Dragonskin Slippers (12 page)

Before I fell into an exhausted sleep, I noticed that the itching stopped when I took my slippers off.

“Shardas,” I murmured into my pillow. “Why do my feet itch?”

“What?” Alle, on one side of me, raised herself up on her elbows. “
Do
you have fleas?” she hissed.

Marta, on the other side, reached across me and swatted Alle. “She doesn’t have fleas, go to sleep.”

“Shardas,” I said into my pillow again. “I miss you.” And I fell sound asleep.

“And
I
miss
you
,” Shardas said in my dream. A laugh rumbled from his throat. “Who would have thought it? I haven’t had a human friend since Jerontin’s death. But truly, there is nothing that can compare to conversing with a human. Your brief lifespans give you such strange perspectives on life.”

In my dream we were sitting beside his enchanted pool, sharing a bowl of grapes. I plucked several of the wine-coloured globes from a stem and popped them into my mouth.

“How is Feniul doing with Azarte? Still having trouble?” I grinned.

“See for yourself.” Shardas stirred the pool with one long claw, and I leaned closer to see.

There was Feniul, shaking a claw at the large, woolly wolfhound and scolding him for once again eating all the treats.

“Poor Feniul.” I chuckled. “I don’t think Azarte was meant for life in a dragon’s hoard.”

“Feniul’s had worse trouble. At one point he had a hundred dogs. He used to just take whatever he wanted, we all did,” Shardas said. “But since Milun the First, we have had to become inconspicuous.” He sighed.

“I’m sorry, I guess,” I said. “I mean, it’s better for us humans I suppose. But it’s not as good for you dragons.”

“No,” Shardas said, “it’s better for all of us this way, if we cannot find a balance.”

“I could help you find a balance,” I offered.

The gold dragon gave me a look of infinite sadness. “Please don’t.”

“What?”

“You could kill us all,” Shardas said.

“What do you mean? Shardas!” Everything was fading into a grey haze. “Shardas! I won’t hurt you! I want to help!” I clawed at the haze, trying to see the dragon.

“Oi! Careful!”

Someone was holding my wrists. I twisted and writhed, trying to break free.

“Creel! What’s wrong?”

I stopped fighting and stared up at Marta. She was crouched beside me in the bed, her strawberry blonde hair orange in the dawn light that was coming in through the open shutters. Alle was standing by the washstand, her mouth open in an “O”.

“Who’s Shardas?” Marta let go of my wrists. “We
couldn’t wake you, and then you started scratching at the wall, crying.”

“I was not crying. I just had a bad dream,” I said, hastily wiping the tears from my cheeks. “Shardas is an old friend.”

“I see,” Marta said, but she clearly didn’t. “Well, hurry and get dressed. If you don’t get your shopgown finished today, Derda is going to start breathing fire.”

“That doesn’t scare me,” I said with a private smile. “I’ve faced worse than a dressmaker who breathes fire.”

I dressed and went downstairs to continue sewing. The kitchen maids served us tea and scones while we worked, and left towels and finger bowls next to the scones so that we could make sure our fingers were clean before we returned to our work.

“Mistress?” One of the maids came back in and bobbed a worried curtsy at Derda. “There’s a lad here for to see Creel, mistress.”

My eyebrows shot up. Who did I know in the King’s Seat? Had Hagen followed me? Then my jaw dropped. It couldn’t be …

“You know that I don’t allow such a thing,” Derda huffed. “Send him away.” She gave me a sharp look and I dropped my eyes to my hands.

“But, mistress,” the maid said in a hushed voice. “This lad is a prince.”

Alle dropped the shears she’d been using with a clatter, and Marta unconsciously put a hand to her curls.

“What did you say?” Derda rose to her feet.

“It’s the young prince, Prince Luka,” the maid clarified. “He’s here for to see Creel.” Her eyes lit on me, and I could tell that she was dying to know why a prince would want to speak to me.

“Well, girl!” Derda snapped at her. “I hope you didn’t leave the prince standing there! Show him to a comfortable chair and bring him some wine!” She yanked off her plain working apron and ran to the little looking glass to straighten her hair. “I will chaperone you, of course,” she said when she saw my puzzled face. “Now make yourself presentable. I will greet him while you do.” And she bustled out, all smiles for the prince.

I gave Marta a helpless look. Presentable? I was dressed … What more was there?

But Marta hopped to her feet and untied my apron with a single tug. Grabbing one of her own scarlet shop sashes from a hook, she whisked it around my waist and tied a large bow at the back. She pulled a comb from her pocket, untied my braid, raked the comb through it, and rebraided it much more loosely. She snapped her fingers at Alle. Giggling, Alle took a scarlet ribbon out of her dark hair and handed it to Marta, who tied it around my braid. Then Marta spun me around, pinched my cheeks hard, spun me back to face the door, and swatted me on the bottom.

I burst out laughing, too stunned by the rough handling to do anything else.

“Go,” Marta hissed, giving me a push. “But we expect full details when he’s gone!”

Still laughing breathlessly, I went out into the shop, where Prince Luka was sitting across from Derda. My employer was making awkward small talk with the prince, while his massive bodyguard loomed over them both. Tobin winked at me as I approached, and I rolled my eyes by way of reply.

“Your Highness.” I curtsied, my eyes downcast. When I raised them, I found that Luka had got to his feet and was grinning at me.

“Creel.” He gave me a polite bow, clearly amused at my overly formal greeting. “I wanted to know how you were getting on here in Mistress Derda’s fine establishment.”

“I am enjoying my work very much,” I said, hoping that he didn’t notice how red and pricked my fingertips were. “Mistress Derda is most kind.”

“Excellent, excellent.” The prince rocked forward on his toes and then back to his heels. We both looked at Derda, who was now standing between us, still all smiles and batting eyelashes.

“Well!” She slapped her hands together and gave a forced laugh. “I had better go back into the sewing room and make certain that the others aren’t shirking in my absence.” She gave a deep curtsy. “Your Royal Highness.”

“Mistress Derda.” Luka bowed.

“If you need anything, dear Creel, just ring for it,” Derda told me with a fond smile, pointing to a small bell on the round table next to me. Then she went bustling into the back room.

“Hmmm,” I said, staring after her.

“Not usually ‘dear Creel’?” Luka gave me a sly look. “Hardly,” I said, shaking my head. “Shall we sit down?”

“By all means.”

We both sat in the ornately embroidered chairs and stared at each other for a minute. Tobin continued to stand behind his prince’s chair, looking muscular and dangerous.

“Er, Tobin? Do you want to sit down?”

The mute bodyguard shook his head.

“He always remains standing, unless we’re in the palace, or at Ulfrid’s,” Luka explained. He poured a glass of wine for me and then himself.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” I took a deep drink of the wine, feeling awkward.

“You can call me Luka.”

“Are you certain?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Of course I’m certain. It’s my name, after all.”

I blushed. “I’m sorry, your … Luka.”

“Your Luka? I think I like the sound of that,” he mused.

I rolled my eyes, his teasing putting me at ease. “Oh, please!”

“That’s better,” the prince approved. “So, how are you settling in, really? Is Derda treating you well?”

“As well as can be expected,” I said with reluctance. Should I tell Luka that she had planned to use my designs
as her own? Marta had assured me that, as much as we both hated it, it was quite common for employers to do such things. It was frustrating, though, to think that the patterns inspired by Shardas’s windows would be taken from me. “Sewing was always relaxing for me, before. You know, better than hoeing a row of potatoes.” I made a face, thinking about how glad I was that I wasn’t working on the farm any more. “But now there’s more pressure to make it perfect, and it’s all I do all day …” I trailed off. “Not that I’m complaining,” I said quickly. “Because if you hadn’t found me and if Ulfrid hadn’t helped me get this job, I would be in deep trouble and I’m very grateful –”

Luka held up a hand to stop my rapid flow of words. “It’s all right, I understand. When I was a lad, all I wanted to do was learn swordplay. I talked of nothing else, and if Ulfrid had let me, I would have slept with my toy sword. But then when I started to actually train …” It was his turn to trail off, wincing and smiling at the memory.

“Sore muscles?” I hazarded.

“Sore everything, including my pride,” he admitted. “I assumed that, since I was a prince and had thought of nothing else my entire life, I would become a great swordsman overnight.” He shook his head. “Not even close to the truth.”

I looked over his shoulder at Tobin. “Did he improve?”

Tobin made a gesture with one hand that clearly
said, “so-so”, and I laughed. Luka pretended to be indignant, but then he laughed, too.

“Well, I suppose we’d better go,” he said ruefully when we had stopped. “I only wanted to make certain that things were going well with you.”

My eyes welled with tears at this kindness, and I jumped to my feet and fussed with Marta’s sash to cover the emotion. The prince reminded me a little of Shardas, with his gallantry and his elegant manners. “Thank you, Luka,” I said softly, my head bowed.

“It really is my pleasure,” he told me. He took my hand and pressed it, and then he and Tobin left.

Somewhat dazed, I wandered into the back room, where I was forced to recount the entire exchange, down to facial expressions, to Derda and the other girls. By the time they had analysed every word and look, it was time for the shop to open and Marta was convinced that the prince was in love with me. Derda proclaimed this highly unlikely, but she still clucked over me like a mother hen, much to my annoyance. I was relieved when she and the others, save Larkin, put on their embroidered aprons and went out to open the shop.

“I wish I had royalty calling on me,” was all Larkin said about it, her normally mild voice envious.

“Really, he’s just a kind young man,” I protested for the thousandth time.

“He is a prince of a royal house,” she said primly, “the son of a king and brother of the king-to-be. Since the crown prince’s betrothal, every young woman at
court has been vying for his attention.” She darted a disapproving glance at me, as though to say that I was unworthy of his notice.

I hadn’t really thought about that, but now that I did, it made me feel self-conscious. I kept poking myself with my needle as I worked, and almost snipped one of my fingers instead of a loose thread.

“Cre-el,” Marta sang out, coming into the back room an hour later. “You’re wanted in the shop.”

“Why?” I put my sewing down and gave her a startled look. Larkin, too, stopped working and looked to Marta.

“Our very favourite princess is here,” Marta said in her most sugary voice. “And she absolutely
must
speak to you.” Marta rolled her eyes in sympathy. “You can wear one of my sashes again; I’m not going back out there while
she’s
here.”

She took the length of silk off a hook and I took off my coarse linen work apron for the second time that day. Marta helped me tie the sash in a tidy bow, and then sent me back out, this time without any giggling or swats, which was all right by me, since I was terrified of Princess Amalia.

She still wanted my shoes. I knew that could be the only reason she wanted to speak to me. She hadn’t exhibited any interest in my work, and if it had been the Duchess of Mordrel who wanted to see me, Marta would have said.

Drawing a deep breath, I pushed out and went to
face the princess. The duchess was not with her, but the usual attendants, guards and lapdog were. The little dog instantly jumped from her mistress’s arms and ran over to me, dancing around me on her hind legs in excitement. I couldn’t help but smile as I curtsied to the princess.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Er, nothing, Your Highness … just … your little dog … she’s very amusing.”

“Well, that’s not
nothing
, then, is it?” She arched her finely plucked eyebrows at me.

“No, Your Highness, I beg your pardon.” And I’d like to pinch you, I thought.

“Are you still wearing those shoes?” The princess did not waste words.

“Yes, Your Highness. They are my only shoes,” I informed her. That wasn’t entirely true, as I did still have my old sandals, but Derda would never let me wear them to work in the shop, so I didn’t feel they were worth mentioning.

Princess Amalia sniffed. “I am willing to pay you for them,” she said. “More than enough to have some peasant cobbler make you another pair. A pair more suitable to your station, perhaps.” She shook her head, making her curls bob. I had always been jealous of girls with naturally curly hair; it just wasn’t fair when my own was so terribly straight. “Do you think it is right for a peasant to have prettier shoes than a princess?” Again up with the plucked eyebrows.

I just stood there and looked at her. Did she really want an honest answer? In fact, I wasn’t even sure what a
dishonest
answer to this question should sound like. Was that what was bothering her so much? That she didn’t think I deserved them because my family was poor? This princess was either spoiled to a degree that I had never seen before, or else she was a few berries short of a pie, as my mother would have said.

“Don’t just stand there, girl, give me those shoes!” The princess stamped her foot with impatience. “I have other things to do this morning than wait upon
your
pleasure.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, then,” I retorted, ignoring Derda’s frantic looks and gestures. “Because I’m afraid that it is not my pleasure to give you my slippers.”