The Fire Dragon by Katharine Kerr
“Here! It's not like you've done anything harmful to me. Some women just take childbirth this way.”
“If I keep getting you with child, then I will have harmed you. Lyrra, think! How long can you endure all this? You don't eat, you weep all day, you can neither sleep nor wake—it wrings my heart to see it.” He was speaking with real feeling, real concern, perhaps the most he'd ever shown her. “We've got three healthy sons. That's enough. The line will stand secure without you going through these torments again.”
For a brief moment she tried to do what he wanted, to think calmly, to weigh risks, but the moment broke in a flood of tears.
“But I love you,” she sobbed. “Can't you see that?”
He sat so still that even through her tears she realized that he was terrified. Her weeping stopped. She grabbed the hem of her nightdress and wiped her face, snuffled back the rest of the tears, caught her breath in a long deep sigh, and faced him.
“You mean ever so much to me, too,” Maryn said. “But that's why I can't risk getting you with child again. There's a bedchamber in my apartments, up at the top of the broch. I'll be sleeping there from now on.”
Or in your little mistress's bed, you mean. Aloud, Bellyra said, “Very well, my lord. Far be it for me to say otherwise.”
“Oh stop it!” Maryn got up and paced a few steps away, only to turn back. “I'm not handing down a judgment upon you. Lyrra, please, can't you see? I'm frightened for you.”
She could see, and the seeing killed her rage. “True spoken,” she said. “Some women would thank you for this, Marro. I know that.”
“Don't do that either! I—ye gods, this hasn't been an easy decision for me to make.”
“Truly?”
“Truly. I honor you more than any woman in the world, Lyrra. I don't know how I'd rule without you.”
There were women who would have cut off an arm to hear their husbands say that as well. She forced herself to smile, to murmur thanks, to reassure him by telling him how flattered she was, but by the time he finally left the chamber, she wondered if she hated him as much as ever she'd loved him. The two passions seemed to twine together round her heart and choke it.
“Other women truly would thank the Goddess for a husband like him,” she said aloud. “Ah well, I suppose I'll get used to it.”
Now that she was alone, she could weep all she wanted, but she no longer felt like tears. She lay back on the pillows and watched the candlelight dancing on the beams until at last she fell asleep. All night she dreamt of Maddyn and the sweaty, desperate kisses they had shared out in the ward.
Lilli stayed late in Nevyn's chamber. She told him of the past few months' happenings in the dun and listened to his tales of the battle and of Braemys's strange withdrawal from the kingdom. It was like Braemys, as she thought about it, to find some third way out of a situation where other men would only see death or victory.
“He's got our mother's craftiness,” Lilli said. “but he'd never poison anyone or suchlike.”
“He wouldn't need to,” Nevyn said. “He was going to be a great lord in his own right.”
She nodded, then suddenly yawned with a great gulp for air. She covered her mouth with both hands, then yawned again. Nevyn got up and went to his window. He leaned out, looking up.
“Judging from the stars, it's quite late,” Nevyn said. “You'd best go get some sleep, but I'll walk you across the ward. From the sounds of revelry down there, I'd say that a good many of the prince's men are blind drunk.”
They crossed the ward safely, and Nevyn insisted on escorting her to the foot of the staircase inside the great hall as well. By then most of the celebration had moved outside, though some riders lay asleep and snoring in the straw under the tables. Across the hall at the table of honor, a few lords sat drinking, but there was no sign of Maryn. Lilli climbed a few steps up, then turned to bid Nevyn good night.
“I'll see you in the morning,” he said. “Humph, I hope our prince isn't waiting for you in your chamber.”
“Oh ye gods!” Lilli laid a hand at her throat. “Well, I'll pray he's not.”
The Goddess apparently heard her prayer, because when she reached her chamber, she found it empty. She barred the door behind her before she went to bed.
Lilli woke suddenly to see sunlight pouring through her window and someone banging on her door. It's Maryn, she thought. For a moment she could neither move nor breathe.
“Lilli?” It was Anasyn's voice. “Aren't you awake yet?”
“I just am.” Lilli called out, then laughed in relief. “Here, hold a moment. I'll come unbar the door.”
She slipped on a dress, then opened the door. She was smiling, glad to see her brother returned safely, but the anger snapping in his eyes killed her welcome. He strode in, slammed the door shut, and leaned against it with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Your hair,” Anasyn snapped. “Well, at least you've had the decency to mourn your betrothed.”
Lilli began to tremble. “You know about the prince, then,” she whispered.
“I do. Ye gods, Lilli! Betrothed to one man, dishonoring yourself with another! What would Bevva have thought?”
In her mind Lilli could imagine her foster-mother's face: not angry, no, but sad, so sad and disappointed that her beloved foster-daughter had sunk so low. Lilli sobbed aloud, one quick gulp. “I tried to say him nay.” She could hear her voice shaking. “Truly I did.”
“Oh?” Anasyn peeled himself off the door. “Nevyn told me that the prince hadn't forced you.” He laid one hand on his sword hilt. “Did he lie?”
“He didn't! Sanno, please! He just—I mean, the prince just—he kept courting—he wouldn't leave me alone!”
Anasyn caught her by the shoulders so hard that his hands hurt her, but she refused to cry out. He was staring into her eyes, his long thin face set in a scowl.
“What are you thinking of doing?” Lilli gasped. “You can't challenge him to a combat, you just can't! He's got to become high king, or the wars will never end.”
Her implication—that of course Anasyn would win such a duel—seemed to soothe him considerably. He let her go and stepped back. Lilli crossed her arms over her chest so she could rub her aching shoulders.
“I'm sorry if I hurt you.” Anasyn looked suddenly weary. “And I shan't challenge the prince. You're right enough. Ending the wars means more than your wretched squandered honor.”
“I'm sorry. How did you find out?”
“Nevyn told me. No doubt he thought I'd best hear it from him rather than from some drunken rider or servant.” Anasyn sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “How am I going to find you a decent husband now?”
“I don't want a husband.”
He looked up narrow-eyed, seemed about to speak, but she forestalled him.
“All I want is the dweomer,” Lilli said, and her voice had turned firm and clear. “I don't truly even want the prince.”
“You don't need to lie to please me.”
“I'm not. Telling you—I just saw how true it is.”
“Very well, then. But what will he think of this?”
“I don't know. But ye gods, Sanno, half the women in the kingdom will be ever so happy to console him.”
Anasyn sighed with a shake of his head. Lilli laid a timid hand on his chest.
“Please forgive me, Sanno? I never meant to dishonor you, truly I didn't. I was half-mad at first, thinking I loved him, and he is the prince. I was flattered, I guess. Truly, truly flattered.”
“No doubt any woman would be. Lilli, Lilli! Very well. I won't hold it to your shame, but if you were to renounce him, well, it would make me a happy man. You can always come back to Hendyr, if things turn bad here. Abrwnna and I will gladly take you in.”
“My thanks. But with Nevyn on my side, I doubt if it will come to that.”
“Just so.” All at once he smiled at her. “I was forgetting just how powerful the old man is in the court.” He gave her a brotherly k
“My thanks. Let me just finish dressing.”
It was late in the day before Lilli saw Prince Maryn, and then it was only from a distance. She was walking out in the main ward when he and his vassals rode in, followed by an honor guard. Lilli took shelter in the shadow of one of the outbuildings and watched while the noble-born dismounted. They were laughing, joking with one another, and Maryn himself smiled, happier in a quiet sort of way than she'd ever seen him. She could guess that they'd been to the temple of Bel and been told that soon he would be proclaimed king. She waited till they'd all gone inside before she resumed her walk.
Yet Lilli knew that she would have to confront him, and soon, but for all she knew, it might be days before he could get a moment free to visit her. She spent the evening in her chamber, waiting, mulling over what she might say to him, and above all, reminding herself that the glamours she would see were the result of Nevyn's dweomer and the wild energies it had summoned. Her candles had burned down to the last few inches before she heard his soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called out. “It's not barred.”
Maryn strode in, shut the door, then stood smiling at her. In the soft and dancing light he looked so beautiful that for a moment she forgot her resolve. She rose from her chair, but as she did so, she caught sight of the Wildfolk of the air, hovering around him, showering him with their unnatural beauty, all silver and pale.
“My lady,” Maryn said. “I've missed you badly.”
“Have you, Your Highness?” Lilli said.
“Don't call me that. I'm just your Marro.”
Here was the moment. Lilli forced herself to remember her image of Lady Bevyan's disappointed eyes.
“Not mine any longer,” Lilli said. “My prince, the time has come for us to end this thing between us.”
He stared, his mouth a little open, eyes narrow with sheer disbelief. Ever so slightly he shook his head in a reflexive no.
“My betrothed is dead,” Lilli went on. “I'd honor him decently by mourning him.”
Maryn let out his breath in a sharp sigh. “Of course,” he said. “I'd forgotten about poor Branoic.”
“I've not. I'll never be able to forget him. I loved him, truly loved him.”
Again he shook his head. He took one step toward her; she took a step back.
“Losing him made me realize what love is,” Lilli said. She paused, gasping for breath. “And, Your Highness, I fear me that I don't love you. I admire you more than any man in the kingdom. I hold you in my heart as high king. I was ever so flattered when you wanted me. But it's not love, and truly, I think me you'd be content with nothing less.”
Maryn grunted as if someone had kicked him. He sat down on the edge of the bed and continued staring at her, his grey eyes hard and cold, the color of storm clouds. Lilli had run out of prepared speech. She clasped her shaking hands together and waited.
“I'd hoped for a better welcome than this,” he remarked at last. “You can't mean this.”
“I do mean it, Your Highness.”
“I understand about the grief. It would be truly unseemly for you to fall into my arms with Branoic just gone. But griefs pass, my lady, and your heart will change.”
“It won't.” Lilli felt oddly calm. “I'm sorry, Your Highness, because I never wanted to wound you. But I've seen the truth of my feelings for you now, and I know them. I cannot love you, I just simply cannot.”
“I don't believe it.”
“Please try. Ye gods, Maryn, you've got a wife who loves you more than life itself! Why must you have me, too?”
Much to her surprise he considered the question, his eyes grave. “I have the wife the kingdom demanded,” he said at length. “But I'm a man like any other. What man do you know who's content with one woman all his life?”
She'd made a tactical mistake, she realized. The only man she'd ever known to be content with one woman was her foster-father. How to turn the prince's thrust aside? She felt her breath halt in her throat, and she gulped for air. Maryn got up and held out his hand.
“Are you all right?” he said. “Come sit down, and I'll stand.”
She shook her head no and caught her breath at last. “Maryn, please,” she said. “Have all the women you want. I just can't be one of them.”
“It's because you pity her, isn't it?” Maryn said. “Bellyra, I mean.”
“That's somewhat of it, Your Highness. You're the prince and may do as you like, but I'd not be the woman who adds to the princess's grief.”
“Oh come now! Bellyra was raised to be a king's wife. Our marriage was arranged when we were but children.”
“So? That means you love her the less, but it's different for her.”
“Nevyn's behind this, isn't he? No doubt he thinks you need to concentrate on your studies or some such. Or is he in love with you himself?”
“That thought dishonors you, Your Highness. Of course not!”
Maryn started to answer, then merely scowled with his lower lip stuck out. Lilli suddenly saw him as a child, a big, hulking child in a man's body, not much older than Prince Casyl, perhaps, screaming when his nursemaid took away some dangerous toy. Involuntarily she took a step back.
“Oh ye gods,” Maryn said. “Don't fear me! That's the most unkind thing you've done.”
Just in time Lilli stopped herself from blurting out the truth of her reaction. Instead she laid a hand on her throat as if, indeed, she feared he'd strike her. Maryn tossed his head and stamped one foot upon the floor.
“Very well,” he snarled. “You no longer love me. Far be it from me to force myself upon some unwilling lass. But we'll see, my fine lady, how long your resolve lasts.” He bowed to her with a mocking flourish of his hand, then turned and strode out of the chamber.
Lilli listened until his footsteps had died away, then rushed to the door, shut it, and barred it. She leaned her head against its solid wood and concentrated on breathing. In some short while her tormented lungs began to ease. She walked over to her chair and sat down, staring out the window, where the stars glittered, cold and fierce in the warm summer night.
“I'm going to miss him,” she said aloud.
The moment she spoke she knew that she'd lied. What she felt was profound relief, that at last her mind and heart belonged to the dweomer alone.
Nevyn was in the great hall, talking with young Prince Riddmar, when Maryn came hurrying down the staircase. Since the Wildfolk lent strength to his every mood, his rage announced itself to everyone around. This late there were few riders or lords about to see the display, and Nevyn was glad of it. Maryn stormed across the hall, yelling at a page who approached him, kicking a dog out of his way, snarling at a servant lass to get him mead and be quick about it. He threw himself into his chair at the table of honor and scowled at Riddmar and Nevyn impartially. “Get to bed, Riddo,” Maryn said. “Now.” All wide eyes, the boy got up and started to bow. Maryn raised himself half out of his chair. Riddmar turned and ran for the staircase. Maryn sat back down. The servant lass crept toward him with a goblet in her hand; Maryn snatched it out of her grasp and let her run, too. Nevyn waited to speak until he'd drunk half the goblet straight off.
“Your Highness seems distressed about somewhat,” Nevyn said.
Maryn glared at him over the rim of the goblet, then took another sip.
“Treachery among your vassals?” Nevyn went on.
Maryn lowered the goblet and sighed. “You'll hear the truth of it anyway,” he said. “Your apprentice has decided that she loves me no longer.”
“Ah. I see.”
“She tells me that you had naught to do with this.”
“I didn't. I'm as surprised as you are.” Nevyn spoke the simple truth. He'd never thought that Lilli would be able to hold to her resolve.
“Very well.” Maryn stared into his goblet and swirled the mead. “The kingdom's full of lovely lasses.”
“It is.
“Some of them a good bit more womanly than her. Ye gods, people must think I'm a miser. My wife and my mistress both look half-starved.” Maryn's mouth twisted. “Forgive me, I mean my former mistress.”
Those few people in the great hall had all turned to watch their prince; they stood silently, staring at him. Maryn finished the mead in another long swallow.
“I'm retiring to my apartments.” Maryn stood up. “Tomorrow we'll need to meet in council.”
“Whenever His Highness commands.”
Maryn stalked off, kicking another dog, grabbing a wayward chair and throwing it to the floor. He bounded up the staircase. Nevyn had the feeling that everyone in the hall held their breath until at last he disappeared at the top. It was a lucky thing, he decided, that the prince had a good many urgent affairs of state these days to occupy his mind.
The prince had been gone but a little while, and Nevyn himself was thinking of leaving the great hall, when
Lady Elyssa came hurrying down the staircase. She glanced around, saw Nevyn, and trotted over to him.
“My lord,” Elyssa said. “There's somewhat I need to ask you.”
“Let me guess. You want to know if it's true that Lilli's ended her affair with the prince.”
“Exactly that.” Elyssa smiled, but wryly. “Do you know?”
“The prince himself told me, and I see no reason for him to lie.”
“Me either.” Her smile turned sunny. “I'll just be getting back, then. This will gladden Her Highness's heart.”
With Nevyn home, Lilli returned to her habit of fetching them both breakfast on her way to his tower room. When she went down that next morning, she was terrified that Maryn would be in the great hall, but a page told her that the prince had risen early and gone out for a ride on his favorite horse.
“Not alone, surely?” Lilli said.
“Of course not, my lady. His silver daggers went with him.”
Lilli got a basket of bread and a chunk of cheese from a servant lass, then carried it to the main door. On the threshold she hesitated, because out in the main ward the grooms, pages, and menservants were leading the stabled horses out to drink in the watering troughs, so many that she might get kicked or stepped upon in the confusion. In the clammy heat, the smell of horse lay thick under a cloudy sky. Lilli turned back, crossed the great hall, and started out the back door in order to go round to Nevyn's broch by another way. Familiar voices stopped her, sounding just outside, talking and laughing together: Degwa and Oggyn. Rather than face Degwa's haughty looks, Lilli waited, hoping they'd just move on.