Dragon Rose (6 page)

“You’ll have to make do with your own shoes for now,” she said. “I’ll have more ordered, but he won’t want to wait on that…let me see them.”

At once I grasped my skirts and lifted them slightly so she could see my slippers. Odd how I did not entertain the notion of defying her, of saying my footwear was of no concern to her. She had about her a manner that brooked no argument.
 

Luckily, my shoes were fairly new, and fine enough, smooth black kid with lacings of silk ribbon. Quite the extravagance at the time, I had thought, but they had been purchased when my mother thought I had the prospect of a rich husband before me, and she had brushed aside my protests that something less costly would be more than adequate.

Well, I was about to have a rich husband, although not the one either she or I had imagined…

Sar gave an approving nod at my footwear and appeared about to speak when there was a knock at the door. At once she called out, “Bring it in!”

From the main chamber I heard the faint squeak of door hinges, followed by the shuffling of several pairs of feet. Those feet turned out to belong to two sturdy-looking manservants, each bearing a large ewer of water from which faint curls of steam emerged. Sar directed them into the bath chamber, where they poured the water into the tub. Then they hurried out, having unburdened themselves.

During this entire procedure neither one of them looked at me, even though I stood off to one side and watched the entire procedure with some sympathy. I knew just how heavy those ewers of water could be, and I only had to carry them up one flight of steps back home. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like to bring them all the way here, to my aerie in the Dragon’s tower.

“Half an hour,” Sar informed me. “Everything you need is in the bath chamber. And then I’ll return to help you get ready. The ceremony is set for sundown.”

Which was still many, many hours off at this time of year. I knew better than to argue, however, and only nodded. She sniffed, which might or might not have signaled her approval, and then left.

Much as I wanted to go to the window and gaze out on the amazing prospect it offered, I knew that doing so would only allow my bath to grow cold. It didn’t seem quite right, after those poor servants had hauled it all the way here, and so I went on into the bath chamber.

There was no way of latching the door, which did little to soothe my nerves. I settled for taking the little table that stood under the window and placing it up under the door handle. It seemed a fragile enough barrier, but it was better than nothing.

And then I stepped out of my shoes and my stockings, and carefully removed my gown and chemise. Luckily, the gown laced up the sides instead of the back—my mother knew better than to have us wear gowns that required assistance to get in and out of them—so extricating myself from it was not difficult. I draped it over the cross-backed chair of mahogany that stood off to one side, and then lowered myself into the tub.

It did feel good, to have the warm water surround me, washing away the dust of the trail and the sticky feeling from wearing too warm a gown on too hot a day. The heat did not seem as if it would be a problem up here in Black’s Keep. Indeed, I wondered what a winter here must feel like.

If I lasted until winter, of course.

I pushed that thought away and applied myself to scrubbing my limbs and back with the brush and soap provided, and washing my hair with a rinse that smelled of mint and something else, something sweet I couldn’t quite place. Truly, it was quite a luxury to have a bath so soon after my last one—which had only been the night before. At home I wouldn’t have had the opportunity for another two or three days.

There was no clock in the chamber, and so I had no very good idea of the passage of time, but I tried to hurry things along as best I could. There were a number of towels provided, thick and very soft, and I dried myself off and went out into the bedchamber to retrieve the chemise and other underthings from where they had been laid out on the bed.
 

None too soon, as it turned out, for I had just finished blotting my hair and adjusting the drawstring neckline of the chemise when Sar reappeared, carrying a tray with a number of mysterious-looking objects, along with a more prosaic hairbrush and comb.

“Sit by the window,” she said. “The sun will help to dry your hair.”

So I did as I was told and took a seat where she had instructed. She stood behind me and combed the snarls out of my hair, and then proceeded to brush it and brush it as it slowly dried. I wondered a little at her spending such a lengthy amount of time on this task—if she truly ran the household, wasn’t she needed elsewhere for more important things?—but I remained silent as she worked.
 

“Well enough,” she said at length. “It will finish drying while I work on your face.”

“My face?” I repeated, wondering what bizarre ritual the Dragon required of his Brides before they were presented to him.

As it turned out, this “ritual” consisted of her refining my brows with a pair of bone tweezers, polishing my skin with silk, and then touching the faintest amount of some reddish powder to my lips and cheeks. I had heard that the ladies in the capital indulged in such practices, but we had little enough use of them in Lirinsholme. Each time Sar removed an errant hair from my eyebrows, I tried not to wince, and wondered why on earth the Dragon should care whether or not I looked like a court lady, when by all accounts I would be resting in his belly by the time the evening was over.

No, that was not strictly true, or fair. No one really knew what happened to the Brides. But since they were never seen again, and dragons were known to have somewhat rapacious appetites, naturally everyone expected the worst.
 

After she had seen to my face, Sar directed me over to the hearth, where she bade me sit as she took the last of her odd implements, a long metal tube with a wooden handle, and inserted it directly into the flames. I held my breath, wondering what tortures she planned to inflict with the device. It turned out, however, that she intended nothing more sinister than to wind my hair around it, creating a perfect series of long spiral curls. I recalled all the restless nights I’d had sleeping on rags to make my half-heartedly wavy hair curl, and decided this was a much more effective way of achieving that goal.

“There,” Sar said at last, after propping the still-warm iron up against the fireplace shovel. “Now, it’s on with the gown.”

I turned away from the hearth and stood, realizing as I did so just how long that entire procedure must have lasted. The sun had dipped almost out of sight behind the hills to the west, although dusk itself was still some time off. I also perceived a distinct hollowness in my stomach. It had been hours and hours since the breakfast of toasted bread and cheese I had consumed at home before setting out for the town square with Therella in tow. Up until that moment I hadn’t even considered such a thing, as feeding myself did not seem all that important when marriage to the Dragon loomed before me, but my body obviously had a different opinion on the matter.

“Do I get any supper?” I asked, my tone perhaps a little too plaintive, as Sar had me step into the wine-colored gown.

“You will eat…after.”

That didn’t sound very appetizing. Was I to dine with the Dragon? Was I to
be
his dinner?

Sar was busy with the lacings at the back of my dress, pulling it tight. It seemed its previous wearer had been more slender than I, or at least did not have quite as much bosom. I had no doubt that my mother would have highly disapproved of the expanse of rounded breasts exposed by the tight, low-cut bodice, but of course she was not there to comment. While Sar tied off the silk cord, I did my best to tug the chemise up a little higher.

As she came around and began to tie on the heavily embroidered and jeweled sleeves, I found myself compelled to say, “The other Brides…”

“What of them?” she asked, as she poked a ribbon through the loop attached to the shoulder seam of my bodice.

“The Dragon doesn’t…he doesn’t
eat
them, does he?”

At my question she paused and gave me an unbelieving stare. “Gods, no!” she replied, in tones of horror convincing enough that I thought she was most likely telling the truth. “Whatever put such an idea into your head?”

“People talk.”

“That they do, and mostly of things they know nothing about. No wonder you were looking so pale, despite the paint. Thought you were going to end up in the Dragon’s belly tonight?”

Feeling foolish, I nodded.

“Nothing so grim, I assure you. I’ll take you to the hall when the time comes, and a priest will marry you to his lordship. Afterward, you will take supper together.”

“And after that?” I might have been a maiden, but I knew what passed between men and women. But the Dragon of Black’s Keep was no ordinary man.

Sar did not quite meet my gaze. “You may have noticed that I said these were your rooms. Not his. The Dragon and his Bride always keep separate chambers.”

I didn’t so much sigh as let out my breath slowly. My relief, however, was tempered by curiosity. So if he did not make a meal of them, and neither did he treat them as real wives, what exactly
did
the Dragon do with his Brides?
 

Asking Sar did not seem to be the best plan of action. I barely knew her, of course, but what little I had seen spoke of a no-nonsense manner that nonetheless hid its own secrets. Very likely she would either ignore my questions or tell me to mind my own business. Then again, one would think the relationship with my future husband was my business…

Years of training had taught me to hold my tongue when necessary, so I remained silent as Sar continued fussing with my sleeves. After she was apparently satisfied with every loop and puff, she went to a tall cabinet across the room, and from the top drawer she brought forth a flat box that contained what appeared, to my unschooled eyes at least, a very princess’s ransom of treasures. From the gleaming jewels within she selected a necklace of gold and garnets and matching earrings. The necklace she placed around my throat, but she handed the earrings to me, obviously intending that I should put them on myself.

I did so without argument. No wonder the Dragon wished his Brides to come with no belongings of their own; he appeared quite able to provide them with whatever baubles they might require. Certainly the intricate drops of gold I slipped into my pierced ears put the simple garnet earrings I’d worn earlier to shame.
 

I noticed, however, that Sar gave me no rings to wear.
 

Instead, she returned to the cabinet, and drew forth a large hand-held mirror. “I believe he will be pleased.”

That seemed to be as close to praise as she got. I peered into the silvered glass and had to consciously prevent myself from gasping aloud in shock. Now, I was not one to deny my own prettiness—why should I, when it had very little to do with me and a great deal more to do with being lucky enough to have two handsome parents?—but even so I was not prepared for the reflection that stared back at me. My hair had been tamed into sleek curls that gleamed against the wine color of my bodice, and my lips were not far off from that same shade.
 

Despite the tension that still lay coiled in my stomach, I couldn’t help being pleased by what I saw. I guessed that quite a few people might not have even recognized me in my current guise. Then I had to laugh at myself, for of course it was a good deal easier to be beautiful when one had the luxury of spending hours to achieve such a state.

“Well enough,” I told Sar, and I thought I saw her lips quirk just a little.

“Not one to sing your own praises, eh? Wise, probably.” She glanced out the window, as if to determine the position of the sun, and her mouth settled into far more sober lines. “It’s time to go. He will be waiting for you.”

My mouth went dry then, and I wished I’d had the forethought to ask for some water or cider. Oh, well, I probably wouldn’t be the first of the Dragon’s Brides to utter her vows in a cracked whisper, if it came to that.

Sar went to the door and opened it, obviously expecting me to follow her.

I knew I had little choice. All I could do was follow this mad notion of mine to its conclusion…whatever that might be. So I lifted my chin and moved from the safety—however spurious it might be—of my chambers and into my unknown future.

Chapter Four

It seemed to me a bloody descent down the castle’s interminable stairs, but I knew that was only a trick of the sunset, which threw a carmine cast over everything. Still, the peculiar light only served to increase the sensation of foreboding that seeped slowly through me, like a dark flood. To make matters worse, I saw no one else during our descent, not one servant or other member of the household. I wondered then exactly how many people served the Dragon. Sar had made it sound as if there weren’t that many, a contrast to the bustling households of even the wealthy residents of Lirinsholme, which certainly was not known for its grand style. The lord of Black’s Keep liked his privacy, apparently.

At last we reached what I thought was the ground floor. Sar led me down the enormous vaulted corridor that seemed to divide that level of the structure, until at last we stopped before a set of double doors barred with intricate black ironwork.
 

“Go on,” she said, after opening the one to the right.

I realized she intended me to enter on my own. Although I had only known her for a few short hours, it seemed to me then that she was the only familiar thing in my world. How could I possibly be expected to go forward to confront the Dragon alone, without a single friendly face to serve as my witness to this unnatural union?

Her expression softened as she gazed at me, at my obvious hesitation. She said, in the gentlest tones I’d yet heard from her, “It will be all right. Be brave.”

That did hearten me a little. After all, I’d had the courage to step forward and offer myself in Lilianth’s place. Now I must summon that same will to finish what I had started.