The Fire Dragon by Katharine Kerr
“We can't go up there,” Degwa whined. “What will people think?”
“Maddyn's the only man in them,” Elyssa said. “If it troubles your heart so much, you can wait down here alone.”
“What? I can't do that, either. I at least am mindful of my rank.”
Elyssa made a growling sound under her breath and started up the stairs. Lilli followed, and, eventually, so did Degwa. They held their lanterns up while Elyssa first knocked on the door, then pounded on it. No one answered. Elyssa risked pushing it open a few feet.
“Maddyn?” she called out. “Maddo, are you in there?”
No voice answered, not a single sound—Elyssa took Lilli's lantern, opened the door full, and walked a few steps in, holding up the light. The long row of bunks stood empty; only one had blankets upon it, and those had slipped halfway to the floor.
“Well,” Elyssa said. “He's not here.”
Elyssa turned and rejoined them on the landing. Behind her Lilli heard Degwa gasp as if in sudden pain.
“What is it?” Lilli said.
Degwa laid her hand on her forehead and looked tragically up at the stars. Elyssa shut the door behind her, then scowled at Degwa.
“I know what you're thinking,” Elyssa said. “Don't.”
“There's some good reason for all of this,” Lilli put in. “He may have seen her walking and gone after her to guard her.”
Degwa pursed her lips and glared, but she did drop her tragic pose.
“Let's go,” Elyssa said briskly. “And let's start calling for her. No one's going to hear us way out here.”
They hurried down the stairs, then stood hesitating. Which way to go? Finally Elyssa chose a direction, farther past the barracks into the close-packed outbuildings.
“Lyrra!” she called out. “Bellyra—Your Highness! Lyrra, Lyrra, where are you?”
When no one answered, they walked on. As they turned the corner round a storage shed, they saw bobbing candlelight, hurrying toward them.
“Lyss!” It was the princess's voice. “Is that you?”
“It is!” Elyssa called back. “And thank the Goddess we found you.”
In the light of the lanterns, the princess looked exhausted, her face bright as if with fever. She was wearing an old dress, torn down one side, with a sleeveless shift over that, a pairing that made her look like a kitchen lass. Her hair hung down in untidy strands; her silver clasp dangled at her neck, in danger of slipping free entirely.
“My apologies,” Bellyra said. “I just had one of my moods. I had to get outside, I simply had to.”
“I wish you'd wake us, Your Highness,” Degwa said. “We'd be glad to accompany you.”
“And ruin your sleep?” Bellyra gave her a watery sort of smile. “But you see, when I go off alone, I can forget for one lovely moment that I'm doomed to be queen.”
Lilli stared, openmouthed, then glanced at Degwa and Elyssa to find them doing the same. Bellyra smiled vaguely at them all. She reached up with her free hand and slid the silver clasp out of her hair.
“I was about to lose this, wasn't I?” Bellyra said. “Well, my ladies, let's go back to the women's hall.”
Maddyn slept late the next morning. He woke from dreams of holding Bellyra in his arms to find the barracks flooded with the full heat of a summer's day. He sat up, as muzzy-headed as a sot, and remembered that his dreams weren't only idle fancies.
I could have loved you so much if only we weren't who we are. She had in truth said those words; she had said them to him. Had she meant to make him happy by the saying of them? He doubted it. She must have known that they would cut him to the heart, as sharp as a silver dagger. She was too clearheaded not to know. The happiness—if he could call it that—came from realizing that she'd wounded herself just as deep.
Maddyn dressed and went into the great hall. The fort-guard had already eaten and gone. He wheedled a bowl of porridge and some ale out of a servant girl and took the food to a table next to the door to eat it, where a slight breeze struggled to lift the worst of the day's heat. He'd just started on the bread when Prince Riddmar came racing down the staircase, leaping from broad stone stair to stair and laughing at nothing in particular. In but a few weeks, if all went well, he'd be invested as Gwerbret Cerrmor. Prince Maryn would have to appoint a regent, of course. Maddyn wondered if it would be Nevyn. The old man had raised one prince. Why not another? Riddmar came skipping up to him and bowed.
“Maddyn the bard,” the boy announced. “My lady Princess Bellyra would like you to come play for her and her womenfolk. Well, when you've finished your breakfast.”
“That's a great honor, Your Highness.” Maddyn busied himself with a spoonful of porridge to give himself time to think. To face her so soon, to face her women while he smiled and sang and acted as if he were but the servant he'd always been—could he? He would have to. He looked up to see the young prince waiting, his hands tucked behind his back, his legs spread a little apart, in clear imitation of his brother.
“It gladdens my heart that my songs please her,” Maddyn said. “I can't go into the women's hall, though. Will they come down here?”
“They won't. They want you to come to the council chamber.” Riddmar hesitated, his grey eyes gone wide. “Maddyn, do you know why the princess won't eat?”
“It's part of her affliction, Your Highness.”
“Lady Elyssa told me that she was ill from childbirth. Is that the affliction?”
“It is.”
“It's awfully sad. I wish she'd eat more. Lady Degwa's always coaxing her and suchlike.”
“Good. We all have to eat to live.”
“That's what Lady Degwa says, too. Anyway, shall I tell them that you'll play for them?”
“Please do, Your Highness. I'll finish this porridge, and then I'll fetch my harp and come to the council chamber.”
“Splendid. Oh, and she says, don't sing the fox song.”
“I won't, not with Lady Degwa there. Don't worry.”
Riddmar turned and ran off, racing up the staircase. Maddyn realized he was no longer hungry. He gulped down the ale in his tankard and left.
By the time Maddyn reached the chamber, the princess and her two serving women were sitting in a curve of chairs by one wall. Their maidservants sat on the floor behind them, while Prince Riddmar sat cross-legged in front of Bellyra. Maddyn set his harp in its leather sack down on a table and bowed to the noble-born. He'd never put on such a skilled performance as he was doing then, he felt, by bowing to the princess in exactly the same way as he always had, by glancing her way with naught but a pleasant courtesy in his eyes. In turn she smiled at him with the same amiable smile that she bestowed upon her pet cats or a gift of flowers.
“I'll tell you why I summoned you, bard,” Bellyra said. “It's hot, and we all felt so cross and sullen. I thought that music would distract us.”
“A splendid idea, Your Highness,” Maddyn said. “But forgive my voice this morning. I've never been much of a singer at the best of times, and it's thick from the heat.”
“Oh come now, Maddyn,” Elyssa broke in. “No apologies. Just music.”
Since he was far more accustomed to singing in a barracks or hall than in private audiences, Maddyn shunned the chairs and sat upon the long council table to play. Once he'd tuned his harp and done a few runs on its dweomer-sweet strings, the Wildfolk began to gather, sprites and gnomes clustering round him on the table. In their comforting presence he could play without thought of either danger or desire.
Late that afternoon, messengers arrived from Prince Maryn. The army would be returning home on the morrow. Maddyn wondered if he were sorry or glad—he could have persuaded himself either way.
By the time the army rode through the gates of the city, Nevyn was so exhausted from the constant travelling that the black and chaotic towers of Dun Deverry looked beautiful to him. For a while, at least, he would sleep in a proper bed and have the leisure to pursue his own dweomerwork as well as the all-
In the slanting light of late afternoon the army reached the fortress hill and wound slowly up the spiralling road and its ring after ring of stone walls. They passed through gates they'd fought to open just the summer past, passed the graves of comrades, too, who'd died in that assault. Finally, they reached the last wall, the last gate. To the cheers of servants and servitors, Prince Maryn rode into the main ward with Nevyn at his side and his silver daggers behind him. Most of the army would camp outside in the parkland between the walls, though the noble-born vassals would, of course, shelter with the prince.
As they dismounted, grooms rushed forward to cheer the prince and take their horses. Nevyn worked his way free of the mob and headed for the main broch. In the doorway stood Princess Bellyra with her serving women, all of them dressed in their best dresses of brightly colored Bardek silks. With them stood Prince Riddmar in a clean shirt and a pair of brigga that were almost too small for him. Despite her finery, though, Bellyra looked dead-pale and gaunt. When he bowed to her, she smiled and gave him her hand to kiss, but the entire time she looked over his shoulder at Maryn, working his way free of the well-wishers mobbing him. As Nevyn walked past her, Lady Elyssa caught his glance and mouthed a single word, “Worried.” “Me too,” he mouthed back. On the morrow, once Bellyra had welcomed home her prince, he would go up to the women's quarters, he decided, and talk with Elyssa in private.
Lilli was waiting for him inside, a few steps up the stone staircase. At the sight of him she broke into a grin and rushed down to meet him. Nevyn caught both her hands in his and squeezed them.
“Oh my poor child,” he said. “Your hair.”
“It's for Branoic,” she said, and the smile vanished. “I wanted to mourn him properly.”
“So I assumed.” Nevyn paused, studying her pale face. “You've been ill again. Or I should say, you are ill again. Another sign of your mourning?”
“I suppose. I wept and wept so much at first.” Lilli looked down at the floor. “I couldn't sleep, and oh, it hurt to breathe! But I've been getting a bit stronger just recently.”
“That's good, but I intend to make sure you get a great deal stronger before you do any more dweomerwork. Shall we go up to your chamber? We have much to talk about.”
“Let's. I'm not ready to face Maryn just yet.”
Nevyn raised an eyebrow at that, but Lilli said nothing more until they were safely in her chamber. She insisted that he take the chair and perched on the edge of the high bed.
“It gladdens my heart to see you, my lord,” Lilli said. “I've been so worried.”
“About the princess?”
“Indeed. She's so unhappy. I've been thinking, I should give Maryn up. I can't stand being her rival, I just can't. She did so much for me, when I had naught.”
“Will he allow that?”
“I don't know.” Lilli looked down at her clasped hands. “But he'd never force me, and so if I could just hold firm—” She let her voice trail away.
“If. A rather large if, I'd wager. But Lilli, if you do mean to do this, remember what I told you about the glamours I cast over Maryn. You have dweomer, you can see past them if you choose.”
“Of course!” She looked up, wide-eyed. “That's the thing I was forgetting. I knew there was somewhat.”
“But think well on this decision. After all, even if you do renounce him, Maryn will mope and mourn for a while, but in the end, he'll only find some other lass.”
“That's what Elyssa says, too. And I'll admit it vexes me.”
They shared a wry laugh.
“Anyway,” Lilli went on, “the cooks have prepared an enormous feast to welcome the prince home. It should last all evening.”
“Very well. I'd like to talk with you about your studies, but it can wait till tomorrow.”
“I don't want to go to the feast. Do you?”
“I hate large grand affairs like that.”
“So I thought. May I come to your tower chamber, and we can discuss things there? I've got myself completely confused over these sigils.”
“Sounds like a splendid idea. The prince will probably be looking for you, though.”
“I know. That's why I asked.”
Isn't this interesting? Nevyn thought. She may well be tired of him. How odd! I always thought it would be the other way round.
Carrying their bedrolls, laughing and talking at the tops of their lungs, the silver daggers trooped into their barracks. Maddyn had never been so glad to see his fellow riders. His long ordeal by lonely silence was over at last. He even had to admit that he was glad to see Owaen, who grinned at him and threw a friendly punch his way.
“So, bard,” Owaen said. “Here you've been, lapping up the comforts of the dun like the dog you are, and we've been riding all over the blasted kingdom.”
“Some comforts!” Maddyn said. “The barracks didn't stink as much with you all out of it, though.”
They shared a laugh. Owaen tossed his bedroll down on the bunk and his saddlebags on top of it. “You look well,” he said.
“I'm over that cursed poisoning, if that's what you mean,” Maddyn said. “I hope to every god I never feel that way again.”
“So do I. It wasn't much of a pleasantry to watch, either.”
“So will we be in quarters all summer now?”
“We won't.” Owaen shook his head. “Once the priests have proclaimed him king, Prince Maryn wants to ride out to deal with those bandits. That's right, you don't know this. You'd left by the time we learned how many of them there are—far too many. They're a vicious lot.”
“Then we'd best slaughter them all.”
“My thought exactly. Let's head for the great hall. I want ale.”
Riders from the various lords' honor guards mobbed the great hall, whilst the lords themselves clustered around the prince over at the table of honor. Owaen and Maddyn stood near the door on the riders' side of the hall and looked around for a servant lass to bring them ale. Or Owaen did; Maddyn was watching Princess Bellyra, sitting next to her husband, one hand on his sleeve, smiling at him as if her face would break from it. With a shrug he turned away in time to see Tieryn Anasyn bearing down on him like a charging warrior, his face set and grim.
“Owaen, Maddyn!” Anasyn called out. “Have you seen my sister?”
“Lady Lillorigga, Your Grace?” Maddyn said. “I've not.”
“I just went to her chamber and she wasn't there.” Anasyn scowled at the stairway as if to hold it responsible. “I thought she'd be in attendance upon the princess, but she's not there, either.”
“Off with old Nevyn, most like, Your Grace,” Owaen said. “He hates crowds and suchlike.”
“Ah. Of course.” Anasyn briefly smiled. “Well, I'll wait, then. I want a word with her, but I'm not going to disturb the old man over it.”
The tieryn strolled away, still scowling.
“What was that all about?” Owaen said.
“Cursed if I know.”
“Oh.” Owaen considered this for a moment. “Who can figure out why the noble-born do what they do?” He shrugged the problem away. “The ice in the hells will melt before one of these scabby lasses gets around to serving us. I'll go fetch the cursed ale myself.”
Maddyn leaned back in the curve of the wall and watched him plunge into the crowd like a swimmer into rough water. Across the hall, Bellyra sat gazing up at Maryn in wifely devotion. He tried looking elsewhere, but always, it seemed, some dweomerlike power drew him back to watching her. He considered leaving the great hall, but just as Owaen returned with two tankards of ale, Bellyra stood up, glancing around her. He saw her speak briefly to Maryn, then gather her women around her and head for the st
“What are you looking at?” Owaen said. “Are you going to take this blasted tankard or not?”
“My apologies,” Maddyn said. He took the tankard and had a sip. “I just noticed that the princess looks unwell again.”
Owaen looked where he pointed. “She does, at that. The noise in here won't help.”
“Just so.” Maddyn had a long swallow of ale. He would get drunk, he decided. It was as good a way to spend a feast as any, and then perhaps he could stop remembering her mouth on his, and the way she'd clung to him.
Bellyra was expecting that Prince Maryn would preside over the feast until late, but it was still early when he came to the bedchamber he shared with his wife. Bellyra had put on her best nightdress and combed her hair down over her shoulders, the way he liked it. She lit candles in the sconces, then lay down on the bedcover and waited, drowsing against the pillows. When he opened the door, the noise startled her, and she sat up straight, one hand at her throat.
“Oh, my poor Lyrra,” Maryn said. “Did I frighten you?”
“Not in the least.” She yawned, covering her mouth with both hands. “You just woke me, that's all.”
He smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. When she held out her hand, he took it, patted it, and released it again.
“It saddens my heart to see you so gaunt,” Maryn said. “You've not been well, your women tell me.”
“I feel a good deal better now, with you here.”
“Good. I've been thinking about these—these illnesses of yours. I know full well that they come from giving birth. I can't stand the thought of putting you through this ever again.”
All at once the warm night turned cold around her. He was watching her so sadly, so affectionately, really, that she fished for words but caught none.
“You've always been my partner in rulership,” Maryn went on, “and truly, how could any man hope for a better one? It's a fine way to repay you, risking your life in childbed, making you suffer afterwards.”