The Princess of Trelian (2 page)

“Meg and Jakl wouldn’t let me fall. You shouldn’t be so worried.” Maurel’s expression brightened suddenly. “Maybe you should try it! Then you’ll see how fun it is, and you won’t get so mad every time I go up.”

Meg bit her lip to keep from smiling at the way the color drained from her mother’s face at Maurel’s suggestion.

“She’s right, Mother,” Meg said. At her mother’s startled glance, she added, “No, not about you coming up for a ride, but that we wouldn’t let her fall. Really. It’s perfectly safe.”

“Meg, I . . .” The queen took a breath and hugged Maurel against her. Maurel squirmed around to face Meg but couldn’t quite extricate herself from their mother’s firm embrace. “I know it seems that way to you, but to the rest of us, it’s — it’s not — we’re trying to adjust, but I can’t have you whisking your sister up into the air like that, putting her in danger.”

“But she’s not —”

“Please, Meg.” Her mother shook her head wearily. “Just respect my wishes on this. Do not take Maurel flying again without permission.”

Maurel stared up at the queen indignantly. “But Mother! That’s —”

“That’s enough, Maurel. Come inside now.”

Maurel rolled her eyes at Meg and then let herself be dragged off toward the castle. Meg watched them go. Her mother just needed more time. It was a big adjustment, having a dragon around. Of course she was still a little nervous.

Jakl was the first dragon anyone in the kingdom had seen in at least thirty years. Maybe longer. Meg’s father claimed to have seen one flying overhead one night when he was a little boy, but that was a long time ago. And when pressed, he admitted it was at least slightly possible that it had only been a large bat and a dark sky and a boy’s imagination. Before Jakl came, people had assumed that the remaining dragons of the world were keeping to themselves in the mountains, or that maybe they had flown away across the sea or gone to any number of other places.

And they were glad of it, too. When there had been dragons, much effort had been directed at keeping them away. But there had never seemed to be very many of them. Even history books from before Meg’s great-grandfather’s time referred to them as creatures rarely encountered, even if it was not unheard of to see one flying around in the distance. Even longer ago, in the times Calen had told her about, when people actually sometimes sought out dragons for linking, instead of stumbling into linking accidentally, as she had — even then, it wasn’t like there were dragons everywhere you looked. And for most of Meg’s life, she, like everyone else she knew, had only vaguely suspected that dragons were still out there, somewhere, but nothing you might expect to actually
see.

Until the one day when she did. And everything, everything changed.

“It will be okay,” Meg whispered. She lay her upper body down against Jakl’s scaly neck, warm from the sun, feeling his comforting presence beneath and within her. She closed her eyes, soaking him in. He was a part of her now. Her mother would come to accept that in time. Everyone would. Meg just had to be patient.

The tower bell sounded, reminding Meg that it was time to go in for afternoon lessons. Her lessons had practically doubled once Maerlie had married Prince Ryant of Kragnir, thus putting Meg next in line for the throne. Meg wouldn’t officially become the princess-heir until the ceremony at Autumn Turning, but her parents had already begun increasing her tutoring sessions and responsibilities in preparation.

The king and queen had always kept their daughters informed of the general news and goings-on in the kingdom, but now Meg was allowed to actively participate in many of the tasks she’d only heard about before. She assisted her father while he reviewed treaties and legal documents, helped her mother manage the daily planning and correspondence, and sat in with both parents when they received petitioners once a week in the throne room. That was her favorite part of all. People came in with their problems and disputes, and her parents made decisions to set things right. Not that the other things weren’t important, too, but documents and letters were only one step in a lengthy process. You had to wait so
long
to see any actual results. But when people were standing right before you, and you could make a decision right away, make a difference in their lives right then and there . . . that was wonderful.

King Tormon and Queen Merilyn were known for being fair and just, and you could see in the people’s eyes how much they trusted and respected their king and queen. Meg wanted people to look at her like that someday. Her eldest sister, Morgan, was already making a name for herself in her adopted kingdom, and Meg knew that Maerlie would win over the people of Kragnir in no time. As princess-heir, Meg would get to stay here, in Trelian, her future husband (whoever he might be) joining her instead of the other way around. And while being a trusted and respected queen of an allied country would be nice, being one here in the kingdom she knew and loved would be the best of all. Sometimes she visited the royal library and peeked at the books that chronicled the lives of previous rulers and pretended her own story was in there, too. She would be Queen Meglynne, part of Trelian’s own glorious story, essential, inextricable. She would do things that mattered, and be remembered for them.

She would be important, and her parents would be proud of her.

Meg left Jakl lounging in the field. The castle carpenters had made him a nice big enclosure down in the part of the outer ward past the stables (well past, so he wouldn’t terrify the horses), but while he seemed to like it well enough, he usually preferred the field just beyond the gardens. Meg thought the enclosure was at least partially for show, in any case — something to make it seem as if her dragon were contained and housebroken. She smiled, thinking how he did seem to appreciate the enclosure whenever it rained. Perhaps he was just a little domesticated, at that.

She yawned, regretting her missed nap, and found herself walking more quickly. She was glad of her increased lessons for another reason as well: the busier she was, the less time she had to think about . . . other things. Less time to sit and worry and wish Calen were back, so she could talk to him and he could reassure her that everything would be all right.

She promised herself she would check in with the Master of Birds as soon as her lessons were done. Maybe there would be a letter from Calen, saying he was on his way home.

C
ALEN GOT HIS FIRST LOOK AT
the needle and fought the urge to close his eyes.

This was important — his first real mage’s tattoo, his first mark beyond that of the initiate. The first one that he’d truly earned for himself. He wanted to remember every part of it. Even the slightly terrifying parts.

Master Su’lira was holding up a long, slender tool with a needle at the tip, examining the tiny blade in the light. The needle looked very, very sharp. Soon, Master Su’lira was going to stick Calen with that needle and use it to paint a delicate design under the surface of his skin.

It’s all right,
Calen told himself firmly, refusing to look away.
You’ve been through much worse than this.

It was true. He had been lost in an unknown land, desperate to get home. He had been viciously attacked by villains and monsters. He had been forced to climb to heights no sensible person should ever, ever have to experience. Some of those heights had been reached while flying through the air on the back of a dragon, ridiculous distances above the ground. He had almost
died.
More than once. Being stuck with a needle should be easy compared to all that.

Master Su’lira turned back to his workbench, making adjustments. Calen let out a shallow breath. Not quite time. Not yet.

The marking room was small and private. Serek had explained that the process could sometimes take a long while, depending on the level of achievement of the person being marked. The official ceremony was always held separately, so all the other mages wouldn’t have to sit there watching and waiting for what could be hours. Calen had felt himself go a little pale at the mention of
hours,
but Serek had dryly assured him that his mark would not take quite that long. Later, the official marking ceremony would formally acknowledge Calen’s progress along the mage’s path.

The room’s walls were covered with panels of drawings and designs, which Calen guessed were examples of different kinds of marks. Serek had never explained the meanings behind his own markings: an intricate landscape of lines, swirls, and symbols twining across both sides of his face. It wasn’t forbidden to explain the meanings; Calen suspected Serek just felt it was too personal to discuss. Or maybe he thought it would sound like bragging. Serek had more markings than most of the other mages they had met since they’d arrived, and each of those markings represented some new level of skill or achievement. Calen hadn’t realized before that Serek might be a mage of some distinction. It had never even occurred to him. Serek was just . . . Serek. It was strange to see him here, in this new context, among others of his calling. Calen’s last visit had been so long ago, and he had been so little, that he barely remembered anything beyond vague, half-formed images and feelings.

Master Su’lira turned sideways again, holding up the needle once more, and Calen wondered if another reason for the private room was so that no one else would be there to observe if any mages or apprentices started screaming, or crying, or fainted from the pain.

“Nervous?” Mage Serek asked from across the room. He was leaning against the wall, watching the preparations with his usual detachment. Serek had, of course, been through this procedure countless times. And no doubt without any cowardly whining or squirming. He had probably sat there reading a book and barely even noticed when the needle pierced through his skin.

Me, on the other hand . . .
Calen thought, sighing.

“A little,” he admitted. Serek could clearly already tell, anyway.

Serek nodded. “It will hurt a great deal, but the pain is part of the process. A reminder that we do not take on these responsibilities lightly.”

Good old Serek. Always comforting.

“I know,” Calen said. “I’m ready.”

Master Su’lira turned toward him, smiling.

Calen mustered a shaky smile back.

“You must hold very still, Apprentice Calen,” Master Su’lira said as he sat on the stool beside him. Calen nodded. The man smiled again. “No more nodding,” he said.

Oh. Right.
“Sorry.”

“And no more speaking unless I ask you a question directly. If you need to say something, if you need to sneeze or cough, if you need me to stop for any reason, tap your hand here on the table to get my attention. All right?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I am going to prick you just once to start, to show you how it will feel.”

Calen held himself rigid as the needle came closer to his face. He shifted his eyes to look straight ahead. He could still see the needle in his peripheral vision, but at least now it didn’t look like it was coming directly at him. Although, of course, it was.

“All right,” the Marker said again, softly, and Calen felt a pressure against his skin. And then a bright blooming of pain. He inhaled sharply through his nose but managed not to gasp. Then Master Su’lira drew the needle back, and the pain faded quickly. Calen swallowed. He could do this. It hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable.

“Are you ready for me to continue?” Master Su’lira asked, holding the tool a few inches away. “You may answer.”

“Yes.”

“All right.” The Marker brought the needle closer again, and Calen felt the pressure and then the pain. This time, though, the needle prick didn’t come and go quickly; he could feel the needle going in and out slightly, moving in tiny increments. The pain didn’t stop or fade but stayed present, scratching, piercing, almost burning.
Ow,
he thought.
Ow, ow, ow!
But he didn’t move. He tried to keep his breathing slow and even, through his nose, since his mouth was closed and he was afraid to open it now.

It wasn’t really so bad. It still hurt, quite a bit, but he thought being scratched by Lyrimon hurt more. And it seemed to help if he tried to focus his mind on other things.

He was glad Serek hadn’t wanted to bring Lyrimon along on their journey, although he was a little worried about poor Maurel, who had volunteered to look after the gyrcat while they were gone. She seemed to be a pretty tough little girl, though. And Meg would no doubt step in if there were any problems.

He had been surprised to realize how much he missed Meg once he and Serek and their small armed escort had left the castle. He knew he would see her again in a few weeks, but almost as soon as they were beyond sight of the front gate, he had started to feel a little bit, well, sad. He supposed he had gotten used to seeing her every day.

He hoped they would be able to head back home soon. They had only arrived yesterday, and today was the marking and ceremony, and then tomorrow was the meeting with the council of mages who were in charge of things, and then maybe the next day they could start back. Surely it couldn’t take too long for the mages to decide what to do about Sen Eva. Serek had sent letters with the whole story ahead of time, so the council already knew what had happened.