The Princess's Dragon

by JManess

“If we pull every fighting man out of the cities and send them to the Pass we should have enough men.”

  “That means leaving my cities unguarded, vulnerable to attack,” the king protested.

  “Your Highness, the only attack you need fear is from Onian’s armies. Thus far, no one has the ability to breech the mountains surrounding us, and there are no armies we need fear within our boundaries. I will leave the Citizen’s Force in the towns and cities to remain alert to any attempts at subversion, but the greatest danger lies at the Pass. I am sorry to say that if our armies fall there, then no amount of guards left in the cities will hold off Onian’s soldiers for long.”

  “So the war comes down to one battle, one chance at success or failure? We either hold the Pass or lose our kingdom to murderous thieves?”

  “Yes, Your Highness, that is the extent of the situation.” Both Derek and 144

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  the messenger nodded in agreement. “Take heart, Your Highness; this will serve us better than having to move troops all around the kingdom. We are the ones who need only wait; Onian must deal with the logistics of mobilizing a mass army and supplying them over miles and miles of territory. We have advance notice and that gives us time to prepare. I used the brief respite when no other kingdoms knew of the ginacite to prepare for just this eventuality. We are not beaten, my liege, nor will we be as long as I yet draw breath.” A thought occurred to the king and he wondered why he hadn’t considered it before. “What of Bladen? We share a trade alliance with them cemented by the marriage of my own daughter to their youngest prince. Will they consider an alliance of war and add their number to our troops?” He looked hopefully at Derek. The Warlord shook his head sadly.

  “We’ve yet to receive word from Bladen though we sent the missive to your own daughter and her husband when we discovered the ginacite. By now, Bladen will be well apprised of the situation and I fear that they have no intention of involving themselves. I fear they mean to stand back and wait—

  and pick the carcass clean in the aftermath.” The king let his head drop back on his hands and heaved a sigh. “Well, there is little left for us to do then. We must prepare for war. Call in the herald.

  We must send out the word.”

  “Your Highness, about the grand party—” Derek prompted.

  “How long until Halidor marches on my land?” the king addressed the messenger.

  “I am not entirely certain, but the word I received during my brief stay in Halidor was that the troops planned to mobilize before the start of the next moon-cycle.”

  “That gives us twenty-five cycles; the party happens in seven. We will continue with our plans for the grand party.”

  “But, Your Highness …” Lord Derek interrupted.

  “This may be the last chance our people have to celebrate, Lord Derek.

  Would you take that away from them? Whether we win or lose, there will be a great cost to my people.” The king bowed his head, but not before Derek caught the glitter of tears in his eyes. Derek motioned to dismiss the messenger and bowed to the king.

  “I will send the herald, Your Highness, and begin my preparations immediately.” Derek watched, as the king remained slumped with his head

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  bowed. He wanted to add something else encouraging, but there wasn’t much left to say; he could only hope the measures he’d taken would make a difference in the end. He turned his back on the king’s misery and quietly exited the chambers, waving the royal herald in to confer with the king.

  Derek’s old comrade-in-arms met him outside the chambers and motioned for the man to follow him. They headed for Derek’s office. Derek still had things he needed to discuss with the seasoned veteran. He only hoped the other mercenaries he sent for arrived as quickly as they promised; the fate of Ariva might very well rest be resting on their shoulders.

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  CHAPTER 16

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  A mere two sun cycles after the order to mobilize the troops, a creaking, battered carriage drawn by a pair of exhausted horses pulled up to the castle gates. Th

  e carriage’s occupant was accompanied by

  only a scruff y and shifty-eyed mercenary guard and an aging and foul-mouthed coachman. A veiled young woman poked her head from the carriage window in response to the gate guard’s request for identity. She lifted her veil to reveal none other than the princess Elona. Th

  e guards hastily opened the gates and

  allowed the carriage and outrider to proceed within.

  Once within the courtyard the royal steward appeared and assisted the heavily pregnant princess from the rickety coach. An ancient pinch-faced matron emerged after the princess’s painful and awkward descent and demanded payment for her services as chaperone to the princess. Once servants secured the single trunk and the steward paid off the disreputable hired escorts and sent them on their way, the princess was conducted within the castle to her former chambers, which servants hastily aired and prepared. More servants scurried about laying out a meal.

  The princess, travel-weary and sore from the rough ride and her advanced pregnancy, set herself down heavily, grateful that the ground beneath her no longer bucked and rocked, and she ate heartily. Soon, the efficient steward sent a lady’s maid to assist Elona in bathing and changing and her family received word that she had returned, alone and unexpected. The princess collapsed into a freshly changed bed to rest.

  By sunbirth the following cycle, Elona awoke, refreshed and full of energy despite the demands of her bulging belly. Back home, surrounded by those 146

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  things she’d claimed too childish to take with her upon her marriage, Elona looked around and for the first time in a very long time she felt like her old authoritative self. The chamber maid scurried busily about the room, setting the few meager belongings Elona brought with her into their proper places whilst the lady’s maid, hastily promoted from the chambers, shakily assisted the princess in dressing. Elona grew impatient with the girl and snatched the overdress out of her hands, pulled it over her head, and thrust her arms through the sleeveless garment. The maternity sack dress split over her massive belly and fell to either side. She swept up a filmy shawl and arranged it artfully about her slender shoulders, pulling her auburn braid out of the way, all while she snapped orders at both harried girls. Checking her appearance in the polished silver, she powdered her face, attempting to brighten the darkness beneath her eyes and disguise the lines of strain on her otherwise flawless skin. She barely finished restoring her appearance to its normally glowing and vibrant beauty when a peremptory knock announced the arrival of her family.

  Sarai entered the room first and Elona clenched her fists at how exquisite her sister looked; she hated admitting that her sister appeared lovelier than herself. But, she reminded herself, she is so quiet and shy; she blends into the walls despite her beauty, unlike me. Everyone knew that Elona’s vibrancy, arrogance, and sense of command drew all eyes to her more often than not.

  Elona rose, slowly, struggling to maintain a semblance of grace despite the awkward belly, and waved her sister in.

  “Tell those fools to wait in the sitting room. I’ll not have them chattering and interrupting all the time,” she said, when Sarai’s entourage of ladies tried to follow her into Elona’s chamber. Sarai waved them out and stepped in to close the door and study her sister. Elona stood impatiently.

  “Well—” she said, tapping her tiny foot in its worn silken slipper.

  “You look beautiful, your pregnancy becomes you.” Sarai stepped closer and then enfolded her sister in a fierce hug. “I am so glad you came home.” Elona stood frozen, stunned by the show of affection. Many people in her life admired her beauty, and some even admired her strong and aggressive personality, but very few people in her life loved her or showed her true affection. She�
��d forgotten what it felt like to be surrounded by a family’s love.

  It had been a long time. Cautiously she raised her own arms to awkwardly encircle her sister. She pulled away a few seconds later and fussed with her gown, straightening the front and brushing at the fabric. It gave her time to 148

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  blink away foolish, sentimental tears. She had no time for such nonsense, and her pregnancy seemed to increase her vulnerability to waterworks, something she so rarely indulged in before she found herself with child.

  “You shouldn’t have made the trip though, Elona. It’s so dangerous, especially in your condition.” Sarai looked wistfully at Elona’s swollen tummy.

  “Nonsense, my baby son is tougher than a little bit of bumpiness on the roadways. Besides, I received your message, and I knew I just had to come.” Her answer distracted Sarai for a moment. “How do you know you are having a son?”

  “Because that’s what I asked for, of course.”

  “Asked for? Who did you ask, your husband?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. That oaf demanded a son; I wouldn’t even have to ask him for such a thing. You aren’t asking important questions, Sarai. You always did waste your time on frivolous pursuits. You should ask me why I had to come, what was so important that I came here despite my advanced pregnancy.”

  “Why did you know you had to come?” another voice asked. The king crossed his thick arms over his chest, awaiting the answer to his question, certain that his eldest child planned some mischief and in no mood to countenance her and her troublesome nature at this time. The queen joined him; the remainder of Elona’s family having entered while Sarai greeted her sister. Sergen poked his head around his father, eager to catch a glimpse of the sister he barely knew but whose reputation alone terrified him.

  Elona turned to her father and mother, clasped her hands in front of her, her elbows resting on her stomach. “Well, I see nothing has changed. I would say it was good to see you again, Father, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it. I can see that the feeling is mutual, as usual.”

  “Oh, Elona, you know that is not true. Your father has been under a great deal of strain and worry. He didn’t mean to…” the queen replied.

  “Don’t tell me what I meant; the girl better have a good reason for risking her health on those terrible roads between here and Bladen,” the king insisted, standing his ground despite his internal embarrassment at his poor treatment of his daughter. He had been rather brusque, but pride kept him from admitting it.

  “I suppose I had better not delay my news or I shall find myself thrown in

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  the sewage ditch.” Elona glared at her father, noting the new lines of weariness on his face and hating that she cared enough to feel bothered by them.

  “I insist that you two stop this nonsense at once. You are always welcome here, my dear, this is still your home,” the queen soothed.

  The king refused to repeat the invitation. It hardly mattered what he said; he knew as well as the queen did that he wouldn’t cast his daughter out of the castle.

  “Go ahead then, tell us what brought you here on a reckless journey, alone and risking the babe you carry. I hope the news you bring was worth the risk.” Elona raised her head and glowered down her nose at her father. Sarai wished the two could see just how much alike they were.

  “Well, forgive me, Your Highness, if I felt that the news that Prince Onian offered King Arctuor a lucrative trade contract to ally with Halidor against Ariva might prove important enough for me to risk this trip. Perhaps I erred in judgment, believing you might find this information worth consideration.”

  “What! By what right would they move against us? We have had nothing but peaceful trade and cultural exchange between us for centuries.”

  “I did not say that Bladen accepted the offer, only that Onian extended it. As for what King Arctuor will actually do, I cannot say. I do not know my father-in-law very well since my husband and I spend the majority of our time on our royal estates in Blades’ Edge, away from the court.”

  “Yes, now that you mention him, where is your husband? Why hasn’t he made this dangerous journey with you? My men say you arrived with hired help and no other accompaniment besides an old crone that took to her heels the moment she received payment. Why would he not accompany you or see you off with more suitable arrangements?”

  “My husband returned to court to be at his father’s side during this time of political tension. We received news that the border would be compromised at Ulrick Pass and I could not wait for him to make other arrangements or I would risk the Pass closing off altogether. So I made my own arrangements and here I am.” Elona stood proudly, facing down her father. She carefully glossed over the terrifying escape from her virtual imprisonment at the hands of a tyrannical and abusive husband just hours after he left the estate to return to the court of his father.

  Her father narrowed his own eyes, studying his eldest child, the one he often credited for most of his gray hair. He knew that her story was half fiction 150

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  and the other half a downright lie, but was unable to prove it or fathom the truth behind it. There was more here that she failed to tell him, but he couldn’t dwell on it while a war brewed on his front steps.

  “Very well, you must stay here, of course. You will certainly not be traveling in that condition. We shall send a courier to let your husband know you arrived here safely.” At Elona’s abrupt movement, which she quickly checked, he raised his eyebrow imperatively. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Of course not, Your Highness. By all means, send the missive. My husband must know that I am well. We wouldn’t wish for him to worry.” She curtsied clumsily and the king nodded as well.

  “Darling, are you well?” The queen stepped forward, throwing her husband a quelling glance as she reached her daughter’s side and led her to a lounge, settling her in solicitously. Sarai rushed to her other side and plumped up the pillows. The king found the grace to blush guiltily before he glanced over at his son, as uncomfortable as he himself. Both men shuffled and sidled before pulling up chairs around the lounge. The queen and Sarai had already seated themselves by Elona and the queen sent the lady’s maid for refreshments. It appeared they planned to visit.

  The king made motions as though to escape, but the queen’s icy glare stopped him. “I hope you have not overtaxed yourself, my dear. You are very far along and a pregnancy is so exhausting on a woman.” The queen shot the king a fresh look of censure. Elona covered her amused smirk behind one slender hand before replying.

  “Well, Mother, I do feel somewhat tired. It has been a busy and strenuous five-cycle. And my son does make many demands on me.” Elona fluttered her eyelashes and cast a gloating look her father’s way.

  He ground his teeth and crossed his arms over his barrel chest, loathe admitting he might have handled things badly when he greeted his daughter.

  She did look tired, pale, and drawn; her stomach distended almost obscenely, overwhelming her slim body. However, the King couldn’t picture Elona as weak, timid or ill. She had never been so; she had always been full of life and vitality and never failed to engage in a fight or shouting match with her father.

  He remembered when the guards caught her dressed as a page, swinging a wooden sword at the straw targets on the training grounds. He well recalled the way she never missed a target during archery, a sport generally considered suitable enough even for ladies. There was nothing ladylike about her unerring

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  aim or the way the slender missile always seemed to deal massive damage to its target. She acted arrogant, bossy, sometimes cruel, impatient, and quick-tempered, but nothing in her entire life had ever brought her low and he didn’t believe for one minute that this pregnancy proved much of a challenge for her.

  “My dea
r, you just rest. Refreshments are coming and we will all keep you company, won’t we, my king?”

  The king simply nodded at his wife, knowing that he did owe Elona a few moments of his busy day. She had brought him some important news that he would share with the Warlord at the first opportunity. Besides, she carried his future grandchild, and he hoped that he and the babe would get along better than he and his daughter ever had. He hoped Ariva still had a future to get along in.

  Elona stopped antagonizing her father when she realized he wasn’t paying attention and searched for a new target. Her little brother remained off limits, even though he already cowered in his chair, intimidated by her. Her mother would switch from loving matron to fierce predator if Elona picked on her precious son. Sarai was no fun at all; she simply accepted every insult, veiled or blatant, with her usual inoffensive calm and understanding. Elona felt cranky and emotional and she’d nearly cried too many times for her comfort in the last five-cycle; she needed an outlet, an assurance that she was still herself despite everything. She needed a target.

  “Well, where is she then?”

  The others looked around in confusion.

  “Where is who, dear?” her mother asked.

  “Where is Sondra? I guess it is hardly surprising that she can’t be bothered to join the rest of the family, as usual. Honestly, it is just too much the way you allow her insolent behavior. She is no doubt messing around with her nasty skeletons and bugs rather than showing her respect by greeting me properly.” Elona flipped back her braid, sitting up and whipping herself into a righteous fury at being ignored by her little sister. She pulled herself to her feet to begin a full-scale oration on the many failings of Sondra when she noticed that everyone else had fallen silent. She looked around at all of them, their faces wearing identical masks of stricken pain.

  “You don’t know …” her mother whispered her eyes huge, her face pale and lined, the hand she raised to her lips shaking.

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  Elona looked at Sarai. Even her unflappable sister shook with some unnamed emotion, her eyes welling with tears.