The Dragon Queens (The Mystique Trilogy) (7 page)

‘We need to talk.’ The note of alarm in my husband’s voice catapulted me back to the present.

I opened my eyes and looked in my lord’s direction to find Mr Taylor and Levi were with him. ‘What has happened?’

‘Talk some sense into Father,’ Levi pleaded, most out of sorts.

‘We have been given our marching orders,’ Taylor informed me. ‘Some of the Shah’s officials have just paid us a visit. We have a week to get out of Persia.’

‘But I have only been here a week!’ I protested. ‘And it took me months to get here.’

‘Regrettable,’ my husband agreed. ‘However, we
are
leaving.’

‘No! We can’t leave now—’ I cut myself short of confessing what I’d learned from the serpent comb and quickly covered my error. ‘We are right in the middle of something.’

‘That’s exactly what I said!’ Levi threw up his hands in exasperation. Still, I knew that the dig was not the only reason Levi was so keen to stay.

‘It doesn’t matter what you
say
,’ Lord Devere spelled out the problem to our son, ‘because in this case, we are going to be
arrested
if we do not comply.’

‘We must be able to appeal the Shah’s decision?’ I looked to Mr Taylor hopefully.

‘You would appeal to the local kad-khuda, or headman, who is the administrator of the Common Law,’ Taylor advised me.

I smiled, pleased to have a route to manifesting my will.

‘But it was his officials who served us our eviction notice,’ Taylor went on, dashing my hopes. ‘And
there is no point appealing to him, as his orders came directly from the Shah. A kad-khuda will never overrule the word of his sovereign.’

‘Then I shall appeal directly to the Shah,’ I said.

Levi gave a cheer of encouragement.

‘And say what?’ My husband appealed for me to be reasonable. ‘Understand that this man is the law here. He could have your head severed from your shoulders for one misconstrued word!’

‘Actually, the Persians haven’t beheaded women for thousands of years,’ Levi assured his father, who looked suspiciously at him, sure that he wasn’t getting the whole story. ‘I do believe they hang them these days,’ our son confessed at last.

‘And much worse,’ Miss Koriche added. ‘In recent times, condemned criminals have been crucified, blown from guns, buried alive, impaled, converted into human torches, and torn asunder by being bound to the tops of two trees which are bent together and then allowed to spring back into position.’

Lord Devere glared at me. ‘I do my best to support you in most things, Mrs Devere, but I draw the line at a suicide mission.’

‘I shall present the Shah with a gift,’ I said, avoiding my husband’s protest and looking at Mr Taylor. ‘Then it would be considered rude to have me executed, would it not?’

‘It would have to be a rare gift indeed,’ Taylor cautioned. ‘And I would certainly find a dress to wear in the Shah’s presence.’ He gestured to the male attire I donned for excavation work.

‘What gift could we possibly come up with that would be considered rare to the King of Persia?’ Lord Devere was exasperated. ‘And even if we could think of such a gift, we don’t have it.’

‘But we do,’ I said.

My husband served me a look of caution, sure that I was referring to my psychic abilities.

‘It’s not what you think,’ I said. ‘However, I do believe that I now understand why it was so important that Cingar accompany us on this quest.’

‘No. We shall not endanger his life too,’ my lord said firmly.

‘But do you not see that it was fated?’ I argued.

‘I was under the impression that you did not believe in fate.’

My lord had caught me out, for indeed I do not believe in fate. To do so is to believe that one is at the mercy of external forces, whereas I am quite aware that I create my own reality.

‘I should have said it was predestined, by myself,’ I granted. ‘I need something to offer the Shah, and the universe provided it long before I even knew I needed it.’

‘It is not right for you to take advantage of Cingar’s devotion to you.’ My husband refused even to consider my plan.

‘Let us put it to Cingar,’ I suggested, which only angered my husband more.

‘He owes you his life and will refuse you nothing!’ he snapped. ‘Even if it costs him his own life in payment.’

‘Do you not see that pledge is only an excuse?’ I said gently. ‘The real reason that Cingar has come back into my life is not wholly to do me service. He has come looking for a new purpose.’

Lord Devere calmed a degree as he considered this new idea that Cingar was using our voyage to escape the loss of his wife. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘we shall let our friend decide for himself. But I shall
pose the question to him, so that he may feel less obliged.’

I agreed.

When my husband put the idea to Cingar, his response was: ‘Of course I shall play for the Shah if it will be of service to you and your quest. I feel sure this must be why Chiara sent me to your aid.’

Clearly Lord Devere was outnumbered. The rest of our party were keen to at least attempt an appeal, and thus, as usual, I got my way. Still, the hard look my husband gave me indicated that I should not expect him to be happy about the decision, or my defiance of his wishes.

On the morning that we were preparing to leave for Baghdad, Levi sought out his father and me to tell us that Miss Koriche had disappeared.

‘She is probably on site somewhere—’ I began.

‘No, she isn’t,’ Levi cut in. ‘I have had the entire site searched.’

‘Perhaps she had to go and pick up supplies or—’

‘She would have mentioned it,’ Levi insisted, becoming more desperate by the second.

‘What makes you think that Miss Koriche would inform you of her every move?’ Lord Devere probed curiously.

Levi appeared stunned by his father’s question. His reaction was answer enough.

‘Where did you last see Miss Koriche?’ my lord persisted.

Levi appeared suddenly discomfited. ‘In my room.’

‘You saw her leave?’

‘No.’ Levi blushed, his expression still solemn as he shrugged. ‘I fell asleep.’

‘I see.’ My lord attempted to suppress his masculine pride in his son’s conquest. ‘Well, perhaps Miss Koriche is having second thoughts about her association with you, and that is the reason she has made herself absent?’

This was obviously an explanation Levi had not considered, and my heart broke as I witnessed the pain it caused him.

‘If that is the case, I had not an inkling of it,’ he said.

‘If it makes you feel any better, the same thing happened to me, several times,’ Lord Devere sympathised.

I had to chuckle.

‘But he always found me right when I needed him,’ I said, then added, ‘Is there any reason for you to suspect foul play?’

‘No.’

‘Was Miss Koriche concerned about anything or anyone?’ I went on.

‘Not that I know of.’ Levi frowned. ‘Only Taylor.’

‘Mr Taylor may be an exploiter of ancient relics and desecrator of ancient structures,’ I said, ‘but an abductor?’ The idea was a little far-fetched. ‘I feel sure Miss Koriche will return of her own accord before too long.’

Levi reached into his coat and pulled from it a scarf. ‘She left this behind. I was hoping that you might…’

‘Oh no.’ I flatly refused to read the psychic imprint. ‘If you want to pry, then you do it.’

‘The truth is, I am afraid that perhaps I am the reason Ajalae has vanished,’ Levi said softly. ‘But what if she is in some sort of trouble?’

‘Then that would be her affair, perhaps yours, but definitely not mine.’

‘I see.’ He was clearly disappointed but did not push the issue. ‘Have a good trip,’ he said, and left before I could respond.

‘I could possibly have handled that better,’ I commented.

‘It seems that you are destined to aggravate every man in your life this week.’ Lord Devere forced a smile as he locked down his trunk.

I thought it best to sidestep my husband’s disapproval, just as I had been doing ever since I’d decided to appeal our banishment from Persia. ‘Hopefully I shall fare better with the Shah.’

‘We can but hope.’

As Consul at Basra, Mr Taylor was able to contact the consul in Baghdad, who secured us an appointment with the Shah and an extension to our one-week departure deadline in order to allow us time to make the trip to Baghdad for our audience. Now, on the day of our appointment, Mr Taylor was giving us some advice regarding the Shah over afternoon tea at the English consulate.

‘To the people of Persia, the Shah is the Shahinshah or the King of Kings. He is the Shadow of God and the Centre of the Universe—hence, there is no written check upon the royal prerogative. That which is approved by the king becomes a virtue, and to seek opposite counsel is to sign your own death warrant. Such is the Shah’s divinity that he never attends state dinners or eats with his subjects. The attitude of even his most senior ministers is one of complete homage and adulation. “May I be your sacrifice, Asylum of the Universe” is the common address adopted by all the Shah’s subjects. There is no one to tell him the
truth or to give him unbiased counsel. Foreign ministers are probably the only source from which he learns facts as they are, or receives unvarnished advice. Shah Nasr ed-Din is also fond of cats and practical jokes.’ Taylor completed his assessment of the man we were about to meet.

‘Wonderful!’ said Lord Devere. ‘King and court jester.’

‘In the most majestic fashion, of course,’ Taylor replied.

‘And how should I address the Shah?’ I queried. ‘Will he speak with a woman?’

‘Oh yes,’ Taylor assured me. ‘I made the request for an audience in your name. As a foreigner, you may address the Shah as you would our own queen: your Majesty, your Highness and so forth.’

I was feeling a little nervous about the audience now, but not as much as Cingar seemed to be. Clearly he was not comfortable in the moderately lavish surroundings of the consulate, so how on Earth was he going to cope with the court of the King of Persia?

In truth, when we arrived, we were all humbled by the extravagance of the Persian court. And this was not even the main palace of Persia; the Shah’s chief abode was in the far northern city of Tehran. Fortunately for us, his Majesty was currently visiting Baghdad on business, no doubt meeting with foreign officials regarding the current dispute in Herat.

There were guards at every gate and doorway, armed to the hilt. I could see that another of the Shah’s names, ‘Monarch of armies numerous as the stars’, was no understatement, although I was aware that Persia had no sea fleet to speak of.

An official met us outside the Shah’s room of court, where we were told that the Shah was expecting us and if we would just wait where we were, we would be led through for our audience after we had been announced.

‘No going back now.’ My husband looked to me and I could tell that he had finally relinquished his grudge against my scheme. ‘Be great, Mrs Devere.’

I smiled, grateful for his show of support. ‘Always.’

Cingar, behind us, whispered, ‘I think I need to pee.’

‘I fear you shall just have to wait,’ I said, and nodded towards the Shah’s official, who had returned to fetch us.

‘This way, please.’ He led us into the room of court.

There were many officials and court advisers in the Shah’s audience chamber, and I sensed that the presence of a woman, not to mention my flaming red hair and the huge hooped skirt of my dress, was the cause of the hushed whispers of amusement all around us as we were brought before his Highness.

The Shah was not at all as I had expected. I had imagined a fat, aging man dressed in lavish silk robes and wearing a turban. But Shah Nasr ed-Din was a young, trim and impeccably stylish fellow. His dark hair was very short and his beard was slight and neatly trimmed, thus making his thick moustache all the more prominent, although it too was immaculately groomed. He wore a finely tailored Western-style suit with a short waisted jacket, which fitted his slim form very well indeed. No turban, just a small black brimless hat. He sat in a large, comfortable throne with his legs crossed, a
position that showed off his brilliant white socks and fine black leather shoes.

We bowed to the Shah and he nodded in return.

‘Lord and Lady Suffolk, Mr Taylor and…friend…’ The Shah eyed Cingar, curious as to why the gypsy was with our party. ‘I am informed that you come bearing a rare gift for me, in exchange for the continuation of your excavation permit.’

‘That is correct, your Majesty.’ I motioned to Cingar, but was not given a chance to say more as his Highness fell into stitches.

‘This is a joke, surely?’ he chuckled, looking about at his advisers, trying to figure out which of them had planned it.

‘No, your Majesty,’ I said politely.

‘My dear Lady Suffolk,’ he wiped a tear from his eye, ‘you have brought me a gypsy. Do you not know that my kingdom is already overrun with them?’

‘Not just any gypsy, your Majesty.’ I had to speak up, as the members of the court had dared to share in their monarch’s amusement. ‘I have brought you the finest violinist in Europe, Cingar Choron.’

His Majesty stopped laughing abruptly and so did all in his court. ‘Not the infamous Cingar Choron!’ he exclaimed. ‘The man who was nearly executed by the Duc de Guise for enchanting the Duchess de Guise with his performance?’

‘The very one.’ I was delighted, and Cingar appeared flattered that his reputation had spread so far.

‘The same Cingar Choron who was rescued from his fate by a mysterious lady swordsman, who bested the duke’s finest in a duel?’ the Shah went on.

Cingar, caught up in the excitement of the moment, pointed to me and announced, ‘Your Majesty is doubly blessed, for before you stands my saviour.’ Then, seeing how I cringed, he figured that the information might have been better left unsaid. ‘Sorry,’ he squeaked.

‘You are the woman that de Guise called the Lady du Luc?’ The Shah looked most impressed.

‘I am she,’ I admitted shyly. ‘Where on Earth did your Majesty hear of that tale?’

‘Why, from de Guise himself,’ he enlightened me. ‘I have travelled extensively through Europe and was a guest of the duke for a time. Indeed,’ he clapped his hands together, delighted, ‘I recall thinking that the duke was telling tall tales, but here you both are! To meet real legends in their lifetime is a rare treat. You must demonstrate your skill for us.’

‘It will be my honour.’ Cingar bowed proudly, but the Shah frowned.

‘I was referring to the Lady du Lac.’

My heart jumped into my throat. ‘My skill, your Majesty?’

‘With a sword,’ he prompted.

Oh no,
I thought and glanced at my husband for suggestions. I had no sword skill without Albray. I still wore his stone beneath my glove, but I would not dare summon the knight without my husband’s consent. Lord Devere ever so slightly shook his head.

‘Your Majesty, I could not possibly oblige you in this clothing.’ I offered up the first and most obvious objection I could think of—Victorian attire was even worse than the dress that had nearly cost me the duel against de Guise’s man twenty years ago.

‘I feel sure that we can find you something
suitable to wear,’ the Shah offered kindly. ‘And a few hours to limber up.’

‘Your Highness, please.’ My husband appealed on my behalf, as I was getting nowhere with discouraging the Shah. ‘That was twenty years ago; my wife no longer has the form for such a challenge.’

I placed my hands on my hips, insulted. ‘Oh really?’ My reaction scored a laugh from the royal audience; if it was a show the Shah wanted in return for our permit, I thought, then a show I would give him. ‘I have survived childbirth four times over and you think that I am not up to
this
challenge?’

‘Dear woman, be reasonable.’ My lord turned to appease me, realising his objection might have been hurtful to me. Yet when he saw how amused all in the court were by our little dispute, he guessed what I was doing.

The essence of the daring young woman who had risked all for her venture twenty years ago suddenly filled me with fresh nerve. ‘I shall be happy to oblige his Majesty,’ I said, and bowed to the Shah, who looked very pleased. Then I turned back to my husband. ‘And I shall be
great
.’

My husband’s well wishes came back to haunt him. ‘And I shall be jealous,’ he said quietly, knowing that in this situation he really had no option but to tolerate what must be done.

‘Arrange it,’ the Shah decreed and his subjects snapped to it.

‘Follow me, please.’ Our appointed official returned to escort me to my change of clothes and a practice area.

In comparison with the women of the Persian court that I had seen so far, including the Shah’s mother and sister, the males were, in the main, remarkably slender, and so my suit of men’s clothes fitted me very well. Quite frankly, I looked frightfully smart in the dark trousers, fitted vest and long white shirt, which I left hanging loose to my mid-thigh for modesty’s sake. I slung my sword belt over the top; sitting on my hips, it kept the body of the shirt in check. The black boots that had been supplied for me were shorter than those the Duc de Guise had given me, coming to below the knee, but their soft leather made me feel as if I had been wearing them for the last ten years.

As I had been left alone to change, I thought this the perfect opportunity to summon Albray. I clutched his ringstone in the bare palm of my left hand and said his name out loud three times over.

Lady Suffolk,
he said in greeting as he materialised, his appearance unaltered by the years we had been out of contact.

I had missed the company and counsel of my dear Albray, and his growing smile told me he knew it too—we were psychically linked whenever I was wearing the ringstone next to my bare skin.

‘I am sorry to drag you back into my world, dear friend, but I seem to have got myself into a spot of bother.’

Yes indeed,
Albray agreed. I knew he would have been following everything that had transpired in my life since I had started wearing the ringstone again.
Still, I am not sure whether we are in deeper trouble with the Shah’s swordsman or your husband.

I laughed at his summation of the situation. Albray was still the dashing, dark, mischievous
knight I had known as a young woman, and his smile was as warm and friendly as my memory served. ‘I am hoping that neither will cause us too much bother.’

Very wishful thinking,
he said.
But I am certainly game for the contest, if you are.

‘If you are confident of besting the Shah’s man despite my aging body, then I can assure you that I will appease Lord Devere.’ I gave my old friend a confident wink.

He was wrong, you know,
Albray said in all seriousness,
about you not having the form you did twenty years ago. Lady Devere, let me assure you that you are still in great shape!

I was flattered, but I also recognised this little game that Albray was fond of playing—using the knowledge he obtained via his telepathic link with me to make my husband look bad. ‘A little focus, sir, if you please,’ I said, sounding discouraging but unable to wipe the smile from my face. I was so glad to have my knight back, if only for this brief reunion.

To the arena!
he exclaimed boldly.

‘You are aware that we have been awarded some time to practise beforehand?’ I pulled on a set of black leather gloves.

I do not see the need myself,
he said, cocky as always.

‘The practice is for my benefit.’

I can assure you, my lady, that your body is safe with me.

He was flirting again and I pretended not to notice, although I knew he knew that I found his game amusing. He also knew that to me it was only a game. I loved Devere and none would ever rival him in my heart. ‘Humour me?’ I asked.

Albray bowed deeply.
I am at your service, O Daughter of Isis.

He was teasing, as he knew I hated being addressed thus.

‘Do not start with that Grail Princess homage rubbish, or I shall start calling you the Shining One, or do you prefer the Great Over Light, Albe-Ra?’

I had discovered a lot about my knight in the wake of our last adventure. He had always been reluctant to talk about his Crusading life with me, but from my dear sister-in-law’s journal of that time, I had learned that he had been something of a double agent, operating within the Sion knighthood on behalf of another secret order operating within the Holy Lands, known as the Melchi. More than just knights, the Melchi were also priests of a holy order. To this day the Melchi operated still in the Near East, protecting the ancient mysteries of the gods and the places and treasures left on Earth by them. Even now, six hundred years after Albray’s demise, every member of this warrior priesthood could recite for you the legend of Albe-Ra.

So now you know,
he conceded, his smile losing some of its cheer, for his short but eventful life had caused him eternal grief. He had pledged his soul to the service of the Ladies of the Elohim in order to save a woman he loved.

‘What I know is that you know a lot more than you have been willing to disclose in the past,’ I replied, and he appeared wary of where this conversation was heading. ‘Tell me about the Dragon Queens, Albray.’

He seemed amused by my predictability.

The Dragon Queen, Elf Queen, Fairy Queen and so
on is the female of the Grail line who is strongest in the blood at any given period of history.

‘I have learned that Sama-El was supposed to have fathered all the Dragon Queens.’

I honestly know nothing of that, but it is said that the Grail bloodline has been reintroduced into our line and strengthened through the ages.
My knight raised both brows and put on a cheeky expression.
Which would seem to indicate that at least one of the ancient gods is still taking an interest in the daughters of men, and would also explain many of those immaculate conception tales.

‘And what does it mean to be one of the Dragon Queens, I wonder?’ I looked to Albray, seeking an insight, but he only shook his head.