One Good Knight (12 page)

“Go, and try not to get too bruised,” she said absently, hunting for parchment and pen, and beginning to hum—because it had occurred to her that there were
plenty
of mothers' tales of terrible ends coming to naughty children, and mothers' tales were just as Traditionally valid and powerful as any other. All she had to do was go interview a nice cross-section of mothers and grandmothers. “This could take some time.”

Cassiopeia closed the door of her chamber behind her, carefully and quietly, then whirled, picked up a vase and flung it against the wall. “
Damn
that girl!” she swore. “How can anyone be so ridiculously—” She groped for a word.

“Good?” Solon suggested mildly. “I did warn you. Though what I cannot fathom is how someone like you ever gave birth to someone like her.”

“It's her father's blood,” Cassiopeia said sourly, as one of her mute servants carefully picked up the shattered bits of the vase. There was a scuffed place on the mosaic of the walls, showing that this was not the first time an ornament had gone hurtling across the room, and it probably would not be the last. “He was just like that, only not nearly as intelligent.”

“Too intelligent for her own good. First, I had to
head Balan off on his investigation of the weather by deflecting him into looking into the past for similar spates of storms. Then, somehow, she has ears down in the marketplace, though I don't know how. She's noticed how often the daughters of those who speak out against the Queen's policies end up as sacrifices. She's said as much—thinking I wouldn't hear of it.” He smiled. Cassiopeia knew he had ways of “hearing” things that little Andromeda couldn't imagine. “She may have ears in the marketplace, but I have ears everywhere.”

The Queen started to grit her teeth, and stopped herself. “She thinks too much.”

“And she is too dangerous to be allowed to live.” Solon gave her a hard stare, but she was prepared to sacrifice a great deal more than her daughter to implement this plan.

“If there are murmurs in the marketplace that those who oppose the Queen lose their daughters to the dragon,” she said smoothly, “I imagine those rumors will die when the Queen herself loses her only child to the beast. And you're right—not only is she too intelligent, she is also too tenacious and far, far too caught up in notions of honor. I had thought I could bring her around to a more acceptable mode of thought—” The Queen shook her head. With Andromeda dead, the Queen would have to find a new heir…well, she would worry about that when the time came.

Solon laughed mirthlessly. “And the rumors that the lottery is a sham will also die,” he replied.
“Which will leave the dragon itself as the only enemy here. Soon people will be demanding you take new measures to keep them safe.”

“And they will be willing to give up just about anything to have that safety.” From the moment she had taken the throne as the sole ruler, the one thing she had wanted above all others was to have the means to disband the Concord, the monthly gathering of common folk and noble alike, that ratified her decrees. Nothing became law unless the Concord approved it, and the Concord had stood between her and her will far too many times over the years. It was due to meet again shortly. Unless she did something drastic, the questions that Andromeda was posing would echo between the benches. But if Andromeda went to feed the dragon before the next meeting—

I will be a grief-stricken mother, and there is nothing that they won't give me. By the time they realize they gave me too much, it will be too late.

“How tragic for poor Andromeda,” she said, practicing a sad, brave little smile on Solon. “To have all of her promise and potential just cut off like that, in the bloom of her youth.”

Solon bowed. “I will see to it, Majesty.”

 

It was lottery day.

Andie stood beside the Queen's throne, overlooking the Forum of the Concord, which was where the lottery took place. Between the benches for the Members, and the galleries for observers, there was plenty of
room for anyone who wanted to be here. Most people did; she supposed it was easier to be here and hear the bad news at once, than be waiting tensely at home, never knowing if the next set of footsteps was that of the priest come to take your daughter away.

Once again, she wore black. The Queen, however, did not. She wore gray with a hint of rose-pink in it. Not exactly frivolous, but not full mourning, either. There was an interminable wait while the old man from the Concord who was next to choose the sacrifice hobbled to the cauldron that held all the names of the women and girls that met the criteria—or at least, all of them that could be identified. There were probably some hiding in the mountains, and maybe more disguising themselves as boys. But there were more than enough to fill the cauldron, and there was always the pressure of the neighbors whose girls' names
were
in the lottery, to keep too many young women from escaping their duty.

Finally the old man stood beside the huge iron vessel, bit his lip and plunged his arm in as deep as it would go. The crowd went as still as only a group of people, all holding their breath, could be. Then he held out the bit of paper to the presiding priest without glancing at it himself. He looked as if he was going to weep, as if he felt personally responsible for what was about to befall some poor, unknown—

“The name—” the priest's voice sounded unnaturally shrill “—the name is—Princess Andromeda, daughter of Queen Cassiopeia.”

For one, incredibly strange moment, Andie literally could not understand what he had said.
Princess Andromeda—who is that?

And then every head in the Forum turned toward her and every eye in the place was fixed on her, and her mind snapped into understanding, and from understanding, into horror.

And she did something she had never done in her life.

She fainted.

 

“Are you sure you won't have the potion, Princess?” the priest pleaded. Andie shook her head, beginning to be angry with him. As a concession to her rank and birth, she had been allowed to stay in her own rooms in the Palace, but she had had to send most of her attendants away because they just wouldn't stop weeping and falling into hysterics.

“I am sure,” she said, with the peculiar cold calm that had settled over her once she had been revived. “And I would appreciate it if you would please go away.”

The importunate priest finally did take himself off; she heard the
click
of the lock as he left. As if that would stop her if she intended to run away…

That left her alone with Iris, who was as white as snow on the mountains, but looked just as determined as Andie felt. “You aren't going through with this, are you?” the handmaiden asked.

“I am, but not the way they think.” Of that much,
she was determined. “Iris, I am
not
going to wait tamely for that thing to eat me up. If there's a way I can kill it, or at least get away from it, you and I have to figure it out!”

Iris hesitated. “But—if you escape from it, won't it be angry? Won't it come after the town again, or even the Palace?”

She grimaced. “They won't know I got away, and if it's angry and starts attacking things again, I bet they'll find a way to get a Champion here quickly!”

A little more color crept into Iris's face. After all, she was the one who had brought Andie the rumor that no one was really making a great effort to find a Champion as long as it wasn't costing anyone more than the lives of a few worthless girls.

She was also the one who had brought Andie the rumor that it was the daughters of those who objected to one or another of the Queen's policies that were being selected a little too often for chance. And her eyes widened.

“You don't think—” she began, and swallowed. “You don't think that your own mother—”

Andie felt tears stinging her eyes and angrily brushed them away. “My own mother—no. But Adviser Solon would happily sell me into slavery to a pirate if he thought it would gain him a political or trade advantage,” she said harshly. “Throwing me to the dragon to quell the rumors is exactly what he would do.”

Iris was a smart girl. “It's a good thing I'm not a virgin,” she murmured, as if to herself, then
focused on Andie. “And if they can diddle the results to get
your
name, they can easily have been doing it all along.”

Andie nodded. “So this whole thing has been a sham, and a fraud, and I am not going to feel one bit guilty about trying to bring it crashing down. But I need your help, and somehow, before dawn, we need to figure out as many ways as we can for me to do that.”

“I'm going to get my aunt,” Iris said instantly, then hesitated. “Do you trust Lady Thalia?”

“I'm going to have to,” Andie said, after a moment of hesitation.

“That's very good, child, because otherwise I should have to force myself on you,” said Lady Thalia from the shadows of the doorway. “For instance—do you know how to pick a lock? I do.”

Andie gaped at her.

Thalia smiled mirthlessly. “Believe it or not, it is a skill that comes in handy for a Keeper of the Household. People are always losing keys, or locking themselves into places
with
the keys, and one grows tired of sending for the locksmith to do a relatively simple task one could do one's self. I am never without at least one set of lock-picks.” She reached up into the severe knot of hair at the top of her head, and pulled out something, gazing at it meditatively. “Amazing, how they look so very much like hairpins. Especially when one has little decorative knobs crafted onto the ends.”

Andie blinked. And dared, for the first time, to hope.

 

If she had not been so keyed up with fear, she would have been perishing to sleep. She had spent the entire night learning how to pick locks. Merrha had confirmed what she thought she had remembered; the pliant, drugged victims were tied to the stake, but the lively ones were locked in chains. So Iris had spent a goodly part of the early evening sharpening one edge of an ornate ring, so that she could use it to slice through rope. They tried it with her hands tied behind her, and she freed herself fairly quickly. Merrha had brought as much of the poison that the Guards used to kill rats in their barracks as she could lay her hands on, and Lady Thalia sewed it into the hem of the sacrificial victim's gown that the priest had brought along with the potion.

So at least, if it eats me, I might have some revenge….

Merrha had brought a long, slim dagger that Lady Thalia sewed into the back of Andie's chemise, down her spine. Recalling the size of the dragon, Andie tried not to think of how it would be like trying to kill someone with a needle, and instead concentrated on listening to what Merrha was telling her about the weak spots where a stab would do the most good. She'd love a sword, if only she knew how to use one. Then again, where would she hide it on her person?

But the big hope was this: the rest of the Six were out tonight, hiding real weapons among the rocks of the sacrificial valley. And by now, she knew every
rock and landmark in that valley. If she could just get away, she'd have her hands on something useful in a very short period of time.

“But your real hope isn't to kill it,” Merrha said, over and over. “Your real hope is to make it more trouble than it's worth for it to eat you. Look, I don't know dragons, but I know lions, and lions won't go after anything that gives them too much grief. If you can just hold it off long enough to make it irritated, it'll go away and find some better quarry. Which is what you want, anyway.”

She noticed that no one had made any plans beyond that—

Maybe because none of them really expected her to survive this. They were distracting themselves with these plans, but in the back of their minds, they really didn't think any of them were going to work.

Well,
she
did. And she knew exactly what she was going to do. She was going to cut her hair, get hold of some boy's clothing, somehow, and make her way into the mountains. They always loaded the victims down with gold jewelry to appease the dragon's other appetite, and they'd probably deck her out with even more. She could hammer off bits of it to pay for what she needed.

I am going to survive this.

Finally, Merrha slipped away, out the window. And as dawn began to gray the sky, the expected knock came at the door. They all started. It was loud, and rang hollowly through the rooms. It sounded—final.

She had long since donned her gown and Lady Thalia had put her hair up with the lock-picks. At her own insistence, Iris had added a heavy belt of gold links, a matching necklace and two bracelets. As the procession of priests came in, she was once more offered the potion, and once more, she refused it.

The priest who seemed to be in charge noted the jewelry as he placed the flower-crown on her head, and seemed to approve of it, though he said nothing. Then, it was time.

Outside, the drums began.

Now it was her turn to make that long, lonely walk, flanked by priests on all sides—to step into the litter and take her place in the seat.

Her mother was not in the usual position for the victim's parents. In fact, her mother was not in the procession at all.

Well…if her mother was not aware of what Solon had done, she would probably be prostrate with grief. And no one would blame her.

The journey that always had seemed to take forever before, now went far too quickly. Her heart was beating so fast that she thought for certain those carrying the chair must hear it, even over the chanting of the priests. It all seemed horribly unreal, like a nightmare. Part of her was paralyzed with terror, numb—and yet, her mind was racing. It felt as if she were two different people in the same body—

And when they reached the valley, she might just as well have drunk the potion after all, she felt so
helpless. Obediently, in a kind of fog, she let them assist her from the chair, up the path to the stake, and chain her hands to a ring at the top, above her head. She accepted the Last Rites, and watched in dazed and shaking horror as they all left her, walking out of the valley to the cadence of the muffled drums, and no one looked back.

And only then, as the last of them vanished, did she look up, to the crag above the valley.