The Princess's Dragon (3 page)

As for her mother, Sondra felt her nervous stomach lurch when she glanced at the queen. They shared a complicated relationship. She loved her mother dearly but never seemed to please her, no matter how hard she tried.

She possessed neither Elona’s cleverness nor Sarai’s grace and beauty. She hadn’t been the boy child her mother so hoped for and disappointed the queen even from the moment of her birth. Her mother always sounded exasperated with her and everything she did. The queen passed her austere and delicate beauty to her two eldest daughters; Sondra bore none of her loveliness. Her mother’s face appeared unmarked by time, though Sondra knew that closer up, beneath the powder she always wore, fine lines of worry wove their tapestry over her once-flawless skin. She also knew that the cool blond hair beneath her jeweled circlet owed its youthful color to Sondra’s own invention, a dye made from Lantis seed that only Sondra knew how to prepare.

“I’m surprised to see you here first, Sondra,” said Sarai as she drifted gracefully toward the curtained portal, trailing her own group of slightly older and no less insipid giggling, gossiping ladies-in-waiting. The women moved past them in a rustle of stiff brocade, fluttering fans, and reeking perfumes through the doorway and over to the king and queen, where they curtsied gracefully and awaited the entrance of their royal charge.

“Finally, I can breathe again. Apparently not everyone bathed for this party.”

“Sondra! Really, must you be so outspoken?” Sarai glanced around nervously, fearing someone had overheard her sister’s rude remark.

“Oh, please, Henrik is the only one that heard and he won’t repeat it, will you, Henrik?” Sondra tapped the young palace guard standing at attention by the curtain with her feathered fan. Henrik simply blushed and stared straight ahead, determined to do his job perfectly despite the teasing of the youngest princess.

“Sondra! You shouldn’t interact with the guards like that; people might think you’re …” Sarai leaned forward and whispered almost inaudibly “…

flirting!” She wore a look of pure horror at the thought, as though such a rumor

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presented the worst possible speculation anyone could have about Sondra.

And indeed, Sondra pondered, in her world it probably was.

“You’re right, Sarai. By the way, you look beautiful this evening, as usual.”

“Thank you, so do you. Liliana can work miracles; with a ladies’ maid like her, how can you doubt the existence of magic?” Sarai asked, her beautiful, heavily lashed eyes wide and suspiciously innocent.

“Thank you, my dear, devoted sister. You always reserve a kind word for me,” Sondra replied sarcastically. Her sister simply smiled.

“Hey, what do you think of my new doublet?” Sergen, at just fifteen, already filled out the blue brocade doublet he wore. He possessed a promise of his father’s strength and vitality, as well as some of his mother’s grace and beauty, so it hardly surprised Sondra that he behaved just a little arrogantly. He affected a manly swagger as he approached his sisters, and both women stifled fond smiles. Despite his arrogance, he still possessed a boyish charm that made him likable, especially in the biased hearts of his big sisters.

“You look exceptionally handsome today, Sergen,” Sarai solemnly replied.

“Hmm, I don’t know, perhaps you’ve been eating too many scones, Sergie.

Is that a paunch I see developing?” Sondra teased, poking the horrified boy in his flat stomach with the tip of her fan.

“Sondra!” Sarai rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“A paunch!” Sergen clutched at his stomach, too distressed to object to Sondra’s use of his childish nickname.

“It is time for your entrance, Your Highness,” announced the steward, a balding man who resembled a particularly fussy bird, as he swept aside the curtain and motioned for the young prince. The boy glared back at Sondra and she cast him a saucy wink, knowing that some manner of frog, insect, or reeking fish would find its way into her chambers tonight as revenge for her teasing. Sergen turned, lifted his head high and strode through the curtains to the sound of his official name ringing through the ballroom. The crowd already gathered offered a rousing applause at the young heir’s entrance.

“It is your turn, Your Highness,” the steward motioned to Sarai. Sondra tried to ignore her clenching stomach while she watched her sister sweep through the portal, skirt held just so in one hand, lace fan tilted just so in the other, and her chin raised just high enough for a princess of the realm. Sondra’s parents beamed their approval and the steward announced her arrival to a crowd awed by her beauty.

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“The Princess Alistasaria Deliandra Andraselle Ariva.” The watching crowd bowed their heads, just as they had for the prince. No one curtsied or bowed for the lower-ranking heir and princesses in the presence of the king and queen. Sarai paused during the recital of her name and then descended the marble steps, first halting in front of her father to sink into a deep curtsy, then to her mother to dip slightly less, then to her brother where he stood on the dais to barely bob her head. Then she too, took her place beside him, to wait for the last princess, so that the party could officially begin.

“Your Highness,” said the steward, returning to where Sondra stood behind the curtain, just out of sight of the crowd. She clutched her stomach briefly, sucked in several cleansing breaths, snapped open her fan, and promptly sneezed when a stray feather flew free and tickled her nose. The sneeze dislodged some pins holding her silver circlet in place and it began migrating south, pushing her heavy hair before it as more pins came loose. The steward motioned imperatively to her, and she stepped forward, trying unsuccessfully to blow the stray hairs out of her eyes and tilting her head back in an effort to reset her circlet without using the hand even now positioning her fan, or the other gently grasping her skirt.

This was, of course, the position she stood in when the steward swept aside the curtain and the light of a thousand candles struck her full in the face, at the top of a flight of marble steps in front of hundreds of judgmental nobles, a king, and, worst of all, a critical mother. She froze in horror; head tilted so far back that everyone received a lovely view up her nostrils, her circlet flopping loose and dragging her hair with it, and a burning blush crawling up her neck and across her face. This time the silence felt more awkward than awed.

Then the steward, a true professional, cleared his throat and commenced with his announcement. “The Princess Casiondra Falanell Cristalona Ariva.” The watching crowd dipped their heads, many hiding smirks and fat, malicious smiles. Sondra took the opportunity to straighten up and reposition herself, unwilling to glance at her parents. She paused, counted out the requisite seconds in her head, and then proceeded down the steps as gracefully as she could with her face still on fire, until she stood in front of her father. She curtsied deeply, glancing obliquely at him to find him smiling with a genuine fondness and no hint of condemnation. Then she curtsied less deeply for her mother and spared a glance at a face frozen with disapproval. Sondra heaved a mental sigh and continued to her little brother. He smirked at her when she lifted her

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head from the bow, but she saw the strain of his barely contained laughter.

She bobbed her head to her sister who bestowed on her a compassionate and slightly amused smile. She then took her place on the dais beside her sister and they waited while the king welcomed all the guests, imploring them to enjoy his hospitality.

After his short welcoming speech he waved to the musicians in the galley, and music filled the ballroom. The crowd immediately broke apart and separated into many smaller groups to chat and gossip, the favorite pastime of bored nobility. The prince could barely restrain himself from bounding off the dais to join two other boys his age, a young duke and an heir to a barony.

Sondra groaned when she spotted her ladies-in-waiting descending upon her, and turned to Sarai only to discover that her sister’s keepers had already collected her and herded her off to bore her to tears. Sondra desperately considered her escape routes when a deep, amused voice startled her out of her contemplations.

“If you’re thinking of going out the window, you’ll never get there in time.

Every other exit is too far away for any pace other then an all-out sprint. I suggest you join me on the dance floor, Princess, and we will successfully evade them.”

Sondra glanced down at the weathered yet still incredibly handsome face of Derek, son of Calvin, and Warlord of Ariva. His close-cropped blond hair, deep-set eyes, and lowered brows seemed austere and forbidding to some, and frown lines etched across his forehead, giving the impression that he had not often found a reason to smile. Despite this, his finely sculpted lips were curved into a teasing smile for Sondra, revealing perfect white teeth. Her gaze roved hungrily over his face, admiring the purely masculine beauty he possessed, his strong chin, slender but prominent nose, and rugged, weathered skin made him appear as strikingly different from the other men at the ball as a wolf among the many toy dogs carried about by the noblewomen. No other man in the room managed to make the jewel-toned brocade doublet and tights look so incredibly masculine as he offered a strong, calloused hand to help her from the dais. Sondra smiled with relief, grasped her rescuer’s warm hand, and practically leapt off the dais to evade the gaggle of vapid girls.

“You saved me from a fate worse than death,” she gushed in relief. The man beside her glanced down at her, her head barely reaching his shoulder.

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Her delicate circlet continued the slide it started earlier and he gently reset it, careful not to draw attention to the action as he responded.

“What possible fate could be worse than death?” he teased, the corners of his intense blue eyes crinkling with feigned confusion.

“Boredom of course, then death … by boredom. So really, you saved me from a fate worse than death, than death itself. I owe you a great boon, brave knight.” Sondra smiled up at him.

Derek, a trained warrior and former mercenary with more hard-won wealth than nearly all of the nobles at this party, felt the power of that smile like a fist in his gut. When her father, the king, elevated him to the position of Warlord, a title unused by the peaceful kingdom in centuries, he felt a happiness that came rarely to him after a lifetime of blood and war, but that experience couldn’t compare to the way his heart lifted at the sight of Sondra’s smile. “I ask only that you bestow another smile upon me, Your Highness, that I may bask in your glory this evening.”

“Humph, well, since your valor comes so cheaply, perhaps I should suggest my father lower your pay.” Sondra playfully bumped his shoulder before taking up her position across from him for the dance.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Derek smiled wickedly at her, “perhaps I will request another boon.”

“Oh, and what would that be?” Sondra fluttered her lashes up at him as he took her hand and they moved down the line of glittering dancers.

“Why … let me think.” Derek paused and Sondra felt a strange pulse in her stomach that had nothing to do with social nerves and everything to do with the way he gazed down at her at that moment. “I know. I demand another dance from the most beautiful woman at the party.”

“Well, you shall have to seek out my sister and rescue her; I believe that even now she suffers the same fate that I so narrowly avoided.” Derek laughed, his head thrown back and his white teeth startling in his tan face. “You little imp, you know I referred to you.”

“Well, since you’ve obviously been enfeebled and left blind by all of your fighting and warring, I guess I shall have to humor you.” She smiled up at him.

“Blinded only by your smile, Princess.”

“Why, my Lord Derek, I had no idea you were such a poet,” Sondra laughed at his expression of horrified disgust.

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“Please, Your Highness, never suggest such a thing; my reputation is at stake,” he pleaded, and feigned concerned dread.

“I suppose I shall keep your secret, my Lord.”

“Well, that’s a relief; my men would never let me forget it otherwise!” Sondra couldn’t help laughing out loud at the exaggerated relief on his face as they turned, he taking her other hand, and they again swept down the line of dancers. The pain in her stomach eased and a new feeling replaced it as she looked up into the face of the man she adored. One thing she recognized was that she was finally starting to enjoy herself, bantering with a long-time friend who knew the girl behind the mask and still seemed to like her.

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CHAPTER 3

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Fourteen cycles after the annual summer party, Sondra struggled with her sketch of an Asterix lily, the logical-looking diagram failing to capture the beauty of the gently curling petals, or the unique brindled coloration within the center of the snowy fl ower. Her lady’s maid, Liliana, and her escort guard suff ered other concerns, their eyes drawn to the boiling, charcoal-colored storm front and the curtain of rain that rolled over the mountains in the north, specifi cally the dreaded Th under Mountain.

While the afternoon sun still shone brightly upon the three of them and their increasingly nervous horses in the wind-whipped meadow, the crack of thunder grew ever closer as the front advanced with terrifying speed. Th ough they were

not far from the castle walls, the closest shelter from the storm lay within the Woods, a place neither the guard nor the maid intended to brave no matter what threatened them. Th

ey would rather chance being struck by skyfi re than risk encountering the shadowy denizens of that haunted place.

A fierce wind snapped Sondra’s page and her pen stuttered across the parchment, leaving ugly blots of ink behind. Frustrated, she stuffed the mess back into her workbox and stood, shaking out her skirts, only then noticing the advancing storm. She stopped for a moment, awed as always by the power and beauty of the deadly storm, a primal excitement uncurling deep within her. Someday she planned to travel to the north and solve the mystery of why the most ferocious storms always rolled down from that direction. For the moment she simply drank in the sight of the clouds creeping forward like a hunting predator waiting to break upon the unsuspecting valley with all the ferocity of a wild beast.