The Fire Dragon (19 page)

“Owaen, Maddyn!” Anasyn called out. “Have you seen my sister?”

“Lady Lillorigga, Your Grace?” Maddyn said. “I've not.”

“I just went to her chamber and she wasn't there.” Anasyn scowled at the stairway as if to hold it responsible. “I thought she'd be in attendance upon the princess, but she's not there, either.”

“Off with old Nevyn, most like, Your Grace,” Owaen said. “He hates crowds and suchlike.”

“Ah. Of course.” Anasyn briefly smiled. “Well, I'll wait, then. I want a word with her, but I'm not going to disturb the old man over it.”

The tieryn strolled away, still scowling.

“What was that all about?” Owaen said.

“Cursed if I know.”

“Oh.” Owaen considered this for a moment. “Who can figure out why the noble-born do what they do?” He shrugged the problem away. “The ice in the hells will melt
before one of these scabby lasses gets around to serving us. I'll go fetch the cursed ale myself.”

Maddyn leaned back in the curve of the wall and watched him plunge into the crowd like a swimmer into rough water. Across the hall, Bellyra sat gazing up at Maryn in wifely devotion. He tried looking elsewhere, but always, it seemed, some dweomerlike power drew him back to watching her. He considered leaving the great hall, but just as Owaen returned with two tankards of ale, Bellyra stood up, glancing around her. He saw her speak briefly to Maryn, then gather her women around her and head for the staircase.

“What are you looking at?” Owaen said. “Are you going to take this blasted tankard or not?”

“My apologies,” Maddyn said. He took the tankard and had a sip. “I just noticed that the princess looks unwell again.”

Owaen looked where he pointed. “She does, at that. The noise in here won't help.”

“Just so.” Maddyn had a long swallow of ale. He would get drunk, he decided. It was as good a way to spend a feast as any, and then perhaps he could stop remembering her mouth on his, and the way she'd clung to him.

Bellyra was expecting that Prince Maryn would preside over the feast until late, but it was still early when he came to the bedchamber he shared with his wife. Bellyra had put on her best nightdress and combed her hair down over her shoulders, the way he liked it. She lit candles in the sconces, then lay down on the bedcover and waited, drowsing against the pillows. When he opened the door, the noise startled her, and she sat up straight, one hand at her throat.

“Oh, my poor Lyrra,” Maryn said. “Did I frighten you?”

“Not in the least.” She yawned, covering her mouth with both hands. “You just woke me, that's all.”

He smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. When she held out her hand, he took it, patted it, and released it again.

“It saddens my heart to see you so gaunt,” Maryn said. “You've not been well, your women tell me.”

“I feel a good deal better now, with you here.”

“Good. I've been thinking about these—these illnesses of yours. I know full well that they come from giving birth. I can't stand the thought of putting you through this ever again.”

All at once the warm night turned cold around her. He was watching her so sadly, so affectionately, really, that she fished for words but caught none.

“You've always been my partner in rulership,” Maryn went on, “and truly, how could any man hope for a better one? It's a fine way to repay you, risking your life in childbed, making you suffer afterwards.”

“Here! It's not like you've done anything harmful to me. Some women just take childbirth this way.”

“If I keep getting you with child, then I will have harmed you. Lyrra, think! How long can you endure all this? You don't eat, you weep all day, you can neither sleep nor wake—it wrings my heart to see it.” He was speaking with real feeling, real concern, perhaps the most he'd ever shown her. “We've got three healthy sons. That's enough. The line will stand secure without you going through these torments again.”

For a brief moment she tried to do what he wanted, to think calmly, to weigh risks, but the moment broke in a flood of tears.

“But I love you,” she sobbed. “Can't you see that?”

He sat so still that even through her tears she realized that he was terrified. Her weeping stopped. She grabbed the hem of her nightdress and wiped her face, snuffled back the rest of the tears, caught her breath in a long deep sigh, and faced him.

“You mean ever so much to me, too,” Maryn said. “But that's why I can't risk getting you with child again. There's a bedchamber in my apartments, up at the top of the broch. I'll be sleeping there from now on.”

Or in your little mistress's bed, you mean. Aloud, Bellyra said, “Very well, my lord. Far be it for me to say otherwise.”

“Oh stop it!” Maryn got up and paced a few steps away, only to turn back. “I'm not handing down a judgment upon you. Lyrra, please, can't you see? I'm frightened for you.”

She could see, and the seeing killed her rage. “True spoken,” she said. “Some women would thank you for this, Marro. I know that.”

“Don't do that either! I—ye gods, this hasn't been an easy decision for me to make.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. I honor you more than any woman in the world, Lyrra. I don't know how I'd rule without you.”

There were women who would have cut off an arm to hear their husbands say that as well. She forced herself to smile, to murmur thanks, to reassure him by telling him how flattered she was, but by the time he finally left the chamber, she wondered if she hated him as much as ever she'd loved him. The two passions seemed to twine together round her heart and choke it.

“Other women truly would thank the Goddess for a husband like him,” she said aloud. “Ah well, I suppose I'll get used to it.”

Now that she was alone, she could weep all she wanted, but she no longer felt like tears. She lay back on the pillows and watched the candlelight dancing on the beams until at last she fell asleep. All night she dreamt of Maddyn and the sweaty, desperate kisses they had shared out in the ward.

Lilli stayed late in Nevyn's chamber. She told him of the past few months' happenings in the dun and listened to his tales of the battle and of Braemys's strange withdrawal from the kingdom. It was like Braemys, as she thought about it, to find some third way out of a situation where other men would only see death or victory.

“He's got our mother's craftiness,” Lilli said. “but he'd never poison anyone or suchlike.”

“He wouldn't need to,” Nevyn said. “He was going to be a great lord in his own right.”

She nodded, then suddenly yawned with a great gulp for air. She covered her mouth with both hands, then
yawned again. Nevyn got up and went to his window. He leaned out, looking up.

“Judging from the stars, it's quite late,” Nevyn said. “You'd best go get some sleep, but I'll walk you across the ward. From the sounds of revelry down there, I'd say that a good many of the prince's men are blind drunk.”

They crossed the ward safely, and Nevyn insisted on escorting her to the foot of the staircase inside the great hall as well. By then most of the celebration had moved outside, though some riders lay asleep and snoring in the straw under the tables. Across the hall at the table of honor, a few lords sat drinking, but there was no sign of Maryn. Lilli climbed a few steps up, then turned to bid Nevyn good night.

“I'll see you in the morning,” he said. “Humph, I hope our prince isn't waiting for you in your chamber.”

“Oh ye gods!” Lilli laid a hand at her throat. “Well, I'll pray he's not.”

The Goddess apparently heard her prayer, because when she reached her chamber, she found it empty. She barred the door behind her before she went to bed.

Lilli woke suddenly to see sunlight pouring through her window and someone banging on her door. It's Maryn, she thought. For a moment she could neither move nor breathe.

“Lilli?” It was Anasyn's voice. “Aren't you awake yet?”

“I just am.” Lilli called out, then laughed in relief. “Here, hold a moment. I'll come unbar the door.”

She slipped on a dress, then opened the door. She was smiling, glad to see her brother returned safely, but the anger snapping in his eyes killed her welcome. He strode in, slammed the door shut, and leaned against it with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Your hair,” Anasyn snapped. “Well, at least you've had the decency to mourn your betrothed.”

Lilli began to tremble. “You know about the prince, then,” she whispered.

“I do. Ye gods, Lilli! Betrothed to one man, dishonoring yourself with another! What would Bevva have thought?”

In her mind Lilli could imagine her foster-mother's face: not angry, no, but sad, so sad and disappointed that her beloved foster-daughter had sunk so low. Lilli sobbed aloud, one quick gulp. “I tried to say him nay.” She could hear her voice shaking. “Truly I did.”

“Oh?” Anasyn peeled himself off the door. “Nevyn told me that the prince hadn't forced you.” He laid one hand on his sword hilt. “Did he lie?”

“He didn't! Sanno, please! He just—I mean, the prince just—he kept courting—he wouldn't leave me alone!”

Anasyn caught her by the shoulders so hard that his hands hurt her, but she refused to cry out. He was staring into her eyes, his long thin face set in a scowl.

“What are you thinking of doing?” Lilli gasped. “You can't challenge him to a combat, you just can't! He's got to become high king, or the wars will never end.”

Her implication—that of course Anasyn would win such a duel—seemed to soothe him considerably. He let her go and stepped back. Lilli crossed her arms over her chest so she could rub her aching shoulders.

“I'm sorry if I hurt you.” Anasyn looked suddenly weary. “And I shan't challenge the prince. You're right enough. Ending the wars means more than your wretched squandered honor.”

“I'm sorry. How did you find out?”

“Nevyn told me. No doubt he thought I'd best hear it from him rather than from some drunken rider or servant.” Anasyn sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “How am I going to find you a decent husband now?”

“I don't want a husband.”

He looked up narrow-eyed, seemed about to speak, but she forestalled him.

“All I want is the dweomer,” Lilli said, and her voice had turned firm and clear. “I don't truly even want the prince.”

“You don't need to lie to please me.”

“I'm not. Telling you—I just saw how true it is.”

“Very well, then. But what will he think of this?”

“I don't know. But ye gods, Sanno, half the women in the kingdom will be ever so happy to console him.”

Anasyn sighed with a shake of his head. Lilli laid a timid hand on his chest.

“Please forgive me, Sanno? I never meant to dishonor you, truly I didn't. I was half-mad at first, thinking I loved him, and he is the prince. I was flattered, I guess. Truly, truly flattered.”

“No doubt any woman would be. Lilli, Lilli! Very well. I won't hold it to your shame, but if you were to renounce him, well, it would make me a happy man. You can always come back to Hendyr, if things turn bad here. Abrwnna and I will gladly take you in.”

“My thanks. But with Nevyn on my side, I doubt if it will come to that.”

“Just so.” All at once he smiled at her. “I was forgetting just how powerful the old man is in the court.” He gave her a brotherly kiss on the forehead. “Shall we go down and have breakfast?”

“My thanks. Let me just finish dressing.”

It was late in the day before Lilli saw Prince Maryn, and then it was only from a distance. She was walking out in the main ward when he and his vassals rode in, followed by an honor guard. Lilli took shelter in the shadow of one of the outbuildings and watched while the noble-born dismounted. They were laughing, joking with one another, and Maryn himself smiled, happier in a quiet sort of way than she'd ever seen him. She could guess that they'd been to the temple of Bel and been told that soon he would be proclaimed king. She waited till they'd all gone inside before she resumed her walk.

Yet Lilli knew that she would have to confront him, and soon, but for all she knew, it might be days before he could get a moment free to visit her. She spent the evening in her chamber, waiting, mulling over what she might say to him, and above all, reminding herself that the glamours she would see were the result of Nevyn's dweomer and the wild energies it had summoned. Her candles had burned down to the last few inches before she heard his soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” she called out. “It's not barred.”

Maryn strode in, shut the door, then stood smiling at her. In the soft and dancing light he looked so beautiful that for a moment she forgot her resolve. She rose from her chair, but as she did so, she caught sight of the Wildfolk of the air, hovering around him, showering him with their unnatural beauty, all silver and pale.

“My lady,” Maryn said. “I've missed you badly.”

“Have you, Your Highness?” Lilli said.

“Don't call me that. I'm just your Marro.”

Here was the moment. Lilli forced herself to remember her image of Lady Bevyan's disappointed eyes.

“Not mine any longer,” Lilli said. “My prince, the time has come for us to end this thing between us.”

He stared, his mouth a little open, eyes narrow with sheer disbelief. Ever so slightly he shook his head in a reflexive no.

“My betrothed is dead,” Lilli went on. “I'd honor him decently by mourning him.”

Maryn let out his breath in a sharp sigh. “Of course,” he said. “I'd forgotten about poor Branoic.”

“I've not. I'll never be able to forget him. I loved him, truly loved him.”

Again he shook his head. He took one step toward her; she took a step back.

“Losing him made me realize what love is,” Lilli said. She paused, gasping for breath. “And, Your Highness, I fear me that I don't love you. I admire you more than any man in the kingdom. I hold you in my heart as high king. I was ever so flattered when you wanted me. But it's not love, and truly, I think me you'd be content with nothing less.”

Maryn grunted as if someone had kicked him. He sat down on the edge of the bed and continued staring at her, his grey eyes hard and cold, the color of storm clouds. Lilli had run out of prepared speech. She clasped her shaking hands together and waited.