A Shade of Dragon 3 Page 5

I grimaced. “I’ll need to curl up into a ball,” I said. “And you’ll need to carry the satchel on your back.”

  As the sun came over the ocean and made it sparkle, I wrapped myself in clothing, climbed into the satchel and closed it over my head, everything going dark. Next, I felt the leather confines lift off of the ground and heard the steady beat of massive wings, jostling me back and forth, bearing onward to Everwinter.

  Nell

  It was difficult to decide which was worse: dangling from manacles with raw wrists and sore shoulders, needing desperately to pee and sleep, or trudging through the palace corridors behind Queen Michelle in all her bejeweled glory. They were both torturous; they were just completely different brands of torture.

  After my own bath—which had been cold, brief, and under the supervision of guards and Michelle herself, unlike the luxurious basin in which I had soaked as Lethe’s future queen—I had to manicure Michelle’s razor-sharp fingernails. She demanded that I accompany her to the indoor garden and pluck a wreath of roses for her hair. Ugh. I had to thread them into her braids after braiding her hair myself. She rambled on and on about the pleasures of palace life as my eyes drifted tiredly over the walls and ceilings. I wished to be put out of my misery. She had always been the most boring of hostesses—though I supposed she was no longer my hostess. She had become my mistress. My worst nightmare realized. I conducted myself in an honorable manner in the past, not only because it was decent… but to avoid becoming beholden to toxic individuals like Michelle. And here I was. Her favorite slave.

  After the manicure, and the roses, and her hair, she was as content as a housecat, and I was bone-tired. I still hadn’t slept at all from the night before, compounded upon night after night of poor sleep after Theon and I had been separated. After he had abandoned me on that beach.

  “Michelle…? Do you think that I might be excused to my sleeping quarters?”

  She smiled and raised one brow.

  “But I will need accompaniment for the physician’s inspection this afternoon,” she said. “I cannot spare you, Penelope. What if I drop something? Would I then pick it up myself? No, no, no. That does not befit an ice queen. It is important that my hands remain as soft as a baby’s butt.”

  “Why do you have a doctor’s appointment?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you know, somehow. You are Mrs. Aena now, aren’t you? Then you’re aware of the pressure upon the women of the dragon culture, particularly royalty?”

  My throat constricted.

  “The pressure to bear a child?” she went on. “I only recently got married, and I’m still constantly at the physician’s office, being tested for fertility and pregnancy.”

  Her eyes glimmered. What she was telling me, in her own twisted way, was that she and Lethe were sleeping together. Very regularly.

  Poor Lethe.

  * * *

  On the way to the physician’s quarters in the western tower, we passed many areas with which I had already been made familiar back when I was in Michelle’s enviable position. But then, if the role was so interchangeable, was it really enviable? At least I knew that Theon would never discard and replace me so easily…

  A faint gold glow beckoned, twinkling from one open doorway into the hallway. My expression soured as I remembered what was housed in that room: the mystical astrolabe. It made me bitter to recall how close my efforts had brought the fire dragons to victory, to reclaiming their homeland… and how Michelle, the traitor, had undone it all in one fell swoop. I didn’t think I’d ever understand her reasoning: to avoid returning home, to her life, to the consequences of her little everyday decisions? Wouldn’t she just replicate them here? Or was her motivation empowerment within this society of thieves and murderers? Who would want to hold domain over such creatures?

  Michelle glanced at me, perhaps sensing that the sight of the astrolabe would upset me, as she had known me well on Earth. The room was filled with servants, busily tinkering in the gears and spines of the astrolabe. When I had tumbled, on the verge of freezing to death, the astrolabe in my ermine coat, it had crunched beneath my weight and been broken ever since. From that very moment, the sun had cracked through the cloud coverage again and the snow had begun to melt. My nerves had begun to thaw.

  But, as made obvious by the weather outside, the ice dragons had been busily “fixing” it ever since reclaiming it.

  Even now a team of five machinists huddled over the flat yellow disc, tinkering with its ticking pieces. They paid us absolutely no mind as we approached, entrenched in their handiwork.

  “What of the rete, Portella?” one of the machinists demanded of another.

  Portella, a harried, aging ice dragon with a speckling of blue scales along his cheek, glared up from his efforts, hooks held in both hands. His brow was speckled in beads of sweat.

  “It still will not budge,” he muttered.

  A gray-haired female rolled her eyes at him and grimaced. “We haven’t much time, you know.”

  “We have time enough,” Portella insisted. “It will just take me a while, but do not fear. The fire dragons will not regain the upper hand in this weather, even if the gods are on their side.”

  It took all my control to not lurch forward in amazement. Had the astrolabe jammed in a position to favor the fire people?

  Michelle, on the other hand, did not possess the grace of indifference. She crossed her arms over her chest, giving the machinist team a glare wintry enough to bring a swell of pride to Lethe’s breast, I was sure. “The rete froze in the exact position to benefit them in war? How is that even possible? It was broken. It should be random, meaningless gibberish.”

  “And it would have been,” Portella answered grimly, “if the ice dragons had been the only people to ever adjust its settings. But we were not. The fire dragons possessed this astrolabe for untold centuries, and in their time they not only forced our island to endure a perpetual summer, but also forced the stars to obey the path of their choosing.”

  I frowned with Portella and Michelle, wishing to deny it, though I had no place in doing so. I was the lowest servant imaginable—a human, a prisoner, a captive, and a traitor to the ice people. If Michelle didn’t have a personal attachment to me, I would likely be dead, so I held my tongue.

  Michelle, on the other hand, threw back her head and laughed. “You’re joking with me! The holier-than-thou fire people did the exact same thing to you that you did to them when you took over the palace?”

  But our welcome was wearing thin. They were clearly busy, and four of the five returned to their efforts. Only Portella sighed, his eyelids drooping, as he realized that he was trapped in conversation with the new queen. Apparently he, as well as I, found her insufferable.

  “Yes, my majesty,” he said. “The island should have four seasons, but never has. The rete was pre-set to a position which would favor the physiology of the fire people. That became clear to us when we first took the castle… and it took several days to reset the rete to our own standards. Now that it has been broken, many discs were fixed, but the rete returned to its presetting. Again, our team must dismantle its smaller pieces and turn the stars to a more favorable position. Until we do so, the fire dragons do have a… slight… advantage in battle.”

  My heart leapt, even if I didn’t know whether or not I believed in such things. Theon believed in them, and his people believed in them, and what had neurology taught me so far except that belief was more than half the battle?

  Now… if only I could find Theon again. Get hold of him. Get the message to him that he had a window in which the gods would tip the scale toward the fire dragons. I was certain he was safe, as news of his death would have traveled rapidly through the region. But where would he go after the shelter had been destroyed? Did he remain in the city?

  The look on Michelle’s face was the exact opposite of mine. Her countenance was frozen. My mother had told me long ago that a liar’s face would freeze up when they were caught, even if it froze in a smile.
A liar’s face would freeze up because they were afraid, and Michelle was afraid now.

  “How long do you think—” she began.

  “With all due respect, your majesty,” Portella interrupted, bowing, “the longer we discuss the mechanics of the astrolabe, the longer it remains an unknowing pawn of the fire dragon court.”

  Michelle blushed slightly and took a step back. “Naturally,” she agreed, turning and beholding me. I smothered the light of hope in my eyes and prayed she hadn’t caught its glimmer.

  “Let’s go, slave,” she commanded, sweeping past me and back into the hallway. “I’ve lost interest in the astrolabe. Let us return to my chambers so that I may have my afternoon nap. My doctor’s appointment can wait a while… While I sleep, it will be your responsibility to tend the fireplace and turn the crank on the barrel organ.”

  “Barrel organ?” I’d never heard of it, or seen it, but followed Michelle just the same. She turned back down the hall, toward her own room.

  “Yes. I need the music to help me sleep. It drowns out the way the wind bangs and moans around here, when a storm begins.” She glanced at me over her shoulder and her lip quirked. “Don’t worry,” she soothed me. “It’s so simple, a monkey could do it.”

  Nell

  It didn’t take Michelle long to fall asleep. It was amazing how easily she slid into the lap of luxury, how naturally she fit the mold of a spoiled princess, no matter in what time period or country or even dimension it occurred. She had been given the room which used to be mine when I lived in the palace. The bed remained near the window, hence her need for the fire to be constantly maintained—or else the room became quite frigid—and her need for the barrel organ to be played, drowning out the roar of the storms, which would come and go, throughout the course of the day and night.

  Now it was afternoon sometime, the sky overhead a low slate. The clouds were so thick and constant, it seemed nightfall was never more than an hour away, even in the early afternoon.

  I sat on a stool near the fire, enjoying its warmth—I supposed, once I got used to deflecting Michelle’s casual barbs, this world was better than the dungeon—with a barrel organ wedged between my knees. The barrel organ was the size of a small child, and it rolled on a set of well-oiled wheels for easy mobility. When the crank was turned, sheet music rolled past in a little window, indicating the song which was being played by the strange pipes housed within. It was automatic, and only capable of playing a handful of tunes. I’d been playing the same melody, a haunting but relaxing lullaby which I hoped would keep Michelle asleep… forever, frankly, and I didn’t care enough to switch out the sheets. Though my arm was tired, I continued to crank the organ, staring out the window at the sudden snowstorm hailing down on Everwinter. The weather here reflected the people of the city: chilly, then solemn, then violent. At times the air was clear, and then the sky would darken and snow would pummel the earth in chunks the size of insects.

  The door creaked open behind me and I jolted, turning to behold Lethe stepping inside. When he saw that I was here, too, he paused. I imagined it would be awkward to go to see your wife and instead find your former mistress, who you still loved in your own twisted way, sitting with her.

  “Nell,” he whispered, closing the door.

  My throat constricted. If Michelle awoke and found us speaking together, I shuddered to think what she would do to me. She was spiteful, and more toward me than any other female. Theon had not been swayed toward her during our time apart, and had gone on to marry me, which had hurt her enough. To see that her own husband whispered with me in some clandestine manner at her bedside? She’d have me beheaded.

  “I didn’t think she’d really do it,” he said, treading toward me. I almost recoiled from him, and I was glad that the barrel organ rested between us. I continued to turn its crank—plink, plink, plunk, plunk, plunk—to disguise the sound of our voices. “I told her not to… or that, if she must humiliate you, to put you somewhere that I wouldn’t have to see it.”

  I grimaced. Theon would never have said anything so gutless and self-serving to his wife. He didn’t mind if I was humiliated as a palace slave. He merely did not want to be made uncomfortable by watching it.

  “Well, she’s your queen, Lethe.” Plink, plink. Plunk, plink, plunk, plunk. “She’s more ice dragoness than I could ever be, I’ll tell you that.”

  “It’s almost frightening.” Lethe knelt at my side and I winced, wishing that he would get off his knees. Michelle couldn’t see this. She’d lose it. “My father loves her, you know, and he hates humans. But hell, she’s meaner than some ice dragonesses I know.”

  “Sounds perfect for you,” I muttered. Plink, plink. Plink, plink, plunk. I really wasn’t jealous. I was just sad for him. I wished he had the courage to stand up for what he wanted. I prayed that Theon would partake in that same courage, once he discovered that it was unlikely I could bear the heir he so ardently needed. The heir that his culture demanded.

  “Don’t say that.” Lethe’s eyes were warm and dark with sorrow. I remembered that particular shade of blue well. He was often filled with sorrow. “I would rather not, you know. I would rather not take a wife… not until I can love… as I loved you.”

  I grimaced. Did he have to bring that up? I couldn’t help that I was the first woman in his entire life to consider his feelings; hell, even I had misled him on a grand scale. If he considered what we had to have been great and true, then his bar really was quite low, and he could easily replace me. All he needed to do was pick anyone other than Michelle Ballinger. But marrying Michelle Ballinger was like falling in love with a vampire. She’d bleed him dry. She wouldn’t even be able to help it. She’d been built that way.

  “You didn’t have to marry her,” I reminded him as quietly as I could. Plink, plink, plink. “You could have waited. You didn’t have to be king yet.”

  “Oh, trust me, I had to be king… and my father was demanding a queen for the sake of appearance, if nothing else.” He placed his chill hand on my arm and squeezed. “I wish I could live in the way that you recommend, Penelope. I really do. But you don’t know what it’s like to have a father who is going mad, and rapidly so. The same happened to my grandfather. I worry that the same will happen to me one day.” Lethe pursed his lips and averted his eyes for the first time since entering the room. “It would seem to be the family curse—though it did carry us this far, didn’t it?”

  “Carry you where, Lethe?” I snapped, the crank going still in my hand. I’d spent my entire life taking responsibility, not only for myself, but for other people, too. Perhaps that was the reason a clique of socialites had gravitated toward me; they needed mothering like toddlers did, and I’d been unable to fail them. But I was tired of hearing it: the excuses, the complaints, the wallowing. After everything I had been through—the harpies, and leaving behind my family—twice!—and imprisonment, and abandonment by my husband… It was just enough. I was too exhausted to listen to one more whine from someone who kept allowing their life to be ruined, while I fought harder and harder every day to get back to Theon, back to happiness, back to those few simple, tranquil moments we’d been able to share.

  “Carry me where?” Lethe frowned. “Carry me to the throne of Everwinter, Nell.”

  I rolled my eyes. I had completely forgotten to turn the crank of the barrel organ at this point. “Carry you to the throne you never wanted? Don’t you mean that the family curse has thrust you this far, has forced you this far, like some kind of catapult? What brought you here? Really ask yourself, are you happy? Is this what you worked for, or was this some accident, some mistake? Think about it, Lethe. Do you want this life?”

  Lethe gaped up at me. “No one has ever asked me that,” he confessed.

  “Well, you should start to ask yourself,” I snapped. “Stop waiting for other people to ask you what you want. You live in a world where people will tell you what you want, and if you don’t fight, you’ll end up living their life—the life they’v
e assigned you—not your own. If you don’t want this crown, Lethe, reject it. If you don’t want this island, reject it. There are people out there who really do want those things.” Theon flooded up into my thoughts, but I shoved him away. It hurt too much to think about him whilst we remained separated. “If you don’t want the wife you have, particularly if you never did, particularly if you were coerced into the arrangement, for the gods’ sakes, leave. Because no one is ever going to ask you. You have to tell them. Tell them you don’t want this crown. Tell them you don’t want this woman. Tell them you don’t want this life.”

  Just as I had finished my diatribe—and perhaps, as my passions flamed, my voice might have risen with them—a throat cleared, and my eyes flew wider. I turned to where Michelle had been lying fast asleep. But now she was awake. She was awake, with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at the two of us. The window behind her had turned black with night, and the wind howled at her back.

  “Hello, Lethe,” she greeted. “Did you come to visit me, or her?”

  “I—I came to visit you, of course, my love,” Lethe stammered. If I wasn’t terrified for my own neck, I would’ve been disappointed in his gutless response. “We were just… talking.”

  Michelle smirked. “I heard,” she said. “My slave seems to know you very intimately, Lethe. Perhaps she would better serve us if she worked in some other capacity. After all, I apparently cannot even trust her to turn a simple crank while I sleep, can I? So, Lethe, darling, why don’t we assign Penelope here a task at which she might excel?”

  Lethe frowned. “And what would that be?”

  “Let her join the maid staff which cleans the bed pans of the royal family.” Michelle’s mouth split into a cruel grin. “If she knows you so well, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. It sounds as if she would treasure the position. I can’t imagine any way to get her nose deeper into other people’s business than to scrub it off of porcelain, can you?”