The Dragon Keeper trwc-1

by Robin Hobb

  And when Hest was home, Sedric's affable presence at her table was something that Alise greatly enjoyed. He excelled at all social occasions from dinners to cards to long afternoon teas. As she was prone to be a listener rather than a talker, Sedric enlivened their meals with his jests, wry observations of their latest travel disasters and gentle harrying of Hest. Sometimes it seemed to her that it was only due to Sedric that she knew her husband at all.

  Did she know him at all? She watched Hest now as he smiled distantly at her, so certain that he could postpone this discussion with her. Well they both knew that if he could procrastinate long enough, he'd be off on one of his trading trips again and she'd once more be left behind at home. She firmed her courage and replied to him, 'Perhaps you have forgotten that you promised me that one day I should visit the Rain Wilds and see dragons for myself. But I have not forgotten your promise.'

  'Nor outgrown your desire for it?' he asked her gently.

  She flinched at the barb, wondering, as she frequently did, if he was aware of how often his words stung her. 'Outgrown?' she asked him quietly, her voice going wooden.

  He came back into the room. He had not entered it in search of her. Rather he had come in quietly, selected a book from the shelves, and attempted to leave just as covertly. He could walk so softly. If she had not chanced to lift her head, she would never have known he'd been there. Her words had detained him just as he'd stepped outside the door. Now he closed it firmly behind him. The book he'd chosen was still in his hands. It was an expensive one, she noted, bound in the new way. He turned it gently as he mused over her question.

  'Well, my dear, you know that times have changed. Dragons were quite fashionable the year we were wed, but that was five years ago. Tintaglia had only recently appeared, and Bingtown was just emerging from the ashes, so to speak. Talk of dragons and Elderlings and new treasure cities as well as our independence from Jamaillia — well, it was a heady mix, was it not? All the ladies in their Elderling cosmetics and every fabric patterned to look like scales! It was no wonder dragons fired your imagination. You'd come of age in a harsh time in Bingtown. You needed to escape reality and what could be a better fantasy than tales of Elderlings and dragons? Trade was in a shambles with the New Traders and their slave labour undercutting all our established ways. Your family fortunes were suffering. And then we had a war. If Tintaglia hadn't appeared and come to our aid, well, I think we'd all be speaking Chalcedean now. And then she locked us into that bargain that we'd help her serpents get up the river and tend the new dragons when they hatched. Well, we certainly discovered that the reality of a dragon was far different from any fantasy you might have imagined.'

  He gave a small snort of disdain. Tucking his book under his arm, he wandered across the room to the windows and looked out over the gardens below. 'We were fools,' he said quietly. 'Thinking we could negotiate with a dragon! Well, she got the best of us, didn't she? We're as close to being at true peace with Chalced now as we've ever been, trade is rebuilding, Bingtown rejuvenating, and Tintaglia has found a mate for herself and hardly ever comes to call. It should be a better life and time for everyone! But the Rain Wilders are still dealing with her errant offspring and the expenses they create. They eat constantly, trample the earth to muck, foul everywhere, and hamper efforts to explore the underground ruins. They are pathetic cripples, unable to hunt or care for themselves. All the Traders must contribute to pay for hunters to keep them fed. With no return for us! No one thought to write an end clause for that agreement. And from what I hear, it will never change. Those sorry creatures will never be able to take care of themselves, and who knows how long they will live? We've waited five years for them to grow up and become independent. They haven't. It would be a mercy to put them down.'

  'And profitable, too,' Alise said coldly. She felt silence growing in her. Sometimes it reminded her of a fast-growing ivy; silence covered her and cloaked her and she suspected that one day she would smother in the silences Hest could create. It was an effort to break through that strangling quiet, but she did it. 'All have heard how much the Duke of Chalced would pay for even one scale of a real dragon. Think how much he'd give for a whole carcass.' When she thrust a cutting remark into one of Hest's pauses, it was like trying to stab a knife into hardwood. It never seemed to stick and left scarcely a mark.

  Now he turned toward her as if startled. 'Did I hurt your feelings, my dear? I didn't mean to. I forgot how sentimental you are about those creatures.' He smiled at her disarmingly. 'Perhaps I'm too much the Trader this day. You should expect it of me when I've just returned from a trip. It's all I talked about with anyone for the last two months. Profitability and tightly-written contracts and well-negotiated bargains. I'm afraid that's what fills my mind.'

  'Of course,' she said, looking down at her desk. And, Of course she said to herself as her anger slipped away from her. It wasn't gone, only sunken in the bog of uncertainty that engulfed her life. How could she hold onto her anger when, in an instant, he could sidestep it in a way that made her feel it was unjustified? He had been preoccupied, that was all. He was a busy man, immersed in trade negotiations and contracts and social details. He undertook those things for both of them, so that she could live in the quiet social backwater that she seemed to prefer. She could not expect him to be perfectly tuned to her life. More than once, he had gently pointed out to her that she always seemed to put the worst possible interpretation on his words whenever they had even the mildest disagreement. More than once, he had expressed bewilderment that she sometimes resented how he sheltered her.

  A tiny childish part of her stamped and gritted her teeth. And he has side-stepped your question as well. Demand an answer. No. Just tell him you are going. You have the right. Just tell him that.

  Hest was already drifting toward the door. He stopped by a tobacco humidor, opened it and scowled. Evidently the servants had not replenished it since his return.

  'I've planned my journey to the Rain Wilds. I'll be departing at the end of this month.' The words leapt out of her mouth. Lies, every one of them. She'd made no specific plans, only dreamed.

  He turned to look at her, his brows arched in surprise. 'Indeed.'

  'Yes,' she asserted. 'It's a good time to travel to the Rain Wilds, or so I'm told.'

  'Alone?' he asked, sounding scandalized. And a moment later, annoyed as he said, 'I've made commitments of my own, my dear. It would be impossible for me to break them. I can't go with you at the end of the month.'

  'I hadn't given that part much thought,' she admitted. Any thought at all. 'I'm sure I can find an appropriate companion for the journey' She wasn't sure of that at all. It had never occurred to her that she might require such a person. She had thought, somehow, that marriage had put her beyond the need for chaperonage. 'I cannot imagine that you could doubt my fidelity to you,' she observed. 'I am not chaperoned in the months when you are away on your trading journeys. Why should I be chaperoned when I travel?'

  'Perhaps we should avoid the topic of «doubting» anyone's "fidelity",' he observed cuttingly. 'Or perhaps we should discuss it in terms of presenting a proper appearance. After all, it takes very little for someone to assemble tiny bits of «evidence» and then see wrongdoing where none exists.'

  She looked away from him. He seldom missed a chance to remind her of her ill-founded allegations against him. She pushed the stinging memory of that humiliating day away and struggled to think of a sufficiently respectable matron to accompany her as chaperone. 'I suppose I could ask Sedric's sister Sophie. But I have heard she is with child and in delicate health, not disposed to visit, let alone travel.'

  'Ah. Her husband, I see, is far more fortunate than I am in that regard. And your health, Alise?'

  'My health is excellent,' she replied pointedly.

  Hest shook his head in disappointment. He cleared his throat and then asked wryly, 'I am to assume, then, that our latest efforts have come to naught?'

  'I'm not pregnant,' she said
bluntly. 'I assure you if I were it would be the first piece of news I would give you.' She stopped short of asking him how he could possibly imagine she would be pregnant. He'd been away three months, and in the two months he had been home prior to that, he'd visited her bedchamber exactly twice. The infrequency and brevity of his performances were more relief than disappointment now. He visited her, she thought, with the regularity of a man performing a scheduled task, and with all the enthusiasm. Sometimes she wondered if he kept a ledger of his efforts. She imagined him ticking an item on his social calendar. Attempted impregnation. Results still in doubt. It humiliated her now to recall her brief and girlish infatuation with him before their wedding.

  In the months and then years that had passed since she had realized that neither love nor lust would have a place in her marriage, she had never denied herself anything in her quest for knowledge. To balance that, she had never denied Hest on the occasions when he came to her chambers to assert his marital rights. She had never wept over his lack of romantic interest in her, nor tried to charm him into changing his mind. She had made only two failed and shameful attempts to pique his sexual interest in her. She did not allow herself to dwell on those humiliating memories. They had prompted him to a mocking cruelty that had branded those two nights forever in her memory. No. Better to submit, almost ignore his efforts, for then his services to her remained brief and perfunctory.

  After each visit that he paid her, he waited until she had reported the failure of it before he visited her again. Only twice in the five years that they had been married had she announced a pregnancy. Each time, Hest had greeted the event with great excitement, only to express his frustration and annoyance with her when, a few months later, she had miscarried.

  So Hest now greeted her blunt dashing of his hopes with only a small sigh. 'Then we shall have to try again.'

  She quietly considered the weapon he had just handed her, and then, coldly, employed it. 'Perhaps when I return from the Rain Wilds. To undertake such a journey while pregnant might endanger the birth. So I think we shall wait until I return before we make another attempt.'

  She saw her target quiver. His voice was stronger, touched with indignation as he demanded, 'Do not you think that producing a son and heir is more important than this harebrained journey of yours?'

  'I am not sure that you think so, dear Hest. Certainly, if it were of the highest importance to you, you might make more frequent efforts in that area. And perhaps forego some of your own journeys and late-night engagements.'

  He clenched his hands and turned away from her to stare out of the window. 'I am only trying to spare your feelings. I am aware that well-bred women do not suffer a man's needs willingly.'

  'Dear husband, do you infer that I am not «well-bred»? For I would agree with you. Some women of my acquaintance would think me absolutely «un-bred», were I to share the details of our private life with them.' Her heart thundered in her chest. Never before had she dared to speak so pointedly to him. Never before had she voiced anything that might be construed as a criticism of his efforts.

  The jab made him turn back to her. The daylight behind him put his features into darkness. She tried to read his voice as he said, 'You would not do that.' Plea? Threat?

  Time to gamble. She suddenly had the feeling that she must risk it all now or concede defeat forever. She smiled at him and kept her voice calmly conversational. 'It would be easiest not to do that if I were away from my usual companions. If, for instance, I went off on a journey to the Rain Wilds, to observe the dragons.'

  There had been a few times in their marriage when they had duelled like this, but not many. Even fewer were the times when she had won. Once, it had been over a particularly expensive scroll she had purchased. She had offered to return it and let the seller know that her husband could not afford it. Then, as now, she had seen him pause, calculate, and then revise his opinion of her and his options. He canted his head as he considered her, and she wished suddenly that she could see his face more clearly. Did he know how uncertain she felt just now? Could he see the timid woman cowering behind her bold bluff?

  'Our marriage contract clearly states that you will cooperate in my efforts to create an heir.'

  Did he think he had her at a disadvantage? Did he think her memory was not as good as his? Foolish man! Anger made her bolder. 'Was it worded that way? I don't recall you speaking it aloud in quite those words, but I am sure I can consult the official document if you wish me to. While I am consulting with the Document Keeper, I can also look up the proviso in which you promised I should be allowed to go on a journey to the Rain Wilds to study the dragons. That clause I do recall, quite clearly'

  He stiffened. She had gone too far. Her heart began to hammer. Hest had a temper. She'd seen it taken out on inanimate objects and animals. But she did not think that precedent made her safe from it. Doubtless he classified her with both those things. His face reddened and he bared his teeth. She stood stock still, as if he were a rabid dog. Perhaps that stillness helped him to gather some control of himself. When he spoke, his voice was low and tight. 'Then I think you should go to the Rain Wilds.'

  And then he simply left the room, slamming the door so hard that the water leapt in the vase of flowers on her desk. Alise stood trembling and catching her breath. For an instant, she wondered if she had won. Then she decided she didn't care. As she tugged the bell pull that would summon her maid, her mind was already busy with what she needed to pack.

  'You've ruined this shirt.'

  Hest looked up from the desk in the corner of his bedchamber. His pen was still in his hand, his brow furrowed in annoyance at the interruption. 'If it's ruined, then it's ruined.

  I don't want to hear about it. Just throw it away.' He dipped his pen again and scratched away furiously at whatever he was writing. He was in a bad temper. Best to keep quiet and finish his unpacking for him.

  Sedric sighed to himself. There were days, he thought, when he could not imagine any better future than continuing to serve Hest. But there were also days, like today, when he wondered if he could tolerate the man for even another minute. He looked a moment longer at the scatter of careless burns across the blue silk of the sleeve. He knew just how the shirt had been ruined. A pipe, carelessly knocked out against the door of a carriage, and the flying sparks had flown back to burn the sleeve before Hest had drawn his arm back in. With his fingernail, he scratched at the fabric, and the small scorches became tiny holes. No. There was no way to salvage it. A shame.

  He well remembered the sunny day and the Chalcedean market where they had purchased the bolt of silk. It had been on the very first trading trip he'd made to Chalced with Hest. Going abroad to trade had been a heady experience for him. It had enhanced Hest's status in his eyes to see how his friend and now employer moved so confidently and competently through the clatter and clutter of the foreign market. It had still been a dangerous venture then, two Bingtown merchants venturing into a market in the Chalcedean capital. The war was still fresh in everyone's mind, the peace too new to trust. For every merchant anxious to capture a new market, there were two Chalcedean soldiers still smarting at how Bingtown had repelled their invasion and willing to settle the score with an unwary foreigner. Widows clustered to beg at the market outskirts routinely spat and cursed at them. Orphans alternated between begging for coins and throwing small rocks at them.

  For a moment he recalled it all, the hot sun, the narrow winding streets, the hurrying slave boys in their short tunics with dusty bare legs, the thick smell of harsh smoking herbs wafting through the open market, and the women, draped in lace and silk and ribbons so that they moved like small ships transporting mounds of fabric rather than people. Best of all, he recalled Hest at his side, striding along, his mouth set in a grin, his eyes avid for every exotic sight. He'd darted from one market stall to the next as if there were a race to find the most desirable goods. He did not let the awkwardness of his Chalcedean slow the trading process. If a vendor s
hook his head or shrugged his shoulders, Hest spoke louder and gestured more widely until he made himself understood. He'd bought the bolt of blue silk for a careless scattering of coins, and then hastened off, leaving Sedric to finish the transaction and hurry after him, the roll of azure fabric bouncing on his shoulder. Later that day, they'd visited a tailor's shop near their inn, and Hest had ordered the silk converted to three shirts for each of them. The shirts had been ready and waiting for them on the following morning. 'You have to love Chalced!' he'd exclaimed to Sedric when they picked them up. 'In Bingtown, I'd have paid three times as much, and had to wait a week for them to be finished.' And the fit of each shirt had been perfect.

  And now, two years later, the last of Hest's blue silk shirts had been spoiled by careless ash. The last shared memento of that first journey together, gone. It was so typical of Hest. He was all passion and no sentiment. All three of Sedric's blue silk shirts were still intact, but he doubted he would wear them again. Sedric gave a small sigh as he folded the shirt a last time and reluctantly consigned it to the discard pile.

  'If you've something to say to me, say it. Don't moon about in here, sighing like a love-sick maiden in a bad Jamaillian play.' Whatever calculations he had been making had gone badly; Hest thrust the pages away from him, sending several wafting to the floor. 'You remind me too much of Alise, with her reproachful glances and secret sighs. The woman is intolerable. I've given her everything, everything! But all she does is mope or suddenly announce she is taking more.'