Sea Dragon Heir

by Constantine, Storm

  VARENCIENNE KEPT HER SILENCE. She did not tell Pharinet, or anyone else, about the visions she’d experienced in the city beneath the sea. Only time would reveal if there was any truth in them. The meeting with Foy affected her deeply. She felt it had shown her only human weakness, greed and stupidity. The rituals the Sisterhood conducted meant nothing; they were selfish. What they really perpetuated was the continuing, if distant, reign of the Dragon Daughters, whose influence hung like a depressing miasma over the land. Varencienne wanted to deny this influence and felt that the only way to do that was to allow Foy to die, to look to the future in terms of taking responsibility for it. For too long, the Caradoreans had relied on a myth. In the autumn of that year, Varencienne gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. The boy was named Valraven for his father, but the girl she felt driven to name Ellony, for the daughter that Niska’s sister would never have.

  3

  REVENANT

  1

  HOMECOMING

  EVERNA AND VARENCIENNE SAT with the children in the garden at Norgance. Saska was picking apples with her daughters nearby, helped by Oltefney, who was now virtually a member of the Palindrake family. Dimara wasn’t there, but then she always shunned the house when Varencienne came to call. The sun shone gently over the late summer scene, casting a golden glow over the walls of the great house. The air smelled of ripening fruit. Everna pursed her lips and said, “I thought young Rav would have the Palindrake coloring. It seems strange to see a son of our house so fair.” Everna did not wholly approve of this departure from tradition, Varencienne realized, and probably blamed her, the mother. “Perhaps he will have more of the sun in him when he becomes a man,” she said, with a placatory smile. “We need light in our lives.” This was a careful criticism of Valraven the father, but Everna chose not to recognize it. Much had changed over the last three years. The Sisterhood had finally asked Varencienne to join their ranks, an invitation that she took pleasure in declining. This did nothing to improve her relationship with Dimara Corey, but her opinion was irrelevant to Varencienne. She knew the truth now. Foy would never rise. Whatever the Malagash dynasty had done to the dragons, and the Palindrakes, the damage had been too thorough. What remained was a fragile memory, sustained by the Sisterhood?s ignorant worship. Varencienne could only despise the way Foy was kept alive in a wretched, powerless state. Valraven had seemed pleased with his children, although like his wife, he was not given to displays of affection. Everna had once again assumed a mothering role, as she had when her brother and sister had been born. This slightly surprised Varencienne, given the speech Everna had given her on the battlements when she’d arrived as a new bride in Caradore. Pharinet adored Rav, and he spent nearly every day with her, sitting in front of her horse’s saddle as she rode about the estate, exploring the land with her. However, it was blindingly clear that Pharinet shied away from Rav’s sister, Ellony. Varencienne herself had found the whole birth process foul and had no desire to think about it ever again. The only time she’d consider having more children would be if the boy died. She hoped this would not be necessary. Now that Valraven had an heir, he no longer visited Varencienne’s room on the rare occasions he came home on leave. This suited both of them fine. Everna might shake her head and make a disapproving sound, but Varencienne knew that Valraven did not desire warmth or contact from any living person, and she herself did not want to endure intimacy with a man who felt that way. Now, they were able to be cordial with one another. She sensed he was grateful for the way she behaved and regarded him. She was, in fact, his perfect wife. Varencienne knew she herself had the potential to be a passionate creature, but there was no one in Caradore to ignite her feelings. The closest she came to it was when she thought about Khaster Leckery. Even now, she still liked to walk the long gallery in Norgance, savoring the moment when she could pause before the portrait. Khaster inhabited her fantasies, but even if he wasn’t dead, he might as well be. This situation was entirely to Varencienne’s liking. Ghosts could be whatever she wanted them to be, whereas real men were problematical. They had to control and demand. Varencienne felt far older than her years. She liked life in Caradore, and had resigned herself to the fact that magic resided only in the past. When she’d arrived here, she’d awoken memories, but it seemed that once she had learned the tragic history of her new family, and the sad truth about the dragons, that immediate sense of magic had faded. If she ever thought she saw wisps of smoke in corners of Caradore, she now convinced herself it was a trick of the light. It disappointed her a little that her imagination had become less active than in the past. Some part of her had been lost, but she felt that in many ways this had to be seen as a blessing. She wrote to Bayard and her mother regularly, but had not seen either of them since she’d followed her new husband to his home. There was never any mention of the past in their correspondence, and Bayard skirted the subject of Valraven. When the twins had been born, Leonid, the emperor, had sent gifts, but neither of Varencienne’s parents seemed interested in actually seeing their grandchildren. The empire’s purge through Cossic territory now meant that corner of Varencienne’s father’s domain was secure. The armies waited on the borders, perhaps wondering when the order would come for them to march onwards. Casualties had been great and supplies were low. It was believed the empire would rest and re-arm itself before making any further moves. These events, of course, barely touched the lives of the women in Caradore. Their men were still absent, but recently there had been no fatalities among them. Local families all breathed a sigh of relief to think that for a while at least, their menfolk were off active duty. Varencienne knew Valraven was on leave in Magrast, but he had not come home. Now, she lay in the caressing sunshine, and it was as if her life was complete. She had somehow got her own way. She wondered then about her old friends, Mavenna and Carmia. They had exchanged a few letters early in Varencienne’s marriage, but this had petered out. Everna’s words had come true; she had other friends now to occupy her mind, and the children had come. Little Ellony ran to where her mother sat beneath the shade of the trees. In her cupped hands she held a captive butterfly, which she presented proudly to Everna. Ellony was a careful, sensitive child. If Rav caught a butterfly he’d no doubt kill it accidentally. The insect lay with outspread wings across Ellony’s tiny palms, and then flew up into the branches. The girl laughed in delight. “Pretty!” Everna reached out to stroke her hair. Ellony always went to Everna. “You are her real mother,” Varencienne said. Everna glanced at her, perhaps seeking irony or bitterness in her face, but Varencienne knew she would find none. ?I sometimes wonder whether it is my fault,? Everna said. ?Those things I once said to you. They affected you, didn?t they.? Varencienne sighed, blinking up at the leaves. “Perhaps they did, but it is irrelevant. I have performed my duty, and everyone is happy.” Everna shook her head. “You are like an old woman sometimes, Ren.” Varencienne laughed softly, but said nothing. Everna stared at her, clearly formulating another remark, but it was never spoken. A servant ran out from the house, screaming, “Lady Saska!” The sense of urgency was immediate, and with it came a thrill of dread. “What is it?” Saska hurried forward, knocking over a basket of apples with her skirts. “Sir Merlan!” gasped the servant, hands flapping. Saska let out a dreadful moan, her hands flying to her face. Niska and Ligrana were frozen in the act of rising from the grass, their hair hanging forward. Oltefney was frowning; curious and apprehensive. “What is it?” she asked. “No,” breathed Everna. Varencienne felt estranged from it all. It seemed another tragedy was about to befall the house of Norgance. She was slightly impatient with it. Then a male voice called, “Mother!” The moment cracked and splintered. The sunlight came back in. Suddenly the garden was full of delighted squeals and Ligrana and Niska were scampering forward. Oltefney got to her feet behind them, her face wreathed in relief. Varencienne turned in her seat. A young man had come into the garden. Not dead, then, but returned. A sense of recognition flooded through her, she felt her flesh grow hot. It was Kh
aster. She nearly choked, but after only a moment, she realized it was someone else, someone who looked like him, who’d stolen his brother’s face. “Thank Foy,” said Everna, grinning. She got up and summoned the children. “Uncle Merlan,” she said to them. They came forward, shy. Varencienne also felt impatient with the way all the women immediately fawned over the newcomer. Reluctantly, she got to her feet and went to stand at the edge of the group surrounding Saska’s eldest surviving son. Close to, he looked uncannily like the portrait of Khaster that hung in the long gallery. But the resemblance was only physical, Varencienne felt. Merlan was neither melancholy nor despairing, but quite the opposite. There was also a certain slyness to his expression. Light brown hair fell over his face, which was corded with muscle as if his features were in constant motion. Varencienne had heard all the stories about Merlan; he now held quite a prestigious position as assistant to the governor of Mewt. He was not a soldier but an administrator, safe from combat. His skin had been tanned to dark brown by the hot sun of Mewt, and gold highlights shone in his hair. He wore gold Mewtish earrings in his ears, hoops wound with tiny enamelled snakes. After some moments of effusive greeting and hugging, Saska took her son’s arm and indicated Varencienne. “This is Valraven’s wife, the emperor’s daughter.” Merlan looked her over. “Of course, the Princess Varencienne.” Varencienne inclined her head. “I saw Val while I was in Magrast,” he said. “I have a package for you.” “Thank you,” Varencienne said. “I trust you will visit Caradore while you are here?” Merlan glanced at Everna. “I expect I shall. Where’s Pharry?” “She’s not with us today,” Everna said, “but she’ll be sorry to have missed this homecoming.” Varencienne wondered about that.

  LATER, IT BECAME CLEAR to Varencienne that Pharinet felt uncomfortable around Merlan. Perhaps this was because he looked so much like Khaster. It seemed an instinct had made her decline to accompany her relatives to Norgance that day. Varencienne watched Pharinet’s face as Everna described the afternoon’s events. “He has changed a lot now,” she said. “He is quite dashing. You’ll be surprised.” Varencienne knew she was not the only person present to detect a subtext to that remark. Merlan was around twenty years old, twelve years younger than Pharinet. Would such a match be permissible in Caradore? Pharinet merely gibbered a laughing response, which illustrated her discomfort, then said, “He’s a boy, Evvie!” “He’s done very well for himself. Seems so mature.” Men were worshipped in Caradore. Varencienne was sickened by it. Two days later, Merlan rode over to Caradore, accompanied by his sisters and his little brother, Foylen. Varencienne, watching from an upper window of the castle that overlooked the courtyard, realized with some despair that a happy get-together of young people had been planned. She only hoped Pharinet would elect to be part of it, but had doubts. Slowly, Varencienne descended to the hall, where the Leckery women were talking loudly with Everna. The twins waddled about, making high-pitched noises. Wincing, Varencienne attempted to arrange her face into an agreeable expression. “Ren!” Niska called. “We have ordered a picnic from the kitchens. We shall all ride out somewhere nice together.” “Actually,” said Varencienne, “I feel a slight headache coming on.” The noise of the children would be hard to bear, because the Leckerys always encouraged them to be loud, but it would be worse to endure the sycophantic pawing of Merlan. The Leckerys seemed oblivious to her mood however and ignored her arguments. Within the hour a company clattered out of Caradore, Foylen driving a cart in which sat Niska, Ligrana and the twins. Everna and Pharinet, predictably, were absent. Varencienne rode her own horse, as did Merlan. In the event, they did not ride far, just some distance along the cliff path in the direction of the rock village. Part way there was a grove of ash trees, their drooping branches fluttering nervously in the wind off the sea. Here, Ligrana and Niska set about laying out the picnic among the wild lavender. Varencienne was not in the mood for this. Not even bothering to offer to help the other women, she sat down on the grass and clasped her hands round her knees. Merlan stood beside her. “Your children are beautiful. I suppose one of us Leckerys should start breeding soon so we can carry on the interfamily marriage tradition that began with Valraven and Pharinet.” Varencienne considered that remark in poor taste. Or had it been a jibe? “Is that why you’re home, to secure a bride?” she asked. “It seems the obsession here.” “I’m in no rush.” He sat down. “Though I expect my mother will have coachloads of local nubiles parading around for my benefit while I’m home.” “You’re lucky to have a choice.” Something about Merlan made her feel defensive. He narrowed his eyes at her but made no comment on her words. “So, what do you do with yourself here? It must be boring for you after Magrast.” “Not at all. I love Caradore. It has a lot of history. The ancient sites interest me very much.” “And I expect everyone has drummed into you how the history is mostly the fault of your family.” She smiled tightly. “At first. I think they realize now I’m my own person. I’m very interested in history. The sites tell you a lot about the past.” “And they approve of you poking round Old Caradore?” “Excuse me? I don’t have to ‘poke’ around my own home.” “I wasn’t referring to that. I meant Old Caradore, the one the Palindrakes left when the empire moved in.” She frowned. “I didn’t realize there was one.” He reclined on the grass, resting his head on one hand. “Then you’ve missed the most important site, surely.” “Where is it?” Varencienne asked. She was finding it increasingly difficult to dispel the illusion she was speaking to Khaster. Merlan was someone else; she must be careful. He jerked his head in the direction of the rock village. “That way. It’s quite a ride.” “Have you been there?” “Yes. When I was much younger. Some friends and I ran away for a couple of days. We were looking for ghosts.” “And did you find any?” He wrinkled his nose. “Not exactly. But it’s a bleak spot.” “Is it very ruined?” “Most of it is still standing, but I would say it’s unsafe. Not that we cared about that as boys.” Varencienne examined him carefully. “I would like to see it, but somehow I can’t imagine anyone wanting to take me there. I scent bad memories and fear.” Merlan smiled slowly. “I can take you.” Varencienne realized that he had made her a conspirator in making him feel special, like the other women did. He had led the conversation, created its conclusion. Perhaps she should decline the invitation. However, she had to admit that this male attention intrigued her, seeing as she’d experienced so little of it. What were his motives? She was sure it couldn’t be simple friendship. Strangely enough, the idea did not displease her. Was she seeking to realize one of her fantasies? It would be easy to imagine that Merlan was Khaster, far more so than pretending that Valraven was. This reaction, though shocking, also amused her. It made her feel reckless and alive. ?That?s very kind of you,? she said. ?When can we go?? He grinned at her. “Tomorrow?”

  BACK AT CARADORE, Varencienne went looking for Pharinet and found her in one of the worksheds of the village that surrounded the castle. The shed was long, low and dark, the heavy air almost unbreathable in the afternoon heat. It smelled of tar, fish and rotting vegetation. Here sea plants were processed, turned into soap, fibers and animal feed. Pharinet was taking her pick of the latest crop for her servants to transform into cosmetic potions, which she rubbed into her skin. Varencienne told Pharinet about the picnic, and then mentioned Merlan’s offer. “I didn’t know there was another castle. This, I suppose, was one of your secrets.” Pharinet frowned. “No, not really. It’s a ruin, dead. I just didn’t think to mention it. Why do you want to see it?” “There may be answers there.” “You already have your answers. You’ve made up your mind that the dragons are lost to us for ever.” Varencienne shrugged. “I just want to see it. I really do.” Pharinet shrugged. “Then go.” “You don’t mind?” Pharinet began to sort through a mottled hank of dried weed. “Why should I? It’s just a ruin.” There was a tight tone to her voice. “Pharry …?” “What?” “Is Merlan very like Khaster?” Pharinet threw down the dry tangle and fixed Varencienne with a stare. It was not enough to deter h
er. “Well, is he?” Pharinet looked away, rubbed a piece of weed between her fingers. “A bit. But they’re different people. I don’t know Merlan very well. He left Caradore before you came here, and I’ve not seen him since. He left here a boy and came back a man, as they all do.” She pursed her lips. “But Merlan is not scarred, because he has an easy life. He comes bounding back to Caradore, oozing his good fortune.? She shook out some stinking fibers. ?He seems fond of himself, but that is not unusual in a man.? “He intrigues me.” Pharinet looked up and narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t know Khaster, Ren.” Varencienne wandered around the work table, trailing her fingers across the surface. “I feel I do. He seemed very … heroic … a tragic sort of person.” “All that was tragic was that he was forced to leave his home and take up a life he hated. Ultimately, it killed him.” Varencienne looked up slowly and met Pharinet’s eyes. Did it? She asked without words. Pharinet dropped her gaze, and Varencienne noticed the pulse of color rising up her neck. “You have no right to judge. In some ways, you’re in the same position I was: married to a man you cannot love.” Varencienne shrugged. “True.” She smiled and tapped her fingers against the table. “Still, I shall go to Old Caradore and see if I can awaken a few ghosts.” Pharinet shook her head. “Be careful, Ren. You are accepted here, but it’s taken time. Don’t do anything to jeopardize that.” “What are you suggesting?” “I think you know,” said Pharinet quietly.