A stranger sort of fairy.., p.24
A Stranger Sort of Fairy Tale, page 24
“I suggest we must remain vigilant during tonight’s ceremony,” Malachite advised.
“We’ll need our wits about us,” Tarquin agreed. “I think, if they’re going to try something, it will be during the ceremony.”
“I’ll ride into town later and muster the able-bodied to increase the guard.”
“Mention it to the Grand Master as well—these monks aren’t helpless, Julius.”
“Majesty.”
Tarquin took Viridian’s hands again, giving them a friendly squeeze. “Let’s head back. I feel we’ll be safer within the monastery walls. And I think you’ll be missed shortly.”
Part Three
Fury
17
The Rites of Spring
Nightfall couldn’t come soon enough, in Tarquin’s opinion. He hadn’t seen Viridian since noon. The Grand Master had separated them before lunch, whisking the fey off to prepare for the festival.
As the lamps were being lit and the sky darkened, the fey appeared radiant before him now, dressed in a midnight blue gown studded with glimmering pearls and shimmering diamonds. He descended the stairs carefully.
He bowed to him, then allowed the fey to pass, followed by Amira and Malachite, and his ladies-in-waiting, all of them dressed in blue as well, carrying the redhead’s train as they headed into the bright courtyard.
The sky was a brilliant medley of golds, reds, and oranges. The yard itself was surrounded by shadows, but the torches had doubled in number. An enormous bonfire burned just beyond the fountain, and some of the monks had already taken to their instruments, pounding out a wild rhythm on the drums. The beat crescendoed as Viridian approached the fountain, then fell as he turned to them. The Grand Master knelt before him.
“O Goddess,” he began, lifting his hands, “you send before us this maiden to convey your messages, to guide us through these rituals that we may submit to you our worship more fully and completely! Speak, O Maiden, and tell us the goddess’s bidding that we may fulfill it.”
Viridian steepled his fingers. “Xotil sends good tidings to warm your hearts. Your worship pleases her. Dance and pray, and keep her blessings close! Wash away your sins and stand pure before her—this so pleases Xotil, it is her command.”
Hearty cheers went up from the congregation, and the drums began to beat again. The crowd broke up as the feast was laid out. Tarquin drifted closer to Viridian, catching the fey’s hand. “You look ravishing,” he hissed to the redhead, whose breath caught.
“Thank you,” he said, curling his hand back to himself.
“Shall I call upon you later?” Tarquin couldn’t help the question in his voice as Viridian was swept into a crowd of dancing bodies ushering him toward the head of the tables.
He couldn’t explain how desperately he wanted to gather the fey up in his arms and whisk him away. He felt it now, the looming black feeling Viridian had alluded to. It descended upon him like shadows from the heavens.
He watched helplessly as Viridian melded into the group, lifting his hands, half-stepping to the rhythm as Amira twirled him about, their skirts mingling, a sea of fabric swirling around them like some kind of storm.
It was mesmerizing.
Julius elbowed him. “This isn’t a ball, you can’t monopolize him like the princes in fairy tales.”
Tarquin chanced another glance at Viridian.
“It’s a strange sort of fairy tale,” he murmured, and Julius snorted.
“I’m sure you’ll have him back soon enough.” The blond sighed. “Come—there’s ritual to attend, Majesty. You wouldn’t want to transgress in front of the rain goddess, now would you?”
“I might,” Tarquin murmured, “provided the goddess’s oracle will punish me for my sins.”
“You ought to be careful what you wish for—punishment may not come in the form you want.” Julius guided him to a seat next to the Grand Master, who was at the opposite end from Viridian. Amira sat down beside him.
He frowned at her, but she merely folded her hands under her chin and smiled across the way at Julius. The captain lifted his glass and gave her a curt nod.
The drums went on beating, and the monks went on chanting. Tarquin wasn’t sure how many goblets of wine he drank. He continued drinking until his cheeks were numb. He’d hoped it would dull the thick feeling of dread, but it didn’t. It made him more nervous, so he took more of the potion to calm his nerves.
Viridian was only more lovely with every sip he took. The drums throbbed to his pulse.
At last the chatter and clattering of plates and utensils began to die away. The drums picked up a new, ferocious rhythm, and the monks danced wildly. The Grand Master moved to the fountain and began the ritual ablutions, blessing and cleansing the supplicants.
Viridian stood upon a pedestal, hands clasped in front of him, nodding at each of the supplicants. He was flush, his eyes shining brightly in the flickering lights of the torches. Each of the supplicants adorned him with yet another wreath of flowers.
“Repent!” the Grand Master cried, lifting his hands to the sky. “Repent your sins, and rejoice for Xotil washes them away, like the spring rains wash away the filth of winter, to renew Uchakka!”
The flames shot up around him. Then the square went dark, the torches snuffed out in an instance. Smoke curled into the air.
Amira leaned in close, whispering to him, “This is an excellent show.”
“O Mighty Xotil! Shed light upon these sinners, take mercy upon their souls! Cleanse them, douse them in your holy light!”
The flames shot up high again, sparking green, then blue. Finally, they burned red and orange again. Light danced across the square as the Grand Master turned to the pedestal. All eyes followed him.
Viridian was gone.
The Grand Master dropped his hands. He turned back to the crowd, horror upon his face.
“The oracle has disappeared!” Sayyid’s voice echoed.
“What’s happened to the oracle?!”
“Never in all my years,” the Grand Master groaned, “has this happened! Oh, goddess, do you hate us so?!”
Tarquin leaped to his feet. He slapped Julius on the shoulder. “Get the guard together,” he ordered. “Ride immediately, toward town.”
“You think …”
“The game’s afoot,” he assured the captain, then headed for the garden path.
He’d almost reached the hedges when Amira cried, “Quin! Wait up!”
She hustled after him, her skirts swirling about her ankles. “What’s going on? I thought it was part of the ritual—”
“It seems I wasn’t the target—Viridian was.”
A blood-curdling scream rang out down the path, piercing through the quiet of the night, echoing over the croaking frogs.
Tarquin stared at Amira for what felt like an eternity, the slight tilt of her head, the softness of her expression burning into his eyes.
Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It made perfect sense.
“You,” he snarled.
“What?” Her head jerked up.
He gritted his teeth, grabbed her by the wrist. “You scheming, lying—”
“Quin, what in the world—”
“I should have known you were up to something!”
Her brow furrowed. “What are you on about?”
He shook her arm. “You wretch, you know exactly what I’m talking about—following us to Karakorum, pretending to like him, eavesdropping on our conversations, making me think I could trust you. You knew about this the whole time—”
“What are you talking about?” she cried.
“You know perfectly well!” he thundered, dragging her down the path. “Your uncle’s put you up to this, I’m sure of it!”
“Put me up to what?!” She yanked her hand free of his and came to standstill in the middle of the magnolia clearing. She stomped her foot. “Will you at least be clear about what you’re accusing me of!”
He glanced down the path. “That was Viridian,” he hissed. Every second they lost, the farther away their dragon culprit could be with the fey.
She shook her head again. “Quin, I—”
“He’s fey! I’ve no doubt he’s being kidnapped or murdered by marauders on the road—likely hired by your uncle to rid himself of a threat!”
He grabbed her wrist again and broke into a sprint. “Oh!” She stumbled across the uneven path, then lifted her skirts. Her feet were a blur of motion.
“Come along!” he cried. “Quickly—I don’t need to remind you that if anything should happen to the heir of Fiddach’s throne while he’s under Arubio’s care—”
He leaped over a puddle, listened to her splash through it. She yanked hard on his arm, bringing him to a crashing halt. He nearly toppled over.
“Tarquin,” she huffed, “listen to me.”
He looked deeper into the trees, widening his eyes, perking his ears. His nostrils flared; he tasted the air with his tongue. “Come along,” he said, “they’re not far—”
“Listen!” she snapped, wrenching on his arm and dragging him back when he tried to take off again. He turned to her, flicking his tongue against his fangs to show his displeasure. He could feel his pupils contracting into tiny slits.
She huffed a few breaths, then straightened up. “Now that I have your attention, Majesty, please listen to me. I assure you of my innocence in whatever scheme is brewing here.”
“They’re getting away,” Tarquin ground out.
“If he’s a dragon, he’ll have a hideout here somewhere. I know my kind.”
Tarquin bit the inside of his cheek.
“And it’s unlikely to be one. There’s probably a band of them using the same hoard. They’ll hide their takes there, then sell them off to traders and merchants.”
Tarquin huffed.
“So,” she said, “it’s unlikely they’ll take Viridian very far tonight—just back to the hoard. They’ll decide what to do to him.”
“Your uncle sees him as a threat. Marrying him would solidify an alliance with Rus and is likely to result in an heir to the Arubian throne. And finally, Viridian’s fey; marrying him will draw Arubio into the fey power network.”
“Fey are also valuable,” she countered coolly. “Their wings are considered medicine in Yuccata and other places beyond the sea. Even if they’re hired killers, they might not murder a valuable steal. Now, keep your wits about you and your temper in check—follow me.”
She hefted her skirts again and made her way down the path. He glanced up at the stars, then followed.
x
As they drew closer to what appeared to be the end of the path, they heard voices. Mostly, it was Viridian yelling, “Let me go right this instance! You’ve no idea what you’re dealing with,” followed by a low groan and someone drawling, “Someone shut the insect up.”
“I’ll give ‘er something to keep ‘er mouth full, eh heh.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it, Jaspeth—you seen that thing’s teeth? You want it bitten off?”
“Might shut ‘er up for a little bit, at least—perhaps she’ll choke.”
“I can hear you, you wretches, I speak your language, do you take me for an idiot—”
Amira patted Tarquin’s hand, then crouched down low, before finally dropping to her belly and crawling toward the tip-top of the hill.
The path plunged into a dell on the other side. The dragons—three of them—were hidden in the underside of the knoll. They had one small lantern burning in the center of their congregation. Viridian was almost hidden in the shadows; only the gleam of his wings gave him away. They’d tied him up, but not thought to gag him. The silly thing was alternating between yelling at them and rolling about uselessly, trying to get his hands or his feet near enough to his mouth that he could chew through the rough ropes they’d bound him with.
Tarquin leaned closer to Amira. “What do you propose we do?” he whispered.
“Hush now, both of you,” the third dragon groused. He was probably in his late forties or early fifties, with an impressive silver mustache. The silvery sheen of his skin in the firelight gave him away; he was the spy who’d eavesdropped on them in the monastery gardens. “We’ll get word soon enough of what we’re to do with the little bug—whether Lord Ephraim wants it ground into dust or what else we’re to do.”
Tarquin shot Amira a glance, but she was looking down into the hollow, her mouth open a little, as though she were completely aghast.
She looked at him finally. She pointed to herself, then the hollow. She nodded once, then got to her feet and started off down the trail. Tarquin grabbed at her trailing skirt, but she was already gone. He gritted his teeth, tossed aside the clump of dirt he’d snatched instead.
“Gentlemen!” Amira announced as she strode into the hollow, looking for all the world like a prim and proper young lady. She smiled sweetly at them and pressed her hands together. “My lord uncle bids you a good evening.”
The three dragons rose to their feet.
“Amira!” Viridian spat. “You—how could you?!”
She just went on smiling. “My lord will be most pleased with this. Now, tell me, what will it take for you to release the wretch into my care?”
The mustachioed dragon sniffed, tossing his head back. His hand rested on his hip. “I didn’t think His Lordship would send a mere dragoness to reckon with us.”
Amira’s eyes flashed. “I assure you, my good man, I am no mere dragoness. My Uncle Ephraim has entrusted me with the collection of the bug.”
The man sniffed again. “If so, why don’t you know the terms of our agreement with His Lordship?”
Amira rolled her shoulders. “My lord uncle did not wish to discuss such things openly with me. Nonetheless, you’ll find he’s sent me well-equipped, so now, if we might settle the matter …”
The man considered for a moment. “Why should I believe you?” he inquired, placing one foot on the log. He leaned over his leg. “Eh? During the shamal, you helped the bug and the pretender king.”
“How?” She fired back.
“You allowed the fey to tame that sarsok—we bought it from a merchant on orders from your lord uncle and set it loose in the camp. It had its orders; it was to kill the pretender.”
Amira snorted, folding her arms. She smirked. “I see my uncle is a wiser man than you take him for. Of course he wouldn’t tell swine like you the entirety of the plan.”
Tarquin covered his eyes, dragging his hand down his face. It was just like Amira to insult the people she was supposed to be bargaining with.
“What do you mean?” The other dragon narrowed his eyes.
She laughed wildly, barely covering her mouth with her hand. “My uncle told me to assist them, then to drop the scorpion that poisoned the pretender. That’s much less noticeable than being trampled to death by a wild sarsok someone must have brought with them.”
“A scorpion,” Jaspeth said, glancing to the mustachioed dragon. “Eh, what do you say to that, Jericho?”
“A bug is a bug,” Jericho replied. “You claim responsibility for this—yet the scorpion lives in the desert and could easily have been there as an accident—”
“Of course.” Amira’s eyes flashed bright in the low light. “What could be more innocent? The pretender king, bitten by a scorpion! Poisoned by nature herself—and his little bride poisoned with him, trying to save him! They were both to perish in the desert. What could possibly have sent a stronger message that Tarquin the False was a pretender, than for nature herself to rebel against his rule?”
She sneered. “They’re both more tenacious pests than we anticipated.”
“Issat why Lord Ephraim didn’t send more orders until after His Majesty recovered?” the third dragon asked, earning himself a conk on the head from Jaspeth.
“Don’t call him that,” he grumbled.
“Of course,” Amira scoffed. “My uncle was very confident in his plan. We didn’t anticipate the two of them being so persistent.”
Jericho stared into the fire for what felt like an eternity. His frown grew deeper and deeper. And then he nodded. “Lord Ephraim is indeed a clever reptile,” he mused. “We’ve no doubt he’ll quash the incubi dynasty, destroy this fey alliance, and reestablish the Court of Dragons in Arubio.”
Tarquin sat up, not quite believing his ears.
“The Court of Dragons?” Viridian spat. “The Court of Dragons fell ages ago—millennia! Queen Citrine drove you foul beasts from the north, into hiding in the mountains—”
“Where we’ve suffered ever since!” Jaspeth bellowed, belting Viridian across the face.
Viridian spat blood, baring his own teeth. “Where you belong!” he thundered. “The dragons were driven into exile, and the Court of Dragons outlawed! To seek to revive it violates every law, every treaty the dragons have ever signed!”
“The Peace of Flanax is a false document used by your treacherous people to vilify us! It was never agreed to by dragons. We refuse to be bound by your fey laws.”
Amira stepped away from Viridian, leaving the fey looking stricken. “I know how much my uncle desires to see our people restored to their former glory. We’ll descend from the mountains where we’ve hidden and licked our wounds; we’ll capture the Gem of the Desert and make her ours, harnessing her power to establish a new Court of Dragons, to return our people to a new Age of Dragons!”
She held her hands wide, smiling brightly. “Your work here tonight will please my lord uncle very much. It will bring us one step closer to ousting these pretenders, these false kings and queens. I ask you again, what did my lord uncle promise you?”
Jericho considered her yet again. Viridian started to cry. “I trusted you,” he whispered.
“Very well,” Jericho said, gesturing to the log. “His Lordship promised us twenty-five gold pieces each.”
Tarquin’s breath caught in his throat. There was no way Amira had that much money on her. And if she did …
Had Ephraim given it to her? Had she been in on this all along?
“Very well. And I see none of you have laid a hand on him aside from that one transgression—very well indeed. We’ll lure out the pretender Tarquin, then murder them both.”
