Sea Dragon Heir

by Storm Constantine

  6

  MAGIC

  THE TIDE WAS ONLY a distant moan. Pharinet crouched upon a damp ledge at the back of the cave. At home, over dinner, she couldn’t have imagined this moment. She’d believed she wouldn’t come down to the sea at midnight. But she was here, so she must have. It was convenient for Pharinet to believe she was gripped by the coils of some ancient tradition, that what she would do with her brother was preordained, dynastic and right. The dragons were to blame, moaning and roiling in their lightless depths. They influenced what the Palindrakes did. Pharinet’s toes curled over the cold stone. Her skirts were wet about the hem and heavy with sand. That afternoon, she’d felt so different, alive in an adult, female way. She and Valraven had drunk Grandma Plutchen’s special tea, then had ridden home. There had been a silence between them, but it had not been uncomfortable. Pharinet had no doubt both of them had been thinking about the night to come. At home, in the stableyard, Valraven had kissed her cheek. He’d said nothing aloud, but his eyes had said, “I will see you later. I will be there.” At dinner, Everna had kept the conversation going, preoccupied as she was with the forthcoming marriages. Pharinet could barely speak, which prompted Thomist to offer her a series of ever more fiery liqueurs. He obviously thought she was nervous about the following day. Right after the meal was over, Pharinet had escaped the room, knowing she left Everna disappointed. Her sister had wanted to spend the rest of the evening finalizing plans. Pharinet thought that if she heard one more word about the weddings, she?d be overtaken by a red mist and would come to her sense only to find her hands locked around someone?s throat, probably Everna?s. She?d gone to her rooms, where she?d taken a bath. By ten o?clock she was down on the beach, unable to stand the feeling of walls around her any longer. Now she felt like a child again, but a wicked, primal child. Her eyes stared unblinking at the pale hole of the cave mouth. Her hair was stuck to her face like ribbons of kelp. She remembered the time when Valraven had found her in this very place, kicking her feet in the brackish pools left by the tide, dreaming of men to come. The girl she had been would never have dreamed of this moment. Everything had been right then. There’d been no need. She’d spoken of not wanting to go to Khaster a virgin, but what was uppermost in her mind was the fact she did not want Valraven to go to Ellony as a husband without his sister’s mark upon him. She would do something cruel, like leaving a bruise. The outline of a man imposed itself across the cave mouth. It was not immediately recognizable as Valraven, because Pharinet was remembering the shape of him as she’d known him in childhood. He came forward softly saying her name. She could remain still now, and silent, and perhaps he’d not see her and go away. Sea foam gripped his ankles as he felt his way forward into the darkness. He was blind and vulnerable. Pharinet shifted upon the rock. “Pharry c” “I’m here.” He felt his way to where she sat and stood over her. “It was difficult to get away,” he said. “Everna would not go to bed. She’s like an excited child.” He paused. “She asked where you were. I think she went to your room.” Pharinet could sense his nervousness. Only she knew Valraven like this. He allowed her to see he could be vulnerable. “She is our sister. Perhaps, in her heart, she knows the way things are with us.” “I hope not.” He sat down beside her, his thigh laid alongside hers. She took his hand. “For now, we are alone. We can forget anyone else exists.” She could not go on. She could not initiate this. It was all too prearranged. They should have come together more naturally. The weddings had forced this, made it difficult. She wanted to cry. For a while neither of them spoke nor moved. Pharinet felt that her hand had melded to Valraven’s. Her arm was numb. Eventually, he cleared his throat and said awkwardly. “Pharry, we could go home now. If you want to.” She could not see his face properly in the darkness, but from the tone of his voice, she could tell he’d been thinking about this all night. He was worried she might have changed her mind. “It should not have been like this,” she said. “But we can’t go back.” She stood up. “Come with me.” She led him further into the cave, where the sand was damp and firm beneath their feet. It would make a more comfortable bed than the rock. She sat down again and Valraven settled beside her. This was so clumsy. Perhaps, when they started, it would get easier. “Who was the last person you kissed?” she asked him. He would not respond for a while, then said, “It must be Ellony.” “Do you enjoy it? I can’t imagine she’s much of a woman in that way.” She heard him sigh. “Forget her. Forget Khaster. They’re not why we’re here.” “Oh, they are,” Pharinet said. “Otherwise we would have danced our dance in our own time.” He reached out and touched her face, his fingers gritty with wet sand. “Hush now. Remember what you said. No one else exists.” Then it was happening. He’d pulled her towards him and his mouth was against her own. Gradually, he pushed her back onto the sand. His expertise un-nerved her. He must have done this so many times before. He had a secret life of which she knew nothing. Did he have a lover in Magrast? Would he tell her about this? The kiss became deeper, its message reaching into the core of her body. Of its own accord, her flesh hungered for him. It was as if she had nothing to do with it. He lifted her skirts and slid his hand against her skin. His fingers explored her, gently probing. He pressed his face against her hair and expelled a soft moan. She could tell he could not believe he was doing this. She opened her legs a little wider. “Will it hurt me?” she murmured. “As little as possible,” he answered and slowly pushed into her with a finger. She arched her back. “Don’t, don’t c” He withdrew. “Relax, Pharry.” She lay on the sand, quivering, while he took off his clothes. Then he bent to unlace her bodice. The cold sea air hit her skin. He cupped her breasts with his hands, leaned down to kiss them. “You are beautiful,” he said. She could feel this hard, alien thing bobbing against her thigh. It seemed inconceivable it could go inside her. But it had obviously been inside other women, and soon Ellony would own it. Hesitantly, she reached down to touch it, and found it hot beneath her hand, the skin softly pliable. The muscles in her belly clenched. “Now,” she said. He laughed softly. “Don’t be afraid.” “I’m not. I want to see.” “Not yet.” He was like a sculptor, shaping flesh. His hands, his lips, travelled her body, conjuring sensation. When his mouth touched her between the legs, she lifted her knees, half shocked, half swooning. The tongue was more pleasant than the finger. It didn’t feel so invasive. She couldn’t bear the thought of him doing this to Ellony. Get out of my mind, she thought. Go away. She did not want Ellony to be there with them. He rose up and knelt between her splayed legs. Then he pulled her towards him. She felt the pressure then a giving way. It wasn’t pain exactly, but it felt so strange. “Don’t move,” she said. “Please don’t move.” But he couldn’t contain himself. He lay down upon her, thrusting into her deeply. She clutched him to her. The power of him, the energy. “My lover,” she murmured. “My brother.”

  AT DAWN, PHARINET ROSE like a drowned thing from their bed of weed and sand. They had only fallen asleep once the cave had filled with dawn light. Now, Valraven lay at peace, gently snoring, his maleness flaccid against his thigh. Pharinet studied him for some minutes. He looked so young, so beautiful and fragile. His black hair was spread out over the sand, full of its pale grains. In the night, she thought their love-making would never end. They’d be together for eternity. But now it was morning, and wedding bells would soon be ringing. She must leave him. Numb, Pharinet left the cave through her secret route, and dragged herself up the cliff path, seeking handholds of spiky dune grass: the child of a sea-born resurrection. She had come back from the dead, her lungs full of brine, her eyes like the pearly shells of oysters. The flags on Caradore’s towers cracked mournfully. Overnight, it seemed, the land had unfurled itself. What had been a mist of green was now a carpet, banners, streamers of verdure. Everna was already in her sister’s chamber, her face pale with concern, perhaps terror. “Where have you been?” she demanded, as Pharinet poured through the door, dragging her drenched gown across the floorboards. “Doing what you would have me
do: communing with the sea,” Pharinet replied. She began to strip off her ruined clothes. Everna eyed her with disapproval and worry. “You look disgusting. Pharry, this is your wedding day. You look as if you haven’t even slept.” Pharinet shrugged and stepped out of a pool of sodden fabric. Her body felt scored with salt and sand. Perhaps there were suspicious marks for Everna to see and think about. “Is Val awake yet?” she asked. Everna bent to pick up her sister’s discarded clothes, then straightened up again without touching them. “I have no idea. My first concern is you, and has been for some months.” “There’s nothing for you to worry about, I’m fine.” Pharinet drifted listlessly towards her bathroom. She would have to wash off the smell of him, and the smell of the sea. Everna came to stand in the doorway. “You shouldn’t be bathing yourself. This is an important day. I’ll call for a couple of the girls.” “No,” said Pharinet, turning the creaking faucet. Water chugged down into the bath, steaming. “Pharry c” Everna began, taking a hesitant step over the threshold. Pharinet straightened up quickly and saw her sister flinch away instinctively. “Leave me,” she said in a croak, then softened her voice. “Evvie, I had to think. This is a changing time for me. I’m losing my home, all that I know. I just wanted a night on the beach for the last time.” This seemed to mollify Everna a little, but Pharinet was not blind to the shadow of suspicion in her sister’s eyes. “I’ll fetch you something to eat,” Everna said. “Something warm.” Lying in her bath, which she’d deliberately left unscented, Pharinet squeezed water from a sponge over her breasts. She would not be sorry to leave Caradore after all. How could she live here with Ellony ensconced in the chambers of the bride, twittering about the place, shining with repletion? Better to escape to Norgance, where she could indulge her pain in exile. Everna allowed her only half an hour before returning with an army of women. The dress was brought forth from the wardrobe: an execution robe, stained with blood. Pharinet eyed it with loathing. She thought of the bolt of red cloth in Grandma Plutchen’s handcart. Even yesterday, in that enchanted time out of time, the wedding had been hanging over her like a curse. The women pawed at her body, clothing it, preening it. They tugged at her hair, wound it with flowers. There was something greedy about their attentions. It made Pharinet’s flesh crawl. By nine o’clock, the Leckerys had arrived and poured into Pharinet’s chambers like a horde of drunken bees. The loud voices and hysterical laughter were poison-tipped stings down Pharinet’s spine. She fixed a smile on her mouth and pretended to concentrate on making up her face. In the mirror, she saw the bride of death. She ached between the legs. Flashes of what had occurred the previous night kept coming back to her. She could still smell Valraven, feel his hands upon her, his body enclosed by hers. It had felt like being consumed by a fire that did not burn but imparted a fierce energy. It still buzzed through her blood. Ellony pranced about the room, her pale face flushed with excitement and expectation. Pharinet watched her in the mirror, her mind full of murder. “You are so in love,” Saska said to her daughter, her eyes damp with sentiment. “We both are,” Ellony said, and Pharinet gritted her teeth, waiting for the next remark, which would undoubtedly be addressed to her. But no. “Valraven loves me too,” Ellony trilled. “I cannot believe I own such happiness.” Pharinet sucked in her breath through her teeth. Ellony was hardly even aware that she was there. “Dragons take you,” Pharinet hissed at the mirror.

  MOST OF THE YEAR, The Church of His Holy Fire was closed, but on special religious occasions, a priest came from Talabrake, the nearest town. The interior of the church was decked in flowers and incense soaked the air. Outside, the local population clustered round the entrance, decked out in their finest costumes. It was a festival day for them, when the Palindrake family would allow them into the castle gardens for roast ox and ale. Pharinet rode up to the church in an open carriage, accompanied by Ellony, Saska and Everna. Khaster and Valraven would make an appearance later, accompanied by their groom escorts: local men from other noble families to whom they probably hadn?t spoken for years. The younger Leckery girls followed behind the main carriage. They were accompanied by their aunt Dimara. Not for the first time, Pharinet thought about how Saska?s sister rarely spoke to her. At Sisterhood gatherings, Dimara became the Merante, their priestess, a woman who shrugged off her everyday mask of maiden aunt. But even then, she paid scant attention to Pharinet. Perhaps she knew the truth. Pharinet glanced behind herself in the carriage, determined to catch Dimara?s eye, but the woman was engrossed in conversation with her nieces. Pharinet had expected a dour countenance to look back at her, full of knowledge, but all she saw was a face full of excitement and laughter. Maybe she doesn?t have any real power, Pharinet thought. If she did, she?d know about me. At the entrance to the ceremonial gardens of the church, Pharinet scanned the crowd as she alighted from the carriage. She was looking for Grandma Plutchen, unsure of why it was so important to her that the old woman was there. Everyone was dressed in shades of red, pink and purple, as was the custom, but then Pharinet noticed a particularly vivid shade of crimson. There was Grandma, swathed in a shawl that looked as if it had been fashioned from the cloth she’d bought in Mariglen the day before. She was not smiling, but neither did she frown. Pharinet raised a hand to her, and Grandma nodded once. Then the crowd surged around her and hid her from Pharinet’s sight. Thomist came forward with Montimer Leckery from the door of the church, to accompany the brides inside. The building was filled to capacity with rustling human presences, shapes that Pharinet could barely make out as she trod the cold flagstones to the altar. Thomist and Everna bore the candles for her—Valraven was yet to enter. Ellony was surrounded by a clutch of grinning female relatives. She looked pale yet feverish about the cheekbones. Pharinet could not bear to look at her. The brides were sprinkled with a dust of ashes from the sacred censer, while the priest intoned archaic phrases over their heads. The words had no meaning. Pharinet felt light-headed and removed from reality. She heard the murmur start up around the fane when Khaster and Valraven arrived, escorted by their companions. The men were loud and jovial at the door, while Ellony shivered and giggled softly beneath her veil of red voile. Pharinet stood straight-backed and silent. She did not resent Khaster?she liked him. Khaster was not a part of all that was important to her. She would marry him willingly, for he could not affect the bond between her and Valraven. The other marriage was a different matter. She supposed, distantly, that her feelings were unfair. The ceremony itself was a blur. Later, she remembered Khaster’s face the first time he looked at her; the weariness in it, but also the affection. She felt that he knew her secret and sympathized, although of course he was in ignorance. Valraven, she could not turn her face to. She could feel his presence so close, like a black fire roaring towards the vaulted ceiling. If their auras should touch, they would both burst into flames. She must have spoken vows, declared her love for this man she would marry, but could not recall the actual moments. At one point the priest put her hand into her husband’s. Her flesh looked like sallow coral, wizened in Khaster’s elegant fingers. From one side of her came the warm energy of Khaster’s relief and love, from the other a painful raw blast of force that was Valraven’s feelings. He was not thinking of Ellony at all. He was in agony, but all the while building a cold, impenetrable wall about himself. Pharinet sensed the bricks going up, one by one, bricks of ice. But we did what we had to do, Pharinet thought. They couldn’t stop us. It’s done now. Nothing can undo it. Not all the love in the world.

  THE WEDDING FEAST WAS held at Caradore. A joyous multitude surged towards it, scattering petals and singing. Children clapped their hands against each other’s, and spun round in spiralling circles, chanting marriage rhymes. As the company walked back to the castle, following by a horde of guests and locals alike, Pharinet made herself smile widely until her face ached. She waved to people, clasped hands, kissed cheeks, and uttered soft words of thanks for the presents she’d received, and the wishes of good luck. There was no sign of Grandma Plutchen. Now that the cerem
ony was over, a strange calm had crept into Pharinet’s mind. The Valraven who walked some distance ahead of her, with Ellony clinging to his arm, was the not the man she had loved the previous night. That man was like a ghost or a god that only she could invoke. He was in hiding. Would a time come when she could conjure him up again? She had a husband now, tall at her side. He looked beautiful, his soft brown hair tied behind his neck, yet tendrils of it falling loose. His angular face was smoothed of care. She might even be able to say to him later, ?Khaster, my beloved.? Once they entered the castle, the brides were allowed to retire for some minutes to refresh themselves. They were escorted by a fluttering flock of women, all squawking and cheeping like hysterical birds, up to Pharinet’s rooms. Ellony’s new apartments, as yet, remained unviolated. “Oh, but you looked lovely, my dear,” the women said to Ellony, “so lovely, the perfect quintessence of a young bride.” Pharinet they tended to mutter to briefly, before turning back to Ellony with relief. Pharinet applied a fresh layer of pale powder to her already white cheeks. She was conscious of Everna’s scrutiny behind her in the mirror and couldn’t resist curling her lips into a secret smile. She saw from her reflection what this did to her face. She looked like an imp of fire about to pinch and burn. At last, Ellony broke free of her admirers and swooped to Pharinet’s side. “I almost envy you,” she said, laughing. “Khaster looks divine today. I could fall in love with him myself.” Pharinet smiled back meaningfully, perhaps with a touch of she-wolf, and for a moment, a cloud crossed Ellony’s face, as she realized the implications of what she’d said. Pharinet let her suffer for a second, then squeezed her friend’s arm. “You are right. I’m very happy to be his wife, Ellie, I can assure you of that.” Ellony’s smile returned and she engulfed Pharinet in a warm embrace. “I’m so glad,” she murmured against Pharinet’s ear, and there was a promise of tears in her voice. The flock descended the stairs to the main banqueting hall, which was rarely used. It was teeming with jabbering guests. Sound did not echo there, like it should. Pharinet was accustomed to seeing the hall in dim light, with all the shutters closed, but now it was a great light, airy space, filled with the scent of spring flowers. An arrangement of long tables of blond wood skirted the room. In the middle was a huge trestle, where the smaller of the wedding gifts were displayed. Everything was pastel and virginal, but for the clothes of the gathering. Pharinet considered that the marriage colors of Madragore were really more suited to somber affairs in dingy, musty halls. The dark crimsons and hectic scarlets seemed out of place amid the soft green of the abundant decorative foliage, the limpid white of the flowers. She supposed that weddings in Magrast were stately and joyless. The brides would be meek and pale and frightened, and huge bells would clang over them, threatening to shatter their fragile bodies. She met Valraven’s eyes across the room. His expression was unreadable, but she suspected that so was hers. She inclined her head and he smiled slightly. The sound of flames crackled inside her head. Would they congratulate one another? The idea was absurd. They should grab each other’s hands and run out of the castle, laughing, down to the beach with the wind in their hair, leaving everyone surprised and speechless. Pharinet sat down between Khaster and her brother. Khaster took her hand and examined her face with concern. But he did not speak. She was grateful for that. The first course was brought in, amid great ceremony: the feast was about to begin. I don’t want to be this isolated thing, she thought. Let me be normal for a while. She forced her heart into her smile and leaned over to kiss Khaster’s cheek. He looked momentarily surprised, then returned her kiss. The way he looked at her as he drew away kindled a slow but insistent beat of lust in Pharinet’s body, a distorted memory of the previous night. She had experienced sex and already wanted more. This man was hers. She could have him whenever she wanted to. Would she derive pleasure from him after Valraven? She glanced briefly at her brother. Tonight, he would deflower his bride, but Pharinet would not be alone. She must not think about what might take place in the bride of Caradore’s chambers. Course after course was brought into the hall. Every time the servants appeared, the company cheered and clapped, as if they’d never eaten such wondrous fare before. People made speeches, or stood up and made impromptu toasts. Montimer Leckery delivered a speech. Enlivened by wine, he spoke warmly about his children, both those of his loins and those who had come to the family through love. Pharinet and Valraven exchanged a glance, a hot needle between them. The crescendo of the occasion was the marriage wine. This was not just a drink, but a dessert, soaked in herbal essences and thick with dumplings of rich cake. Pharinet supposed it was an extravagant version of the pot Grandma Plutchen had made for them the previous day. Good-luck charms would be concealed within it. It was customary for the bride and groom to take the first ladle of this confection, and considered fortunate if they should draw out one of the charms. This was hardly unlikely as every cook who ever made a marriage wine made sure the charms were plentiful enough to be included in every spoonful. This made consumption of the wine hazardous and tortuous. Many a drunken wedding guest had broken a tooth on such occasions. Therefore, this dessert was eaten with tiny spoons that made identification of hard objects easier. The wine, contained in a massive silver tureen, was brought in on a high trolley, guided by two servants. Everyone fell silent and got to their feet. The brides and their husbands came out from their seats and went to the middle of the room. Here, a servant lifted the lid of the bowl with reverence. Valraven indicated that Pharinet should take the first cup. She was surprised by this, as everyone would expect him to make that offer to his wife. Pharinet dipped the ladle into the steaming cauldron. The mixture within looked disgusting, like entrails floating in blood. She poured a measure into one of the miniature bowls arranged beside the tureen. Taking up one of the ridiculous spoons, she fed herself with a minuscule portion. Everyone released their breath and cheered, banging the table tops with their hands. Why? thought Pharinet. The process was embarrassing. She handed the ladle to Khaster. This too was perhaps short of etiquette, as she should really have passed it to Ellony. She couldn’t. Khaster could do that. Khaster, however, seemed to think that Valraven, as highest-ranking male, should perhaps have gone first, for he handed the ladle to him. By this time, Pharinet was aware that the company was somewhat bemused by the order of this ritual. Still, what did that matter? Soon, everyone could get back to drinking and congratulating the couples. Valraven handed the ladle to his new wife. Ellony smiled up at him like a devoted puppy then leaned forward to take her wine. For a moment, she hesitated, hanging stooped over the tureen as if time had stopped for her. Everyone just stared, unsure of what was happening. Then Ellony expelled a deep, animal groan, a sound that seemed impossible to have come from her modest lips. Valraven put out a hand to her, murmured a brief enquiry. Ellony staggered away from him, her palm pressed against her side. The ladle clattered to the floor. Everyone began murmuring, and Saska leapt up from her seat. ?Ellony!? she cried, trying to fight a way through the guests. Ellony straightened up for a moment. She looked directly at Pharinet with silent, yet open-mouthed, appeal. She raised the hand that was pressed to her side. The color of the gown has come off on her, Pharinet thought. Or is it wine? But then Ellony slumped to the ground in a graceful heap, and Pharinet realized that what she’d seen was blood. The whole hall erupted into activity as people swept towards Ellony. Valraven lifted her in his arms and shouted at people to get out of his way. Khaster went after him, then realised Pharinet was not following. He paused and looked back at her. She had no choice but to accompany him. They took Ellony to the bride’s chambers, which were laid out in readiness for her occupation. Flowers and ribbons hung from every available source. The coverlet of the bed was folded back, waiting for the virgin bride’s nervous arrival. She had come there too early. The feast was not yet finished, and Ellony was in no state to be anxiously awaiting the advent of her husband. Valraven laid her on the bed, where she moaned and writhed. Blood came off on the white covers. “The wound has opened u
p again!” Saska cried, pushing Valraven out of the way in her concern. She was closely followed by Everna and Dimara. Ligrana and Niska stood at the threshold, their eyes wide in their pale faces. “What wound?” Valraven demanded. Saska searched the group who’d entered the room, clearly needing her sister’s support. Dimara came forward, oddly glacial. “She had an accident some months back,” she said. “What kind of accident?” Dimara did not answer his question. “I have already sent for the physician,” Everna said. Dimara nodded, “Saska, Evvie, help me undress her. Everyone else: out!” “She’s my wife,” Valraven protested. “Get out,” said Everna. “Leave her to us. Let us make her decent and comfortable, then you may return.” Those who had come into the room obeyed Everna’s request. Pharinet hooked her arm through Khaster’s but Everna said, without looking round, “Not you, sister. You remain here.” “Of course,” said Khaster, and pressed his lips briefly against the top of Pharinet’s head. Pharinet was incapable of speech. She looked at the door and saw Valraven standing there, one hand against the frame. She shook her head at him and he departed. “Don’t stand there like a dumb mare,” Everna snapped at her. “Help us.” Pharinet went towards the bed. Her steps were too slow. Dimara and Everna were bent over Ellony, their fingers tearing at the ties to her gown. Saska didn’t appear to know what to do with herself. She kept making small movements over her daughter, only to straighten up, wringing her hands. “What’s happening?” Pharinet murmured. Tears had gathered in her eyes; she was crying. “Stop dithering!” Everna said. “Help us undress her. Saska, fetch hot water from the bathroom.” Saska pushed blindly past Pharinet, her face white. Pharinet reeled a little on her feet, then murmured, “Why are you angry with me, Evvie?” She almost said, “It’s not my fault,” but stopped herself in time. “I’m not angry, this is an emergency,” Everna answered, in a softer tone. “Please help, Pharry. Saska’s very upset. We all have to do this together.” They pulled away the scarlet wedding gown. Beneath it, Ellony’s pale torso was equally red. The wound itself looked old and festering, as if it had never healed. A stale stench rose from it. “How could this happen?” Pharinet said. “She was better, wasn’t she?” Everna’s lips were clamped tightly together. She shook her head, helping Dimara to steady Ellony’s writhing body. “I don’t know,” she said. “The infection must have gone deeper than we thought.” “The hanging head!” Ellony cried. “Hush.” Dimara stroked her face, which turned this way and that upon the pillow. “Deepest, darkest place,” gasped Ellony. “In the dark, coming up in a froth.” “She’s raving,” Pharinet pointed out needlessly. Saska had returned with a basin of water and some cloths. She bathed her daughter?s wound, her face set in a strange expression of mingled calm concern and terrified hysteria. ?She was marked,? Saska said. ?Blessed. What does this mean?? Dimara and Everna exchanged a glance. “It’s quite possible something was lodged in the wound,” Dimara said briskly, “and an infection has been building up.” “But what a time to happen.” Saska’s face crumpled. “Great Foy, on her wedding day, and to the Dragon Heir! How can this be?” A small, cold voice whispered in Pharinet’s mind, “Because she’s not the one. Never was and never will be.” She hated herself for that thought. The physician arrived, trailing a couple of young male assistants, and ordered the wound to be drained. As Everna had suspected, an infection still lingered beneath the skin. Pharinet went back down to the banqueting hall, where guests milled uncertainly. The marriage wine stood cold in its tureen, collared with a thin rind of grease. No one had dared to taste it, perhaps believing that by doing so they would only seal Ellony’s doom. They did not want that she alone, the most fêted of brides, would not partake of its luck. Pharinet soon realized that Valraven had already spoken to everyone, assuring them that Ellony was not gravely ill. She wondered whether her brother believed this himself. Did he care? He did not appear to be overly anxious, but of course the new Valraven, groomed in Magrast, had learned how to contain his feelings in public. Khaster came to Pharinet’s side as he saw her picking at a plate of food. “How is she?” “They are draining the wound,” Pharinet said. “I’m sure she will be fine.” Khaster frowned. “How did she sustain such an injury? It was like something you’d get in battle, from a spear thrust or a sword.” “Actually, it was from some sea wreckage. Ellony and I were down at the beach one day, and she fell. A spar pierced her side.” Khaster looked at Pharinet doubtfully. It was a ridiculous excuse. If she were him, she would not believe it either. “Pharinet,” he murmured, close to her ear. “Tell me now. Did a man inflict the injury?” “A man?” Pharinet tried not to smile and failed. “No, Khas. I can assure you of that; I was there.” He stared at her. “And I didn’t inflict it, either. How could you think such a thing?” Khaster smiled grimly. “I have learned there is more to the Palindrakes than meets the eye.” She answered lightly. “Yet only yesterday you loved me passionately. I am affronted.” He shook his head. “Pharinet, despite what I know of Val and whatever I might suspect of you, I will always love you both. You are strange creatures, and always have been. That is no doubt part of the attraction. All I can say is that my sister’s wound does not look like the result of an accident, certainly not an accident incurred while young ladies walk along the beach together.” “I would agree with you, but that is what happened, however unlikely it might seem.” “And there were no wild games involved?” “Khaster, I am too old for games.” “Human beings are never too old for games.” She put her arms about his neck and kissed his mouth. “This is our wedding day too, Khas. Ellony is being taken care of. We should snatch back whatever happiness we can of this celebration.” “You are different today,” Khaster said. “I am your wife today,” Pharinet answered.