Dragon Flight (20 page)

The basin of water in my bedchamber remained blank. I sent letters to Luka, begging for information, but he had no more to tell. I even wrote to King Rolian, who responded with a friendly letter telling how the same thing had happened there, but giving me no insight as to where the dragons were going.

My first letter to Rolian had opened a floodgate, however, and the Roulaini king had begun writing me other letters, rather admiring ones. Marta and Alle, our assistant, were teasing me about having a second royal suitor. But only halfheartedly, because they could see how upset I was.

Where had the dragons gone?

After checking the basin in my bedchamber without success, I went to my writing desk and penned another note to Luka. It had been two days since I had sent the last one, and I just couldn’t bear not to write. On top of my anxiety about Shardas and the others, I missed Luka rather badly. I wanted to talk to him about the dragons, and about other things. It had been so pleasant to stay in the cave in Citatie with him, joking over meals and sharing our concerns, and I missed those times. I was also curious about how things were going in Citatie. They had tracked down a cousin of Nason’s to sit on the throne, but Luka worried that “weak minds” seemed to be a family trait. At first I had been anxious to know if the new king would treat the dragons with kindness, but that seemed to be a moot point now.

Stamping a blob of wax with the seal Luka had given me (a needle and pair of scissors crossed) to close the letter, I ducked down the stairs before Marta could catch me and hurried out to the street. We were working all hours to get Isla’s gowns finished, for the royal marriage was in two weeks and we also had gowns to finish for the
wedding guests. After that, Marta wanted us to concentrate on the clothes for her wedding.

But I had to do this. I trotted up the streets to the New Palace, where a guard who recognised me opened the massive front door with a smile. Inside I was greeted by the kindly steward who had been slipping my letters into the courier pouches destined for Citatie and Luka.

His smile was even wider this time, and with a flourish he handed me a letter with Luka’s personal seal on it. He also took my letter to Luka and assured me that it would be sent out in the morning, then showed me to a little bench in an alcove where I could read Luka’s letter.

It was news that I had been waiting to hear, yet it was disturbing all the same. A dragon had been sighted, flying high overhead so that arrows fired from the ground could not reach it. The dragon flew over Pelletie in a widening spiral, then out over the olive groves to the west. It was not one that Luka recognised, and the concept that one dragon was different from another was alien to the Citatians, so no one at the palace had been able to identify it either.

And that was all he had to say, other than the very welcome news that he would be leaving for Feravel the day after this writing, to return in time for Miles’s wedding festivities. Judging by the date on this letter, he would be more than halfway home, since couriers travelled much faster than royal entourages.

I thanked the steward and hurried back to the shop, where Marta was waiting with another letter. This one had arrived by regular post and was from my “admirer” in Roulain, King Rolian. She and Alle watched and cut fabric while I read it.

He effusively praised my golden braids, my sparkling blue eyes, and my sun-like countenance, et cetera. Then he mentioned, almost in passing, that a dragon had been seen flying lazy circles over the Roulaini countryside. After that the letter degenerated into complaints about the stress of running a prosperous nation, and into musings of how he longed to take a holiday by the sea sometime soon, perhaps with a golden-haired companion at his side.

I tossed the letter aside and told Marta and Alle about the important parts of both letters: that dragons had been seen, alone and flying in circles out of bowshot. What it all meant, we didn’t know, but I was so distracted by this news that I not only unpicked my lopsided pansy, but the one next to it as well, which had been perfectly good. I cursed, and forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand, rather than on the thoughts swirling through my brain.

What were the dragons doing?

No more news came until Marta and I went to the New Palace to make the final adjustments to Isla’s gowns. We were ushered into the countess’s sitting room by a grinning maid, who smiled wider when we asked her what was so amusing. In the sitting room we found out: Isla was there, and so were Luka and Tobin.

Stepping out of the room, Isla left us to greet them. Marta and Tobin were, of course, quite shameless in their kissing, whereas Luka and I kissed only once and hugged for no more than a count of ten (not that I was counting … really) before we stepped apart to cough and say hello. My excitement at seeing him chased thoughts of the dragons from my mind as I asked how his journey had been and when he had arrived back in the King’s Seat.

Or, at least, it temporarily chased these thoughts from my mind.

“Have you seen any more dragons circling?” I asked as patiently as I could, after he had told me about the journey.

“Yes, but it was so far away that I wasn’t entirely sure. But Tobin assures me that there is no such thing as a purple eagle, so it was mostly likely a dragon.” His flippant tone didn’t completely hide the concern in his eyes. “And you haven’t heard from Shardas?”

“Not a peep,” I told him. “Nor from any of the others.” I picked at the embroidery on my cuffs. Somehow in my mind, Luka’s return had been linked to a return of the dragons, and now I was realising how foolish that had been.

“Hello, maidies!”

A pale-haired man, grinning broadly, stuck his head into the room just then. For a second, taking in the smiling tanned face and pointed hat, combined with his greeting, I thought it was our old friend the monkey seller. Then he came all the way into the room, and I saw that his hat was royal purple and that he bore a striking resemblance to King Nason.

“Ladies,” Luka said, the flash of dismay on his face quickly turning to a polite smile. “Please allow me to introduce Prince Lanon of Citatie. The prince is here as his brother, King Baul’s, ambassador.” Luka bowed and then swept an arm towards me and Marta. “Prince Lanon, allow me to present Creelisel Carlbrun and Marita Hargady.”

“Hello, hello!” He bowed and said something in Citatian that I couldn’t catch, but Tobin took a step closer to Marta, and Luka took my hand.

I listened carefully to Luka’s reply, and thought I caught the word for “wives”. My eyebrows climbed to my hairline, and I gave the foreign prince a quelling look.

“He said that you were both exotic looking, and would make nice wives,” Luka said out of the corner of his mouth. “I told him that Marta was betrothed, and that you, well, wouldn’t make a nice wife.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, and elbowed him in the ribs. I thought I would make a very nice wife. Someday.

“He already has fifteen wives, you don’t want him to court you,” Luka whispered, discreetly rubbing his side where I’d elbowed him.

“Ick,” Marta said under her breath.

The Citatian prince continued to grin and nod at us, until finally Luka took him by the elbow and steered him out of the room. They talked in the passageway in Citatian for a little while and then Luka came back in alone.

“Whew!” He blew out his breath. “It seems that Nason isn’t the only one in that family who is more stupid than two turnips in a rain barrel.” He grinned at me. “As your aunt might say.”

“Really?” I threw a nervous look after the foreign prince. “What’s the new king like?”

“Not as clever as one might hope a king to be. Nor is he as foolish as some in the family, however,” Luka said. “He doesn’t have any ambitions to conquer other lands or to harness the local dragons for his own gain, so I suppose he’ll do just fine.”

“Not that there are any dragons around to harness,” Marta pointed out.

Further discussion was curtailed by Miles and Isla. They had decided that we had had more than enough time to say hello, and came in to chat. Then we sent the men away while Marta and I got down to the business of dressmaking.

“I’m sure your wedding gown will be divine,” Isla said to Marta. Marta, pinning the waist of Isla’s gown where it needed to be taken in a pinch, smiled modestly.

“She’ll be gorgeous,” I confirmed. “Oh, Marta, you know you will! The gown for the Feravelan ceremony has yard after yard after yard of silk, and a stiffened ruff of lace around her throat.” Said ruff was currently giving me nightmares as I tried to sew it in such a way that would allow it to stand free with minimal starching and yet not strangle my friend.

“Ooh, heavenly,” Isla sighed, and looked into the mirror.

“Don’t even think about feeling poor in comparison,” I scolded her. “Your gown is even more magificent.”

And it was: the yards of white satin that made up the skirt had tiny crystals sewn into the centres of embroidered white flowers. The crystals were inspired by the mirrored silk I’d seen in Citatie, and they gave the gown just a hint of colour. Brides “married in the eyes of the Triunity”, as we say in Feravel, were required to wear
nothing but white from the skin out, and it got to be a bit monotonous. We were currently adding crystals to Marta’s Feravelan gown as well, to give her a bit of sparkle. I had a feeling, though, that Marta would never be satisfied with her gown, and that we would be adding tucks and ribbons well after she and Tobin were married and surrounded by children.

We finished the fitting of the wedding gown, and then checked the fit of several others. Tomorrow night would be the start of a week of banquets and balls, culminating in the ceremony itself.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been so selfish, having you spend all your time on my gowns,” Isla said as we helped her back into one of her old grey gowns.

“Well, that is what we do,” I said with a shrug. “We’re dressmakers.”

She laughed. “I know. I just didn’t know if you would have enough time to make your own gowns. It’s not at all fashionable to wear the same thing twice during the banquet week.”

Marta and I exchanged puzzled glances.

“Oh, no!” Isla put a hand to her lips. “Luka didn’t tell you, did he? That terrible boy! He probably talked about nothing but dragons and deserts and dogs!” She tapped one foot.

Again, Marta and I looked at each other, and then at our client.

“You’re both invited to the wedding,” Isla said with a
laugh. “You’re Tobin’s betrothed,” she reminded Marta (as though she needed to be reminded), “and you’re such great friends with Luka, and with Miles, Creel. We decided a few days ago that we had to have you both celebrate with us. I thought perhaps you had already been invited, or I would have told you sooner, but I asked Miles and he said no. Tobin and Luka said that they would tell you themselves, and they didn’t!” She shook her head. “Those boys!”

I did not think that Tobin, who was practically a giant and tattooed to boot, had been called a “boy” since he was in swaddling clothes. The image of Isla taking Tobin by one pierced ear and giving him a scolding made me laugh. Then I sobered quickly, thinking of my wardrobe and what I might have to wear to a royal wedding.

“Wear it,” Marta said out of the corner of her mouth as we gathered up our things.

“What?” I blinked at her as I folded the white satin wedding gown into its linen wrappings.

“Wear it. You know which one. For the ceremony.”

I shook back my hair, which I still wore in dozens of tiny braids, some of which were still blue. “I can’t think what you mean,” I said.

But I did know what she meant. She meant the gold gown I had worn to the Merchants’ Ball the night the first Dragon War had begun. It had been some of my finest work, but by the time that horrible night was over,
it was ruined. Dirty, stained, sweaty, and with the overskirt slit front and back to make riding more convenient, it should have been thrown away. But I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it entirely, so I had put it in a trunk and tried to forget.

“I’ve seen you working on it,” Marta whispered. “You can’t fool me.”

“I just … cleaned it,” I muttered. “It’s still torn up.”

“You may come in now,” Isla was calling out to Miles and the other men, who had been across the hall sharpening knives and talking about hunting, or whatever it is men do when they’re alone.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t have it mended and glorious by the end of the week, Creel, I know you,” Marta said. She gave my braids a yank, and went to hold hands with Tobin.

“Hello again, maidy!” Prince Lanon grinned broadly as he came back into the room.

I soon found myself sitting down to tea with the crown prince of Feravel, the younger Prince Luka, Prince Luka’s former bodyguard, the countess of Dranvel, my common-born business partner, and a Citatian prince who seemed determined to make me wife number sixteen.

I would have been self-conscious, but in my mind I kept seeing a swirl of gold silk underskirts, and the dazzle of satin embroidered with jewel-like colours.

Marta was right: it could be done.

What if this gown is cursed?” Alle looked at me with wide eyes.

I looked back at her, also wide-eyed, but mostly from surprise. “You don’t honestly believe that a gown can be cursed?”

Alle had been an apprentice with me and Marta before the first war, at Mistress Derda’s shop. It had been awkward at first, employing someone who had once been an equal, but Marta and I quickly convinced her that she didn’t have to call either of us “mistress”, and we stayed friends. Alle was helping me get ready for Isla and Miles’s official ceremony, and her eyes had nearly fallen out of her head when she saw the gown I had laid out on the bed.

Even with the changes that I had had to make, there was no mistaking it. It was my gown from the Merchants’ Ball, remade into something that I flattered myself was even more stunning. But it carried with it the memories of that night.

Shardas had destroyed the New Palace, caught up in
the force of a pair of dragonskin slippers, which an alchemist had created from Velika’s own hide.