The Dragon of Trelian

CALEN TRIED NOT TO LOOK DOWN.
This was the best vantage point in the east wing of the castle — a thick window ledge that looked out over both the main gate and a good bit of the Queen’s Road beyond. It was by no means the highest point in the castle, but it was still a good deal higher than Calen normally preferred to go. Climbing up to sit on the ledge had taken all his courage. He couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to fall, screaming in terror and watching the shaped hedges rush up at him from below until he hit the ground and died a horrible and painful death.

He’d had to come, though. He wanted to catch that first glimpse of the procession as it approached, to witness the very beginning. It was like something from a story — a delegation from an enemy kingdom, bringing the prince of Kragnir to marry one of the princesses of Trelian and end a war that had been going on longer than most people today had been alive. Certainly it was the most exciting thing to happen in Calen’s life in a long time. Maybe the most exciting thing to happen in his life
ever,
at least once he’d figured out that becoming a mage’s apprentice was not going to be the whirlwind of glory and adventure he’d briefly imagined. And he was going to be here to see it, the arrival of the enemy prince and his family and whomever else princes generally traveled with, the first moments of an event that would be recorded in history books for future generations!

His heart was beating a little faster just thinking about it. Obviously it was the excitement, and not the glance he’d accidentally taken at the ground just now that was causing his insides to jump around that way. Calen took a deep breath, settled his back firmly against the edge of the window opening, and struggled to keep his eyes on the distant hills and his mind on anything other than the vast empty space to his immediate right.

There was plenty he could think about, but most of it was not especially pleasant. The procession was supposed to have arrived hours ago, and Calen was getting later by the second, but he wasn’t leaving until he got to see something. He was bound to be in trouble —
more
trouble, he amended — once Serek discovered that he hadn’t come straight back from the royal gardens with the silverweed. Calen had picked the silverweed first, of course — he wasn’t that much of a fool — but he knew Serek had expected him to return at once, and that he hadn’t done. Instead, he had circled around through the kitchen entrance, run down the Long Hall, then climbed the many, many stairs to the guest suites on the eighth floor. Heavy rust-colored curtains concealed the large window, and once he slipped behind them, he was invisible to anyone who might pass by. Undoubtedly one of the soon-to-be-arriving guests would be stationed here, and servants might stop in to check that the room was ready. If anyone did see him, he’d be caught — no one would believe he was up here on the mage’s business, and he’d be forced to go back and face his punishment and miss everything.

Technically, he hadn’t exactly disobeyed. Serek had only
implied
that Calen should return directly; he hadn’t actually said it. Not that this distinction would hold much weight with Serek, but it was enough to soothe Calen’s conscience. Besides, it wasn’t like there was anything to rush back for. Calen thought back to the argument they’d had earlier. Well,
argument
wasn’t really the right word. Mostly it had just been Serek making pointed comments about how lazy Calen was and glaring at him whenever he opened his mouth to defend himself. But he
wasn’t
lazy. He just . . . didn’t care. He didn’t see the point in learning things if you were never going to do anything with them.

A flash of light caught his attention, and Calen leaned forward a tiny bit, squinting. Had that been the sun reflecting off armor? It was hard to tell at this distance. There was no way he was leaning any farther out the window, but maybe if he stretched his neck out slightly —

“I think that’s the prince’s escort,” said a voice from directly behind him.

Calen jumped at the sudden sound and then screamed as he felt his balance desert him. He flailed uselessly at the air and had a moment to think,
This is it, I’m dead, I’m falling,
before he was jerked roughly back into the room and onto the floor beside the window. Heart pounding, and
not
from excitement this time, Calen looked up to see a girl about his own age standing above him.

“You dropped your flowers,” she said, smiling innocently.

He gaped at her, then down at the silverweed scattered across the floor. Still breathless with fear, and now angry as well, Calen stood up. She had nearly killed him!

“You! You —” he began, unable to find suitable words for what he was feeling. Swallowing, he paused to regroup.

“You —” he said again, this time pointing one shaky finger at her for emphasis.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I suppose I saved your life just now. You almost fell, you know.”

Calen stared at her incredulously. His eyes felt wide enough to fall right out of his head.

She looked back at him for a moment, then started laughing.

“Oh, your face —” she gasped, nearly doubled over with mirth. Calen, temporarily out of witty retorts, waited silently for her to regain control of herself.

“I’m sorry,” she went on, finally. “I really am. I didn’t mean to startle you like that, but after I pulled you back in, you were just so
funny.
. . .”

Calen glared at her.
Funny,
was he? He knelt and began gathering the fallen silverweed with violent swipes of his hands. She bent to help him.

“Leave it,” he said, turning his back to her.

“Oh, please, don’t be like that,” she said, touching his shoulder. He shrugged her off without looking up.

After a moment she spoke again. “You’re right — that was terrible of me. To laugh, I mean. I’m not very well behaved at times, as Nan Vera would no doubt agree.” She held out the handful of silverweed she’d collected. “Please,” she said again. “Let’s start over. I really am sorry. I’m Meg. What’s your name?”

Calen sighed. He hadn’t
actually
died, he supposed. And it would be nice to finally get to know someone his own age. It had been more than half a year since he and Serek took up residence here, and in all that time nearly the only young people he’d seen had been the royal —

He looked up at her. “Meg?” he repeated stupidly. For the first time he noticed how she was dressed: her pale blue gown of obvious quality, the silver embroidery along the sleeves and bodice, the elaborate way her hair was twisted up behind her neck. And the delicate gold circlet resting above her forehead, glinting at him in shiny accusation.

“Meg — as in Meglynne? As in Her Royal Highness Princess Meglynne?”

Oh no.

Calen scrambled to his feet, then bowed, then changed his mind and dropped back onto his knees. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I didn’t —”

“Stop,” she said. “Please, don’t do that. It’s just Meg. Now get up.”

“But, Your Highness —”

She kicked him, hard.

“Ow!” He fell over onto the floor, rubbing his thigh. Princesses weren’t supposed to kick you!

“If you call me ‘Your Highness’ again, I will throw you out that window, I swear it.”

“But —” Calen pushed himself back up to his knees. This was confusing. Serek had made him learn all the appropriate titles of respect, and it was definitely not appropriate to call one of the king’s daughters by her first name. Still, he almost believed she was serious about the window.

“Come on,” she said. “Get
up.
”

Calen just stared at her. Was it a test or something? What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t seem to bring himself to move.

Finally, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well. I
command
you to get off your knees and stop acting like I’m going to chop your head off. Rise and obey, by order of King Tormon’s third and least patient royal daughter.”

Calen got up.

“Good,” she said. “Now I command you to tell me your name.”

“Calen.”

“Good. Thank you. You’re the mage’s apprentice, aren’t you? I mean, you must be, since you’ve got the . . .” She waved a finger at the marks on his face, nodding. “All right, Calen, pleased to meet you. Now I command you to stop obeying me. What are you doing up here, anyway?”

Lying to a princess probably carried worse punishments than skipping out on work. “I came up to watch the procession,” he admitted.

She smiled. “Good. Me, too. So let’s get back out of sight before someone comes by and sends us both back to where we belong. They’re probably close enough to see by now.” And with that, she disappeared behind the heavy curtains.

Calen rubbed his thigh, which still hurt from where she’d kicked him. Part of him wanted to slowly back away while she wasn’t looking. But if he left now, all the time he’d spent waiting and the trouble he’d get in when he returned would be for nothing. And he really didn’t want to miss the procession. He’d been waiting to see it for weeks! He shook his head and squared his shoulders. No one, princess or not, was going to stop him from seeing history in the making. He ducked back behind the curtains to join her.