Chapter 2
Lorcan Jogging over to the cottage, I saw my mother at the door, holding out a basket for me. “Right on time. I was going to leave this on the table for you.”
“You’re not staying?” She had been working so hard on the feast for Princess Isolde, that I wondered if she hadn’t eaten anything at all.
“No, I had some cheese and wine earlier. I’ll munch on an apple on my way back. I’ll be fine.” She reached out and rubbed my shoulder. “But I saw that beast the princess brought into the stables. Looks like you shall have your work cut out for you.”
“Incendio. And if his name doesn’t frighten you, the look in his eyes will. I have never seen a horse try to stare me down like that before. It would be amusing if I were not so scared.”
My mother let out a laugh, she knew I was only teasing. There wasn’t a horse yet that I couldn’t tame. This one would prove to be no different. Animals and I seemed to have an unspoken agreement. Sooner or later, they all yielded. Her gaze fell sadly to the basket on the table. “I must apologize for your meal. I was so rattled with the needs of the kitchen; that I didn’t remove your hen from the flames in time.” She peeled back the linen swaddling the poultry, revealing a rather pathetic bird, charred black as coal. “I’ll scrape it the best I can. I am sure the meat inside is still good.” She picked up the knife she had on the table, but I caught her wrist.
“You’ll do no such thing. Besides, I like my meat well done.”
“She waved her hands in disbelief.”
You’ve been telling me that since you could talk. You always did try to spare my feelings.”
“Well if it were up to me, I would eat everything burnt to a crisp.”
“I can’t say I’d enjoy ashen meals for supper, but to each his own.” She reached for her mossy green cloak that lay over the chair and draped it around her shoulders. “Will I be seeing you this evening?”
“Do I have a choice? I have already spoken with the princess; must I formally attend her royal presentation?”
“Lorcan, you know it is our duty to obey the king’s command.” She paused for a moment and rested her hands on the back of the wooden chair. “What was she like?”
“The king commands me to stand there like an obedient dog, in his haunted throne room, and I am resolved to comply. As for the princess, she was kinder than I had anticipated but still…hard.
Does that make sense?”
“Hard, I believe. That family has pure ice in their veins as evidenced by their white hair. Tell me…” She had the twinkle of girlhood in her eyes. “How was she kind?”
“She wished for me to extend thanks to you for working so hard on her feast.”
My mother dropped her gaze to the burnt lunch and blushed at the compliment. “Are you teasing me?”
“That’s not worth teasing over. It’s true.” I bit into the chicken, feeling the ash cling to my lips and teeth. I offered her a caked smile, showing her my contentment.
She rolled her eyes and flattened my messy hair to lay a kiss on top of my head. “Well then, I best be off.”
“Mother?” The rumors the other men had been whispering in the stables had gotten the best of my curiosity. “Is it true they only marry members of their family?”
My mother sighed and nodded her head in resignation. “It is. King Savio would rather have the princess flayed alive than have her marry outside her bloodline.”
“Why wouldn’t the king try to ally with the lands across the sea? It seems more diplomatic to join countries than conquer them.” I took another bite of chicken but noticed my mother’s gaze had settled solemnly on the flames that danced in the fireplace. My father had been sent across the sea by order of the king six years ago. Savio referred to the missions as “raids,”
saying the people across the sea were hostile. My father never returned. Well, his body returned. It was his spirit that lingered behind.
I sighed at the memory of the soldiers knocking on our door to deliver the news. “They called the dragons barbaric for mating with our kind, but they never laid with members of their blood. Nor would they hurt their young if they chose to marry for love rather than duty.”
My mother turned away, ignoring my treasonous comments. “Wash up and put on your best clothes. I’ll see you at the ceremony.”
Despite my mother’s worry, I plucked that bird clean. I did prefer my meat burnt. My taste buds were as off-color as my hair. She left a pot of boiling water over the fire so that I might wash and make myself as presentable as possible. I stunk off the horses and doubted the water, no matter how scalding, could get the stench out. It was embedded in my skin.
My lowborn, servant skin.
She had laid out my clothes on my pallet bed. Twenty-four years old and she still attended to me like I was a child. I picked up the clean, dark trousers, and surveyed the tightly woven linen shirt. These clothes were nicer than anything I owned and knew they had belonged to my father.
I made sure to scrub my skin raw, washing every inch of my body that was tanned from the sun. My thoughts turned to Princess Isolde. Her skin is as fair as her hair. Looking into her eyes so blue, she appeared to have been sculpted from ice. She had grown even more beautiful since I last saw her. She was only nine then. And I, at fourteen, just becoming a man. She didn’t remember me, but I remembered her.
The kingdom was still tightening control over the land when she was sent away. Not everyone agreed with Savio’s dealings with the shifters. Some felt the dragons were the only true protection our kind had from other invaders. Many rebels would run the risk of being placed on the rack, stretched, and branded if it meant tearing apart the kingdom and taking Savio off of the throne.
When the King’s only son was murdered in his sleep, it was clear that the time of empty threats was over. The child had barely begun his fifth year when the light was extinguished from his eyes. The rebels sought refuge in the Forest of Frost, some were rumored to go to Lassair, and others booked passage across the Salted Sea to gain more allies in their cause. These areas were weeded out, and every man found was publicly executed after days of unspeakable torture. Still, it wasn’t enough to calm the King’s mind. Whispers of others remained.
To protect his only daughter, King Savio had her sent away. It was rumored she was hidden in Abhainn, for the House of Fontaine was large and many members of her family still lived there. As the years ticked by, the threats seemed to dissipate until they faded away into whispers and finally stopped altogether. With no threats remaining, it was time for the princess to return, wed her cousin, whom the king had declared a prince, and learn the land that she would one day rule.
I hadn’t given her much thought since she left. My duty was horses and saddles. Hers was finery and eloquence. So naturally, I was surprised to find the princess had led her horse into the stables. Her betrothed would be in for a nasty shock when he discovered how iron-willed she had become. Then again, the rumors of her betrothed were quickly turning from a whisper to a war cry.
Prince Raelan had been caught visiting the brothels just beyond the marketplace. But it was his request that caused such a scandal, for his preference turned out to be for the squire that waited outside rather than the voluptuous bodies that lay inside the sinful walls. He had propositioned the squire, and the story goes that the man refused. Of course, no one can get a true answer, for only the squire and Raelan know the honest tale. And while no one would dare ask Raelan, they cannot ask the squire either, for the boy’s tongue had conveniently been cut out.
Now, not having had the luxury of bedding a maiden myself, I can’t say I’d be much better in the sack than Raelan. A side effect of having hair that looks like I laid all night in the cinders, the women of the city saw me as a monster, the freak who is fit only for the stables. Perhaps I am a freak, but there is one thing I know for sure-I’d certainly appreciate my time with the Princess. I can’t say the same for Prince Raelan.
I got dressed, combed my wild black mane as best I could, and put on my father’s charcoal cloak. The pin seemed to be loose, and not having time to take it to the blacksmith to have it re-soldered, I searched my mother’s drawer for a bit of string to tie it closed. It wouldn’t be the most attractive way to remedy my situation, but time was not something working in my favor. Her drawer held a few odd buttons, scraps of linen used for patchwork, and several needles, but no thread. There was, however, a brown leather purse with a drawstring. One I hadn’t seen in years. It belonged to my father.
Taking out the purse, I drew open the strings and slid out what was held captive. A round silver pin fell into my palm, bearing the raised image of a dragon sealed in a ring of flames. It was the sigil of the Clan Drago and the men touched by fire, of that much I was certain. I had never seen the sigil with my own eyes before, but my father had told me enough stories as a child making it easy to identify. But how did it come into my father’s possession? Was it just a token he saved? A symbol of the spoils of war?
Charon, the dragon king, and his clan had ruled our lands for centuries. The men born of fire do not age like mortals. They possess a magic, given to them by fire gods whose memory faded with the last screech of the final executed dragon. They walked like men. Talked like them but could summon a power within their core that changed their skin to scales and their breath to flame.
I slipped the pin back into the purse and removed the leather string. Using it to tie my cloak closed, I was ready to go to the castle for the presentation of the princess. That was what would be on everyone’s mind tonight. But my mind would be back in that drawer, wondering how my father had acquired that priceless pin.