Tears of the Dragon (5 page)

The possibility disturbed her. It indicated
an intimacy that went beyond slaking raw animal need.

She didn’t want to think about the
likelihood of a wife and children somewhere and she didn’t want to
consider why that bothered her.

She cleared her throat with an effort. “You
are so certain they will welcome me?”

He paused in his task and his gaze met hers
in the mirror. “You are the image of your mother. Even without the
Tear no one would question your hereditary right to the throne of
Atar.”

Khalia’s heart skipped a beat and her gaze
moved from his to study the face that had been her mother’s. For so
many years she had wondered what her mother had looked like and now
she found she had looked at her mother’s face each time she looked
into the mirror. “Truly?”

He paused in his task. Moving closer, so
close she could feel the heat of his body, feel the light brush of
his skin against her back, he reached around her and skimmed an
index finger over the hollow in one cheek beneath her high cheek
bone. “Her face was rounder here.” He circled her rounded chin.
“Her chin not quite so stubborn.” His finger shook slightly as he
traced the curve of her lips. Swallowing convulsively, he removed
his hand. “Your mouth is … not the same, nor your hair.”

After a moment, he ran the comb through her
hair again, then lifted a thick lock, sifting it through his
fingers. “Your hair is like … flame. I have never seen the like of
it, nor anyone in all of Atar. This is your father’s gift to
you.”

Oddly enough, she hadn’t spent nearly as
much time wondering about her father as she had her mother. She
supposed that was because, in the back of her mind, she had wanted
to blame someone besides her mother for abandoning her to the life
of an orphan. She forced a faint smile. “I’d always wondered who to
blame for it,” she said in an attempt at lightness.

He frowned. “You did not know him?”

She shrugged off-handedly, as if it didn’t
matter. The truth was, it did. “I expect he was some mad Scotsman,
or perhaps an Irish ruffian.”

“
But you carry the name of your
sire?”

Khalia shivered slightly, despite the fact
that the temperature of the air was perfectly comfortable, and
pulled the bedspread more snugly around her shoulders. “I haven’t a
clue. The orphanage gave me my name, I expect. What was my mother’s
maiden name?”

“
Emberhorn.” Damien moved away from
her to a paneled wall--or what appeared to be one until he reached
it and the panel slid back into a recess, exposing a wall filled to
overflowing with brightly colored fabrics. Khalia turned on the
bench to watch him as he rifled through them, searching, she
supposed, for garments. He’d said this was the royal apartments,
but he’d also said the royals had not been here since her
grandfather’s time--whenever that was. Surely, even if he did find
women’s garments, they would be too aged to wear, out dated even if
they fit--which seemed extremely doubtful.

After a moment, he pulled a long piece of …
tissue from the armoire and held it up, examining it with a
thoughtful frown. She could see him clearly through it. She felt
certain she could’ve read a newspaper through it.

“
You will wish to retire once you have
eaten. Is this satisfactory?”

Khalia gave him a look. “I’m not certain.
What is it for?”

He glanced up at that. “It is a sleeping
garment.”

She stared at him speechlessly. “You think
I’m going to stroll around this--suite wearing nothing but
that?”

He frowned. “You cannot wear the bed linens.
You are a princess of the house of Emberhorn.”

Khalia pursed her lips. “Does everyone in
this … world run around naked or nearly naked?”

“
Your body is flawless. Why would you
wish to cover it?” he asked curiously.

The remark was flattering and horrifying at
the same time. If she’d had any doubt that he hadn’t taken the
opportunity to examine her thoroughly, he’d disabused her of the
notion. She couldn’t help but be pleased that he seemed to think
she was beautiful, but all the same…. “For the sake of modesty?
Decency?” she suggested.

And then there was the other thing, the fact
that flaunting her naked body must seem like an open invitation to
any randy male that happened along. It would seem almost as if she
were saying, ‘yes, you may look, but this isn’t on tonight’s menu’.
And of course, being the perfect gentlemen they were they wouldn’t
throw her down and take what she hadn’t intended to offer.

He frowned. “The customs are different where
you came from.”

That was an understatement if she’d ever
heard one.

Returning, he helped her to her feet, pried
the edges of the coverlet from her fingers and tossed the ‘veil’
over her head. It had been fashioned much like a poncho and in
truth was no more than a length of cloth with a hole large enough
for her head to fit through. Lifting her arms, he quickly tied two
sets of ties on either side, one at breast level, the other around
her hips … as if she was a small child and had no notion of how to
dress herself. He was frowning as he tied the two halves of the
gown together, but she wasn’t certain whether it was from
concentration, irritation, or her reluctance to wear the thing.
“You must become accustomed to the ways of your people. We are
dragon folk. The clothing we wear has nothing to do with a weak
morality or a lack of modesty. We could not shift without
destroying our garments if we were to swath ourselves from head to
toe as you were when you arrived.”

She honestly hadn’t thought of that and,
oddly enough, now that he had pointed it out, she began to feel a
bit like a zealot. All the same, and despite the fact that he made
a strenuous attempt not to ogle her, she felt distinctly
uncomfortable and had to fight the urge to cover herself with her
hands. She refrained only because she had no desire to draw his
attention to those particular spots when he was ignoring them so
assiduously. “What about the … uh … armor?”

Lifting her hand, he placed it on his arm
and escorted her from the room into the sitting area. He pulled out
a chair and held it for her while she sat. “It expands … to a
degree. We cannot wear full armor, but I have no need of it when I
shift.”

The tray, she saw with a good deal of
surprise, held a large fowl and several side dishes. She knew she
hadn’t been in the bath long enough to prepare such a meal--at
least not with the sort of kitchen facilities she was accustomed
to. She had seen a number of marvels already, however. Or had he
commandeered the meal of the royal guard, she wondered?

When he didn’t take the seat across from
her, she looked up at him. “You’re not dining with me?”

“
I will serve you.”

Khalia blinked at him. “I will choke on my
food if you stand over me.”

Amusement gleamed in his eyes. After a
moment, he moved to the chair across from her and sat down. The
amusement vanished when she served the plates, but she ignored his
look of disapproval.

“
You must learn the ways of your
people.”

She frowned. She didn’t want to learn the
ways of ‘her’ people. She wanted to go home. “Tell me about my
mother.”

He studied her for a long moment, but
finally turned his attention to the meal. “In truth, I know little.
Those were … tumultuous times and I was no more than a captain when
I was selected for the royal guard, but I did not guard the Queen’s
household. I was too … proud of my manhood to submit to gelding. It
weakens a man, for, once gelded, he cannot shift.”

Khalia choked on the bite of chicken she’d
just taken. It took her several minutes to catch her breath.
Damien, she saw once she managed to dislodge the piece and drag in
a decent breath, was on his feet and nearly as white faced as she
was red. “I beg your pardon?” she said weakly.

He looked at her blankly, obviously having
entirely lost his train of thought while she struggled for air.
“You didn’t guard the Queen’s household…,” she prompted, convinced
that she must have heard him wrong.

He frowned, apparently mentally reviewing
the conversation. When his gaze met hers once more, there was
amusement in his eyes. “It has been practiced for eons--In order to
protect the royal lines the guards must be gelded. It is neither
permanent, nor, I’ve been told, painful.”

“
Oh. Then it’s not … what I thought it
was.”

His lips twitched. “I expect it is much like
you thought it was. It is to prevent any chance of an undesirable
breeding upon a royal.” After a moment, however, he sobered.
“Caracus was a powerful dragon, possibly the most powerful there
had ever been. He bred three daughters upon his queen, securing his
line … but it cost him his queen and, in the end, his life.”

The tale created far more questions in her
mind than it answered. She’d been reared by strangers, among
strangers, and yet she’d had grandparents, aunts … possibly
cousins…. Or maybe not. Maybe all had died, or been slain before
she was even born?

As intriguing as she found the personal
history of what he, at least, supposed to have been her family, the
rest of his comments were almost as puzzling. “He … Caracus had no
male heir? Is that what caused the war?”

Damien looked at her curiously. “He
had
three
female heirs. No
king in living memory had born three. His own sire failed to
produce a single female. He bore only males, which is what tore the
kingdom apart.”

Khalia merely stared at him. She was having
a great deal of trouble getting her mind around the implications.
“The monarchy is passed through the female line? This is … a
matriarchal society?”

He gave her a strange look. “Naturally.”

Naturally? Khalia was so stunned she
couldn’t even think of how to respond to the remark.

“
The female bears her young. There can
be absolutely no doubt that her offspring is hers.… A bull will not
stray from his female once they have mated, but he cannot always
prevent others from usurping his place. Occasionally, although it
is rare, the female will not be satisfied with the male she had
chosen and seek another, or even take a lover. In any case, it is
in the nature of the female to promote society, peace and
prosperity … all things necessary to a good ruler. The male is
stronger, aggressive and territorial by nature, far better suited
to the protection of the realm from its enemies.”

The food was good, and Khalia was hungry,
but she found she was far more interested in assuaging her
curiosity than her appetite. “So … Caracus inherited the throne
from his mother … and insured his line by producing three female
heirs? What happened to my mother? Why was there a war? I assume
there was war?”

Damien pushed his plate away and sat back.
“Caracus was crowned because he was the eldest offspring and there
were no females. His brother, Houlin, stole Carcacus’ queen in
order to wrest the realm from his older brother. Caracus tore the
kingdom apart searching for her. Those loyal to the King sent the
princesses to safety through the portal. They didn’t dare leave it
open, however, so they gave each of the princesses a Tear--the
amulet you wear. The amulet was designed to summon them home once
peace had been restored. Unfortunately, we discovered that it did
not work as we’d thought it would. We could not summon them home.
We could only wait for them to use the Tear to return. And since
the princesses did not know that they could not be summoned, or how
to use the Tear to return….”

He paused, frowning. Finally, he rose and
began to pace. “Caracus’ beloved queen took her life to prevent
Houlin from claiming her. When Caracus learned of it, he could not
be restrained or reasoned with. War gripped the land until both
Caracus and Houlin were slain in battle.

“
When we realized we could not summon
our princesses home, we were forced to place the youngest of the
Gildwing offspring, Maurkis, on the throne as regent until such
time as the true heir returned. There was something else we did not
count upon, however, when we sent the princesses to the other
world.”

“
Maurkis would resist giving up the
throne to the heir, even if she showed up?” Khalia
guessed.

Damien stared at her a long moment, but
slowly shook his head. “He has given us no reason to believe he
would not welcome the true heir.” He frowned thoughtfully, but
finally seemed to dismiss it. “That world we sent them to drains
their life force. Princess Cassiamia, who should have been next in
line after her father, returned, but she was aged. In less than ten
of our years, she had grown ancient, weak in body, mind and spirit.
She was not fit to rule. We thought, once she was home once more,
that she might recover. She did not. We realized then that our only
hope was that the offspring of one of our princesses would return
to take the throne, but, in truth, we had almost given up hope of
it … until we were alerted by the tear that you had passed through
the portal.”

He ceased pacing and turned to study her for
a long moment. “Your people need you. I cannot allow you to return
to that world you have always believed to be your own. This is your
world. It is your duty--to your people--and to your family line, to
assume the throne of Atar.”

Chapter Five

It was just as well that Khalia hadn’t
really expected to rest, she thought wryly when she woke the
following day. She couldn’t ascribe her restless night to physical
discomfort with her surroundings. The temperature of the quarters
where Damien had imprisoned her was constant and so finely attuned
to her comfort that she couldn’t help but wonder if these beings
had discovered a way to regulate such things--as farfetched as that
seemed on the surface.