ZS- The Dragon, The Witch, and The Wedding - Taurus

by Amy Lee Burgess

  Panic clawed at my breastbone like a great dragon’s claw. I frantically sucked down air, my legs weak.

  Papa appeared in the mirror, his lined face grave.

  “Weddings should be joyful celebrations.” He placed his strong hands, rough from woodworking, on my shoulders and stared at me in the looking glass. His gaze never wavered. “I’ll not have my daughter do anything against her will. Not for the dragons’ protection, not for the king’s fancy. Say the word, Marley, and I’ll take you deep into the forest where no dragon—no one—will ever find us.”

  His words thrilled me. For a moment I even considered taking him up on his offer, but better sense and fairness prevailed. “Your life is here, Papa. With Griselda and the boys. I can’t let you throw everything away to come hide in the forest with me. No dragon or soldier would ever find us, but we’d still live in fear of being caught every single day.”

  I placed a hand on his and smiled at him in the mirror. “That’s not a life, is it?”

  “Will it be a life for you on top of Zodiac Mountain?” The bitterness in Papa’s voice hurt me. I didn’t want anyone suffering for me. This was my burden alone to bear. Perhaps it wouldn’t be awful as I’d been imagining. Maybe living with dragons would be a grand adventure. My heart always skipped a beat when I thought of Donovan’s jewel-green eyes. I couldn’t let myself believe the kind, understanding boy had been warped into a cruel man.

  “King Leopold believes it will be. And who are we to question the king?” I asked. I rubbed my cheek against his. “Besides, many a villager has married a dragon and gone to live on top of Zodiac Mountain.”

  “The dragons haven’t married anyone from this village in years. No one you know will live on the mountain. They marry outside their kind only to increase the gene pool.”

  “And not for love?” Wistful longing choked my words. Love for witches was always a fleeting adventure meant to produce children, not lifelong romance. It must be the same for dragons. Their human mates aged and died. Perhaps dragons reserved their true love for other dragons.

  “I don’t know the hearts and minds of dragons. But I do know yours, Marley.” Papa choked up as he wrapped me in a tight bear hug. “Never tell your sister this, but you’ve always been special to me. She’s a witch all through, just like Kelly. But you—you’re different somehow. You see things witches won’t see. Both sides. As much as it hurts me to see you scared like this, I know that if anyone could make this marriage a success, it would be you.”

  Tears clogged my throat, and I buried my face in his broad shoulder. I hoped he was right. Only, it took two to make a marriage. A wife could try as hard she could, but unless her husband met her halfway, the union was doomed to failure.

  “Marley, honey, it’s time.” Mother strode into the bedroom, her blonde hair bouncing in curls against her bare shoulders.

  Papa stared at her for a moment, hunger plain in his gaze. “Kelly, you look as beautiful as you did the day I met you.”

  Mother cast him a warm smile. “Gerald, save the flattering compliments for our daughter. She looks just like you. I’ve always been glad about that.”

  I moved away from the mirror to find my shoes, white satin flats with white ribbons sewed to them that I wrapped around my ankles and calves before tying in a bow behind my knees.

  As I straightened, my parents both stared at me with adoration. Tears pricked my eyes. It wouldn’t do to cry and ruin my makeup before the ceremony. Besides, I wanted to look my best for Donovan. What would he think of the little girl all grown up?

  Two summers ago, I’d indulged in a fling with a village boy named Clive, who was my age. I’d hoped to conceive a baby, but that hadn’t happened. That autumn he’d met a girl from two villages away and married her by winter. I hadn’t been with anyone since him, and the thought of making love with Donovan both thrilled and frightened me. He was no village boy easy to wind around my fingers. He was a dragon, and, like Papa, I didn’t know the hearts or minds of dragons even though this one had let me glimpse into his soul twenty years ago.

  Now all I could envision was the terrible hardness of his eyes as his gaze raked over me in that field without a glimmer of recognition.

  Mother stepped before the mirror and adjusted the garland of red roses on her head. She caught my glance in the glass and winked—our secret code that everything would be all right.

  “I think we overreacted when we first brought back the news a witch must marry a dragon.” She turned from the mirror, her red skirt swirling. “Griselda tells me every Saturday the dragons bring their human families to the Great Oak. People from villages all around wait there with carts and horses to bring their sons, daughters, and grandchildren home with them for the day or the weekend.

  “So you tell that new dragon husband of yours to wing you back to the Great Oak next Saturday. We’ll be waiting for you. We can have lunch in the village with your father and his family, then we’ll go home. We’ll have a ritual. What do you say?”

  Today was Saturday. Seven days from now I could return. Not a long time at all. Some of the tightness in my chest eased.

  We walked arm in arm from my father’s cottage to the village square. Along the way I noted the cottages and storefronts I’d seen all my life, yet never really focused upon. Thatched roofs and half timbers, bright flowers in baskets. Sunlight bathed the village, renewing the earth. Spring blossoms drifted from the cherry trees lining the square, the breeze sweeping them beneath our feet as we walked.

  Was I different than the other witches? What did that mean? Papa said I saw both sides of a story. Witches didn’t? I thought of Eleanora defiantly planting the tuber and the coven deciding, once they learned of the tubers’ magic, that simply giving one tuber back to the dragons would right any wrongs. Refusing to hear the dragons’ side, because giving all the tubers back would mean aging and normal lifespans again. Once my coven had tasted near immortality, they couldn’t give it up.

  And the dragons? What of them? Why didn’t they want to share? Their one and only magic was the tuber, but surely it couldn’t make much difference to them if a few witches lived a millennium far away from Zodiac Mountain and their lair?

  One thing was certain. Now that I would marry into the dragon world, I could find out their side.

  Chapter 4

  A phalanx of ten dragons stood guard around the village green. Their hides gleamed in varying shades of blue, green, brown, and silver. Other dragons in human form stood in front of the flowery wedding arch. They wore the same fabrics and finery as the villagers, yet I could tell the dragons apart by the way the stood and scowled. Not a smile or an encouraging look from any of them, including the brown-haired man with the vivid green eyes who waited in front of the altar. He stood stiff and tall, and when he saw me approaching with my parents, not a spark of recognition flared in his eyes, although I could tell by the way he sucked in his breath that he found me attractive.

  Villagers smiled as I passed them. The men’s gazes filled with appreciation, except for the dragon males. They maintained their stoic expressions. Even Donovan. After I came to stand beside him, he turned toward a beautiful dragon woman with long red hair and brilliant blue eyes. Although she looked no older than I, her gaze radiated ancient knowledge. She wore a blue dress that bared her shoulders. Attached to a wide black velvet band, a sapphire the size of robin’s egg rested in the hollow of her throat.

  “We begin,” she declared in a ringing voice that commanded instant attention. The dragon folk stiffened and focused intently on her. They watched her with a silent adoration bordering on obsession.

  “We are here today to join this dragon and this witch in eternal matrimony. From this day forward, they are bound together by honor and fealty to our king.”

  I tried not to jump when one of the dragon men grabbed my wrist and bound it to Donovan’s with a tight, rawhide cord. This was not part of any wedding ceremony I’d ever witnessed in the village. This must be the dragons’ way. Ho
w long would we be bound? Honor and fealty to the king. No mention of being bound by our hearts. Mine beat in my chest so hard the whole village must have heard it.

  Although our wrists were tied together, Donovan made sure to stand apart from me, even straining to hold his hand as far from mine as he could. A pulse beat visibly in throat. He kept his gaze on the dragon woman, not me. Not even a sideways glance.

  I inhaled, allowing the perfumed scent of the flowers deep into my lungs. The flowers’ scent had been enchanted to produce happiness when smelled. I relaxed as a strange joy twisted through me. Magic, not reality, but anything to keep me from trying to bolt away from the man I was bound to with rawhide cord.

  Desperately aware of Donovan’s refusal to acknowledge me, I focused on Papa’s face. He stood with his arm around Griselda’s waist. Renata stood on his other side; next to her, Mother and Grandmother. My witch family stared without smiling. Renata clutched Mother’s hand. Tears glittered in her eyes—not the happy kind. Mother remained stoic, although her mouth trembled. Grandmother was perfectly expressionless as if she were a statue, not a real flesh-and-blood person.

  Papa smiled for me when I caught his eye. Of all of them, he believed I would make a success of this marriage. My coven had made it plain they thought I was suffering for the cause of peace, and I would not enjoy my new life. I would endure it.

  I resisted the urge to tug at my bound wrist. The rawhide cord cut painfully into my skin. These were not easy-to-pick knots—they meant business.

  Only the thought I would dishonor my coven if my nerve broke steadied me. I looked again at the beautiful dragon priestess who now waved a burning stick of sage over us, sealing our bond in the smoke. She frowned as she awkwardly waved the stick. This part of the ceremony was pure witch, and my heart sang as the familiar fragrance of the herb filled my lungs.

  Beside me Donovan stood rigid, his expression one of disgust bordering on repulsion.

  Dragon men and women stepped backward to avoid the smoke.

  I breathed in the purification. The sage smoke erased bad memories of the past, cleared the way for the future. Everything was clean and new.

  I looked at Donovan, and for once, he gazed back at me. Was that the slightest start of recognition in his green eyes, or simply my hopeful imagination?

  Perhaps my youthful trek to the mountain with Bunny hadn’t made the impression on him I thought it had. He might simply have been humoring the witch child because he’d been in a good mood that day. I remembered him being wistful, anxious even. And he’d spoken bitterly about not being trusted to be on his own. Teenage angst probably. Maybe he’d seen his time with the witch child as a rebellious act. To me, it had solidified my secret hero worship of dragons.

  If only he’d smile at me, I’d rejoice at the chance to journey with him to the top of Zodiac Mountain. Instead, he turned away and focused on the priestess.

  With a moue of distaste, she set aside the sage stick. A man with Donovan’s green eyes—his father perhaps—stepped forward with a long, thin velvet box. The priestess opened it to reveal a sparkling blue emerald attached to a thin silver chain.

  Donovan reached into the box with his free hand and reverently withdrew the necklace. Turning to me, he met my gaze with his.

  “May my wedding gift to you, a precious jewel that has been in my father’s treasure for centuries, bring us luck and happiness.”

  He spoke the words by rote, as if they meant nothing. He held out his hand. Together, we lifted it over my head so that it hung around my neck. The stone settled between my breasts, flashing in the sunlight. The weight of it, saturated with expectation and dragon family history, threatened to pull me over, but I remained upright. In reality, the jewel weighed next to nothing.

  My mother glided across the green, holding a wooden box Papa had carved. Her lips trembled in a forced smile as she opened the box to reveal my gift to my groom.

  The dragon priestess sucked in her breath when she saw the silver charm in the shape of a dragon with outspread wings.

  “Blasphemy,” she muttered under her breath.

  I’d carefully fashioned the charm myself. I worked with silver and made jewelry for my coven and to sell in the village. I’d imbued this charm with all the luck and happiness spells I knew. It glimmered with magical power. I’d hoped with all my heart that Donovan would appreciate what I’d made for him.

  Yet my hand shook as I took the box with my free hand. Why had the priestess said this was blasphemy? I’d done something wrong, but I couldn’t see what. Donovan’s lips thinned when he saw the little dragon winking in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the cherry and willow trees decorating the village green.

  I’d memorized the words—part of the dragon wedding ceremony—and they tasted of ash on my tongue. I had no time to make something else, nor did I even want to. I’d worked hard on the charm, envisioning Donovan’s face as I shaped the dragon. Yes, I’d focused more on the boy’s face than the man’s, but the charm was made for him—and only him. The magic wouldn’t work for anyone else.

  I could barely raise my voice above a humiliated whisper. “May my wedding gift to you, a silver charm I fashioned myself, full of magic meant only for you, bring us luck and happiness.”

  I extended my arm, the open box on my palm. Donovan stared at the charm, his eyes wide.

  “You spelled this gift?” he asked. “With magic?”

  “For you,” I whispered past the sour taste in my mouth. My stomach clenched, and I was dreadfully sure for a moment I would puke on my wedding gown.

  “Is this dragon supposed to be me?” He stared at me as if I’d perpetrated a horrible crime. “Do you think to trap my essence in this charm? Bind me to you?”

  Villagers murmured in the background. Dragon folk muttered and shifted angrily from foot to foot.

  “The magic is for you, and can only be used by you.” I managed to speak above a whisper, but my voice sounded small and weak. “The spells are for luck and happiness. Like our vows say. ‘May my wedding gift to you bring us luck and happiness.’ That’s all.”

  Tears burned my eyes, and one of them escaped to trickle down my cheek.

  I bowed my head. “I meant no dishonor.”

  When I dared to look up, Donovan regarded me with a puzzled expression, as if he were weighing my words, testing them for truth or deception.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it when my mother burst into angry speech.

  “She worked hours and hours on that charm. Since the day she knew she’d be forced to marry you, dragon man.” Mother clenched her fists. “You dishonor her by questioning her motives in front of the entire village, her coven, and your clan. You should be ashamed.”

  “Only a witch would say something like that,” yelled Donovan’s father, his eyes narrowed with fury. “And only a witch would offer a dragon an insult like that charm and call it a gift. You don’t make images of dragons and enchant them! You don’t make images of dragons at all! Everyone knows that, and this gift—”he sneered the word more than spoke it, “–is a calculated insult under the very nose of the king who ordered this union. If I could, I would call this marriage off this moment!”

  “Would that you had that authority!” Mother shouted. “If you think the witches rejoiced at the notion of one of our most beloved forced to marry one of you, you’re insane!”

  “Filthy witch,” snarled Donovan’s father, taking a menacing step forward.

  “Bastard dragon!” Mother drew in a deep breath. I knew she was gathering her magic.

  “Everyone, please!” I cried, scared that the wedding would descend into all-out brawl pitching villagers against dragons who were not their enemies.

  Shocked, people froze and stared at me. Seconds ticked by almost audibly. Donovan watched me, stiff as stone.

  “This is supposed to be a wedding,” I said, my voice cracking as I struggled to contain my tears. “A celebration. Please, let’s not be angry at each o
ther. The king has ordered this to happen, and I want it to happen. I’m tired of the feuding. It is my hope that this wedding can fix the brokenness between us. Maybe not all at once, and maybe not for a long time, but it’s a start. We can’t let it begin like this, with witches and dragons at each other’s throats.”

  I took a deep breath, aware of Donovan hanging on my every word—of everyone listening intently to me.

  “I didn’t know making an image of a dragon was forbidden. I certainly never intended to offend, nor would I ever try to bind someone to me with magic. It would never last because it would cause harm, and magic shouldn’t be used that way.”

  I looked toward my sister, who stood by Papa. She had a hand to her throat, and a thick silver bangle hung around her wrist.

  “Renata, maybe I could have your bracelet. I know I made it for your birthday, but perhaps it would be a better wedding gift. The charm can be melted down and forgotten.” I turned toward Donovan, trying not to tug on our bound wrists. “Would that be acceptable? I’m sorry.”

  He stared at me, his eyes so green I could have lost myself in them forever.

  “I’ll take the charm,” he said, loud enough so everyone could hear him.

  Dragon folk gasped. The priestess shook her head ever so slightly.

  “She made it for me. She didn’t know dragons don’t like objects to be made in their image.” Donovan stared at the priestess and then his father. “Better, too, that I control it, don’t you think?”

  “Aye, there is wisdom in that,” his father muttered.

  Donovan held out his free hand, an imperious gesture with no gentleness behind it. My stomach rolled as I deposited the box onto his palm.

  All the preparation for this day ruined by my ignorance.

  Donovan turned back to the priestess. They stared at each other for several uncomfortable seconds.

  “Get on with it,” he demanded, giving our bound wrists a tug. I staggered, and his jaw tightened when he spared me a look, as if he’d forgotten we were tied together. How he’d managed that, I couldn’t fathom. My wrist burned where the knots pressed against my skin. A constant reminder that we were lashed to each other.