Dragon Wife (2 page)

“You are most welcome, honored guest.” The King bowed, as he spoke, then beckoned the chieftain. “Please, come and talk with me, so we can decide how this alliance shall be arranged.”

As Huroth advanced toward the throne, he made an impressive picture. He was tall and broad shouldered, wearing dark leather armor and a heavy fur-lined cloak. His hair tumbled in a thick black mane, his eyes the pale blue of glacier ice. They swept over the courtiers, coolly assessing.

When those eyes came to rest on Orwenna, she felt time slow. Everyone else, all her surroundings, faded to nothing.

And who might you be?

She heard the words in her head, as surely as if he’d spoken aloud. Without consciously choosing, she responded in kind.

Orwenna.

His eyes widened in surprise, and he paused mid-step. Apparently, he had not expected her to hear his musing, nor be able to answer.

There is an aura of magic about you.
He sent the thought, his gaze on her as sharp as a hawk’s.

That is from my mother.
She didn’t know how she spoke directly into his mind. It made her a little dizzy, like too much wine.

Who is your mother?

Sister to the king and the mage, Vardis.

I see.

He considered a moment, before nodding respectfully to her and continuing down the hall. Those nearby gave Orwenna odd looks, and she realized how strange her encounter with Huroth must have seemed. To everyone else, they would have appeared to be simply standing, watching one another without speaking.

How long had it been, a few seconds…minutes? She couldn’t guess. All she knew was it changed her. Reality shifted and would never be quite the same again. Dragons lived, breathed, and walked upon the land like lords of men. She had spoken mind to mind with one, his fierce eyes locked on hers. It was not an experience she would soon forget.

Orwenna watched with interest as the king and Huroth spoke, though she resisted the temptation of her listening charm. The dragon chieftain could obviously perceive magic, and she didn’t want to get caught being childish or rude.

Thinking of that made her wonder, was it the charm that allowed her to link minds with Huroth? She had used it less than an hour before. Perhaps some aftereffect of its power had caused her to hear his thoughts. It clearly hadn’t bothered him. In fact, he’d seemed rather pleased. Yet now, his mind was closed and had been since the end of their brief conversation. The whole thing puzzled her.

A stir ran through the gathering as one of the senior councilors was called to the royal dais then sent off on an errand. The way the old fellow trotted, hurrying despite his bulky robes and long white beard, was almost comical.

Curiosity shivered through the hall, but the dais was set far enough back for privacy. No one could hear exactly what was being discussed between the king and his unusual guest. They could only wait and wonder.

Presently the senior councilor returned with Queen Tresa and little Princess Ayelet. They had been among those who fled the hall earlier and now looked reluctant to return. Approaching the dais, they held hands and kept close together.

The two resembled each other so perfectly, they might have been child and adult versions of the same doll. Both were petite in build, with rose petal complexions, delicate features, and glossy gold ringlets. Their prettiness was so compelling, a person could easily miss the vacant expression often found in their dewy green eyes.

When the queen and princess were both standing on the dais, King Elric presented them to Huroth. They curtsied beautifully, the queen glancing up at the dragon chieftain before dropping her gaze. Huroth reached down and took the little princess’s face in his hand, tilting it first one way and then the other. She held perfectly still, her eyes round with fear.

The hall went so quiet, Orwenna wondered if everyone was holding their breath. What in blazes was going on, anyway? Why was Huroth inspecting Princess Ayelet like a filly at a horse market? The likely answer made her teeth clench. Surely the king wouldn’t trade his daughter to a dragon clan. She was only nine years old!

Huroth released Ayelet’s chin, before looking across at the king and nodding. King Elric smiled broadly, taking Huroth by the shoulders and embracing him like a brother. Color drained from Queen Tresa’s face. Apparently, she was clever enough to understand what had just happened.

“Today is indeed a time for celebration.” King Elric raised his voice to address the hall. “My infant son has been named and blessed for the destiny which awaits him, and on this very afternoon, our kingdom has joined in bonds of friendship with a mighty dragon clan, lords of the eastern mountains!”

A shout went up from the crowd.

“From this day forth,” the king boomed, “when Rhelaun’s need is gravest, we shall have these noble dragons to fight for us. In return, we offer our brightest treasure.” He paused, his eyes flicking quickly to his wife’s pale face. “Let it be known, when my daughter comes of age, she will be given as a dragon wife, so their kind and ours may be united.”

Orwenna frowned. So that was their arrangement. At least the marriage wouldn’t happen until Ayelet was grown. She’d heard of barbarian tribes, along the northern border, who bartered off girls before puberty. The idea was loathsome. Wasn’t it bad enough a woman had to spend her life subservient to men? Shouldn’t she at least be allowed a decent childhood?

Despite her disapproval of the bargain, Orwenna followed with the rest of the crowd as King Elric escorted Huroth from the hall. She pushed forward, to get a clear view, as the two strode down the steps to the courtyard.

An unreasonable fear gripped her. What if she never spoke with Huroth again? He was the most intriguing and magnificent individual she’d ever met. What if this encounter was their last? In desperation, feeling as if something vital was slipping away, she sent her thoughts to him.

Huroth!
She called silently, willing him to respond.

Instantly he slowed and looked back over his shoulder, finding her face among the gathered courtiers.

Orwenna?

He remembered her name. That gave her courage.

Will I see you again?
Her heart was pounding.

A quick smile softened his face.
I imagine so…farewell.

Orwenna didn’t want to say goodbye. She would lose the resonant timbre of his voice speaking inside her head. It made her think of a great cat, a mountain lion, purring. Why, WHY did he have to choose Ayelet to marry?

It was a pointless question with more than one obvious answer. Sadly there was nothing she could do.

Until we meet again, Huroth. Farewell.

He gave a small bow then strode down the rest of the steps. Once he was on flat flagstones he began to run, his powerful body moving surprisingly fast. The air around him shimmered as Orwenna felt a blast of heat and magic sizzling through the wide courtyard.

The space around him seemed to ripple and boil, making it difficult to see exactly what happened. One instant he looked mostly like a man, the next he was a massive beast with wings spanning twelve yards and scales as black and polished as obsidian. Spikes sprouted from his serpentine tail and formed a ridge along his snout and sloping brow. His teeth were white daggers, his feet curved with ten inch talons. The transformation was breathtaking.

Orwenna watched, spellbound, as he soared upwards. He banked in a large easy circle around the castle, then flew away east toward the mountains. She watched until he was nothing more than a speck in the distance. Then he disappeared.

The sky seemed empty without him.

Chapter One

Seven years later…

Occasionally, Orwenna dreamed of the dragon, though she’d told herself a hundred times it was ridiculous. She should have outgrown such fantasies years ago, but the dreams still came whispering in the night. It was maddening.

Huroth had no interest in her, and why should he? They’d barely met, and she had neither the title of Princess nor dazzling beauty to offer him. At the time of their encounter, she’d been nothing but a gawky adolescent, caught up in the romance of the moment.

Romance. That’s what her heart kept circling back to. Romance and adventure, mystery and rapture. These were really what she wanted, not some cold dragon chieftain in his mountain lair. He was just so damned handsome, with a voice that could melt butter. No wonder her longing attached itself to him.

The truth was there had been little enough of romance or adventure in her life. With her mother four years in the grave and her father seldom home, it fell to Orwenna to manage things around the estate and keep the family holdings together. That was ample work for two people and didn’t leave time for much else.

Not that she minded. Better busy and free, than married to some lordling, having to step softly around his moods and bend to his every whim. Thankfully her father hadn’t put any effort into finding potential husbands. If she left, he’d have to hire someone else to oversee the estate, and that was too much bother.

Most women in their mid-twenties were already married. They usually had one or two children and were working diligently on producing more. Most of Orwenna’s rank followed clearly prescribed routines, including frequent sojourns at court, where idleness and gossip tangled like noxious weeds.

Orwenna wanted no part of that life. She’d rather be out with Padrig searching for lost lambs or in the kitchen helping Tyna chop vegetables. Life at Mirra Muir wasn’t perfect, but it suited her well. It allowed her to be useful and autonomous, no small blessings for a woman.

She loved her home, the rambling old estate with a name from another age. Mirra Muir was said to mean ‘sea home’ in the tongue of her ancestors. It was built on a gently sloping hill overlooking Crescent Bay, a day’s ride north from the trading port of Darro.

Located along the southern portion of Rhelaun’s coastline, Mirra Muir enjoyed mild winters and long growing seasons. Even now, barely four months passed winter solstice, she and Ayf had half the garden planted. Columbines were starting to bloom, and alyssum scented the air like honey.

Orwenna opened her bedroom window to the sweet morning breeze. Dawn clouds faded from amber to cream as a flock of gulls flew over, calling shrilly to each other on their way inland. She leaned over the sill and breathed deeply, clearing away her dragon dream. Such fancies were for the night, but they shouldn’t linger into the day, making her wistful and discontented.

“Ready for breakfast?” Tyna called up to her. The old woman crossed the yard below, on her way back from feeding the chickens.

“I’ll be down in a minute. I’m afraid I slept late.”

“That’s all right now,” Tyna said, her lined face crinkling into a smile. “It wouldn’t hurt any if you did that more often. The sun will manage to rise without you.”

Orwenna laughed. Tyna was always fussing at her not to work so hard and how she should be eating more.

“You need some meat on your bones,” Tyna would say, almost daily. “We can’t have you fading away now, can we?” It’s not like there was any danger of that. She might have inherited a slender build from her mother, but she was hardly a waif.

Orwenna took one more deep breath then pulled back inside her room, leaving the window open. She slipped on a simple dress of faded green and braided her hair, looping it around and knotting it at the base of her neck. The morning was still chilly, so she threw a brown wool shawl around her shoulders before heading downstairs.

The kitchen was lit with rays of early sun, shining in the eastern windows. It smelled wonderful as usual. Tyna was something of a magician when it came to cooking. No matter how hard she tried, Orwenna could never master the skill. The food she prepared was ‘serviceable’, as Padrig called it, but always fell short of delicious.

“Care for an oatcake?” Tyna asked, setting down a steaming platter. The table was a great wooden slab with benches running down the sides, large enough to seat fourteen. Currently, there were only six people living at Mirra Muir, if you didn’t count Orwenna’s father, and he never ate in the kitchen anyway.

He took his meals in the formal dining room, insisting she do the same. He didn’t approve of her familiarity with the hired help.

When her father was gone to sea, things relaxed noticeably. Orwenna ate with the others, as she considered them family more than servants. It seemed silly to set herself apart, when they all lived and worked together.

The same land supported them, though she had no more claim of ownership to it than they did. As a woman she couldn’t inherit. Eventually the estate would pass to either her cousin Tybir or her husband, if she married.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, sliding onto a bench.

“Oh, they’ll be around somewhere,” Tyna answered. “I haven’t called them in yet. I thought I’d give you first chance at the cakes. You know how the men are. If you blink, there’s nothing left but crumbs.”

“That’s very thoughtful, Tyna. You’ll fatten me up yet.”

“I can try.” She shook a playful finger at Orwenna. “And don’t be too stingy with the butter and honey. They’re good for you.”

In the yard a tardy rooster hopped on a gatepost and crowed loudly. Cow bells clanged as Padrig opened the barn doors letting the small herd out to pasture. Orwenna watched through the window, smiling as one of the calves kicked up its back legs, filled with the joy of living.

“I think this is going to be a good day,” Orwenna said, slathering her oatcake in honey. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Nutmeg finally has her foal.”

“I hope so. The poor girl looks ready to burst.” Tyna wiped her hands on her apron and went out to ring the meal bell. Orwenna quickly scooped another oat cake onto her plate before competition arrived.

When the bell didn’t ring, Orwenna looked up and saw Tyna gazing down the long lane, shading her eyes against the sun.

“What is it?” Orwenna called.

Tyna hurried back into the kitchen.

“Someone’s riding up,” she said. “May be a messenger. I’ll wait to call the others till you’ve got this sorted.”