The Seven Markets (14 page)

“Then I appreciate the warning. Is he up in the hotel?”

“No.” Ellie shook her head.

“I see. Are you going to meet him, then?”

“I am. At the Market.”

The dragon chuckled, snorting out puffs of steaming warmth. “The Market isn’t here yet, is it?”

“No, but it will be soon. I know where it will come to and intend to wait for its arrival that I might greet him properly.”

“You have not seen him in some time, have you? The Market comes to these lands but once in every century.” It looked her up and down, its head snaking around Ellie as she stood prone. The heat it gave off felt wonderful in the frigid wintry stillness. “One as young as you—I’ve never been good at estimating human ages, but you’re, what, sixteen, seventeen? This is your first Market, dear thing.”

“My third, actually.”

“Certainly not.” It sniffed her from head to toe, the snow-white whiskers beneath its nose tickling Ellie’s face as it lingered there. “I don’t sense any power in you, not the smallest bit.”

“Nevertheless, what I’ve told you is true.”

The dragon stretched, drawing back and extending its forelegs straight out onto the street. Its haunches rose high into the air and its tail whipped back and forth with a lazy grace. When it extended its wings Ellie couldn’t help but gasp aloud. They were the same shade of blue as the rest of its body, and while they were strong enough to fill the street with a gusting breeze, they were so thin she could see the moon and stars through them.

“First dragon?” it said.

“Actually, no. But you’re the first I’ve seen up close. If it’s not inappropriate to say, may I just tell you that you’re magnificent?”

It puffed up its chest and unfurled its wings again. “You may. These other dragons, where did you see them?”

“Far away, traveling with my husband before we became separated.” She saw its quizzical expression and continued, “At the last Market. I was late in returning and it had gone.”

“And you’ve waited for him ever since? I misspoke before. There is power in you, miss, only of a different sort.”

The dragon rose up on its hind legs, bracing itself against the face of a building, digging its claws into the brickwork. It raised its head high and sniffed the air, this way and that, up the street and down the street. When it returned to her, Ellie saw stony resolve in its eyes.

“If you would go to the Market now, to see it arrive, I would accompany you. If I may be so bold, of course.”

“That would be fine,” she said.

“You know the way?”

“I do.” Ellie pointed up the way they’d come from parking Mister Beesix’s truck. She waited to see if the dragon would scoop her up onto its back, spread its great wings, and soar up into the encroaching darkness. Instead it bowed before her, brushing the snow away with its whiskers. It offered its foreleg in a mock display of gentlemanly behavior.

“Milady, if you would do me the honor of accompanying me.”

She suppressed a giggle and accepted the dragon’s “arm.” It could not walk in this fashion, requiring all four limbs to maintain its balance, but it hobbled a few steps, juggling its weight so as to keep from losing its footing, toppling over, and crushing her flat.

“You are very graceful,” she said as it slipped on a slick patch of wet street. It fanned the air to regain its balance, and then, gingerly, as if afraid it might tear her hand clean off, the dragon freed its foreleg from her grip.

“Perhaps it would be best if I kept all four feet on the ground.”

“Or,” she said, indicating its wings, “we could always fly.”

With its oceanic hue, Ellie didn’t think it possible for the dragon to blush. Its features became hot, though, and she feared she had embarrassed it somehow.

“I . . . I cannot fly,” it said.

“No?”

It shook its head. “These old wings can’t command the air like they used to. Not good for much apart from gliding or swooshing snow around.” It stomped its feet several times as if to illustrate. “It’s my own four feet doing the work these days. Still, a dragon’s grace and speed are measured in more than the span of its wings.”

It grew quiet, and Ellie feared she’d offended it or caused it undue distress. She saw they’d arrived at the site of the Market, the building her new friend, Mister Beesix, had parked his truck in.

“We are here,” she said.

“Are we? That was much closer than I’d expected.”

“Not all journeys must be long.”

“Indeed.” It sniffed the air, fanning its great wings. For the first time, Ellie was able to perceive how thin the membranes were and how pocked with holes and tears its wings were. She felt supremely foolish for her suggestion of flight.

“It’s cold,” the dragon said. “Aren’t you cold?”

She realized she was, and shivered.

“Come, over here.” The dragon darted across the street, to the steps of the building opposite the one that would play host to the Market. It curled up on the stoop, its tail wrapped back around its legs, resting flat behind its head.

“Sit, sit,” it said. Ellie stood, shaking from the cold. Did the dragon mean for her to join it on the stoop? Did it intend for her to nestle up against it where it lay?

“For warmth,” the dragon said. “You’re freezing and we’ve already established that I have no interest in eating you. Come, come.”

With some reluctance, Ellie joined the dragon on its stoop. She sat, ankles crossed, at the foot of the steps, the dragon’s warmth radiating off of it in waves. It wasn’t long before she succumbed to temptation and curled up against the furnace of its belly. Soon Ellie had her hat and gloves off and was unbuttoning her coat.

“Isn’t that better?” the dragon said, its voice somnolent. It unfurled one of its wings and laid it across Ellie. And now she was surrounded by its warmth, by the heat baking off every inch of it. She told herself she was here to see the Market’s arrival, here to greet her Prince on his return. How pleased he would be to see her. How surprised he would be that she was here, waiting for him, the first thing he would see upon his arrival.

The dragon’s heat ebbed and flowed as it drew in breaths, its chest rising and falling with the steady, even rhythm of a ship astride a calm sea. She felt her eyelids grow heavy as the day’s exertions and the gentle, rocking motion of the dragon’s respiration drew her away from this cold street to the Prince’s ship once again, where she would dance with her beloved.

She heard the sea, the patient lapping of waves against the ship’s hull. And she heard the music, lilting and faint as a lover’s whisper. And the shuffle-step of feet as they danced alone beneath an alien sky.

How often had the Prince described the strange lands he would take her to, if only she could wait for the Market to return? “More worlds than stars in the sky,” he’d said. And here was the proof. They were reunited at long last. And surely this was but the first leg of their longer journey together. A pleasure cruise to celebrate finding each other once again. The sails were furled, the current carrying them in the gentlest of hands. She could have knelt to the deck and balanced a coin on its edge, the water was so still.

Twin moons shone overhead and she was brought back to the Market.
The Market—it comes soon. I must not linger.
For she knew, even as she trod across the sanded deck, her feet bare, the constant braid of her hair undone, that she was dreaming. For wasn’t it always so? Didn’t the Prince come to her every night as she lay sleeping?
But soon, he will not have to. Soon we will be together.

Soft music drifted through the air like spun gold. Ellie felt a whoosh of air take her in its arms and she spun around and around, twirling in her lover’s embrace. He guided her with effortless grace; she closed her eyes and gave herself over to him. Her Prince. He would be there when she woke. And this ship, this languid sail, it was their second honeymoon. His gift to her and she was relieved, though she had not realized before that moment how anxious she was that he might blame her somehow for abandoning him.
I rushed to you, my love,
she pleaded.
Rossi and I, we did all that we could. But we were too late. The Market had gone, bearing you away with it.

But he was not angry. He smiled and took her hand and turned her around and around. On the very tips of her toes she danced, the music and her lover’s touch one and the same. He led her and she followed, as was right. He led her and she trusted him because, in this above all other things, she knew he would never hurt her.

“My darling,” the Prince said, laying a hand upon her hip, pushing her back as he drew her in with his other hand.

I am coming, my husband,
Ellie said, her words gossamer in the cool night air. She danced with her eyes closed, her feet scarcely touching the deck as she turned and spun, her lips open and waiting for her lover’s kiss.

“Isn’t this better, my darling? So much better without the crowds and the noise and all that bother.”

It is better when it is just you and me, my husband.

“Truly,” he said. “And here we are.”

She was watching from a distance, in his arms and far away at the same time. His warmth radiated through her, filling an emptiness she had not known was there. A century gone and now in his arms again, knowing the dream would soon become real, Ellie was finally whole again.

“Sire?”

She turned. The Prince sighed, boredom and impatience plain on his features.

“What is it, Cutter?”

“I have it, sire.”

Her love’s face brightened. “Ah, excellent. Excuse me, my darling. I won’t be but a moment.”

The Prince left her looking out over the glassy sea. She watched as a spindly, multi-legged creature dashed past, running across the surface of the water, what she took for its head skimming the shallows for small things to eat.

“She was quick, Cutter.”

“She understands your urgency, highness. Here.”

Cutter passed a flat, square case over to the Prince. When her love held it in his hands he hefted it as if testing its weight. “Heavy,” he said.

“Sire, if I could implore you, one last time.”

“Cutter.”

“Sire, there is still time. There is an intercept in Batharia. It is old and rarely traveled but—”

“Cutter, enough! I have made up my mind. I will not dance on his strings. Now, away with you. This is,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder, “a very special night. Magical almost, wouldn’t you say?”

Frowning, the bodyguard turned away.

“Cutter, you didn’t answer.”

“Yes, sire. Most magical.”

The Prince returned to her. He carried Cutter’s box with delicate care, almost as if afraid it might rear back and snap at him, a slobbering mouthful of fangs exploding from within. He was behind her, whispering into her ear. One hand was on her neck, caressing gently. With his free hand he popped the box open. No monsters erupted from within, no hoary beasts lusting for warm, wet flesh.

It was only, she saw, a necklace.

It looked
so
familiar.

The chain was gold, the links thick and solid. From the center of the chain dangled a gleaming gem dark as the surrounding night. The Prince whispered more words, opening the clasp on the chain and fastening it around her neck.

“My lady Gaira Norena Al’ti Hohnas,” he said, his tongue dancing in his mouth, his eyes alight with golden fire.

Ellie stared in horror and disbelief as her Prince, her beloved Prince, slipped a necklace identical to the one she wore over another woman’s neck. He spoke her name, her true name, and she understood this bound her to him.

He weds another. This is their honeymoon.

The placid sea raged around her, kicking the small craft—how had she ever thought it grand?—like a child’s toy. The wind gusted, fattening the ship’s sails, breaking them loose. They flew away as if disgusted by what they’d witnessed. Forks of lightning streaked across the sky. Ellie wished she could look away, wished she could see nothing at all, if only to forget what he’d done.

The Prince, his ship steady, his deck level, caressed his new bride’s cheek and led her away, belowdecks.

Ellie stood, shattered, alone, her heart racing. She could not believe the evidence of her eyes. But she could not deny them either. She had seen what her Prince had done, and there was no resisting the truth in his actions. He could not lie to her. Rather, she could not see anything but truth in his actions, could not hear anything but truth in his words. A century apart and he did not remember her, did not care that she had come at last to him. She saw into his heart, saw her reflection within and understood there was no more room there for her.

With a scream of impossible fury, Ellie’s heart broke. The pain radiated outward from her, a nimbus of blazing, destructive energy consuming all in its path. The ship was gone, the Prince’s honeymoon lost to time and tide. She was back on the street, back waiting for a Market that would never come. Her pain expanded, writhing and blindingly white, devouring the very street beneath her boots. She fell to her knees, the jarring impact nothing to the tortured wails of her own heart.

Her gem, the Prince’s gem, splintered down its center, exploded with blinding energy, blasting the tops off of buildings, reducing all in its path to wisps of dissipating smoke. Tentacles of light thick around as an oak tree snapped up, grabbing at passersby, burning where they touched, dragging them away into nothingness.

Ellie screamed, her pain too great to be contained. She saw him caressing her neck, sliding the necklace over her head, speaking her name low so that none but they two could hear. She saw him marrying another, the dagger of his betrayal infused with such cold her blood steamed and hissed at its touch. It flowed out of her, inexorable, unending, the overwhelming love she had carried with her now twisted, corrupted into a hatred strong enough to crack the world.

For a hundred years and a hundred years before that Ellie’s every thought had been of the Prince. When she’d been with him, her utmost concern was his pleasure. Being where he wished her to be. Behaving the way he wished her to behave. Dressing how he preferred, wearing her hair a certain way, laughing at the appropriate time and holding her tongue when silence was all he desired. When apart, her mind drifted constantly to him. She could recall a thousand memories from her time in Rossi’s care; everything she saw, everyone she met, every bite of food passing her lips accompanied by the same, overriding thought:
what would the Prince make of this? If only he were here to share it with me.