Dragon Heart (6 page)

“It's pretty. Keep it. It may come to be useful. Give him the bread.”

Leanara pressed her lips together, not liking this, but from the crowd a sigh went up, and Lumilla lowered her hands to her sides.

Mervaly waggled the coin under Leanara's nose. “Do it.”

Leanara said, “Or they will just take it.” She thrust the loaf at the soldier and held out her hand to Mervaly for the coin.

Casea stepped back, looking over the Imperial men. The tall one was dividing the loaf among them and that made them content. Leanara was right: the soldiers were easy enough now, but that could change. The new men in the castle were not so easy, and they wanted more than a loaf of bread. Mervaly turned to walk back to the cypress tree.

“I'm going home,” Casea said. “I'll see you at supper.” She patted her apron, to make sure of her work, and started off up the beach toward the rock below the castle.

*   *   *

The bread was delicious, and now maybe they could buy ale. Pal Dawd fingered his purse, fat with Imperial silver pennies, good everywhere in the world, and now perhaps even here. The merry Princess had gone back to her bench by the tree. He nodded to the other men.

“Let's try this again.”

His corporal, Marwin, said, “I think these people need a lesson.”

Dawd elbowed him. “Remember what the Archduke said—no trouble.” Dawd led his men over toward the broad porch of the brewery.

The town fascinated him, so much different from an Imperial town with its ordered streets and square buildings; here the wooden porches and steps and little shops seemed to be spilling out of the cliff, like overflow from hidden places. On the porch of the brewery several old men were sitting on benches, cans of drink already in their hands. They watched him with piercing eyes, and the lanky woman who ran the place came to the top of the steps.

Dawd stopped, held up a penny, and said, “How much for a cup?”

The woman gave a little shake of her head, frowning. She came down and took the coin from him, and, like the Princess, turned it over and studied it. She shook her head again. She said, “Well, I'll take it, since they say so. One cup each.”

Dawd said, unthinking, “One per cup?” and she turned quickly and smiled.

“Yes,” she said, and he saw he had cheated himself: she would have taken one penny for all of them. But already the men were moving toward the keg on the porch and she was taking down cups from her rack. As he went up among them she thrust her hand out. He dropped six more pennies into it, and she gave him ale.

It was good ale, too, and he drank deep. But being cheated still rankled him.

*   *   *

They were all monsters, the Archduke Erdhart thought, looking around the hall. They wore human faces to beguile the world, but the truth about them always showed through. Knowing that made it easier to plan what he had to do. He placed his hands together before him and thought this all over.

The two Princesses sat on his left side, beyond their mother. They were beautiful, Mervaly round and bubbling, Casea quieter, slender, pale, both with the hair of the family, the red of late oak leaves, the red of poison. Mervaly was always laughing, an unseemly merriment, no decorum in that woman, no sense of her rightful place. He would deal with that.

Casea had already formed all the objects around her into straight lines; now she was arranging them by size. While he watched she lifted her eyes and stared at him. For a moment she seemed not to see him at all, only some other object she had to put in order.

He would deal with that, too. He would deal with all of them. He laid his hands together in front of him, palm on palm, admiring the flicker of the ruby on his long white forefinger. Marioza would have to yield, in time. Make him King here, by the law as well as conquest. His brother had insisted on that: bind them with the laws, until no one there can draw so much as a free breath.

Under that, the unspoken: fail me once more, Erdhart, and you'll never see the Holy City again.

He did not mean to fail. This ocean kingdom was small, weak, with no army, and he would bring it under him as he brought its Queen under him. Then he would have a place to advance himself within the Empire, force his way back into his brother's councils, even … aspire … He stopped thinking about that. Not yet. He watched the red light against his white skin, charmed.

There was, certainly, little to like about Castle Ocean itself, and he would have to move to a better place, once he was truly King. Inland, out of reach of the sea. He moved his gaze around the hall again, long and low as a cave, which was probably how it had begun, a wretched cave, the walls and ceiling of solid rock. Even the great winged chair he sat on was carved from the rock; he shifted his weight, uncomfortable on the hard, uneven seat.

Before him the great room opened up onto a broad terrace that overhung the sea. Now with the rain beating down from the west they had sealed that end of the room behind a wooden barrier, but the wind still swirled around, fluttering all the rush lights. Several fires burned in the hearths around the room, and he had to admit it was warm enough, but the light was very strange, like being underwater.

He frowned down at the rest of the court, seated at the inferior tables. His own officers sat nearest him; he had always insisted on this. Below, at the far side of the hall, were the local people—the kinsmen of the King, some such designation. Old men and women, of no consequence. Some lived in the castle, some in the town, and they did nothing but gobble food. They barely acknowledged even that he was there, stared through him, never spoke. Once he was married to the Queen, he would send all them out, to feed themselves. Leave them here, when he moved inland.

A servant had brought him wine, which he did not drink. Instead, after he had seen Marioza, on his right, take several sips of her cup, he exchanged his cup for hers. Her long, colorless eyes slanted toward him and the massy bundle of her body trembled with silent laughing. When they were married he would make her weep and beg in his arms, plead for mercy. For all this fearsome look, she was only a woman. He turned away, thinking of the wedding night.

Let it come. Let it come.

“My lords! Glory to the Empire!” The herald with his red tunic and high black boots swaggered up from his station by the door, rapped his ribboned staff on the floor several times, and called out, “Enter the Imperial Princes, the High Lords Oto Erdhartsson and Broga Erdhartsson. All bow. All!” He banged down his staff again. Erdhart smiled, pleased: his own court, at least, acted properly.

And after him came Erdhart's two sons. Tall and stout, with the bearing of true Princes, dressed gorgeously in silver lace and purple silk, bright swords swinging from their hips, they were the finest men in the hall. Half the people around the table stood, bowing, recognizing the golden blood when they saw it. Oto, the elder, came up before his father, swept off his plumed hat, and performed an elaborate obeisance, one leg thrust forward, his arms spread out past his knees.

Mervaly laughed. Oto, without hesitation, turned and performed for her the same bow, perhaps even more elaborate. “My lady Princess.” But then he faced Erdhart. “My lord, we have tidings from the east, for your ears alone.”

Erdhart shifted, indecisive. He thought he knew what this was, a closely held, important thing, but he could not order everybody else out, surely not Marioza, who was watching keenly beside him, and who would not leave. And she must not know of it. But if he got up and left, to hear it somewhere private, he appeared smaller. Before he could find some third way through this, the door crashed open and another man strode into the hall, unheralded, and came straight up the room.

He was taller than either of Erdhart's sons. His hair was red as carnelian. His long green shirt glittered with salt. He carried no weapon, only a game bag by a strap over his shoulder. The two men who followed on his heels were just as shabby. But suddenly everybody else around the table was standing up, except for Erdhart and Marioza. The newcomer walked up past Oto and Broga as if they were not there and bowed his head to Marioza.

“Welcome, my son,” Marioza said. “Did you come in through the storm?”

Luka waved that off. “It's hardly raining yet. I have brought you a wedding present.” From the game bag he took a casket.

Oto murmured, moving closer. Erdhart leaned forward. Marioza put out one hand and tipped up the lid of the box.

“Ah.” She turned the box around, into the torchlight, and tumbled out the heap of sea jewels, coral, pearls, nacre, serpentine, and chrysoprase. “What beauties.” She picked up a bit of green serpentine and licked it, and admired the gleaming surface. Revolted at this gross behavior, Erdhart tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair.

Luka was taking something else from his game bag.

“For my sisters.”

This was a little owlet, still in down, blinking in the bright light. Mervaly cooed and held out her cupped hands; Casea was smiling at Luka. “Thank you.” Mervaly held the little bird against her cheek, and it pecked at her. “She's cold,” Casea said. Mervaly at once tucked the owlet into the ample bosom of her dress.

Luka said, “I have heard something about Tirza. Is she truly found? Is that where Jeon is?”

Erdhart sat forward again, intent. Marioza said, “We have some hopes.”

Erdhart said, “What is this? The freemartin isn't dead after all?”

Luka glanced at him, as if he had just noticed him. “That is my seat,” he said. “The high seat.”

Oto stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and his voice rang, “Treat the Archduke Erdhart with respect, sir, and sit where you belong.”

Luka wheeled around toward him. Marioza said sharply, “Stand, Luka. I will not permit it.”

Luka snorted, looking at her over his shoulder, so his back was to Erdhart. “Then I will take my leave of you, Mother. I will not sit lower than my rightful place.” He strode off, walking straight between Oto and Broga, so he brushed each of them as he went by. Broga started after him and Erdhart said, “Wait. Sit; we will talk later.” He wanted no fighting, with the wedding suddenly within his grasp. He turned to Marioza.

“What news is this? The girl is found?”

“We are very hopeful, sir. The sea has been kind to us again.” She had always assigned Jeon's survival to the goodwill of the sea.

Erdhart swelled, triumphant. “Then we shall marry at once.”

He moved his foot, under the table, and ground his heel into the toe of her shoe. She said nothing, did nothing, although he saw the blood leave her cheek.

“I suppose we must.” But her voice shook.

The servants were moving around them, and a great platter of fish slid onto the table, dishes of fruit, of bread. Erdhart's page came up to serve him. “Attend my lady first.” Left to herself, she would dig her own hands into the food, like a slave. The girls were already crumbling cheese in their fingers. The page laid a slab of salmon on Marioza's plate. Erdhart watched her carefully, and when she ate at once and avidly of the fish he nodded to the page to fill his own plate.

“We should send Luka to court in the Holy City. Let him learn proper address, how to bear himself, how to fight. He lacks the manners of a Prince.” This would also remove an important obstacle to Erdhart's progress. He picked at the succulent pink meat before him.

Marioza gave a throaty laugh. “If you find him so biddable, my lord, I beg you, propose it to him.” She turned to share some mirth with her daughters.

It passed through Erdhart's mind that perhaps something poisonous to man might not hurt such as these he was marrying into. But he would not starve. Carefully he began to put the salmon into his mouth, a little at a time.

*   *   *

Lord Oto Erdhartsson considered himself to be two men: the courtier—polished, elegant, impenetrable—and the inner man—where all his thoughts could be hidden well from the world. He paced impatiently up and down the little bare waiting room; they had sent out the guard and the pages. His brother had gone to kneel down at the little prie-dieu in the corner of the room; now he signed himself and rose.

“We should make a chapel here. Bring the truth of God here to this place.”

Oto said, “In time, probably. You may have charge of that.” Broga understood nothing about this, the great fool, drunk on God. Oto swung his arms as he walked, impatient; he disliked waiting. It came into his mind that his father might have gotten lost on the way here.

The castle baffled Oto. He had lived here now, off and on, for almost six months, and he still could not find his way around. This room where he stood now, this entire tower, in fact, was different from the rest, made of grey worked stone; here, he felt sure. He had worked out the way from his apartments here to the cave-heart of the whole place, where stairs went up and down and through a heavy doorway the great hall faced the sea. Oto could confidently go from the hall to his father's apartments in another tower, but he was constantly finding corridors and doors along the way that he had not seen before. He had sent out two men to map the castle for him. They were gone for two days and, when they came back, said they would go no farther down, although the tunnels and shafts continued down, and they could hear the sound of the sea below. They each made a map, but the maps did not agree. The third man Oto sent did not come back at all.

Broga said, “Papa is here,” and the door grated open. A page came in and, after him, the Archduke.

“At last.” Oto gave Erdhart the grandest of bows. In fact, Oto thought the old man was doing this all wrong and often wished he could tell him so, straight to his face, but he kept that inside the shining case of himself.

His father said, “Yes, you may rise.” With a glance he sent out the man behind him and, the door shut, he faced his sons.

“Well? What is this you have to tell me? Has there been a message from the Holy City? Is he sending more men?”