The Dragons' Chosen (35 page)

His face broke into a grin. The air slowed around him, stopping his change. The dragon shadow disappeared as he stepped toward me in human form.

A great clatter reached my ears as my father’s soldiers rode up from beyond the hill, flung themselves from their horses and raised their bows. I heard the call, “Loose the arrows,” and before I could stop them, arrows struck Tristan and he fell.

“Tristan!” The scream ripped from my lungs, hurting, carrying my heart with it.

James flew out from beyond the forest edge, scooped Tristan up in his talons, spread his wings and rose into the air. In the distance, my father sat on his war stallion directing the next volley of arrows. I shouted, called out. Ahead of me, Harold struggled against two soldiers who had leapt forward from behind a small stone fence.

I ran back toward where Tristan had last stood.

Far away a deep voice shouted my name, but I didn’t even turn my head. All that filled my mind was Tristan. Beneath my feet, the golden grasses were splattered with bright red blood, Tristan’s blood. High above, out of reach of the longbow arrows, a dragon carried away his limp body. I stretched my hands upward, reaching through the tips of my fingers, my heart beating, overflowing with loss.

I remained there, unmoving, until my father approached me, gathered me up in his arms and carried me, sobbing, away.

Chapter 51

The picture of Victoria, my grandmother’s chosen sister, looked down at me. “So how did you fare in Chris’s land?” I asked, leaning my head against the wall opposite her painting. “Twice you were uprooted. Once chosen and sent to the dragons, and once to leave them. Did you go because you were afraid, in despair or merely a fit of temper? Did you regret leaving the man-dragons, your husband, your children, your life?

“Is that why you sent Chris to me across worlds? Was it to mend the rift?” I knew she couldn’t answer, not a painting of a deceased woman.

“I owe you much. But what was this all for? I’m back with my family but so confused and torn. Should I have stayed and sent my brother back alone? And Tristan. He defied his kinsmen to bring me back and then was shot.” Tears threatened to come. I rubbed my hand across my eyes, banishing them.

“Winter has come and gone but there is no sign of Chris. She promised to return. I need her counsel.

“I am no longer who I was. But who am I now? Who do I want to be?

“I’ve no patience with my life here. Hopeful suitors have started paying their respects, and I can’t bring myself to feign interest. Their posturing bores me. The mindless pattering of my ladies-in-waiting sets my teeth on edge. If Clara titters once more, I don’t believe I can prevent myself from smiting her with my fan. This can’t go on. I need to know if Tristan is alive.” My voice trailed off. “If he still cares for me.” My fingers trailed down to the token around my neck.

“I need to put this to rest.”

“Take me too,” a familiar voice called.

I flinched. Harold clattered into the hall, rounding the corner from where he had clearly been eavesdropping. When my heartbeat settled back to normal, I realized he couldn’t know my plans.

“Please, please take me with you.”

I looked at him with love and exasperation. “You have to stop sneaking after me and listening to everything I say.”

“But how else will I know what is happening?” he countered. “I’ll get left again. You’ll have no one to defend you.”

“Harold.” I could hear how testy I sounded, but I couldn’t have him nosing about.

A rustle of silk interrupted us, and my mother appeared behind him. “Genevieve, I wish to speak with you.” She looked at my brother and spoke firmly, “Harold, your tutor is searching for you. Go back to your lessons.”

“But I’m a hero, Sir Harold, the Dragon Friend.”

“Yes, dear, you’ve spoken of nothing else since your return.”

He frowned and hunched his shoulders. “But Gen…”

Mother reached out and turned him around. “Harold…now!”

Harold slowly turned and walked dejectedly down the corridor. Mother raised her voice, calling after him. “If you aren’t at your lessons by the next bell, you will be cleaning the stables for a fortnight.” Harold leapt to a trot.

My mother sat silent for some time. She was not one to force a confidence. She could wait out a confession from the most taciturn of people. She arranged one of the green brocade cushions from the wooden benches that lined the hall before sitting down and placing her hands in her lap, as if she had all the time in the world.

“It’s a very expressive portrait.” She nodded toward the picture of Victoria. “The artist captured that same look of pride and will that my grandmother had—Victoria’s youngest sister.” Her lips curled into a knowing smile. “That all the women in our family have.

“Victoria was your age when she was chosen. They all were. I never mentioned it to you. Every royal family fears when they birth a daughter within the end of a century. No one ever knew exactly when they would come. Seventy years, ninety, one hundred. Once it was one hundred and twenty. And always, ever so coincidentally, when the girl of their choice turned seventeen; always the best and brightest. Each time a gold token arrived.” She looked at my neck where the dragons’ token lay against my skin, tied in place by a gold chain, and then continued on. “I never understood how that could be. It was too convenient for coincidence. It makes sense now that we know they were men, that our priestesses were involved.” A hard look crossed her face.

“I kept hoping the dragons might not come when you turned seventeen or that some other royal female would catch their eyes. I couldn’t see the value of burdening your childhood with the weight of something that might never happen.” She was silent once again.

“Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I should have done more.”

I shook my head. She stopped and looked long into my eyes before continuing with her story.

“At every court gathering I would count the princesses, those within three years of you. Weigh their qualities against yours and come here to this gallery to brood.

“Even from my view as a doting mother, I knew you were special.” She reached over and caressed my cheek. “That if they came, you would be their choice. You were far and away the prize of the young princesses. I told myself that it was only my fears speaking, my motherly pride clouding my judgment. But I knew.”

She curled both of her hands around mine.

“You were chosen and then returned, the only one in eight hundred years. I rejoiced when you and your brother came back.” She stopped there, a catch in her voice. “But it has been five months and still you wear the token. I find myself questioning why.”

Still I said nothing. How to explain how I had changed?

She sighed. “You’ve said little about your time away, and I have honored that, trusted that you would come back to yourself. First you mourned, and while I didn’t understand, I granted you that time. But since snowmelt you’ve changed again. You’ve retreated. It isn’t that you are still in suffering from your ordeal. I could read that.”

I closed my eyes, unable to view the sorrow and concern in hers.

“Genevieve, what is wrong?”

I sat beside her and leaned my head on her shoulder. She held me while silent tears slipped down my cheeks. I couldn’t speak. If I did, she would try to stop me. Harold had guessed right. I couldn’t tell her how I begged the guilt-ridden Captain Markus to help or about the horses waiting or the two months of supplies cached away. I feared I would confess that I was leaving for the Fandrite mountain to hunt a dragon, one that I had chosen out of the best princes of Pritorous to be mine.

Chapter 52

The music was pleasant enough. My ladies played a soothing medley of tunes prepared expressly for a string ensemble. Clara was on the harp, Felicity and Melody viol, and one of mother’s ladies played the lute. Banal entertainment to while away another spring evening. Father sat, one leg crossed over the other, relaxed and content in his favorite blue velvet chair. Mother, beside him, leaned over to whisper in his ear.

I picked up my fork, trying not to think of their pain. Soon they would lose a daughter again. This time of my own volition.

I sat between a prince from the next kingdom over, who was the most dandified man I’d ever encountered, and Neville, the crotchety duke from two kingdoms south of us.

Both bent on wooing me. Both with no chance whatsoever. No longer was I a prize for some lucky royal to win. My life belonged to me.

Two servants circled, offering a small repast to those in need of fortification to endure the evening. I was pretending to listen while lost within my thoughts when the air spun between two tall braziers. My heart jumped. And there she was, Chris, looking a little unsure of herself, standing halfway across the room. Her eyes wide as she searched for me. She was almost unrecognizable in a court dress of amethyst with long vee-shaped sleeves decorated with buttermilk colored inserts. Her hair was braided into a hundred plaits and coiled about her head. Beneath the dress, I could just see the hint of sandaled bare toes tapping against the court’s white onyx floor. I was comforted that some things never changed.

The musical interlude ended in a cacophony of strings as Clara registered Chris’s presence. Clara screamed, just as she had months ago when Chris first appeared, and leapt away from her harp.

I pushed back from the table, silverware clattering around me as I rushed to her side. “Chris! Chris!”

Clara’s voice shrilled across the room. “It’s the witch! She’s one with the dragons. They’re going to take our princess again.” Father was up in a moment. I heard the snick of several knives being drawn. Mercifully, I was between them and Chris.

Two guards burst into the room and raced to surround Chris. I stood braced, shouting at them. “No, she’s my friend.”

The guards looked from me to my father. He sat slowly, unruffled but for the paleness of his face. Mother had her hand to her throat. Felicity, after a sudden squeak of surprise, collapsed heavily against Melody.

The guards inched closer, swords out.

Father’s voice rumbled above it all. “Leave her.”

Behind me, I felt Chris shudder in relief right before she whispered in my ear, “Genny, I have to talk with your dad.”

I looked at Chris in her dress that dipped too low in the bodice and her face unadorned by any proper cosmetics. She was not properly attired to be presented to my father. Chris noted my uncertainty and pressed me again. “Genny, please, this is important to me and to you.”

I shook off my hesitation, took her hand and led her forward slowly, the guards making way before us. The whole room stilled.

I proudly presented her. “Father, I would like to introduce my friend, Chris.” I hesitated and then corrected myself. “No, my friend and kinswoman, Crystal of Berkeley, great-granddaughter of our own Princess Victoria. She stood by me when I was chosen, stood by my side before the dragons and was instrumental in my return.”

Gasps came from somewhere, perhaps Mother, but when I looked to her, her face was composed.

“I would beg an audience for her.” I dropped into a low curtsy.

“Rise, my daughter.”

Father looked at me, and with a small twist of his hand, indicated that the room was to be cleared of visitors. The two guards leapt to do his bidding, ushering all out, the duke still clutching his platter of meats. Before Felicity could complete her elaborate faint, they gathered up my ladies and escorted them out of the room. There was some resistance—Clara put up a good show of refusing to leave me with this woman, the one aligned with the dragons. Father had the seneschal close the door firmly against her remonstrations.