Sea Dragon Heir

by Storm Constantine

  3

  SEDUCTIONS

  THE PARTY ARRIVED BACK at Caradore long after dark. Everna and Oltefney had gone to bed and there was no sign of Pharinet in the family chambers. Goldvane, however, was still up and slightly disgruntled. Presumably, Everna had ordered him to wait for Varencienne before retiring. She felt languorously tired. She asked Goldvane to order a hot meal from the kitchens for herself and Merlan. “Is there a fire in the main family room?” she asked. Goldvane nodded. “I have kept it stoked for you.” “We’ll eat there then.” In the sitting room, Merlan sat in a chair by the fire, while Varencienne curled up on the couch. “Thank you for today,” she said. “I appreciate it.” He raised his hands expressively. “It was a pleasure.” “Don’t lie. You thought I was tiresome.” “Rash, maybe, but not tiresome.” Varencienne paused and then spoke. “I felt Ilcretia strongly in that turret room.” She had not yet spoken to Merlan about her experience. He nodded. “You were determined to find her somewhere.” “I didn’t imagine it, Merlan.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t there. All I know is that old place is full of the echoes of screams. It isn’t good.” “I love it. I think the Palindrakes should restore it.” “Your family removed them from it in the first place. Don’t you think your father might not approve?” “I’m sure he wouldn’t care. Why should he? Valraven is firmly his creature. He has no secret yearning to break free of the empire, I’m quite sure of that.” “You speak with little affection for your husband.” “That is because I have none for him.” He studied her. “Are you attempting to shock me?” Varencienne thought carefully before she answered. “Only if you’re shocked by truth. I answered your question. I had no say in my marriage to Valraven. I was given to him. Why should such an arrangement breed love?” Merlan did not appear surprised by her words. “Oh, I don’t know. Valraven is a handsome man, very dashing and courteous. I thought you might have grown to love him.” Varencienne snorted. “Clearly you know little of him. It’s a cold courtesy he has.” She leaned forward in her seat. “Do you know what he is, Merlan?” “He is the Dragon Heir. Is that what you mean?” “Not just that.” “They call him the hand of fire, the eye of the emperor. It is said that as he slays in your father’s name, so your father witnesses the event. Valraven pledged himself to the fire. Yes, I know what he is, Varencienne. A traitor to his land, his gods.” He stared at her without blinking, perhaps unsure of whether he should have been so blunt. “He’s possessed,” Varencienne said. “By fire?” Merlan put his head on one side. Varencienne looked away. “Yes, by fire.” She found she couldn’t confide in Merlan about everything. “But it is not our concern,” Merlan said. “Or is it? Do you care about the world?” She thought about it. “No. Why should I? I have no control over it, and to care seems a needless burden.” He laughed. “Today, in that desolate old place, you were full of care.” She leaned back against the cushions. “That’s different again.” She frowned. ?I have become wrapped up in this land, Merlan. I love it very much, but perhaps that isn?t care in the way you see it. Some things simply are; we cannot change them. We can only live our lives in our small corners of the world. The rest might not exist.” “But it does,” Merlan said. “You say that because you’ve seen more of it.” “One day the world might come to you. Have you ever thought of that?” “What do you mean?” He shrugged. “Nothing remains static. The world changes constantly; tides ebb and flow. The Magravandian star has reached its ascendant. What will happen next?” “Are you suggesting a fall?” He paused for a moment. “Let’s just say that Mewt makes you reflective. I sit out in the hot nights, beneath a million stars. The dust of Mewt is filled with the past. It was once a great kingdom, an empire in its own right, but it was vanquished by Cos. The great line of Mewtish kings, and their spiritual heritage, was lost. The country became part of the Cossic empire. But eventually that too was destroyed. There have been many empires. None last for ever.” “I do not think Magravandias will fall in our lifetime. It is still expanding.” Merlan raised his eyebrows. “Why do you think that?” “What I’ve heard suggests as much.” “The Cossics are troublesome. Theirs is a large country, and they have always been men of war. Magravandias might believe it has quelled the enemy, but it hasn’t. Cossic terrorists snap at the heels of Valraven’s army. They have an exiled king who inspires them to fight on. The Cossic rebels will never win, but neither can they be beaten. They are a constant worry, a drain of resources. Valraven’s troops cannot press eastwards, because they have to deal constantly with trouble in Cos.” “If Valraven were to die, it would be a great blow to my father’s army, wouldn’t it?” Merlan nodded. “Of course. He is their heart. But he will not die.” “How can you be so sure? If I was a Cossic terrorist, I’d be planning assassinations continually.” Merlan shook his head. “They have tried it, and will continue to do so, but Valraven will not die. Not in that way. Don’t ask me how I know, because there is no rational basis for it. He is charmed, Ren. He is deadly.” Varencienne shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “And yet you considered I might have grown to love him. What kind of creature would that make me?” He paused meaningfully. “The deadliest of beasts are often the most attractive.” “Perhaps I find different things attractive.” He narrowed his eyes. “I look at you, and I’m unsure what I see. Your image seems to flicker and waver, as if you are a hundred different women. My opinion of you changes constantly. Are you a fey and imaginative creature, or a bitter, jaded woman? Are you full of joy or resentment? It seems as if all these might be true.” “The same could be said for Pharinet. I’m no more complex than anyone else.” “But you are your father’s daughter, and that inescapable heritage gives you a certain something, which smells deliciously of danger. I feel there’s something indestructible within you, and it is as cold as Valraven.” Varencienne sensed these remarks were designed to flatter her. She wanted to tell him he needn’t bother. She’d already made up her mind she desired him. The flattery was now superfluous. Servants brought in the meal, and Varencienne told them to go to bed. They could clear away in the morning. She and Merlan went to sit at a table by the window and began to eat. Varencienne discovered that the devouring of food could be transformed into an act of sensuality. Every time she licked her fingers, or ripped meat from a bone, she was aware of Merlan’s tense scrutiny. He wanted to see her as mysterious, aloof, challenging but conquerable. He had built up this multifaceted image of her in his head. He didn’t know her. He had made assumptions. She didn’t care. He could think what he liked, as long as it excited him. Outside the night prowled around the turrets of Caradore. The air was still, but there was a strange, restless sound. “Listen to that,” Varencienne said, pausing with a chicken bone halfway to her mouth. “It is the voice of the sea. It is singing upon the shore. Soon, a storm will come.” “And the storm will not abate until the sea has purged itself of its dead.” Varencienne smiled. “I love the old legends. At one time, I think their magic must have been very much alive.” “Perhaps it still is. It depends on your view.” Varencienne wrinkled her nose and bit into the tender meat. “I used to believe in magic,? she said, chewing, ?but when I looked for it, I found that it was dead.? Merlan laughed. “How can you say that? You found it today. It watches us from the shadows.” “You are a contradiction. If you’d spoken this way earlier, maybe we could have made old Ilcretia manifest before us.” “Perhaps I did not suggest it because I believed that we could.” Varencienne tossed the bone onto her plate. “I feel you are trying to communicate something. Speak plainly. The day has been a game of words.” “Perhaps I’m trying to find your measure.” “Oh, and by that you mean what?” He leaned forward across the table. “My employer, Lord Maycarpe, he talks to me a lot.” Varencienne folded her arms and leaned away from him. She raised a single eyebrow. “He talks to me about your family, about your mother, your brothers, and now and again, you.” “How can he? He’s never met me. I’ve never even heard of him.” Merlan shrugged. “People talk. They love to do it. And what they don’t know, they speculate about
.” “Please get to the point.” “Be patient. First, I must tell you about Maycarpe. He fancies himself as an esoteric scholar, and has embraced the culture of Mewt like a native. Magic hangs thick in the air in Mewt. Its capital, Akahana, where we have our governmental building, is extremely ancient. Maycarpe went there as a young man. It sucked him in with its secret perfumes, its irresistible song. Ghosts walk by daylight in Akahana. I myself saw something inexplicable at the tomb of Harakhte, a king who died a thousand years ago. Imagine it, Varencienne.” He raised his hands and gazed at the shadowed ceiling. “It is night-time, but the air is hotter than a summer’s day. It is full of exotic and pungent aromas: spiced meat, sweat, dung, unbearably sweet perfume, clouds of incense. The stars are so bright and so clear, they hang like clusters of iridescent doves’ eggs over the land. There is always music, just a thread of it, undulating like a snake through the narrow streets. Lamps burn dimly and sometimes, in one of the windows, the shadow of a woman passes across the light.” Merlan paused, tapping his lips with a taut finger. Varencienne shivered. The crack of the fire in the hearth seemed to intrude on the image he conjured for her. ?Go on,? she said softly. ?Tell me the story.? “When I first went to Mewt, I was very young, as Maycarpe had been. I wasn’t sure what I was meant to feel there. I am Caradorean after all, and Mewt too is a conquered country. The people there exclude you from everything. They walk in mystery, slowly and with grace. Their history lives for them. They worship it. Nothing ever dies there. One night, I went for a walk, feeling dizzy from the heat and uncomfortable in every bone of my body. The world felt so uncertain to me; I was afraid. I found myself in the plaza outside the Harakteon, which is a great complex that functions both as a tomb and a temple. I stood there for a while, marvelling at the great pylons, soaking up the atmosphere. Moonlight made the stones very white, and the shadows deep and blue. I saw a man emerge from the inner precincts. He was not dressed as a priest, but in the ceremonial garb of a warrior. I thought he must be one of the palace guards, who had come to pray in the temple. The old imperial army of Mewt is no more, but Magravandias has allowed Prince Mefer to retain a small company of elite soldiers as a personal bodyguard. I nodded to him, thinking perhaps that two men alone in the night might pass some pleasantries, whatever politics might separate them during the day. He inclined his head also, and came towards me. ‘The night is beautiful,’ I said in what I can only presume was tolerable Mewtish. He halted a few feet away from me and nodded. His expression was intense, as if his mind was thinking of ponderous things. I sat down on a broken column and took out my pipe, thinking to share a smoke with him. “‘I am a stranger to this land,’ I said. ‘I have come to work here.’ “He looked at me, half smiling, but still said nothing. I offered him the pipe and he shook his head. Despite his silence, I did not think at any time that he meant me harm. If anything, I felt very easy in his company. I talked for a while, in my language and his own, and he appeared to listen. I told him about Caradore, and how my people, like his, had a great history. I told him how different my country was, but that I hoped to acclimatize to Mewt, because I felt it had much to teach me. “I suppose I could have rambled on all night, because he was the first person I’d spoken to since arriving in Akahana who wasn’t Magravandian. But suddenly, he put his hand upon my arm and fixed me with an intent gaze. ‘You should never forget,? he said. ?Don?t make that mistake. Remember everything, for it is the curse of men that they forget.? “I opened my mouth to respond, but realized I was alone. The man had gone.” Merlan frowned. “This is very hard to explain, but he didn’t just disappear. It was so natural. He just went, as if he’d never been there at all. Also, I’m not sure what language he spoke in, only that I understood it.” Varencienne had wrapped her arms about her chest. She felt she might begin to shake at any moment. “A ghost,” she said. “Was it?” Merlan stuck out his lower lip. “I suppose it must have been. I went back to my quarters and had to pass Maycarpe’s office, which we also use as a sitting room a lot of the time. Maycarpe was in there and called out to me to share a nightcap with him. He could see at once how rattled I was, and made me tell him what had happened. I did so without hesitation, even though until that evening I had regarded him as something of a tyrant. I also knew that what I had to say might sound disturbingly political. I had taken it as a criticism of the empire. But Maycarpe didn’t appear concerned about that. He was delighted with my tale. ‘What you saw, my boy, was Harakhte himself,’ he said. I wanted to know why he should think that and he said it was obvious. In me, Harakhte’s spirit had recognised a kindred soul, a member of a race who had been vanquished. “Maycarpe’s remarks disturbed me. Surely, none of us, Caradoreans in particular, should harbor any such thoughts. We are Magravandian now, and are supposed to be happy about it.” Merlan shook his head. “That night, I first began to get to know Lord Maycarpe. He had delved deep into Mewt’s history. He had tracked down forgotten temples in wild corners of the desert, where old priests keep the most ancient of traditions alive. He had persuaded them to teach him. He is a magician, Varencienne, and saw in me a prospective pupil. What I had seen that night convinced him. ‘Your countrymen are soldiers,’ he said, ‘but right from the start, those buffoons in Magrast could tell your talents lay in a different direction, which is why you are here, with me. There are no coincidences, my boy. Look upon your destiny, for it has found you.’” Varencienne drew in her breath. “That is amazing. So now, you are telling me you’re a magician like your mentor?” Merlan laughed, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “I would not go so far as to say that. Maycarpe has not taught me what to think, but how to think, perhaps. It was he who first made me realize that humanity creates gods rather than the other way around.? Varencienne nodded slowly. “I think I agree with that. The sea dragons, for instance. How much do you know of their legends?” “Quite a lot, and I’m ashamed to say that most of that information came from Maycarpe. He’s an authority on Caradorean myth.” “I came to a conclusion about the dragons,” Varencienne said. “I just don’t think they were ever real creatures. They represent the Caradoreans’ hopes and desires, and their fears. If what you said about Ilcretia today was true, then they have become stale and decayed because the hopes of the people have been quashed.” “How do you know they’re stale and decayed?” Varencienne shrugged carelessly, but nonetheless took gratification from her reply. “Because I’ve seen Foy. Not once, but twice.” Merlan looked at her with surprise. Varencienne took a pale yellow apple from a dish on the table, and shrugged. “It’s true.” “When did you see her?” Varencienne turned the apple in her hands. “Once, not long after I came here, I went to the beach and something rose out of the water. I didn’t know what it was until Pharinet explained the legends to me. Then later, when I was heavily pregnant, I journeyed in my mind to an undersea domain and there saw what was left of Foy. She is a rotting carcass.” “A moment ago you said you didn’t believe in the dragons.” “I said I thought they represented Caradore’s hopes and fears. That is what I saw decaying in the depths of the ocean. My mind saw it, but now I wonder about how real it was. What I saw killed the idea of magic for me, because it was so pathetic, so final. Magic is optimism and hope, isn’t it? The desire for more than what is mundane to exist.” Merlan nodded. “I agree with some of what you say, but I also think that when a race, or even a community of people, pour their faith and feelings into an idea, it can become real. The Caradoreans could invoke the dragons because they believed they could.” “Now, they don’t. Now, Valraven is the lapdog of another god.” Varencienne bit into the apple, chewed and swallowed. “So, tell me what Lord Maycarpe had to say about me.” “He thinks it was no coincidence you were sent here.” Varencienne laughed. “Aha, I see. The conspiracies at court.” “You know, of course, about your brother Bayard’s visit to Caradore?” He clearly thought she didn’t. “Yes, I know of that.” “Maycarpe told me Bayard wanted to reawaken the dragons, reveal their presence to Valraven.” “I think that maybe Bayard was inspired
by simple human lust rather than a penchant for magic and gods.” Merlan shook his head. “Perhaps you don’t know Bayard as well as you think you do. He has been taught by the most accomplished adept at court: your mother. She wants him to become emperor, you know.” “Yes, I’ve heard that from Pharinet. You can’t shock me with revelations, Merlan. I’ve heard most of them before. But somehow this intrigue about my mother and Bayard doesn’t measure up to what I know of them. If Tatrini had a reason for me coming here, why didn’t she speak to me about it, why hasn’t she since? I know that people, especially people like my family, can be prepared to play a long game, but I would have thought the second move would have occurred by now.” “Perhaps it already has. Neither of us can know if or how Tatrini works to influence events here. Perhaps she was waiting for you to find Old Caradore. Perhaps she has nudged you that way.” Varencienne laughed again. “Oh, Merlan. It is late at night. Fanciful ideas sound reasonable in the dark, but I cannot believe this.” “Tatrini is no fool. She will know, as I do, how empires rise and fall like waves in the ocean. Whatever plans she has for Bayard will involve uniting countries in belief. Religion is a stronger weapon than guns or blades. It can cut deep into the soul, that which endures beyond life. She wants to revive the dragons, Varencienne, and soon you will have evidence of this for yourself. Remember my words. Foy is not just a goddess, she is a symbol of elemental force. You know the strength of water, its power to destroy, but in the higher realms, it is also the element of the emotions. It has the power to create. Fire alone does not have that potential. Control water and you control feeling. That is power indeed. Think about it: having the authority to inspire fierce loyalty, patriotism, worship of a single man.” Varencienne examined him through narrowed eyes. “Maycarpe told you this?” Merlan nodded. “Some of it. The rest I realized for myself.” “Your employer does not sound a particularly loyal member of my father’s staff.” “You are wrong. He does his job well enough, and accepts what is. He is not a secret rebel, but a thinker, an individual. Neither of these things is encouraged in an oppressive regime. Maycarpe likes to understand how things work, empires included. He has infected me with this desire.” Varencienne put down her apple core; the remains of the white flesh were already tinged with brown. “Do you think I must act in some way, Merlan? Is this what our conversation has been leading to?” “I think you should cast off the pessimism and skepticism you have built around yourself. You want to believe in ghosts, but not in gods. You obviously have a link with the dragons, yet you will not work with it.” Varencienne was silent for a while. “But what good can come of it? If I do it, surely it will comply with my mother’s wishes, and I’m not sure I want what she wants.” “As you said to me earlier, we each have our own small corner of the world. Live in yours. Tatrini may not have counted on one thing: your awareness.” Varencienne stood up and went to stand in the window. She could see the pale breakers pouncing on the beach far below. The sky was overcast, yet the sea looked luminous. “If only it was possible to swim down to that underwater kingdom in the flesh,” she said, “but it lies too deep.” She heard Merlan’s chair scrape back against the carpet, then his soft footfalls. He walked like a thief. Her body became sensitive and alert even before he laid his hands upon her shoulders. She did not turn round. His breath was a damp burn on her neck. “If there should be an emperor,” Merlan murmured, “it should be someone in whose blood magic runs strong.” “You?” Varencienne snapped. She had begun to tremble. His hands moved down her arms, his fingertips brushing the side of her breasts. “No.” He kissed her lightly on the back of the neck. “Valraven.” She turned round to him then, enabling him to wrap her in an embrace. “Is this what you’ve been leading to? You want me to conspire in a rebellion?” He shook his head. “Not in any way you think. The sea wife has always been the power behind the Dragon Heir. It is time for change, Ren. It is time for sense.” “Sense? What on earth is sensible about your suggestion? You know what Valraven is. How can you believe he’d make a better emperor than Gastern, or even Bayard?” “Val is a bitter man,” he replied, “but bitterness can be healed. He should be allowed to be what he was meant to be, not just a puppet of the Malagashes. You can help him, Ren, whatever your feelings are for him.” “You think power interests me?” She shook her head, but her arms involuntarily went around his neck. “I would be setting myself up in direct opposition to my mother.” Merlan shook his head. “Don’t think of that. There are many factions, Ren, all competing with one another. Nobody really knows what someone else is thinking or planning.” “You said my mother is an adept. Surely she’d guess, or sense it?” “She is adept, yet she is proud. Most of her energy is expended keeping the fire mages, the priesthood of Madragore, in the dark about her activities. They are Gastern’s allies and always will be. They too are powerful and will certainly be opposed to any idea of Bayard becoming emperor. You can be sure they’re aware, to some degree, of whatever Tatrini is planning. She will know this and will be taking care to cover her tracks. I don’t think she’d consider you a threat to her. It will give us a secret avenue.” “You can’t be sure of these things, Merlan. As you said, my mother is no fool.” He shrugged and pulled her close. “I would love to show you the cities of Mewt. Then you would feel what I’m saying. You’d know I’m right. You wouldn’t even have to understand it.” “And what is your position with regard to the fire mages?” she asked. “Are they aware of your desires?” “I am hidden in Mewt, my plans occluded by its very nature as a country. I don’t take unnecessary risks.” “Couldn’t confiding in me so frankly be seen as a risk?” He grinned. “I am a good judge of character.” Varencienne sensed there was rather more to it than this. Should she trust Merlan? She wanted to, not because of his plans for Valraven, but because she wanted to be close to him. She could go along with his ideas for now, if only for a single night. Ultimately, the only thing that felt real to her was the fact she was experiencing new and pleasurable feelings. In the dim light, Merlan was not himself but his vanished elder brother. Another ghost. She shuddered. Was it possible Khaster had come back for this one night? The man before her now, his body pressed against hers, did not seem like the one who had ridden to Old Caradore with her earlier that day. They talked of destiny, yet their bodies communicated on a much baser level. She must make him forget about conspiracies for a while. “Well,” he murmured, close to her ear. “What do you think?” She kissed his neck. “I think that tonight we should concentrate upon other, more immediate concerns.” He laughed softly. “As you wish, although this matter cannot rest for long.” He pulled her closer, kissed her slowly. Varencienne suddenly became conscious of the window behind them, the wide beach that lay below, where anyone, looking up, might see them limned against the light. “Come away from the window,” she said.