Mistress of Dragons (14 page)

“I
could stop here and refuse to budge until you tell me what is going on,” Edward
continued, “but I won’t. Why, do you ask? Do I trust you? No, not particularly.
You are a man of secrets. You make it impossible to trust you and that’s fine
with you because you don’t want to be trusted. Perhaps you think I ride with
you out of curiosity. That is true. And you think I am desperate. I am, I
freely admit it. This blasted dragon has my kingdom by the short hairs. But
there is another reason.”

Edward
paused, then said quietly, “If I made my stand and you refused to answer me, I
would have no choice but to turn my horse’s head and ride back home. And I am
not ready to go back. Not yet. I have enjoyed these days. For the first time in
my life, I am free. I am not king. I am not husband. I am not father. I am not
the bearer of sins. I am not the answer to questions. I am not the solution to
problems.”

Edward
paused again. The rain had let up, but the clouds remained bunched above them.
The smoke from the burning pine rose to clasp the storm’s chill trailing
fingers.

“I
must go back to that,” Edward said. “I want to go back. But not yet. Not,” he
added, with his sudden, mischievous smile, “while I have such an excellent
excuse not to. So, lead on, Draconas. I follow.”

Six
hundred years ago, when he’d first taken on this form, Draconas had made a
mistake. He had come to like and admire a human. Because of him, the human had
died and Draconas had nearly lost his sanity. He had sworn to himself, never
again.

He
repeated the words. Never again.

AN
IMPORTANT CEREMONY WAS BEING CONDUCTED IN the monastery in the mountains of the
kingdom of Seth.

Tonight
was Coupling Night, as it was known. On every night of the full moon, twelve
men selected by the Mistress of Dragons from a list presented to her monthly by
Seth’s king were brought into the monastery under heavy guard. Twelve
priestesses, chosen by the Mistress, awaited them. Men and women would pair off
and spend the night together. The next morning, the men would be escorted out.
Nine months later, if all went well, twelve babies would be born.

The
selection of the men was strictly adjudicated by the Mistress. No nobleman was
able to whisper into His Majesty’s ear that a worthless son should be chosen,
nor could a wealthy merchant offer bribes to so honor his family. The men had
to be of high moral character and must have performed a deed of heroism,
compassion, or self-sacrifice that could be attested to by witnesses. Although
the men chosen would never know their children, the honor of being selected
would follow them throughout their years.

Each
man was dressed in his finest, arrayed as a bridegroom for his wedding. No
raucous laughter or crude jokes accompanied this bridegroom’s party, however.
The people of Seth honored the sisters who protected them from the dragons. The
ceremony, which would insure the continuation of the Sisterhood, was a sacred
one. The bridegroom and escorts proceeded up the mountain in hushed reverence.

They
came at twilight, after a day of heat and torrential rain. The sky had cleared
at last and the evening star glittered on the rose-red and saffron horizon.
Bellona’s warriors, clad in metal armor that had been polished to high sheen,
met the men at the gate that led through the high wall into the monastery.

Bathed
and shaven, their hair combed and adorned with garlands, the men were dressed
in simple white robes and walked barefoot, to show their humility. One by one
they entered, to be searched for weapons by the guards. Their names were
checked against the list and, if all was well, they were admitted. Friends and
family bid them goodbye and called blessings upon them, though wives sometimes
gulped back their tears, for this honor was a bittersweet one to the woman who
would spend the night alone.

The
men were escorted by the warriors into the monastery’s garden, where the
sisters awaited them. All the members of the Sisterhood were present; those
with whom the men would mate lined up on one side of the quadrangle, the
remaining sisters standing opposite them. This night, Melisande would be the
one to greet them and welcome them in the name of the Sisterhood. Customarily,
the Mistress of Dragons would have performed this duty, but she was so ill that
she could not rise from her bed.

As
the Mistress’s body grew weaker, her spirit burned stronger, or so it seemed to
Melisande. The Mistress’s voice was a thin, quavering whisper, but her orders
were clear and coherent. Her hand trembled with a palsy, but the grasp of that
hand on Melisande’s was firm.

“This
night is so important to our future,” said the Mistress, lying back among the
pillows. “I should have given the instructions before now. But there is so much
to do ... so much ...”

“Rest
yourself, Mistress,” said Melisande. Seated on the edge of the bed, she
smoothed the gray hair back from the woman’s forehead with a gentle hand. “You
will be with us for many more Couplings. You are ill from the strain of driving
away the dragon we saw today. You should not have risen from your bed so soon.
Soon you will be well again.”

“The
shadows draw close around me,” said the Mistress. “Tomorrow morning you will
come to me, Melisande, and we will begin the death watch.”

“Mistress,
no!” Melisande choked back her tears. The Mistress would be displeased with her
for crying. “Not yet. We cannot manage without you. I cannot! I am not ready.”

“You
proved your readiness during the battle with the dragon.”

“I
have so much yet to learn ...”

“You
will manage, Melisande. We all do, when the time comes. And know that I will be
with you,” said the Mistress, patting her hand. “I will always be with you.
Now,” she added briskly, “dry your eyes and attend my words.

“When
you make the ritual greeting, welcome the men and praise them for the deeds
they undertook to win this honor. Keep the greeting short, so as not to try
their patience. When you have concluded, dismiss the women, send them to their
chambers to make ready. After a decent interval, have the guards escort the
men. When each man has entered a room, the doors are locked and sealed.”

The
Mistress seemed to want to say more, but she had to use her breath for
breathing, not for talking. Her eyes closed. She gasped, coughed.

Melisande
rose from the bed. “Do not tire yourself, Mistress. I know how to perform this
ceremony. I have been witness to it often enough. I will leave you to rest.”

The
Mistress grimaced. “I will rest soon enough, Melisande. I have all eternity. .
. . What was I saying? Remind me, Daughter.”

“The
men escorted in and the doors locked.”

“The
food and drink—”

“—all
prepared, Mistress, and I have ordered that it be taken to the rooms.”

“With
the special herbs. You did not forget—”

“No,
Mistress. The food and the wine are both laced with aphrodisiacs.”

“And
the fertility potions,” the Mistress said. “The women must drink the potion
this night.” She tried to rise. “I should go …”

“I
have seen to it, Mistress,” Melisande assured her. “The women know what to do.
I will check each personally in the morning to make certain they have obeyed.
They know the importance of the Coupling. We all do.”

Frustrated
at her lack of strength, the Mistress sank back down among the pillows. “You
and the others will spend the night in prayer, Melisande. Pray for fine,
healthy children to be born of his union.”

“Yes,
Mistress. The omens are good. Five healthy babes were born this day and last
night.”

The
Mistress’s eyes brightened. “Five?”

“Three
girls and two boys. And four babes were weaned this day, taken from their
mothers into the nursery.”

“I
recall the day they were born. All boys.”

“All
four, Mistress.”

“Ah,
well.” The Mistress sighed. “At least we have three healthy girls born to us
this day.”

“The
boys are ready to go to families, but you have yet to tell me the proper
procedure. I understand that they are taken away during the night and that no
one knows how or when—”

“For
the sake of the mothers,” said the Mistress gently. “This is a difficult time
for them. Removing the children in the night, without their knowledge, makes
the separation easier.”

“But
how is that accomplished? If I am to be responsible—”

“Tomorrow,”
said the Mistress, closing her eyes. “I am very tired, Melisande. Please leave
me.”

Melisande
gave an inward sigh. She had so much to learn and it was always tomorrow.

“Can
I bring you anything, Mistress? A glass of wine? Some food? You have eaten
hardly anything for days.”

“I
have no hunger anymore. No hunger for anything. Not even life. Place a glass of
wine by the bedside. That is all I want.”

“I
will do that and I will send someone to sit with you—”

“No!”
The Mistress was fretful. “The others fidget and whimper and worry me to
distraction. You are the only one I can tolerate.”

“Then
I will come back to see if there is anything—”

“You
will not.” The Mistress’s voice was sharp and the tone startled Melisande. “I
am sorry, Daughter. I did not mean to snap at you, who have been so devoted to
me. You have not slept in nights, however. Did you think I didn’t see you slip
in here every hour, hour after hour? This night, I will sleep and so shall you.”

“Yes,
Mistress. If that is what you want.”

The
Mistress’s voice softened. “I am so very tired. No one is to disturb me. Come
to me in the morning.”

Melisande
bent down, whispered a heartfelt prayer, and kissed the Mistress’s wrinkled
hand. Blinking back her tears, she washed her face with cold water, then left
the chamber.

Dusk
layered the garden in blues and purples. The moon would rise shortly. It was
time for the ceremony.

Melisande
made her speech of greeting, repeating words she’d heard spoken every month of
every year for all the years of her life, words that held deep meaning for
those who heard them—or so she hoped. The words held no meaning for her this
night. She might have been speaking a foreign tongue. She had so much to do, so
much to think about, so many responsibilities falling on her, and no time to
think clearly about any of them.

When
she stepped into the quadrangle, taking the Mistress’s customary place upon the
raised dais at the north end of the quadrangle, a wave of dismay rippled
through the Sisterhood. Where was the Mistress? The sisters clutched hands.
Some gave audible gasps and one actually burst into tears. The priestesses who
were soon to be coupling with the men started to wilt like cut blossoms. The
men had no idea what was going on, but they could feel the tension. They cast
swift glances at each other, shifted uneasily in their places.

Melisande
had to seize control of the situation, keep it from spiraling into disaster.
She was thankful for the discipline of Bellona and her warriors, who stood calm
and steadfast. Walking over to take her place beside the dais, Bellona gave
Melisande a reassuring smile that warmed her like spiced wine.

“The
Mistress sends her regrets,” said Melisande in ringing tones. “She is sorry she
cannot take her accustomed place before you this night, but the battle with the
dragon has left her fatigued. Men of Seth, I bid you greeting in her name.”

She
continued on with the traditional speech and though she could not have repeated
afterward a single thing she said, the words had the desired effect. Her
explanation, delivered in a cool, strong tone, spread soothing balm upon the
fears of the sisters. Her praise for their deeds of heroism heartened and
strengthened the men, while her expressed admiration for the women who were
soon to be mothers caused them to preen themselves with pride.

Her
speech concluded, Melisande relinquished control of the evening to Bellona. The
sisters went to the nave to recite their prayers. The women went demurely to
the coupling rooms, there to wait in a flutter of nervousness their chosen
companions. Some had already borne children and knew well what to expect. They
looked forward to the act of love eagerly or with dread, depending on past
experiences. Some were virgins. This would be their first experience and they
waited in trepidation.

Bellona’s
troops escorted the men, saw to it that each was locked in a room with a mate
and given food and wine, heavily laced with potions and spices known for their
ability to loosen the inhibitions and strengthen a man’s potency. Guards were
placed at either end of the hall and nature was left to take her course. Soon
the night air would dance with the sounds of giggles and deep laugher, which
would give way to grunts and sighs and cries of pain or pleasure.

Melisande
should have been in the nave praying with the sisters, but she needed a moment
to talk with Bellona. Over the years, only a few untoward incidents had
threatened to mar a Coupling Night and these had been dealt with swiftly and
quietly. But there would be no rest for Bellona or her troops this night, so
long as there were men present in the monastery.

Melisande
slid into the fragrant shadows of an alcove created by shrubbery and a twining
honeysuckle vine and waited for Bellona. The commander was still inside the
coupling chambers, making certain that all was well. Within a few moments, the
door opened and Bellona stood outlined against the backdrop of lamp light,
giving final orders. This done, she shut the door. She headed across the
compound at a brisk walk. Melisande did not speak. She did not have to. So
close were they that she knew Bellona would find her.

Bellona
had gone only a few paces past where Melisande stood when she stopped, turned,
and sent a piercing gaze into the shadows.