The digging went more swiftly this night, now that we knew our goal was attainable. I found my scorched back much better than it had been only a day before and was able to throw in as much weight as anyone.
The night air was cool and still, and we filled it with the sound of shovels biting into soil, horses shifting weight and swishing tails, breaths puffing with exertion. Eventually, we were dismayed to find that we had to give up the shovels, the angle and size of our hole no longer permitting their long handles. We were reduced to scooping out dirt with our hands.
"Thou hadst best hang back, Princess," Elaysius said, when I made to move past the stiff scarlet roots, "lest the dragon know instinctively when thou breakest the circle. We must wait until all is ready to flee."
Reluctantly I complied, and focused my labors on widening the hole for easier passage.
"Any movement, Elaysius?" I whispered now and then, and always our watchman answered, "Nay, none."
Finally Genevieve gestured with sudden excitement, motioning me closer, and I saw that her hand, reaching for more dirt to dig away, could now pass through to clear air.
The dig became frenzied then, our hearts fluttering as if determined to escape on their own. We all stood back, hardly breathing, as Elaysius's blue light passed through the muddy tunnel, and emerged on the other side.
"Gareth, slap the horses," I said, breathless and trembling. "Get them moving across the line. Genevieve, go on! Elaysius, you're certain he still sleeps?"
"Indeed, princess, I can see him most clear."
"Or perhaps you see a length of canvas sail I found bundled up in the stable."
I spun toward the voice, my shovel hauled back to strike, but he was out of my reach, atop the ridge we had thought kept us hidden. It was Braith, of course, standing with arms crossed over his chest. He was even paler than usual in the moonlight, eyes bright as embers.
"Discretion comes ill to you, princess," he murmured. "I have no doubt you fancied this a sneak escape."
Despite his words, he did not seem amused. In fact, he fairly quivered with tension.
As did I. Only a step behind me, a quick dive through a hole, and freedom. "Can you stop me?" I asked. "You can breathe no fire in human form. Are you swift enough to seize me before I cross this circle? From that distance?"
"Likely not."
"But once I am through, you will doubtless pursue me."
"No, I will not have the power."
"What do you mean?"
"Should you escape my circle, my oath is broken. You are familiar with the term 'death before dishonor'? It is rather more literal for dragons than for men."
"Are you... are you saying that if I pass through this tunnel, you will die?"
"I am."
The words seemed to cost him much. Not only was he handing me his great weakness, he was, in essence, begging for his life. We both knew it was very likely I could make the tunnel before he could stop me. He would not ask me to refrain. He would simply present me with the facts.
And the fact was that my freedom would cost the life of Rindargeth's son. Not a death in battle that I could do nothing to prevent, but a deliberate act of murder on my part.
It would be easy enough. I would not have to lift a hand against him, only step backward and duck through the tunnel. I would not even have to turn and watch him fall.
The shovel was shaking in my hands. With a curse, I threw it down.
Then I ran, before he could see tears, ran as fast as trembling legs could move, back toward the tower. The tower that would now be my home, and my prison, for… who knew? Until I was old and withered? Until I died?
Running over hills in the dark, half-blind with tears, it was no surprise that I fell, scraping my knees and hands. I had hardly come to a stop before I was snatched again to my feet.
"What do you mean by this?" Braith snarled, so near to my face that I flinched away. "Do you think I will swear gratitude? Do you think to hold my leash? Then you have acted in vain!"
"I had no such thought. Unhand my arm."
"Be assured, the skies would fall upon us before I make oath to a daughter of the worst race the world has to offer. Do not think that I—"
"I thought of you not at all, dragon, but of your father who loved you, whom I would not so betray even in death."
"Don't you even speak of him, aari—"
I slapped him, with all the strength I could call to my arm, and my bloody hand left a red print on his cheek. This time he did not follow as I ran away.
Chapter 4
Isat upright and dry-eyed in bed, watching the fire burn down to nothing. The room grew chilly, and the sky inched toward dawn. I slipped my hands in and out of my red mittens, and did not sleep.
As the stars began to fade, a blue radiance rose from the stairwell. I watched it without much interest. It was Elaysius, of course. He settled onto the bed with me, leaning against my leg with his wings drooping.
"I'm sorry, Elaysius," I whispered. "I know how you long to go home. But as unpleasant as he is, he does not deserve to die."
"On that subject our opinions may differ," he said, "yet I cannot argue with thy choice."
"I only wish my choice did not enforce itself upon us all." I looked at him, blinked. "Elaysius!"
"Milady?"
"You had gone through—you were already across the circle when Braith spoke! It must be only my escape which affects him, he has sworn no oath to keep you prisoner. Nor Gareth nor Genevieve. Elaysius, you may indeed go home!"
"Nay, princess," he said, so quickly that I knew he had already thought of this, "nay, I may not, and leave thee a prisoner. My vowed quest, recall, is to see thee rescued."
"There seems little enough you or anyone can do to aid me, Elaysius. Truly, I wish you to go."
"And yet my vow remaineth."
I sighed. "All this vowing! I am quite weary of it. Mark my words, Elaysius, you will never hear me make any oath at all!"
"Thou dost swear not to swear?"
I struck him with a pillow—gently, lest I crush his tiny bones.
"Truly, fair lady," he said, "oath or no oath, I could not in any honor leave my friends here captive while I go merrily on my way."
I narrowed my eyes in thought. "But suppose you left, only to return again?"
His wings pricked up. "Fetch aid? Fetch aid! Indeed, that is well within the scope of my quest!"
"You and Braith take such pains to avoid one another, it may be days before he notes your absence."
"Thou must coach Gareth not to speak of me. Or shall I take him along? Or Genevieve?"
I considered, and shook my head. "Their absence would be much sooner noted, and I think they would prove little help to you."
"Very likely," he admitted. "Yet I must advise thee, dearest lady, that as small as I am—and never did that frustrate me ere I came here!—I can make but little distance in a day, nor shall it be easy to hide my light from pursuers."
"Nevertheless, I would have you attempt it."
"Then I shall."
"Brave knight!" I hugged him close and dropped a kiss atop his head, which made him blush bright.
"Shall I leave at once, princess?"
"As soon as may be, before Braith thinks to fill in our tunnel. Be sure to take provisions."
"I would travel light, lady, to make better speed. A fairy may live well off the leaves and berries of the forest."
"You may still need medicine and weaponry. And a letter! If I write some small, brief letter, might you carry it to my parents? It will ensure you are believed, on your arrival."
"Indeed, such may prove very necessary."
I rose from the bed and dug about my chamber until it produced a scrap of paper, a quill, and an ink-pot. It took me some minutes to compose internally a message brief enough to fit the tiny scrap and yet convey all necessary information: that I was well, that I was a prisoner, that Sir Elaysius was my emissary and could lead them to my location. All else I must trust Elay
sius to tell.
My writing grew small indeed, to fit my signature at the end, but I found room to give them all my love.
"Deliver this to my father or mother," I told Elaysius, handing him the folded scrap, "or failing them, my betrothed, Prince Tristan of Dewgent. My childhood nurse Tegwen is also trustworthy. Pray be clear that I ask aid in discovering the dragon's master, not defeating the dragon himself, or I fear they will send entirely the wrong sort of help! It accomplishes nothing for me to spare him now, only to let my rescuers kill him later."
"I hear and obey, dearest lady," he said, taking the letter and bowing low. "I shall return with rescue, or die in the attempt."
"No dying, if you please, melodramatic fairy. Now go, you must depart at the first moment Braith's attention is turned away. Fare you well, friend." I swallowed. "Now I must to the kitchen, or we will all start the day without breakfast!"
To my great surprise, Braith joined us for our simple breakfast of milk, bread and soup. His presence served to make an already dispirited meal twice as awkward. None knew whether to gaze on him with apology, or anger, or pity—Genevieve chose not to gaze upon him at all, but keep her eyes entirely on her dishes. Gareth, the coward, carried his bread out of doors.
"How is it that your hair is always braided?" I asked at last, when I could no longer bear the uncomfortable silence.
"I beg your pardon?"
"When you change form. You never have to take the time to plait your hair, it is done already. Your father was the same."
"It was my father who taught me the trick of it," Braith said. "It is... not something I can explain to one who has never shifted form. It is braided, in essence, because I will it so."
"Yet I know you cannot utterly will your human form to your preferences. Otherwise you would not—for instance—have that cut upon your hand." I nodded toward the long, half-healed line where he had bled onto Rindargeth's grave. "Rindargeth told me somewhat of it—how a dragon might take human shape when gravely hurt, because a wound of two feet long on a dragon's flesh would be only inches on a human, and human skin knits itself together again more quickly than a dragon's scales."
"It seems you are well-educated. Why do you ask questions, then?"
"Because I understand it only partly. Why can a dragon control some things about his new form, but not others?"
He sighed—thoughtful, I thought, more than annoyed. "Speak you any other language? Gaulish, perhaps, or Saxon?"
"I fail to see—"
"Do you, or do you not?"
My own sigh was all annoyance. "A few words of Gaulish, hardly enough to ask a direction."
"You may, perhaps, have encountered this phenomenon, that a phrase might be translated in one way, or in another, and neither of them incorrect? For instance, brise marine might be 'sea wind' or 'ocean breeze'?"
"Yes, I suppose."
"When a dragon changes form, he is... translating... his body from one shape to another. And must, incidentally, learn the 'language' before it may be done. My first experiment with the human form, attempted on the sole basis of observing my father and never having seen a human for myself, was quite disastrous. Had I wandered into any human village in such a state, I should have been stoned as a freak and a devil."
"You might still," said I, "with such eyes, and such a pallor."
"The eyes I might correct, with sufficient effort, though it is by far the most difficult 'phrase' to learn. The pallor must remain. My coloring is quite unusually pale among my kind; it would not, therefore, be a true translation unless I were equally so among yours."
I took a thoughtful sip of my soup. "None of which addresses the question of your hair."
"Ah, but the human 'phrase' of hair atop the head has no direct counterpart in the 'language' of dragon form. I am therefore afforded a certain amount of leniency in how to translate it. The color you may recognize from the tips and ridges of my dragon form. The braid is, more or less, as I first said, because I will it so."
I forbore from mentioning that his will seemed insufficient to maintain the braid, as his very fine, gleaming hair seemed to begin working free of it as soon as it existed. "You are fortunate," I said instead. "Even with my hair so much shorter now, I must take pains to keep it bound up out of the way. This morning I did not bother, and so fought with loose hair in my eyes and dangling into the breakfast. I nearly set myself afire. Oh, Genevieve, no—my hair can wait."
Genevieve, already weaving my hair into plaits, only snorted and flicked my ear, by which I gathered she would rather braid than hear me complain about it. Her own dense, springy curls needed little more than the ribbon currently holding them back from her face, though she often did more, decorating them with colorful pins and beads.
"You might shave it off," Braith said, "if it is so troublesome."
"Certainly not!" I cried. "How hideous that would look! As if I had lice, or needed to shame my husband."
"Shame your…? Whatever do you mean by that?"
Genevieve looked equally bewildered. "I suppose it is a custom peculiar to Caibryn," I said, suddenly self-conscious. "A woman might shave her head as a sign of… grief, I suppose, and silent accusation. Anyone who looks upon her knows that her husband has sinned against her. That he has betrayed his marriage vows."
"And what does this accomplish for her?"
"A general turning of ill will against her husband. A shaming, as I said. I saw it only once, as a child—the baker's wife, in town, who discovered that her husband had fathered a child on her unmarried sister. Because the wife made his behavior public knowledge, he was forced to take responsibility for the child and, in some little way, mitigate the sister's ruined state."
"Was she ruined, for bearing a child?"
"Out of wedlock? Of course."
"How strange humans are."
"Why? How would such a thing be seen, among dragons? Would not both parents be shamed, for acting so?"
"Indeed, for visiting such hurt upon the wife. Yet a child is ever welcome, ever a joy and an honor to his parents—especially with my people so much fewer than they were. Very likely the husband would put his first wife aside for a time and marry the sister, that the child might not be a... bastard, is your word, though the closest equivalent in our tongue means only a fatherless one, an orphan." He was suddenly silent a long moment.
Fatherless. Orphan.
"When the hatchling was somewhat grown—flying, at least," he continued, "the father might go back to his first mate. If she would have him."
"But—but a man cannot simply say this one is his wife today, and a different one tomorrow. That is not marriage at all."
"That is not human marriage, you mean. Or Caibryn marriage—you are perhaps unfamiliar with the more... relaxed customs of some social circles of Gaul."
I glanced at Genevieve, but her expression betrayed nothing. She had never confirmed nor denied our guess at a Gaulish origin.
"I should not like to be married," I said, "to someone who might put me aside for my sister at any moment. How is one to ever feel secure in one's marriage, under such circumstances?"
"If a mate stays only because he is forbidden to leave, is that security? But I admit dragons make jealous mates, and perhaps that is part of the reason. My mother, I am told, once challenged another woman to a duel to the death for flirting with my father. Cooler heads prevailed, fortunately, but 'twas a near thing."
I hesitated. "Your mother... she died when you were quite young?"
His hands turned a spoon absently. "When I was but minutes hatched, in fact."
"What happened to her?"
His gaze focused on me with such intensity I was hard put not to flinch. His voice was a growl. "A dragonslayer happened to her, princess. A brave human warrior come to kill the monsters—a mother sickly with egg-tending, and her hatchlings hardly out of their shells. I alone survived, due to my father's return, and the intervention..."
"Intervention?" I murmured, when he did not con
tinue.
He shook his head, huffed smoke from his nose, and left the room.
When at last the pots and bowls were washed, the cow milked, the horses put to pasture, the eggs gathered, and the garden weeded, I carried a wicker basket of laundry down to the stream, to be scrubbed and beaten clean against the stones. At home in Caibryn, Laundry Day had been a seasonal event, with tubs of lye and boiling water all about, and the trees festooned with drying clothes like carnival banners; here, where our washing depended on the stream running by the tower to the sea, I preferred to wash a few things frequently, rather than many at once, for all of it fell to my lot. Tiny Elaysius could hardly be expected to help, Gareth was hopeless at washing anything at all, and Genevieve, willing to do most anything else, balked at approaching running water, even our tame little stream. Her shipwreck had, it seemed, left her with a fear of drowning, for which I could hardly blame her; therefore laundry was my duty alone.
Rindargeth had liked to help me, mostly by spreading the wet clothes across his hot, scaly flanks to dry. I would have to lay them out somewhere else, now.
The day was beastly hot, for all that autumn was only weeks off, and I was soon wet through with perspiration wherever I was not wet with simple water. When the assortment of gowns, shifts, breeches, and tunics in the basket were scrubbed clean, I stripped bare and sank into the water myself.
Swimming in the ocean was all excitement and danger, very stimulating. It also left me sticky with salt, and, on this day, was more reminder of Rindargeth than I could bear. In the stream I always swam alone, or soaked rather, lying with my head propped on a pillow of stone, to feel the current wash over me, cool and gentle, undemanding.
How nice it was, to have nothing demanded of me for a while.
I dozed, perhaps, with the sun warm overhead and the water cool all around. Certainly my mind drifted without any particular thought in it. I did not wish to think, not about chores and meals, nor cages nor oaths, nor a fragile fairy knight out on his own, nor a mother dragon fighting for the lives of her little ones.
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