There Be Dragons (11 page)

Perhaps, myth and magic could be true.

“Let’s see what happens,” he told his father cautiously.

Pietro d’Artois, Count of Lendo, fumed in astonishment. “It’s changed!” he swore angrily. His daughter stood before him, staring at her father. “I don’t believe this insult, this indignity! Now, the great Fiorelli claims we must all stand out in the square, that there has been an omen, that for the good of all the lands, we must gather and wait—and a
falcon
will decide our fates!”

Daphne listened, barely able to believe her good fortune. “Then—I’m not to marry Michelo Fiorelli?” she whispered.

He glanced at her, dismayed and despairing that she should find such pleasure in this disaster. “The wretched falcon could drop the olive branch before you,” he reminded her. “In fact, it must, it must … I will consult Geovana, that’s what I’ll do!” he said.

Before she could stop him, her father left her.

“Yes!” she cried out when he was gone. “Oh, yes! Please, please, falcon—or whatever you may be! Whatever you do, don’t drop that branch before me!”

If not for the fact that Armand had heard about the happenings in the courtyard, Marina herself might have never known what was going to happen. Apparently, a crier had gone out, informing all the ladies of Calasia they must be in the square at sundown, for the great Duke Fiorelli had been given an omen, and his son would marry only when a falcon had dropped an olive branch before the girl he was intended to wed.

Michelo Fiorelli had been wounded, and he had just made it home after a night out on the cliffs.

And so she knew.

Michelo had been her dream prince. The great duke’s son—previously to marry her stepsister—was now destined to follow a new plan of his father’s.

Somehow, that plan involved a falcon.

Hope took flight inside her. There could be no other falcon to deliver such an omen than her own dear Thomasina.

Armand’s excitement was contagious. But even as they whispered in the courtyard, Geovana called sharply to Marina from her chamber above.

“Come up here, now! Ungrateful girl!” Geovana cried down angrily.

“I’d best go,” Marina murmured. She didn’t want to fight with Geovana. Nor did she dare show her excitement.

But when she went upstairs and met the woman—who really had no business in Marina’s own poor chambers—she was to be severely shaken by the news delivered to her. “There is to be some nonsense in the square today. Naturally, I must be there. However, you are engaged to Carlo. So you will stay here, and see that all is set when we return to the castle for the feast we must have prepared to follow the silliness old Orisini has decreed.”

“But … I was of the understanding that every lady was to be there!” Marina protested.

Geovana looked down her nose at Marina, and suddenly, her hatred was so apparent in her eyes that Marina nearly recoiled from it.

“You! You! No, my girl, no! You will be Carlo’s wife. You ungrateful wench! You are nothing but the daughter of an upstart falcon master, and you should be on your knees with gratitude that a man such as my son even considers you to be his wife!”

“Geovana, the great Duke Fiorelli—”

“Is addled! Senile. You will stay here!” She wagged a finger at her. “You will stay here and obey me. You know, child, that great rocks have been known to fly about this place!”

“I must be there,” Marina said determinedly. She headed to the door.

To her amazement, Geovana set her hands upon her shoulders, wrenching her back. She did so with such strength Marina was amazed. She flew back against the wall, barely maintaining her balance.

“You!” Geovana said, pointing at her with repugnance. “You!”

She said no more.

She turned and left through Marina’s door, slamming it in her wake.

Marina stood still for a minute, shaken by the intensity of the hatred the woman had shown her.

But she would not stay. Somehow, Thomasina, the falcon, had managed to give her far more than her second wish. She was trying to give her a far greater gift—a chance at a real life.

She walked to her door, determined she would get out and disappear at that moment.

Her door, she discovered, was locked. Bolted from the outside.

She cried out and banged against it, then stopped. No one would come. No one in the household would dare defy Geovana.

Trying to calm herself, she walked to the balcony and looked down. Armand was gone.

They had probably tied him up somewhere, lest he cause trouble!

No one was about.

But she had to be in the courtyard! There must be a way.

The fall to the ground would be … deadly.

Marina went back to her room and sat at the foot of the bed, thinking. She had one more wish left. And yet … to use it would leave her with nothing if worse things were to happen.

She had to help herself.

And yet …
how?

She walked to the balcony again and looked down, judging the distance. She paced back into her room, and began to strip the sheets from the bed, tying them together.

She ran back to the balcony, throwing her makeshift rope over to judge the distance anew. There would still be a fall, and yet …

Oh, dear God! She had to risk it!

She was just about ready to take the chance when her door suddenly opened.

T
here wasn’t much time.

Geovana hurried to her own balcony, where she kept a great cauldron. There, she threw into it the items necessary for any great spell.

Eye of newt.

Horn of toad.

And so forth, and so forth.

At last, her great potion was steaming. She cast out her arms, and spoke the words.

And she drank deeply …

Then she carefully took a bit of time—naturally, she had to be attired in her best—and hurried back to Lendo.

Let the old fool Orisini bring on a falcon!

“Daphne!” Marina gasped. She nearly threw her bedsheet-rope-ladder right over the balcony window; she had been caught red-handed.

“What are you doing?” Daphne demanded.

“Nothing!”

Daphne laughed softly. “You might have killed yourself!”

“And I might have gotten down safely.”

“At any rate, it isn’t necessary,” Daphne said quickly. “Geovana had to go back to Baristo for some reason. She ordered that the servants go nowhere near these doors, and she forced poor Armand to ride with her. But no one ordered me not to open the door, so …”

Marina stared at her stepsister for a long moment. “I’m in love with the man who is supposed to be your husband,” she said quickly.

And to her amazement, Daphne smiled. “Then let’s pray the silly branch falls in front of you!”

“You … don’t want to be the wife of the great Duke Fiorelli’s son?” Marina inquired carefully.

“Good heavens, no! Oh, I’m sure he is a decent fellow. But I … oh, I am hopelessly in love with Armand!”

Marina gasped with pleasure, flying across the room to hug Daphne. “Oh, you’ve no idea how he adores you!” she said, and Daphne flushed.

“I think I have an inkling,” she murmured. “But … that is probably a truly hopeless quest. And yet, if I can just avoid having to marry Michelo Fiorelli …”

“I will leap to the heavens to catch that olive branch!” Marina swore, and she started out of the room. Then she paused. “No, I must wait. Hide somewhere until the last minute. Or else … she will find a way to stop me from being there. Geovana will stop me.”

“My room!” Daphne said, after a moment’s thought. “Then, when it is time …”

Marina smiled, looking at her. “All these years!” she said softly. “We’ve barely brushed by one another, and yet … well, you are the finest sister!”

“And I have envied you, when I just wanted to have more of your strength!” Daphne told her.

“Somehow, I will help you. You and Armand,” Marina swore.

“Hurry then, I must get out here, and you must time things well!” Daphne said.

“Yes, always, we must help ourselves—and be grateful for aid from others!” Marina agreed, and they were arm in arm as they snuck out of her room, careful lest they should be seen by any other.

Arriving with great fanfare in Lendo, riding with his wife, daughter, and son, Orisini was glad to greet the people, and he was glad, too, of the air of happiness and excitement around him. The people were
pleased their great overlord would consider them all when seeking to find a bride for his son.

Minstrels played, music abounded. The path was strewn with flowers where their horses trod, and the people called out, hailing Michelo. Michelo, his dear son, true to his blood, responded in good nature, reaching down to touch hands, to thank those who applauded him.

He saw Pietro awaiting him, Geovana at his side, at the steps down to the great square. Carlo Baristo was there, as well, as he should be. And in the square, with many other fair young maidens, was Daphne, the beautiful, accomplished daughter of Pietro. There was another girl, Orisini thought with a frown. Dear Nico and Elisia’s daughter. She was nowhere to be seen. But he’d heard she was something of an eccentric, never attending state functions, always preferring to run about in the hills. Ah, well! Pietro had told him she would be wed to Carlo, so …