The Dragons' Chosen (18 page)

I pointed my finger at him. “Why?”

Hugh bowed. “Your lands have long been known for their charming women.”

I could see Tristan wince. Beside me, Chris muttered, “Give it a break.”

“As yours is for secretive, deceiving men?” I snapped, not allowing myself the liberty of glaring at Tristan.

I was too angry to say more.

Chris addressed Hugh. “So why? What do you get out of this besides a female? Surely you have those in your land. It seems a bizarre way to select a partner.”

“Yes, why did you seek a woman, charming or otherwise, from my country?” I added, not bothering to remove the snarl from my voice.

I didn’t believe that my parents would have applauded either Chris’s or my diplomacy, but I was angry and tired; and Chris, well, she was Chris.

“Long ago, we sought a land willing to trade a royal bride. But at first we were refused.”

I waited.

Hugh seemed to come to a decision. “There was discomfort about our abilities. We’re an old race, a strong race.” Here he flexed his muscles and almost preened. “But our talents made your people uneasy.” He looked out over his men, then shrugged in dismissal. “People fear what they don’t understand.”

“Ah, yes, your talents. I couldn’t help but notice that you are not always so—manly. Was that the discomfort you speak of?” I wiggled my knife free.

He breathed out before speaking again, “Yes, that is true. We had hoped to bring this information to you slowly. We are a race able to transform into dragons, to breathe fire, to command the skies.”

“Is that why you cower here, rather than approaching my father directly for my hand?”

The temperature rose in the hall. Some of the men seemed to glow. Chris scooted closer to me. No one spoke for the passing of many breaths. I didn’t care. I wouldn’t concede again because of fear.

“You question our bravery, My Lady?” I could see glints like embers swimming in his eyes. His hands clinched into fists before him as he struggled for control.

I looked up at him calmly and then said the words slowly, one at a time. “No, I question your honesty!” Behind me Chris trembled, her fingernails digging into my arm.

Hugh’s upper lip curled into a snarl and three men moved to his side. Tristan stood then, stepping forward.

I seethed.

“Oh yes, the good bard. Here to tell me a story,” I taunted.

“Peace.” He held up his hand. “Bide, and hear my words.”

“Please go ahead.” I sniffed in disdain. “I love a good tale.”

“Eleven hundred years ago during the reign of our King Kester IV, a pass over the mountains collapsed, closing down the annual caravan route. Some voiced concern, but, though few, we are an insular people. Our land is plentiful: many animals to hunt, lakes teeming with life, our mountains rich with raw ores. Our people are skilled craftsmen. We were content; none saw it as a problem. But then, several hundred years later, some were no longer able to change between dragon to human at their wish.”

The one with the thin straight mustache, James, interrupted. “Actually, it was only the nobles. Before then, we’d wed the occasional outsider.”

Tristan nodded in agreement before continuing. “Some called it a curse. Since the pass closed, we married only within our royal families.”

Chris chewed on her lip, then added, “You were too inbred.”

Tristan nodded. “The Court Physicians confirmed our best guess, we needed to marry outsiders. Those without dragon blood.”

James cleared his throat, rambling forth. “It was Denston’s son, the fourth Denston, who was locked in his dragon form for a year. The histories say it shook Denston III to his golden core. Nothing could be done. To break the curse, the royals realized they must look elsewhere for mates.”

Rauf added, “But none of the royals could leave. Our people would never leave.”

Piers spoke then. “Except for our last princess, Victoria.”

James corrected him, “That was much later, and she wasn’t a Pritorian. She just married one.”

“You’re right. She was the last chosen princess…” Piers looked at me. “Until Genevieve.”

I held myself still, barely managing not to react at hearing of my Great Aunt Victoria. Would they tell me what happened to her? What was her fate?

Hugh turned toward them, angry with the interruptions and with the clear intention of blood-letting. The others backed down.

He went on. “Our royal family needed human wives to survive. Finally, a decision was made. Three human princesses were chosen to marry the three sons of the king in Pritorous. Chosen and carried back.”

First truth, I thought.

Chris figured it out immediately, whispering, “They kidnapped them. Just like Romans with the Sabine women.”

Tristan spoke, continuing his tale. “There was war, ten years of it. Your people marched on the Fandrite mountains. Thousands of men died, from disease and cold as much as from fire and claw. Dragons, too, were killed. We flew into Gaulen, burned the land, razed towns and villages. Ten years of dying, lands burned, towns destroyed—I’m not defending what our ancestors did. It was a long time ago, part of our mutual history.”

Chris spoke out. “So how did it end?”

Hugh interrupted here, taking back the story as his own. “Your country lost much, a generation of its best men, lands withered, towns reduced to ash, trade eliminated. But we died too.”

Second truth. I remembered reading of the destruction that ensued from an ancient war. It was a time of chaos, almost a millennium ago, and few documents survived. I nodded my head for him to continue.

“Realizing the failure of war, a coterie of your kings sent ambassadors, ten of your most able men. Only three survived the journey through the Fandrites to appear before our kings, two church leaders and the mountaineer who led them, called Bill Mastin.

“Those men came to understand that they could protect your kingdoms from the scourge of dragonfire by ensuring the regular influx of new blood into our royal line. A princess would be given to us. And we would retain our humanity.”

Piers said, “A princess that we choose—based on careful deliberations of her strengths and suitability.” He gave me a nod as if I should be flattered.

Hugh added, “We would compensate the family for their loss, as per the pact.”

Chris whispered in my ear, something about mail order brides. I couldn’t listen to her now; this was too important. Everything they said made sense. This had been negotiated exclusively through the church and the Mastin family. They fed only the barest information to the kings, only that the dragons required a princess.

“And the kidnapped girls?” Chris asked.

Tristan nodded at her question. “They negotiated the peace treaty. It was named for them, The Princess Pact.”

“Just like that, huh, kidnapped women now bartering for more kidnapping.”

Tristan leveled his eyes at her. “Ten years had passed. They had settled into their marriages and families—our histories say they were even happy. In any event, they understood the needs of both and the risks of war.”

Chris snorted., “Stockholm syndrome, nothing more. And everyone lived happily ever after, right?”

James spoke up. “There were difficulties. Peace came, time passed, and young men forgot the war, the fires, the bloodshed. They sought us out. Some wanted to prove their valor by slaying a dragon, and some sought dragon blood for arcane rites.” Here he paused, distress painted across his face. “The way to our land is fraught with peril: ice storms, avalanches and fierce winds that chill to the bone. Many died.”

Hugh’s eyes shone fiercely. “Finally, two Pritorians were killed while flying low over the mountains. Killed by your people.” The planes of his face turned taut and white. “Those men were hunted down and brought to justice.”

Piers turned to me to interject again, but he closed his mouth as Tristan took up the tale once more.

“We realized that in order to keep the treaty, we must disappear. Snares were laid and traps set at the borders. We travelled through your lands telling tales and singing songs to inspire fear of these mountains.”

“But still you seek to marry outside of your own people,” I said.

“We must.” Tristan’s teeth clenched. “Some of us…some of us still find ourselves locked in dragon form for longer than we wish.”

An unsettling quiet seemed to pervade the cave-room and some unspoken words passed me by. Some hint of sorrow or distress directed at Tristan. I couldn’t tell. Nor did I care. Tristan continued with no expression upon his face. “In isolation, we fear the loss of our humanity, not in this century or the next, but eventually.”

Chris spoke. “Okay, I can see that fire-breathing dragons wouldn’t be best as neighbors. So why didn’t you track down more human women—not that I’m encouraging you to, you might note.”

Hugh looked down his nose at her. “We are honorable. We still hold to the treaty, as do you. It can be a hardship for us, but one just manageable.”

I continued tapping my knife against the stone as I evaluated his words, wondering if there was some further message that he wasn’t saying.

Still, it made sense, I thought. I’d heard these stories and songs myself.

Third truth.

“So you sought a princess every hundred years…” I started.

The men looked at each other. Piers spoke. “Not truly. We seek a princess whenever we have royalty who agrees to marry a human. The pact allows for up to two in a hundred year period.”

James added, “Certainly in recent centuries, it may have been fewer but it isn’t because we don’t look other times. We seek out a good match, but sometimes we don’t find anyone suitable. Sometimes we’ve chosen one of our own. Or perhaps a princess is in line to rule. Back then no one thought to ask for a prince.”

Rauf nodded, agreeing. “This search happened to be a good fit.”

Piers gave me a merry smile. “Yes, we were particularly pleased with you.”

There must have been fire in my eyes as Chris muttered in my ear, “Oh wow. Lucky you. Aren’t you just too special.”

Chapter 25

It took me a full minute to rearrange my thoughts, absorbing what I just heard. I ventured another question, an important one.

“Should I agree to this, which of your party seeks my hand?” It must be Tristan, I knew it must be him.

Chris whipped around, her mouth open.

Hugh moved a step closer, ignoring my growing anger. I watched in surprise as he dropped to one knee reaching for my hand, eyes bright with the glow of self-confidence. “As king, the honor is mine to accept your hand in troth and make you my queen.”

A quick glance showed Tristan, his face neutral, his fingers pressed against the table. I started tapping my knife again to cover my embarrassment. Tristan wasn’t interested in me for himself, merely picking out a prize for his brother.

Hugh looked up at me, perplexed that I hadn’t responded. “We’ve kept our promise. Everything has been done according to the rules. A High Priestess, your Mother Morigan, was contacted, a bride-price delivered. We then sent a message to your king, a golden token identifying you as chosen. And, lastly, a Mastin contacted to guide you.”

My head snapped up. They had mentioned this before and finally it hit me.
Money! Money had been paid for my delivery? So is that yet another reason why the church held this information so close?

“The alliance is ratified when the bride is brought to us. You are here, are you not? You were chosen.” He seemed surprised by my continued silence. “This is an honor for you. Our queens are revered, heeded, not shuttled off as decoration, as are some in your land.” Hugh was frowning now, looking nowhere near as pleasant as he had before.

I should have guessed. Mother Morigan and Tom Mastin knew, but the treaty details forgotten, overlaid with centuries of myth and fear. Only the secrecy kept—and the money. If I ever returned home, I would tear that edifice to shreds with my bare hands. If I could but get back.

I put my anger aside and returned to the matter at hand. “Perhaps you forget. You had me drugged and tied to a post, a distinct misunderstanding of the word ‘agreement.’ By my assessment that is not a particularly good start for marriage.”