Breath of Dragons (A Pandoran Novel) (20 page)

She looked a little incredulous but did as requested. I shimmied out of my shift and all but threw it at her as I jumped into the pool with an indelicate splash. I dipped down so that the water level was at my collarbone.

"May I turn beck around?" she asked.

Was that sarcasm? "Yes. Thanks."

She turned around, fixed me with a look that said, "You are pathetic," then set an ivory bar of soap on the edge of the pool beside me. "Use thet," she said then sat atop a stool in the corner of the room.

I grabbed the bar and set to scrubbing. I didn't remember being so filthy, but the more I scrubbed myself, the filthier I felt. Layers of mud had caked in the strangest places, and once I thought I'd effectively scrubbed away my top dermal layer, I set to my hair. When that didn't work so well, I shut my eyes and sank underwater, letting the water soak me until I couldn't hold my breath any longer. With a gasp I emerged, and my hair was less like thatch and more like hair. Ansha sat comfortably on her stool reading a small book.

"What are you reading?" I asked.

She turned a page. "I am nit reading." She skimmed the page then flipped to the next page.

Since she obviously didn't want to talk about what she was "nit reading," I leaned my head back against the lip of the pool and shut my eyes. Water lapped against the edge of the pool, and the constant drone of the falls blotted out all other sound. The scent of eucalyptus was much stronger from in the water. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so relaxed. Here, in this bath, my mind drifted away so that it was no longer able to interfere with my spirit, and for the first time in a long time, my spirit felt peace. There was no realm. No politics or betrothals. No evil and death.

My hands and feet were nicely pruned by the time Ansha told me it was time to go. Out of both courtesy and annoyance, she turned around so that I could dress in the clean shift and robe she'd brought for me. Once I was clothed, she motioned for me to follow her. We walked back up the maze of walkways to my room. The sky had become a lurid canvas of brilliant oranges, yellows, and pinks as though someone had taken a great paintbrush and streaked the sky with neon. Ansha shut my glass doors and rummaged through my wardrobe again, this time retrieving something the color of an aquamarine. It shimmered like an aquamarine, too.

She shoved it at me. "Put thees on." She nodded to a dressing screen in the corner.

It took me a bit to make sense of the fabric. It was a simple but elegant gown of soft silk that came in two pieces: a panel of a top that covered my bust, like a thick bandeaux, and a long flowing skirt with high slits on both sides, leaving my stomach, shoulders, and arms bare. It would reveal more skin that I was comfortable with, but I doubted Ansha would let me have a say in the matter.

I carefully slipped out of my shift and flung it over the top of the screen. "Ansha?"

"Mm?"

"Your language…" I tied the skirt at my waist. The silk slipped softly against my legs. "What is it called?"

"Saqai." She said it like Suh-keye, with emphasis on the second syllable.

"Saqai," I repeated. I wrapped the top around my bust. It was like a fat ribbon, and there was a good five inches between the top of my skirt and the bottom of my top. Maybe she'd let me wear some kind of shawl. "Will you teach me how to say 'thank you' in Saqai?"

"Garati," she said.

I wasn't so good at rolling my "R"s, but I tried. She laughed at first, and with a little practice, I was doing it "goot enough."

I stepped out from behind the screen. Ansha's scrutiny was upon me at once, then she fussed a bit over the placement of my skirt, loosening the tie until the skirt rested low upon my hips, and then she lowered my top in an attempt to show a little bit of cleavage. Which I didn't have much of.

She stepped back and noticed this with a frown. "You hef no confidence."

I'd expected her "C" word of choice to be something else. "Confidence?"

"Yes. Stend up straight! Shoulders beck. Chin up. You are all turned into yourself like a turtle."

I laughed, and then stopped at her look. She dug her pointer finger between my shoulder blades, trying to force my posture, but I only wriggled away from her. "Ow!"

She grumbled irritably and told me to sit down so that she could try to fix my hair because it "looks like a weed-infested callaberry bush."

She applied wax to my brow—which, by the way, was more painful than any wound I'd ever incurred—and once she'd finished dusting my face with paints, curling my hair and securing half of it on top of my head in a delicately twisted pattern, she stepped back, admiring her handiwork. She wasn't frowning, but she wasn't smiling either. She rubbed scented oil on my inner wrists and at the base of my neck, cuffed my upper arms with gold bands, secured a few white flowers in my hair, and then pulled me in front of a mirror.

I didn't look like me anymore. She had effectively turned me into Aphrodite. I didn't know how, but she'd done it. The young woman who had been me was nowhere to be found. And the dress matched my eyes perfectly.

"Ah, one more thing," Ansha said, then grabbed a vial of ink and some kind of silvery feather from somewhere, and brushed the hair aside from my shoulder. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on my wound. "Holt steel." Her tongue stuck out a little, pinched between her lips as she dipped the quill in the ink and began to draw. Her touch was gentle and the tip of the quill tickled a bit on my skin, but when she was done, my scar had been elegantly hidden inside a tattoo of a dragon. She set the vial of ink down, lay the quill beside it, fanned her hand over her artwork, and then let my hair fall back in place.

"Now you look like a Mosaquian." She preened. "Ready, preen-ciss?"

I was about to say yes when I remembered something. "One moment," I said, and dug through my bag until I found my dagger. It was still sheathed behind the little obsidian rook. I thought I should probably find a new sheath because this one forced unwanted memories upon me, but I'd have to consider that another time. Quickly, I strapped the belt and sheath high around my thigh where no one could see it. I most likely wouldn't need it, but I felt better having it on me. Just in case.

Ansha noticed but said nothing.

"All right," I said. "I'm ready now. But please—just call me Daria."

She studied me a moment. "But you are a preen-ciss. You weel always struggle if you do nit first accept who you are. A frostberry seed will only thrive in thee weenter soil, as Gaia intended, for Gaia created the frostberry with a certain purpose. If the frostberry refuses and tries to be any other seed and live here"—she gestured to the space around us—"in thees jungle, eet will die. The heat would scorch its roots and the birds would pluck its berries until all thet would be left is a skeleton. Eet was not created to survive here. Eet was created to survive in weenter, and in the weenter is where the frostberry will reach its zenith." She smiled, patting my arm. "Come. They are waiting for you."

Chapter 11

An Imperial Feast

I
f I'd found Mosaque breathtaking during the day, it was ensorcelling at night. The sweet smell of nectar clung to the air, lamps lined the walkways, and orbed lanterns hung like garland from porticos, casting everything in a soft golden hue. The night sky was filled with millions of bright stars, and once Ansha and I reached our designated terrace, I could no longer see the stars above, for the space had been occupied with dozens of floating lanterns. They looked like miniature golden hot-air balloons, suspended in midair, swaying only slightly with a warm summer breeze.

I turned back to say something to Ansha, but she had gone.

I was on my own, then.

I looked back out at the terrace. It was large and square, and the portion nearest me had been left as a dance floor. A few pairs had already begun dancing to the mellifluous melody that slipped through the night, emanating from instruments off to one side of the terrace. Bows weaved and strings plucked, and just like back at the castle, there was no one standing behind them.

Beyond the dancing pairs were tables. There was one very large table that could easily accommodate a party of twenty, and two smaller tables at its ends, only barely detached, so that the arrangement was loosely in the shape of "U". All were adorned in silvery cloth with crystal goblets and empty platters and glowing candles awaiting an aristocratic party.

A party I was supposed to influence somehow.

There was a handful of guards stationed about the terrace, keeping to the shadows. They weren't dressed for the occasion, in their studded leather armor with forearms and calves still exposed, and their faces were concealed behind masks, watching the crowd and challenging the smallest step out of line. With such an important guest list, I was surprised there weren't more of them.

Beyond the dining tables glittered a black sea, stretching endlessly into the night. I thought I could just see a ship far out on the water; a cluster of golden lights hovered on the horizon. And then I wondered what a Gaian ship looked like.

I missed home. I missed my simple life. I missed the time before pain and grief.

As if sensing the sudden change in my mood, the instruments began a somber melody. Haunting and ethereal, drifting through space and time as though it might touch the stars above and tell them a story of heartache and loss. It slipped over the strings of my heart and plucked them ever so lightly. My chest tightened and I tried to focus on something else. The loss of my father was still too close.

A warm ocean breeze rustled through the light fabric of my gown and the lanterns overhead swayed.

I am with you,
the wind seemed to say.

I took a deep breath. Where was Alex?

Remember Mercedes' warning.

I remembered her warning enough, but surely a princess of the realm could inquire over her Aegis without inciting suspicion. Alex's absence was like a vacuum, droning constantly, absorbing every other sight and sound.

Just then, a handful of tiny points of light buzzed around me. At first I thought they were fireflies, but then one hovered before my face. It was a…
person
. A tiny person, similar to the one I'd seen in the fiori. Her body pulsed with golden light as silvery wings fluttered behind her, and then she extended a tiny palm and blew into it. A cloud of golden glitter blew in my face and she giggled—a sound like bells. She flitted away, the rest of her firefly friends darting after her.

And I sneezed.

"There you are." It was Vera.

She looked…different. Her hair had been washed and curled back, and she wore a golden wrap that shimmered when she moved. An elegant tattoo of a flower marked her shoulder, with a stem that curled around the upper part of her arm. But even more than that, there was a certain softness to her face, like someone had taken a sponge of happiness and smudged away all her anger lines.

Well, this was a new development.

"Hey," I said, "did you—" I sneezed again. Loudly. The pressure was building behind my eyes fast.

Vera chuckled. It was a pleasant sound, and I realized I'd never heard her laugh before. What had gotten into her? "Here." She waved a hand before my face, and the pressure lifted from my sinuses at once.

"Thanks." I wrinkled my nose.

She nodded. "I should have warned you about them. We have pixies here, though they are different from the usual prophetic ones. Ours are a nuisance. They have a particular fondness for allergens." Her eyes flickered over me. "Come, there is someone you should
officially
meet."

Before I had a moment to question her, she linked her elbow with mine (utterly shocking) and guided me through the developing crowd. Everyone was dressed in similar rich fabrics. Women were wrapped in colorful layers of tulle and the men wore white tunics and loose breeches, some further adorned in lavish-looking overcoats or sashes.

She brought us to a small cluster of individuals, and I saw Mercedes at the exact same moment she saw me. Vera released my arm but remained beside me.

Mercedes smiled, moving back a little to let Vera and me into her small circle. "Ah, and here is Princess Daria now," she said. "We were just talking about you."

I didn't know who "we" were, but then a leonine woman wrapped in black fabric, her black hair flowing down her back, leaned forward and said, "Eet is a pleasure to meet the one who has woken the dragon."

Here we go.

After what Mercedes had said, I was expecting this. While I wanted to assure this woman that I was no dragon waker, I'd decided prior to this feast to keep my mouth shut on the matter. I was here to convince these people to help Valdon. If they wanted to think I was a prophetic waker of dragons, fine. Anything to help my chances of earning their support. I also didn't want to lie about it and make it seem more than it was, so I had to respond carefully.

I smiled, feeling both Vera's and Mercedes' scrutiny. "The pleasure is mine," I said, extending a hand, then turned to face Mercedes. "This dinner is enchanting, and I am grateful for your invitation, your ladyship." Vera's approbation was strong beside me.

Mercedes smiled broadly. "But of course, your highness. I must add that Catia is quite a student of the past. She is headmaster of our school here and teaches many classes herself, but dragon lore is, perhaps, her passion."

I looked at the mysteriously dark and gothic Catia. "I see why. They are stunning creatures. There's nothing else like them."

Catia seemed very pleased with my answer. "They are magnificent! I must ask, your high-niss. Deed you…hear eet? Deed the dragon spick with you?"

I shook my head. "Not to my knowledge," I said. "But I was
very
sick at the time because of a nasty wound. I doubt I would've heard a horn if it'd blared in my face."

The others laughed, and then Vera said, "Princess, I would like you to officially meet Hawk, even though you two have already met…" She gestured to the man standing toward the back of the group.