Dragonfly (12 page)

She curled up in the corner, hiding her face under the sleeve of the robe, aware that many people were coming and going by the grating in her cell door to stare at the foreigner. Her heart was filled with bitterness and shame.

She realized now that she had only been allowed her robes so she could be ceremonially stripped of them before

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the eyes of Fergox's court. She had unwittingly played into his hands by coming dressed as the Fourth Crown Princess.

I should have gone as barefoot Tashi in rags, then perhaps they would have
spared me,
she thought miserably.

But no, that seemed unlikely. Fergox was set on defeating her, forcing her to submit to his bloodthirsty god. There was no question of sparing her.

And would she bow to this god eventually? The Mother seemed to have abandoned her; did it matter whom she worshipped now?

She groaned softly, then bit her lip to stop any further betraying noises. Yes, it did matter. Not for the Fourth Crown Princess, not even for the Blue Crescent Islands, but for Tashi. Fergox had taken away everything she'd had since she was twelve--respect, power, position--but she would not let him take away the girl who had said her prayers to the sun each morning, accompanied only by her goats.

Tashi shivered, hearing sniggering at the door. It was easy to make such proud statements; so much harder to live by them. She rubbed her cold feet, trying to bolster her resolve.

I
have known a mother's love and so surely the great Mother of us all is
worth serving even when she appears to have turned her favor away?

That wasn't enough, not nearly enough against the humiliation she was suffering. What else could she use to protect herself against despair?

A true believer goes on believing even when all else is lost.

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It's the last thing I have to hold on to. If I let go of that, then I have lost my
soul. I've killed Tashi.

But grim determination didn't stop her feeling wretched. Nor did it stop her tears. She did not care what the onlookers thought. She was still, after everything, only a young girl. Only human. She hoped they would remember that.

Alone in his chamber, Ramil fumed, pacing up and down. He had watched that whole sorry farce unwillingly--a naked sword poked in his back by the guard behind him. It had been made very clear to him that if he spoke, or even tried to leave, the guard would run him through on Fergox's orders.

Ramil thumped the wall. The poor Princess had walked to her doom without any idea what lay in store. She had been humiliated before everyone, but at least she had not gone quietly. He mentally applauded her defiance. Under that Blue Crescent reserve there was a fine, spirited girl. He wondered how he had not noticed back in Gerfal. But what must she be thinking and feeling now, holed up somewhere with those priests? He was desperate to do something for her, to let her know that she had a friend in the castle. It would do no harm to his own pride to explain that he had been forced to watch her ritual shaming. He could not bear her thinking he collaborated in it with Fergox.

Ramil looked around his room for inspiration and

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noticed the desk under the window. A sheet of paper lay ready for any letters he cared to write. Pushing the inkpot aside, he picked up the paper and set to work.

"Princess, Princess!"

Tashi raised her head to the door. It was getting dark and even colder. She felt as if her feet and hands had turned to ice. But no one all day had called her "Princess." "Witch," "demon" and other even worse names, but not that.

"Who is it?" she asked tentatively.

"Ramil."

Tashi was not sure she was pleased to hear his voice. He'd seen what had happened and made no effort to stop it. Her cheeks flushed at the memory.

"To what do I owe the honor?" she replied, taking refuge in sarcasm.

"I ... I wanted to give you this." He held out something white. "It's all right. I got permission from the priests to be here. I told them I was going to rescue you from evil ways. I don't think I and the red brethren had quite the same thing in mind, but they agreed I could see you nonetheless."

Stiffly, Tashi got to her feet and moved to the door. The only light came from the lantern out in the corridor where he stood. It was very hard to see what he had in his hand.

"Go on, take it," Ramil urged.

She reached out and took a tiny paper model.

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"What is it?"

"A dragonfly." Ramil sounded sheepish. "I'm not very good at it. Yours was much better but it was the best I could do."

The crude dragonfly quivered in her hand.

"Thank you." Tashi found that she was crying again. Before this journey, she hadn't wept for years, and now she couldn't stop the tears coming. "I am very touched that you thought to do this for me."

"Come here." Ramil stretched his arm as far as he could to brush the tears from her face. His thumb gently traced the line of her cheekbone. She really was very pretty, he realized. "I just wanted to tell you that you were magnificent in there. And you have never looked more royal to me than now."

She shook her head.

"No, Princess, I mean it. And what is more, I regret every stupid thing I've said and done in your presence. I'm to blame for this and I promise you, Your Highness, that I'll think of a way of rescuing you. If you'll let me, of course."

Tashi leant her face against the door, comforted by his hand just touching her cheek. "I don't understand what I've done--why he is doing this to me,"

she said bleakly. "Is he making the same demands of you?"

"Not exactly," admitted Ramil. "He's using us to make our countries go to war and then he is going to take them over. Me, well, me he wants as a puppet prince married to one of his Spearthrowing daughters,

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God help me, and you he wants to present to the Blue Crescent Islanders as his bride."

Tashi shuddered, revolted by the thought of Fergox touching her again, let alone marrying her. "But I can't, I don't ... he thinks I'm an infidel."

"He believes you'll convert. He wants to use you to smooth the way to the change of state religion in your home."

"I'd rather die first."

Ramil nodded. It was exactly as he expected. "I promise I won't let it happen."

Tashi gave a sad laugh.

"I know you don't think I have it in me, but I'm going to get you out of here. It will just take time and planning. We can't rush into it like we did on the road; we'll work together, not separately. I came tonight to beg that you will not give up hope."

"I'll try not to, Prince Ramil."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Call me Ram. It's what my friends all call me."

"In that case, I'm Tashi." She paused. "But that's not what my friends call me back home."

"What do they call you?"

"The Princess Taoshira, Fourth Crown Princess of the Blue Crescent Islands and dependent territories. We're very formal, you know."

Ramil smiled. "I've noticed. And I also think, Princess Taoshira of the rest of it, that you are making a joke."

Tashi nodded, her face wrinkling into an answering

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smile. "But you can call me Tashi. It's my family name. I don't feel very much like the Princess Taoshira right now."

"Thank you, Tashi." Ramil dug in his pocket. "Oh, and I should have given this to you when we first met. I hope it's not too late." He handed her a second paper model. Tashi took it from him, looking puzzled. "It's a horse."

She put her hand over her mouth to disguise her amusement. "And very like it is too, sir."

"It's my personal sign. It's me."

Tashi stopped laughing. "Oh, I'm sorry. I must have offended you--"

He put his finger gently to her lips. "No, no, you forget, I am not an Islander but an ignorant boor. We do not take offense easily. Just look after it for me, will you? And remember, I'm coming back for you."

She appreciated the sentiment but knew better than to expect so much.

"Good night, Ram," she said sadly. "And Goddess bless you."

Ramil saluted. "Farewell, Tashi. God be with you."

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King Lagan's spies returned with disturbing news from Brigard. A young man answering the Prince's description had been seen tied to a circus wagon and forced to walk miles. The same spies had reported no sign of the Princess.

The King debated the news with his chief advisers long into the night. Could it be Ramil? Lagan supposed he should be thankful that it sounded as if his son was alive, but how had he been smuggled across the border and why?

Had he been betrayed by the Blue Crescent people? Had the Princess arranged for him to be abducted and then disappeared to make it look as if she had nothing to do with it? Lagan found his age-old distrust of the strange Westerners resurfacing. Why was his son the one being dragged to a humiliating fate in Brigard and their Princess nowhere to be seen? She could even now be hidden aboard one of their vessels, using this as a chance to declare war on Gerfal. After all, you never really knew what those white-faced women were thinking.

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The next reports from his spies in Brigard added further to the alarm and confusion.

"Your Majesty," said the forest warden, kneeling before the King in the council chamber, "I have ridden far into Brigard disguised as a farmer and return with a harvest of grave news. Fergox Spearthrower is massing his armies all along our border. Reports from Felixholt, Niril, and Manford tell the same tale: soldiers are arriving from all over the Empire and digging in for the winter. It is likely they mean to make an assault on us come the spring thaw."

"We have feared this for some time," said King Lagan, glancing at the stern faces of his ministers gathered around him. "And we are prepared."

While trying to appear confident before his subjects, Lagan thought privately that his divisions, strung out in a thin line along the Brigardian border, were unlikely to be able to withstand this attack. If only the alliance had gone ahead, he would have a navy to defend his coasts and troops to spare for the border where the blow would fall first. But now, he had to prepare for an attack from the sea as well as by land.

"And, Sire, I bring other news," the warden continued, looking uncomfortable.

"Is it of my son?" Lagan asked eagerly, sitting forward.

"Yes, Sire. A merchant friendly to us in Felixholt told me that his royal highness had been seen. He is a guest of Fergox himself in the citadel."

"A prisoner, you mean?"

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"My informant was not certain. He only knew that Prince Ramil had been present at the testing of someone he called 'the Blue Crescent witch.' I think he meant the Fourth Crown Princess."

Lagan sat back. "Testing? What does that mean?"

"According to my man, she was denounced as a heretic, stripped of the symbols of her rank, and is now a penitent in the houses of the priesthood of Holin the Warmonger."

Lagan closed his eyes briefly, remembering the innocent face of the girl he had talked to on the terrace. He regretted now that he had suspected her.

She too was caught in Fergox's trap. But how had she got there and what part had his son played?

"And my son was present at this ceremony?"

"Apparently so, Sire."

"Willingly?"

"I do not know."

The councillors sat in silence while the news sank in. They all knew that Ramil had despised his intended bride, but to take her to Fergox for such treatment would be unforgivable. And how did that balance with the story that Ramil himself had been dragged to the Spearthrower's court?

"Your Majesty." Lord Usk was on his feet. "I beg leave to go in search of Prince Ramil."

"And I," added Hortlan and Yendral.

Lagan sighed. He knew how they felt. If he did not have to attend to the affairs of the nation, he would jump on a horse and go and find his boy himself.

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"I understand your concern, my lords. God knows, I feel it too, but I need all my young warriors with me at this time. An army stands between us and Rami! if the reports are correct. You would be riding to your deaths. Your duty now lies with the men of your houses and lands. We will soon have a fight on our hands; every one of you has a part to play in defending Gerfal."

"But, Sire!" protested Usk.

Lagan raised his hand. "I appreciate your zeal for my son but there is nothing you can do. I will not believe he stays of his own free choice: he is a prisoner of war. I fear we will hear all too soon Fergox's conditions for his release."

"What of the Blue Crescent delegation, Your Majesty?" asked Lord Taris.

"Should we tell them this news?"

King Lagan tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne. He was facing war with the most powerful naval empire in the world all because of a

misunderstanding. He needed some brilliant stroke to avoid it, but what?

Some gesture of good faith, a pledge of his son's honor. (Ramil had to be innocent, he had to be!)

"I have little doubt that the Blue Crescent will have their own informants in Spearthrower's court. They will hear this news eventually. Far better if we show our friendly intentions by revealing it now. Summon the delegates and--" Lagan ran his hand across his brow, weary and grief-stricken. It was hard to think like a king when he was full of the worries of a father "--wake the Princess Briony. I will require her to be present at our meeting with the delegates."

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An hour later, the Etiquette Mistress and Chief Priest were sitting opposite the King. A tousle-haired princess perched on his knee, half asleep, a robe over her nightgown and her favorite doll on her lap. Lagan hugged her fiercely.

"You'll have to trust me, Briony," he said in a low voice. "You'll come to no harm."

Briony, who hadn't been worried before, now felt alarmed. She stared anxiously at the strangers opposite, wondering what was going on.

At a sign from the King, Lord Taris presented the delegation with a copy of the written report by the Gerfalian spies. Lagan gave them a chance to read it, then spoke.