom was hardly grand, but with a wall of the tall, deeply-set narrow windows, where gauzy drapes of coarse-spun linen scraped against the floor. The bed was low and devoid of posts, but when Varencienne sat on it, it was pleasingly firm. She was surprised to find she had her own kitchen and laundry—just small rooms, but obviously for her use. There were also two chambers clearly intended for the accommodation of servants—so close to her, it seemed strange. They would be like their own small household within the larger domain of the castle. The bathroom was functional and again hardly palatial, but here the flagstones were covered in fleeces, upon which Varencienne’s damp feet would be able to pad in comfort after bathing. Chunks of grey soap lay in earthenware dishes on a shelf. They looked repulsive, but when Varencienne sniffed them, she inhaled a wonderful salty aroma, like the sea, spiced with tart herbs. Perhaps it was made in the village below or even in the castle kitchens. Caradore seemed very rustic?living there might be like staying on a farm?but its simplicity appealed to Varencienne. She realized then she had never felt completely comfortable in the stuffy, regulated atmosphere of the imperial palace. Here, she might move more freely and her dreams would seem more real. Back in the sitting-room, Oltefney was in full complaint. “Never seen the like!” she exclaimed, hands on hips. “It’s like a ruin—all draughts and cold spots!” Varencienne smiled at the maid who was kneeling by the hearth. “I like it.” The maid risked a tiny smile back, then returned her concentration to her tasks. “But Your Highness,” protested Oltefney loudly, “the least they could have done was been here to meet us. I shall write to your mother about it immediately. It’s an affront.” Varencienne flopped down into a chair. “Oh, don’t bother about it. What could my mother do, anyway? We’re here now.” Her mother would not care. Varencienne was out of her sphere of influence now. She imagined that already the space she had occupied in the palace had been filled by other people, other dreams. Sighing, she gazed around the room. It had a presence all its own; restful, but also secretive. There was a basket on the wide windowsill, filled with shells. Someone had gathered them and put them there. Someone. After drinking her tea—which was far stronger than any she was used to—Varencienne changed her clothes and let her hair out of its net. She would have liked to let its perfumed mass fall free down her back, but Oltefney protested and then insisted on plaiting it for her. “You are not a farm girl, Your Highness, but a representative of your father’s house.” Oltefney, no doubt, considered her rather wild. From the top layer of one of her clothes trunks, Varencienne chose a plain, sand-colored gown, which she knew defined her figure flatteringly and swept loosely around her ankles. Its hem was decorated in gold motifs. “Not very fancy,” criticised Oltefney, frowning as her mistress wriggled into the dress, refusing assistance. “Perhaps not, but it was very expensive indeed—a gift from my brother, Bayard. He brought it back with him from Pepherus.? Varencienne guessed Oltefney was thinking only of the Palindrake sisters, and that perhaps the new bride should be dressed more splendidly, to impress. Varencienne just wanted to feel comfortable. Someone knocked on the door, and opened it before Oltefney could reach it. Varencienne stood up quickly. She saw a woman in the doorway, perhaps the missing housekeeper. She appeared to be of middle years, very tall and thin. Her nose was overlarge for her face, yet she still managed to look handsome. Grey-streaked brown hair was coiled up on her head, as neat and immobile as the hair of a statue. “Good afternoon,” this woman announced. “I am Everna Palindrake.” Varencienne’s fantasies of wild, black-haired beauties broke up into fragments and blew away. Everna was possibly the exact opposite of such a vision. She ignored Oltefney and marched purposefully into the room, her hands laced before her, eyes fixed upon her brother’s new bride. Varencienne noticed Everna’s white knuckles; was she nervous too? Out of courtesy, she bobbed a curtsey, which made Everna smile. They weren’t formal at all here. Everna had walked into the room without ceremony or escort. Varencienne had expected to be presented to the two sisters later, in a formal reception room, where they would sit at a polite distance from one another and discuss trivialities, all the time sizing each other up. “I apologize no one was here to greet you,” said Everna, thrusting out a hand. Varencienne stared at it in perplexity for a few moments, before realizing she was expected to shake it. Men greeted one another that way. She had never shaken anybody’s hand. Everna’s grip was strong, brief and businesslike, the palms dry and gritty as if dusted with sand. “It’s quite all right,” Varencienne managed to say. “We’ve had some tea, and have been settling in.” “Good. We shall all dine together this evening, of course. Val has had an ox slaughtered, so I hope you have an appetite.” “Yes, yes.” Varencienne felt like a child. This woman must be older than her mother. She realised she could never be mistress here. “I hope you have everything you need.” “Yes. Everything.” Everna nodded in apparent satisfaction. “Good. I run the household for my brother, so if you should need anything, send word to me at once.” No housekeeper then, but a maiden sister. There was an air around Everna which suggested she was no man’s wife. “That’s very kind of you,” Varencienne said. “My rooms are lovely.” Everna smiled, rather tightly. “I’m glad you like them. They are but a small example of Caradore’s splendors. Are you tired, or would you like to be shown around?” “Yes please, I mean, I’m not tired.” “Well, come along, then. Caradore must be very different from the palace in Magrast.” Oltefney appeared silenced by shock. “You can finish unpacking,” Varencienne told her and swept past her out of the door. Everna walked very quickly, her dark gown puffing out around her ankles as she thrust out her feet. Varencienne hurried to keep up. “We hope you’ll be happy here,” Everna said. “I must confess it was a shock to us that Val had married.” Of course, his sisters had not been at the wedding. He hadn’t even told them. They were so isolated out here, in this corner of the world, that no news had come to them. Varencienne felt momentarily chilled. “I’m sorry,” she said. She wanted to say that it had been a shock to her too, but thought it might be considered importunate. “Not your fault,” said Everna briskly. “I can’t imagine you had much say in the matter.” “No. Not at all.” “We don’t see much of him nowadays,” Everna continued, “and I don’t expect that to change.” She paused. “You are a poor little thing, aren’t you?” No, I am a princess. I am not poor, or even that little. Varencienne found her voice. “Actually, I’ve been looking forward to coming here. I like the sea, and I’m used to the company of women. At home, the ladies of the palace rarely see their husbands.” Everna smiled in an approving, if tight, fashion. “Well, I’m glad to hear you know some of wha
t to expect. If you like the sea, you will have your senses indulged to repletion here. We have rather a lot of it.” “I noticed.” Varencienne returned the smile. I have done something right, she thought. There was a turret walk, a place where the wind tried to take captives. Varencienne could barely breathe out there. Her robe was flattened to her legs, and she felt chilled to the core. Everna didn?t seem to notice the cold. Perhaps a person would become used to it, living here. Varencienne told Everna about Mavenna, and how she had pictured they would one day walk together in a place like this. “I would like her to come here some day,” she said. Everna frowned slightly. “I don’t know about that.” “But why?” Varencienne could not keep the surprise from her voice. Everna cast a shrewd look in her direction. “Well, we are all set in our ways here,” she explained. “We don’t want Caradore filled with twittering girls running about the corridors. Also, the sea air does not always agree with city folk.” “Mavenna was very much looking forward to coming here. Will none of my friends be welcome?” “Don’t misunderstand me,” Everna said smoothly. “I don’t wish to sound authoritarian. I expect you’ll forget your old life very soon, and the memory of those childhood friends will fade. You’ll find much to do, and perhaps soon you’ll have children of your own, which will of course fill your time to capacity.” Children, in Varencienne’s experience, did very little to fill the time of royal women, but it was clear that life was very different in Caradore. Would she be expected to look after her children herself? The prospect did not please her. She had imagined childbearing to be an inevitable consequence of being married, but hoped she could cope with it in the same way she’d coped with other sicknesses. She’d assumed that once it was over, the child would be handed to someone else and she could get on with her life. But what was her life going to be? What had it been? A dream, a long pageant of dreams. “I’m not sure I like children,” she said, the words like a rope of honesty coming out of her mouth. She thought she could see their dark chain shivering in the wind. Everna wrinkled her nose, which made her look younger. “I certainly don’t like children, which is why I live here, unencumbered by a husband. As a girl, I just couldn’t stomach the thought of spawning some man’s offspring year after year, lumbering round like a brood mare. It drains a woman, you know, uses up her blood and makes her bones fragile.” She glanced sideways at Varencienne. “I hope your children won’t be a nuisance.” “To any of us,” Varencienne couldn’t help adding. Her numbness was coming back. She could feel it slipping over her like a shroud. Everna put a hand upon her shoulder. “Val must want heirs, otherwise he wouldn’t have married you. At least you shouldn’t be shelling them once a year, like most women. As I said, Val rarely comes home now. Your father keeps him busy. And you’re young. I expect your body will recover very quickly from the first one.” This is terrible, Varencienne thought. Her fond imaginings of rearing Valraven Palindrake’s children had not involved the actual bearing of them herself, nor any subsequent mothering. She had been so stupid. She had not realized. One of her dreams was to become reality, but not in any way she’d thought. She could be pregnant already. There could be something growing inside her, preparing to suck the marrow from her bones and feast on her blood. Varencienne stumbled to the battlement wall and leaned into the wind, gulping the salty air. She felt faint. Everna glided up behind her. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken in that way. My views are hardly feminine and must have frightened you. Please ignore my ramblings. I’m sure your own mother—or indeed most other women—would tell you what a rewarding experience motherhood can be.” But not you, Varencienne thought. She could not contest Everna’s feelings; they were similar to her own.