Dragon Wife (5 page)

“I’m ensuring the clan continues.”

“Hardly.” She snorted. “Your precious princess won’t last a year in Dragonvale.”

Huroth gritted his teeth.

“Abeah, there’s little difference between the humans and our own eldrin form. Why do you hold onto this prejudice?”

“There’s all the difference in the world,” she retorted. “The Eldrin were an exceptional race, the first and greatest of any. Our ancestors admired them so much, they learned shape-shifting just to be like them.

“The humans are nothing but servants, created for the Eldrin’s dirty work. They have none of the beauty, magic, or longevity of their former masters.”

“That’s not true,” Huroth said, pausing as the door opened and Rhourik came in with an armload of wood.

“The humans may have short life spans,” he continued, “but they do carry magic, and some are quite attractive.”

“I can back him up on that,” Rhourik said, placing a log on the fire. “Visiting the hill towns, I’ve seen human girls as pretty and sweet as strawberries.”

Abeah let out a hiss of annoyance and glared at her mate. Huroth suspected Rhourik was baiting her. They had an interesting relationship.

“Their prettiness is hardly the issue,” Abeah snapped. “It’s more a question of diluting our bloodlines with...”

“Enough.” Huroth didn’t have to raise his voice. The authority in his tone was final. Abeah rolled her eyes but remained silent.

“You haven’t traveled to human lands,” Huroth said, “or you would understand. They’re not weak, as we remember them. They’ve multiplied and spread, training armies, designing better weapons. Humans are organized and numerous enough to be a threat to us.

“An alliance with Rhelaun serves two important purposes. It keeps our closest neighbors friendly, and it provides a resource for future mates. Princess Ayelet is only the first.”

Abeah opened her mouth to protest, but Huroth lifted a hand.

“No,” he said. “This isn’t a discussion. I’m doing you the courtesy of explaining my reasons, but I am the chieftain, and I’ll do as I see fit.”

“Here, here,” cheered Rhourik. “Long live the chief.”

“Spare me,” Abeah growled. “You males always stick together. I can’t talk sense to either one of you.”

“Seems like things are getting prickly here,” Rhourik observed. “What do you think, Huroth, shall we make a break for it? Tirza says our meat supplies are low, and Thalos spotted mountain goats up Boulder Creek this morning. A hunt might be in order.”

“Sounds good,” Huroth answered. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Three

Orwenna darted behind a tall hedge, holding her breath, listening as her father and Rollin walked by on the other side. When their voices faded into the distance, she crept out, looking both ways before walking toward the castle gardens.

It was childish, she knew, but she couldn’t face another encounter with Rollin. At dinner the previous night, he’d practically bored her into a coma. The awkwardness of trying to make small talk, with a man who had absolutely nothing in common with her, was excruciating.

Not that Rollin was a complete ass…just the next best thing. His bland good looks and half-hearted attempts at chivalry did nothing to win her over. It was obvious he had little interest in her, only a keen ambition for her father’s title and holdings.

“You’re not so bad looking,” he’d said, by way of an opening compliment. “I think this arrangement will do nicely.”

Things had gone downhill from there. He’d spilled wine on the skirt of her gown. Dancing, he’d stepped on her toes, not once, not twice, but a grand total of three times. Worst of all, he tried to give her a sloppy goodnight kiss. It reminded her of Bess, Padrig’s collie, catching her unawares with a lick to the mouth and chin. Yuck.

It wasn’t that she expected to be swept off her feet by love. She knew that mostly only happened in stories. It seemed reasonable, however, to expect a degree of compatibility with her future husband. They were going to live together for many years, so it mattered if they got along. Feeling some attraction for him would have been nice too.

Orwenna knew she wasn’t a cold person by nature. She was fully capable of passion. Her brief fling with Ayf, the groom and gardener at Mirra Muir was proof of that.

It had started one midsummer’s eve, when she was nineteen. She’d had too much to drink at the fair, and the moon was full, bathing the world in cool loveliness. Ayf offered to see she got home safely, and one thing led to another. The affair lasted a fortnight, before she realized how foolish it was.

Orwenna never regretted those two weeks. Though she and Ayf weren’t in love, they were both young and enthusiastic. What they learned from each other and the delight they shared were gifts she still carried.

Sometimes, when she saw Ayf with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his hair tousled, she felt a familiar flash of desire. For a little while, before good sense took over, she would wish to meet him again in the old orchard or barn.

It was out of the question, of course. Such an affair tempted fate, threatening the shame of exposure, or worse, an unwed pregnancy with a common laborer. However much she liked Ayf, another dalliance with him wasn’t worth the risk.

That was the hard reality. Young men could sow their wild oats and illicit only a shake of the head or knowing winks, but a woman daring to experiment before marriage was labeled a harlot. Orwenna might not agree with the rules of society, but she had to live with them.

It rankled. Though she was the one who managed Mirra Muir, not a bit of it belonged to her. She had no independent means or rights. She was, in essence, the property of her father, reliant on his good will for her place in the world.

With this in mind, she had tried to have a positive attitude about Rollin. That intention crumbled within twenty minutes of meeting him. He had a careless, almost lazy way of speaking to her, as if she wasn’t important enough to demand effort. That he should act this way, during courtship, spoke volumes to how he would behave as a husband. The future looked bleak.

Seeking a respite from her worries, Orwenna strolled through the castle gardens. This time of year they were bursting with color. A rainbow of rhododendrons lined the paths, and flowering trees released blossoms like pink snowflakes, drifting in the breeze. The scent of lilac and late narcissus perfumed the air. Even the lawns were scattered with miniature daisies, like white stars on green velvet.

It was hard to feel completely desolate, when surrounded by such beauty. The morning sun, warm on her face, the sounds of birdsong and droning bees, all soothed her aching spirit.

Stepping through a wisteria arbor, she came upon her cousin Ayelet. The princess leaned over a decorative wishing well, her face scrunched in concentration, hands clasped as if she was praying. Her aging governess sat on a bench halfway across the rose garden, napping.

“Making a wish?” Orwenna asked, as Ayelet stepped down from the well.

“Yes. Do you think it will work?”

Orwenna smiled sadly. The princess was sixteen but still acted like a child.

“I suppose it’s possible,” Orwenna answered. “Maybe I should give it a try.”

“What would you wish for?”

Orwenna let out a bitter laugh.

“Do you want the whole list?” she asked.

“No. Just the most important.”

“That’s easy,” Orwenna responded. “I’d wish to choose who I marry, or even if I’ll marry at all.”

Ayelet’s eyes widened.

“That’s what I was wishing for.”

“Really?”

“I had another dragon nightmare last night,” the princess explained, her chin starting to tremble and her eyes tearing up. “They flew down from the mountains, all horrid and scaly, breathing fire just like in the stories. They carried me away, and I kept screaming and screaming but nobody helped me.”

“Oh, my dear.” Orwenna stepped forward and hugged her petite cousin. “I promise it won’t be like that.”

“But how do you know?” Ayelet looked up into her face. “Nobody will talk about the dragons with me. They won’t say what’s going to happen, or even when. I’ve started my moon flow, and mother was married by this age. How do I know they won’t come for me tomorrow?”

“No one has said anything to you?” It was appalling. Even if King Elric felt guilty, as he well should, he needed to face up to this and prepare Ayelet.

“Nobody,” the princess answered, shaking her head. “All I know is that I’m to be a dragon wife, but mother and father act like it isn’t real, and none of the servants will make a peep. It’s a big secret that everybody wants to go away. But it won’t go. It’s always there waiting for me.”

Orwenna’s troubles faded from her mind as she considered Ayelet’s situation.

“Walk with me,” she said, clasping the princess’s hand. “I’ll tell you everything I know, and then you’ll see it’s not so bad.”

“Thank you.”

As they started on a circuit around the rose garden, Orwenna tried to think of what to say to comfort Ayelet. Her own information about the dragons was less than reliable, gleaned from rumors and her Uncle Vardis.

“The dragons aren’t barbarians like the northern tribesmen,” she said. “They’ve honored their agreement with the King, and there has been no killing of people or livestock.”

Ayelet nodded eagerly, wanting more.

“I’ve heard they sometimes visit towns in the foothills, like Barish and River Rock,” Orwenna told her. “There hasn’t been any trouble. They purchase supplies to make their home nice, like quilts, down mattresses, pottery and such, things I suppose dragons wouldn’t make themselves.”

“So they don’t live in nasty dark caves?”

“I don’t think so. Vardis says they have rooms carved into a cliff side. Quite comfortable, apparently, and the view is breathtaking.”

Ayelet shivered at the mention of Vardis’ name. It wasn’t surprising she feared him. Many shared her feelings. His role as go-between, for the dragons and King Elric assured him a place at court, but it didn’t make people trust him.

Orwenna thought it best not to mention the other things Vardis told her about the dragons. He’d painted a frightening picture, of powerful creatures able to strip a person of their will and even their magic, like a fisherman gutting a trout. He described them as ruthless, cold-hearted, and alien. Not exactly the image Ayelet needed right now. Besides, Vardis was prone to exaggeration.

“At least you’ll have a proper bed to sleep in, and plates to eat off,” Orwenna said with forced cheerfulness. “And the mountains are supposed to be very majestic.”

“I just wish I could stay here and marry some nice normal boy.”

“Yes, but that wouldn’t be as exciting.” Orwenna thought of her own fascination with the dragon chieftain. “You get to have adventure in your life, far more than most of us.”

“But I don’t want it,” Ayelet pouted.

Orwenna was at a loss. Her own girlhood dreams had been full of splendid adventures, traveling to exotic lands, discovering ancient treasures, heroic deeds, and epic love affairs. Nothing could be more different from the actual life closing in on her.

If only she and Ayelet could trade places. The princess was welcome to her dull marriage, and Orwenna could have Huroth. That was an exhilarating thought. What would such a life be like? At the very least, she’d have something more thrilling to look forward to than Rollin’s fish lips as the end of the day.

As if thinking about him made him manifest, her future husband and her father appeared around a topiary, on the far side the rose garden. She prepared to make a quick getaway, but Rollin waved and called out. Damn!

“I’d better go,” she told Ayelet. “Duty calls.”

“Thank you for talking with me,” the princess said, trying to smile.

“Of course. And please, don’t worry too much. The dragons are sure to treat you with care. They want the king’s goodwill, and you’re his only daughter. You’ll be under his protection, even when you go to live in the mountains.”

It was the best she could do. Hopefully there was some truth to it.

Orwenna gave Ayelet a quick kiss on the cheek, then forced herself to walk toward Rollin and her father. She felt like an escaped prisoner being dragged back to jail.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me,” Rollin said with a lame chuckle.

When she failed to laugh or deny the claim, her father frowned, shooting her a warning look.

“Of course she’s not avoiding you,” he said firmly. “She’s just busy with her court friends. You know how ladies love their gossip.”

Orwenna bit her lip to keep from saying something offensive. Court friends and gossip indeed. Her father knew better than that.

“We have excellent news.” Rollin pressed on, despite her sour expression. “King Elric has given his full blessing for our marriage, so a Bellesmar ceremony it is.”

“I see.” Orwenna couldn’t pretend joy. The noose had just tightened around her neck, and she could barely breathe. It was hard to tell which was stronger, her sense of panic or her anger.

King Elric had given his blessing without once speaking to her. Her willingness, and even her presence during the discussion, was unnecessary. This was an agreement between men, settled behind closed doors, transferring rights of ownership to Rollin. Simple as that.

“You’ll need to go into town this afternoon,” her father said.

His voice sounded strange in her ears, as if it wasn’t quite real. She seemed to have stepped back, away from the scene, viewing it through a distorted glass.

“Why would I go into town?”

“You’ll need things for the wedding, I presume, a gown, ribbons, bells…I don’t know.”

“Can’t I wear one of the gowns I brought?” She didn’t want to expend any energy preparing for this. It felt like her funeral.

“No, you may not.” His voice was hard as steel. “We can’t have people thinking we’re too poor for a proper wedding. We’ll do this thing right.”

“As you wish, father.”

“I’ll give you money for your purchases, and the invitations can be my responsibility. I’ll also arrange for the priest. Rollin, perhaps you can see to the music and ordering food.”

“Me?” Rollin looked taken aback. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”