“Then why the mess?”
She rolled her eyes. “The mayor assigned three maids to me—”
Ilfedo put a hand on her shoulder. “Do not do anything to embarrass our host. You may not agree with Vortain keeping servants, but he does them no wrong and they remain here of their own free will.”
“Father, you have told me time and time again not to worry what other people think but to do what I think is right.” She flashed him a smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass him. I’ll just make him rethink his practices—and let him know I do not approve of keeping servants!”
“Very well.” He pecked her on the cheek. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
As he left the room, the maids came back. “We did as you told us,” they said.
One of them came close. She had a pretty, dimpled face, and long red hair. “We’d heard rumors, my lady, that you also disapprove of other people keeping servants. Is it true?”
She laughed and ran her fingers like a spider down a strip of lace. “It most certainly is.”
“But this is how we earn our livings. We’re indentured. There is nothing we can do about it.”
Oganna held one of the dresses she’d chosen up to the girl’s shoulders. “Mm hmm … now, take this into the washroom and put it on.”
“My lady, I dare not!”
“Oh yes you do.” She gave the girl a gentle push and looked at the other two. “Don’t think you are getting out of this. I have dresses for you as well.”
They opened their mouths to protest, and she shook her head. “It would be indiscreet for you to challenge me on this matter. My father may tolerate some things that his men of state do, even if he questions it. However, one day I will be queen.” The warning seemed to drown out their protests. She saw to it that they changed, then slipped into her crimson dress. It fitted her perfectly.
When the maids finished dressing, they returned to the room and fought over the mirrors. When Oganna put on her dress, they put their hands over their mouths and squealed with delight. “You will drive the lads crazy with that!”
“I hope not.” She eyed the others and whistled. “You girls will be driving the lads crazy.”
They looked horrified. “Our lady, we cannot go to the banquet.”
She listened for a time as they raised objections, but in the end waved them aside and shooed them ahead of her through the door. “There will be many eligible young bachelors at this party, and they will have to be fools to pass up you three.”
“No one will have us,” one protested. “We are mere maids.”
“Nonsense! The honorable young men may be fewer than the fools, but the honorable ones will not care about your social standing. And those who do, cannot help noticing that you enter with the Lord Warrior’s daughter.”
“But we don’t know anyone—”
She sped toward the dining hall. “Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you.”
Under the vaulted ceiling of the dining hall stood a hefty, carved table of mahogany. Its eight thick legs curled up from the floor, shaped to spiral to the tabletop. Oganna guessed it was just over forty feet long. Finely dressed gentlemen and ladies rose from their chairs as she entered, and she spotted her father at the table’s far end.
The mayor’s wife frowned at the maids, and Vortain himself followed her example. He ran his fingers through his long blond hair until she caught his eye and nodded. He relaxed his shoulders and bowed as she sidled up to him.
“I do not need servants, Vortain,” she whispered in his ear.
When his gaze returned to the maids and their fiddling fingers, she smiled. “What sort of a queen do you desire? I could have a retinue; indeed your own daughter might be my servant. Or shall I make peace with all that I meet and treat them as my equals?”
“If I may speak with all honesty, Princess.” He folded his hands behind his back and scowled. “To build a kingdom requires strength of arm. Your diplomacy endears you to all you meet. But when you are queen, no one will be your true equal. If you lead this nation into a glorious future it will be your name that is remembered, and none other.”
She bowed and gazed up into his eyes. “Without the hearts and minds of the people, Vortain, where is our strength?”
His face relaxed, and the hint of a smile touched his mouth as he dipped and kissed her hand. “Truly you will make a great and memorable queen, my lady. Shall we continue this debate at another time?”
She pulled back her hand with a nod and gestured to the maids. “These are lovely young ladies, and I hope you will extend to them the same courtesy that you have to me and the rest of my father’s guests.”
“As you wish, Princess.” He managed a smile in the direction of the maids. “Your word, as it always shall be, is my command.”
Nodding gracefully to the other guests, she bid them, “Good evening,” and sat beside her father, indicating that the three girls were to sit on her other side.
Ilfedo put his arm around her shoulder, pulled her close, and whispered in her ear. “There’s a rumor circulating that you bested Caritha in a sword match.”
Catching the praise in his voice, she kissed his cheek.
He chuckled. “Well done, my daughter. Well done.”
They greeted Laura, Evela, Levena, and Rose’el as they arrived. Honer and his wife Eva came next. The woman paused by Oganna’s seat. Oganna took her hand, and Eva returned a squeeze. Shortly thereafter Ganning limped in with his wife on his arm. Now only two seats remained empty, one for Ombre and one for Caritha.
As the moments passed and neither showed, Oganna wondered where they had gone. “Father, do you know if Uncle Ombre and—” She hushed as his eyes looked past her to the entry doors. Ombre marched across the polished floorboards in a green dress coat and white trousers. His black boots shone, and his sword swung in its sheath by his side.
Caritha, her face slightly flushed, was holding his arm. She was arrayed in a fine dress of lavender, and her hair had been brushed until it shone like the still surface of a lake. Twin ruby earrings glinted in the lamplight, and a necklace of miniscule jewels adorned her neck. Her feet were bare. As she followed her escort to her seat, she allowed him to seat her before he settled beside her.
Their entrance created no small stir. Oganna saw people whispering to each other and could well imagine the questions they were asking. She couldn’t help wondering herself: Was this the beginning of a permanent relationship? The answers were nobody’s business—not even hers. She would have to wait to see how events unfolded.
Later that evening, as the guests filtered into the flower gardens, Oganna followed, stopping on one of the porches. The cool night air smelled of perfume and a lone cloud drifted across the sky. Ombre and Caritha walked along a path toward one of the fountains.
“Keeping an eye on our lovebirds?” Laura came up behind her.
Oganna had been resting her hands on the deck railing. Now she turned to reply. “If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
“Don’t get your hopes up that it is permanent.” Laura nodded toward the couple. “Caritha is probably just fulfilling her end of that little bet she made with him earlier today. Still—I suppose if she didn’t like him, she wouldn’t be with him.”
Oganna crossed her arms. “I hope there is more to it than simply keeping her word. They are two of a kind.”
A moment’s silence passed before Laura spoke. “Don’t rest hope on it, for a union between them could never be. That would result in a child … and that would be the end of her.”
At first Oganna felt like laughing her aunt’s statement aside, but there was something cold about the way Laura had said it, as if she spoke from a deeply rooted conviction. “Why? Why would you say that?”
Laura shook her head and sighed.
“Does this have something to do with what happened to my mother? Are you saying she would have lived had I not been born?” A tear fled her eye, running down her cheek.
&nbs
p; “I’m sorry.” Laura wiped away the tear with her sleeve, then she sighed again and gazed after the couple. “Your father never told you how and why your mother died, did he?”
“No. He hasn’t.”
“Have you asked him about it?”
“She died giving birth to me. What more is there to know?”
Laura gazed back at her and tears formed in her eyes until they shone. “Giving birth, for a dragon’s daughter, is always her last deed in the land of the living. Your mother knew she would die the day she found out she was pregnant. She fought to live, but ultimately the power in her blood had to be given to you—otherwise you would have died. So, you see, it was and was not by her choice.” She swept her hand in a circle. “And the same is true of Levena, Rose’el, Evela, myself, and—yes—even Caritha. Ombre may want her fiercely and she may want him, but they could never be together.”
Their conversation was interrupted as Rose’el joined them. She was frowning down at her dress. “Tore the fabric on that wicked chair,” she muttered.
A young man in a long suit jacket swaggered toward them. His eyes fixated on Oganna. “Hi there,” he said to her. He excused his way between Laura and Rose’el to her side. “I am Faynor.”
After Laura’s revelation, Oganna was not feeling social, and Faynor’s manners lacked discretion, so she excused herself and moved toward the garden. The young man followed several paces behind. Perhaps he had mistaken her departure for an invitation.
“Faynor,” she said, turning to face him, “I am not interested in your advances. If you wish to be a gentleman, you will leave me be.”
He smiled in a foolish way and proffered his arm. “Later there will be dancing—”
“Thank you for your offer, but I am not interested.” She left him and wandered alone through the gardens.
To her delight she stumbled upon the maids who’d been assigned to her. A dark-haired young man accompanied each of them. Each of the youths bowed to Oganna and politely moved aside. The girls’ faces were no less than radiant. Oganna slipped past them, smiling encouragement and nodding as each girl lipped a “thank you.”
Finding a quiet spot on a bench surrounded by petunias, she settled back. Nearby, hidden somewhere behind a shrub, she could just make out Ombre talking with Caritha. His words were too soft for her to pick out, and she was glad, for if he wanted her to know of what he spoke, he would tell her later. She was content to sit on the bench where her presence would not disturb them while she listened to the rhythm of their conversation.
Laura’s words rang in her mind, but her aunt’s fears seemed misplaced. Better to fear that Caritha would judge her own life more valuable than Ombre’s love. She smiled to herself. Yes, and that is what her mother would have taught her, or had taught her by making such a sacrifice on her behalf. True love had no price.
Above her the sky filled with stars. Tonight was the time of new moon, the darkest night of the month. The constellations decorated the heavens. She picked out her favorite: the Fire Tree. It lay near the celestial pole, its imaginary branches marked by a plethora of bright star clusters and gas clouds.
Below the Fire Tree stretched the Blood Sword. Eight emerald stars formed its handle, six gold stars represented the sword’s guard, and twenty brilliant ruby stars made up the blade. To the west a tiny comet blazed its steady trail of white across the heavens, and overhead a great fireball suddenly burst, lighting the ground in one flash as it burned through the atmosphere and burst apart without a sound.
She recalled speaking with an astronomer on the coast—an astronomer who also wore a monk’s habit. He spent many evenings studying the heavens, and her father had once brought the man home for a visit to share his knowledge with Oganna. That night had been similar to this one—moonless and clear skies. A fireball had burst in the heavens, and she had gasped at the beautiful display.
But the monk frowned. “It is odd.”
She turned to gaze at his face. “What is?”
“Child,” he said, “if something as large as that apparently is exploded in the sky, you would expect to hear an explosion, even if it were only a faint one. Would you not?” He had shaken his head, still staring skyward. “It is as if something keeps the sound from reaching our ears. I wonder—I wonder if the Creator means for us to find out why.”
Oganna sighed at the recollection. The world was beautiful, life was good, and she was content. Beside her an invisible foot left an imprint in the ground, and she slid to the opposite end of the bench. The seat creaked as someone unseen sat down.
“I was impressed with your duel today. It is most incredible how quickly your powers are manifesting themselves.”
“No one is around,” she said at the empty seat. She pleaded with her eyes. “Can you simply talk with me face to face?”
Specter’s hood fell away from his smiling face. He looked down at her and rendered his whole body visible, then stretched his arm along the backside of the bench. “I overheard your conversation with Laura.” His face sobered. “Are you all right?”
With a sigh that told him she was content, she slid next to him and let him put his arm around her shoulders. “Specter—my dear, silent guardian—my mother was blessed to have you watching over her. And now I am as well.”
“Ah, your mother was a wonderful young woman.” He exhaled slowly and gazed at the stars. “Your father was, I truly believe, the luckiest man on Subterran when it came to his wife. She was strong and beautiful—and you are like her.”
“Don’t disappear again for a little while. Please stay with me. You know you are like a second father to me.”
A soft laugh escaped him, and he leaned his scythe over the back of the bench. “More like a long-lost great, great grandfather?”
She smiled up at him and warmth spread through her body upon seeing the softness of his gaze. “Tell me more about my mother. Please?”
INCURSIONS
Each plod of the creature’s feet sent shivers running down the observer’s spine. His ruined town on the Hemmed Land’s southern border with the desert shook. It was too dark for him to see clearly, but he peeked from concealment. In the middle of the road lined with rubble, he spotted the creature’s enormous form outlined against the horizon stars. As glowing yellow vapors emanated from its nostrils, he trembled.
Sweat built on his forehead. He reached up to wipe it away, but a woman’s scream stopped him. It had been impossible for the people to defend themselves, but apparently the creature hadn’t found everyone. The frantic cry had come from a house by the bridge. Casting off consideration for his own safety, he darted across the bridge and entered the front door. A roar sounded, and in that instant the creature smashed its tail through the wall, turning the house into an impossible maze of fallen beams and broken glass.
Not daring to look through the gaping hole at the creature, he clambered over a broken couch and looked about. The woman was pinned to the floor by a beam. Again the creature roared and spurted flames, setting what remained of the roof ablaze. The woman’s leg, glistening red with blood, protruded from under the wooden rafter. Her face was turning white.
The creature’s hand smashed into the wreckage, sending rubble flying in all directions. The would-be-rescuer moved to cover his face with his arms, but a beam struck him and threw him from the building onto the bridge. Pain shot through his leg. He looked down. A large piece of glass had lodged in his calf, and his blood was pooling on the bridge. He grasped his leg with both hands. Ripping his belt off, he tied it just below his knee. The bleeding slowed, but he knew that unless he received medical attention soon, he would die.
The house walls had fallen outward, as if the creature had pulled them down, and a long, tooth-ridden snout poked over them. The woman screamed again. This time the creature blew a stream of vapors into the house. Its victim’s cries broke off into a spasm of coughing, then ceased. Clenching his fists, the man ground his teeth. The tears streamed down his face. That woman was one of his
neighbors, a good friend, and a good soul. Was there no pity in this creature’s heart? Was there no shred of remorse for this senseless murder?
Several enraged townsfolk ran from their hiding places. Unheeding of their own peril, they stabbed pitchforks into the creature’s thick hide. As it continued to pour vapors from its nostrils, their attack faltered. The townsfolk stumbled and fell, and the creature tossed their bodies into the town well.
Remaining out of sight, the man scrambled out of town. Reaching the shelter of the forest, he grasped a tree trunk for support before glancing back to let another tear hide the carnage from his eye.
Through the darkness he stumbled northward until he came to a woodcutter’s secluded home. He beat on the door until it opened. Weakened from loss of blood, he fell forward on the floor. Excruciating pain shot through his body, and he cried out. “Please, send for help.” He could not go on.
The woodcutter and another man came into the room, cleared the table, and lifted him onto it. They tended to his leg and gave him liquor to numb the pain. “That’s the limit of my knowledge,” the woodcutter said. “This man needs a doctor.” He grabbed a lantern and barreled outside.
The man felt weak. He was weak. As the door closed, he blacked out. When he awoke, light was coming through a window to his right. He was lying in a comfortable, clean bed, and a woman was dressing his leg.
“You’ve been out for a while,” she said, putting a hand to his forehead. “How do you feel?”
He breathed deeply. “Much better.”
“Good.” She turned away, but he caught her sleeve.
“Must not let that creature get away!” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Send help to my town. People are dead—some might still be alive.”
“Your town?”
“Town of Bordelin.” A wave of exhaustion swept over him, his vision blurred, and he lost consciousness.
Ilfedo was at his home enjoying a quiet afternoon when a messenger arrived. “My Lord, I have troubling news from the southern border.” He proceeded to tell of the unidentified creature’s attack on the town of Bordelin. “Several smaller settlements along that stretch of territory were also decimated.” He extended the message toward Ilfedo. “People are panicking. Some have fled the border towns.”
Offspring (The Sword of the Dragon) Page 17
