The Princess's Dragon (2 page)

Sarai struggled to maintain her composure as she recalled the Bladen prince, Galaden, on his wedding day. “Oh Sondra, I shouldn’t laugh, but he did sort of look like a hairy animal, didn’t he?”

“He’s perfect for her,” Sondra insisted.

“Sondra, she’s your sister! I know that you don’t get along, but still, you should not speak so ill of her. Especially now that she is in such a delicate condition, she should deserve all of our good wishes.” Sarai unconsciously placed her hand over her own flat abdomen, and Sondra realized with shame that while she teased her goodhearted sister mercilessly, Sarai harbored a strong desire to have a babe of her own. It was little wonder she looked forward to these social gatherings with so much anticipation. They were her only chance to meet a future husband and be one step closer to her dream.

“Fine, I will moderate my dislike, seeing as she and her pig, I mean prince, 4

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tried for so long to have this child and have finally found success. I suppose I should wish her well in that at least.” Sondra sighed and picked up the disk again, regarding her new apparatus with a wistful glance. “I really don’t want to attend this summer party; couldn’t Mother just lock me in the dungeon instead?”

“What about Derek?” Sarai watched her sister carefully from beneath her sweeping lashes. “The Warlord will be there and Father approves of your friendship with him.”

“Hmm, ah yes, Derek … will he be there? I did not realize.” Sondra pretended a nonchalance she certainly did not feel.

“Oh, come on. Who are you trying to fool, Sondra? This is Sarai you’re talking to. You have held affection for Derek since you were a child. You know you’re aware of his every move.”

“Don’t be silly, that was when I was a child. Now he is like a brother to me.”

“Oh, good then, since he possesses wealth of his own from his days as a mercenary and Father trusts him so highly, he has spoken of granting the title of Duke of Arivale on him. That would make him worthy of the hand of a princess, and with his wealth, he won’t care about a dowry. Even better, he is easily the most handsome man in the entire kingdom, and he has all his teeth! Since you are not interested in him, I will ask Father if it would be okay for Derek to court me.” Sarai spoke thoughtfully, tapping one perfectly manicured nail on a slender finger against her full, pouty lips just touched with the slightest gloss.

“Why you—!” The glass disk slipped from Sondra’s hand and clattered to the table as she turned on her sister.

“Hmm, what was that, Sondra?” Sarai asked slyly, regarding the blush staining Sondra’s round, smudged face.

“You wouldn’t want Derek, Sarai. He is … um … very coarse and rude,” Sondra replied.

“Oh, I don’t know, he seems extremely polite and his eyes are such a lovely color of blue, just like the pond at the base of Ariva Falls. And he is tall and strong, with golden hair, though he keeps it much shorter than any other nobles.” Sarai recalled Derek’s appearance thoughtfully, pacing around the workbench in Sondra’s tower room.

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“But he’s boring, really boring. He puts me right to sleep, the best insomniac tonic I know, really,” Sondra insisted.

“How strange, I find him quite charming and amusing, and he tells the most invigorating tales from his travels to the southern lands.”

“Sarai!”

“Got you!” Sarai laughed as Sondra snarled and chased her sister around the workbench. Sondra caught her and pretended to choke her laughing sister.

Both girls dissolved into laughter before recovering their composure.

“Sondra, that man loves you; I do not know why you continue to pretend you do not feel the same.” Sarai grew serious.

Sondra laughed. “I highly doubt that; Derek is too handsome for the likes of me, even if I am a princess. I’m not beautiful or graceful and I certainly wouldn’t make a good wife for anyone. Besides, he has never expressed an interest in me.” Sondra waved away Sarai’s assurances.

“That is only because he was in no position to offer for you, but according to rumors, things might be different now,” Sarai insisted. Sondra just shook her head, not daring to hope.

Sarai sighed in frustration and looked around for a change of subject.

“Sondra, why do you spend all day in here? What is this mess anyway?” Sarai delicately flicked a crumbling scroll peeking from beneath a clutter of rodent skulls and shed animal claws. She shuddered when the gruesome artifacts jiggled in response to the sudden movement.

“I’ve already tried to explain to you several times, Sarai. I’m studying the natural world in search of logical explanations for the things people don’t understand and so attribute to magic.”

“But magic does exist, Sondra.”

Sondra cast her sister a long-suffering look of pity.

“It does, and you used to believe in it too,” Sarai insisted.

“Of course I believed in it, I was a naïve child. Now I’m grown and I realize that all questions hold perfectly logical answers and all mysteries can be solved without the aid of some charlatan waving a wand around and mumbling nonsense. Think about it, Sarai. Have you ever actually seen magic worked?”

“Well, no, but we do live far from the southern lands, and anyone with talent must travel there to the Academy of Magic for training.”

“More like the Academy of Trickery. How many people from Ariva have attended this so-called school of magic for training?” 6

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“No one from Ariva needs magic. We are peaceful people; we don’t war on our neighbors or live on the border of the Changing Lands. We don’t need magic, so we don’t use it.”

“Ah, yet another myth, the Changing Lands. Funny you should bring that up, because I have a theory about the myths that surround that blasted land, but I know you don’t wish to hear it.”

“No, I don’t. You and your theories are dangerous. Just think what might happen if you angered the dragon of Thunder Mountain or the faelins of the Woods.”

Sondra scoffed, “Dragon? Faelins? Seriously, Sarai, neither fantasy exists; I promise you there are logical explanations for all of it. Have you seen any dragons?”

“Of course I haven’t seen him,” Sarai rolled her eyes, “because he is trapped within Thunder Mountain, by Ulrick the Clever’s spells. But everyone can hear him when he growls, and the obsidia that we craft with and use for trade throughout the southern lands is a product of his rage. Legends say he repeatedly encased the valley beneath its darkness before Ulrick defeated him.

If he hadn’t grumbled a warning beforehand, no one would have escaped his wrath.”

“Legends, Sarai, that’s all they are,” Sondra sighed, knowing her next words would fall on deaf ears “There is no dragon. Thunder Mountain is not the birthplace of storms, it is not the top of the world, and there is no dragon trapped beneath it waiting to break free and bury us in black glass. Obsidia is found in other regions as well. Look, Sir Pilphragm describes it in this manual.

It’s simply molten rock from beneath the ground that pours out of a hole in the mountain and then cools to a black glass.” Sarai turned away and headed for the door. “I don’t care what your manual says. Magic does exist and I wish we had never played that silly prank on you or you would still believe in it too. Now go get ready for the party. I’m sure Derek will be there. You should ask him about the southern lands. He has seen a great deal more than you or your Sir Pilphragm has, I’d wager!” Only her ladylike restraint kept Sarai from slamming the door behind her as she left.

Sondra thought back to the childish prank her eldest sister Elona perpetrated on her when she was still a gullible little girl. Elona had told her that if she caught a magic faelin and gave it a kiss, she would get her dearest wish. Her sisters, Sarai included, sent her off on a fool’s errand to catch the

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flashing fairylights in the meadow. She finally did capture one, only to discover a horrible insect instead of a beautiful faelin. Worse, she found herself lost in the Woods, a place that frightened grown men and absolutely terrified a young child only five rotas old. She had wandered aimlessly, imagining herself pursued by all manner of dreadful and ghastly creatures. In the end, frightened by her nursemaid’s tales of the dreaded dragon Sarai believed in so strongly, a common owl spooked her and sent her careening through the trees where she felt a claw grasp her dress. After she recovered from her swoon, she discovered the monstrous grip was only a broken branch.

She had spent the remainder of the night weeping and cursing all foolish fairy tales and their lies. Better that she be eaten by the dragon she believed chased her than feel so completely crushed by her disappointment. That cycle, she learned that magic didn’t exist in the world and all the tales were nothing but a grand hoax. She remembered the old man, the so-called Wizard that everyone spoke about with awe and fear. He happened upon her in the forest and escorted her back to the castle, and she learned that he was nothing more than a kindly but senile hermit that made the Woods his home.

Sondra studied her insect box, her lip curling at the light bugs pinned within. They still looked as grotesque as she remembered them, only when she’d caught them this time she hadn’t made a wish; instead, she had gleefully impaled the revolting creatures with her pins, just another mundane insect for her to catalogue and study.

She shook her head at the folly of those believers like her sister and the commoners in the city. She would never again fall prey to such foolishness.

She turned away and headed for the door, pushing away the memories of her unenlightened childhood, and firmly ignoring the twinge of sadness at the sense of wonder she had lost.

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CHAPTER 2

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By the time Sondra fi nished enduring the torturous ministrations of her lady’s maid, Liliana, colorful pavilions already dotted the courtyard. Th

e errand boys rushed around lighting torch poles, and the feathered and beribboned coach horses of the noble guests pulled their lacquered coaches up to the massive stone steps to the great hall. Sondra imagined the servants racing about, barely glimpsed but performing effi ciently

in their endless tasks.

She thought wistfully of the public courtyard visible from a window as she passed her ladies-in-waiting, distant cousins and young daughters of the nobles. They fell into step behind her once she left her room. The courtyard would soon fill with commoners. People from the city and the surrounding towns and villages of the kingdom would crowd in and take part in the largest party of the rota; one where everyone from the lowliest beggar to the highest noble received an invitation to celebrate another rotation of peace. Although only the nobles were permitted into the ball that took place within the castle itself, the commoners didn’t seem to mind. Performers from the southern lands never failed to show up in vast numbers for the annual event, and most found the commoners a more appreciative and generous audience, so they chose to ply their trade outdoors.

The food and drink flowed freely, and the crowds always grew loud and raucous as the evening progressed. The courtyard and crude revelry were forbidden to any young lady of nobility and were certainly never permitted for a princess! Instead, Sondra and the other nobles must remain crammed within the stifling and heated ballroom, dining chamber, and great hall. The 8

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back gardens, normally reserved only for the royal family, were opened for those attending the ball that required a breath of fresh air.

Sondra planned her escape to the relative peace of the gardens, reasoning that no one would really miss her absence as long as she made her official entrance. Of course, she couldn’t sneak away until something distracted all of the simpering ladies accompanying her. Sondra glanced hatefully at them, certain that the dungeon’s manacles wouldn’t feel as constricting as the beady-eyed and malevolent presence of the women.

She ignored the tightening in her stomach, the nerves that always preceded her appearance at social situations. Though none who knew her would guess, she always felt sick when crowds of people surrounded her, watching her and judging her, maybe disliking her, and undoubtedly talking behind her back. She hid her fear well and none ever guessed that the charming princess that chatted with everyone and always elicited a smile or laugh from her conversation really just wanted to throw up and run screaming from the room. She despised the company of the nobles that languished at court, availing themselves of her father’s hospitality. They bored her and talked of nothing but rumors and gossip about other noble ladies and gentlemen. If they spoke their poisonous vitriol about others so freely to her, she feared what they said about her when she could not overhear. Because of that she never spoke of anything personal; she held her true self hidden away behind a social mask.

Today, her ladies-in-waiting, noble daughters of impeccable lineage, gushed over the way the golden threads of her burgundy brocade gown picked out the highlights in her unbound hair, and how the lace that ran below her breast lengthened her normally stocky stature and made her look so much taller and slimmer. Of course, that’s what they said to her face. When they reached the ballroom, she waved them ahead to talk behind her back. They made their entrance while she waited for the proper time to make her own. A princess must always follow protocol.

The king and queen already sat upon their thrones atop a dais commanding the head of the ballroom as the royal steward announced every guest by title, name, and holdings. Sondra peeked through the curtain and admired her parents. Papa presented a regal figure, still strong and vital despite the gray in his hair and close-cut beard. His brown eyes twinkled with good humor and only those that knew him realized how deeply worry carved grooves through his ruddy skin. He fretted about the kingdom and their impending poverty, 10

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not to mention the ever-increasing tax burden that fomented unrest amongst those who had little enough to give. He worried that his wife continued to spend lavishly, even as she argued that their people needed visible evidence of a strong economy.