The Dragons' Chosen (25 page)

Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see her looking directly at me, raising her eyebrows. “I mean it’s nothing really, just an odd coincidence. That’s all, right?”

My frown must have registered as she resumed watching the duel.

Tic, tic, tic, tic, slash. The men engaged each other and then withdrew, circling once again. I could see each of their personalities written in the steel they wielded. Rauf’s moves were formidable but he lacked Hugh’s precision. As I watched him, I could easily believe Hugh had been born with a sword in his hand.

Intrigued by her words, I asked, “Is Crystal an unusual name in your world? Is that what you are trying to tell me?” I had never heard of such a name, but….

“Not super common.”

I frowned. “Perhaps we’re both reaching too hard for a rational explanation.” The men were now about two body lengths apart, swords out. I risked another look at Chris. She stared across the grounds, not focusing. “What about your golden card? Didn’t you tell me she bequeathed it to.…”

I stopped mid-speech as the fighting stopped, Hugh’s sword at Rauf’s throat. Hugh’s glance flashed to Chris before it landed on me. I nodded to Hugh, acknowledging the win. Chris didn’t move.

Both men joined us as we prepared our luncheon. I could tell that Chris wished to speak more, but further talk would have to wait until we were alone. I wondered if there were other questions that needed to be asked. I just wasn’t sure where to start.

Try as I might to forget Tristan’s words, they niggled at me. Neither did I mention his decision to Chris. I didn’t wish to discuss it. Three suitors should be plenty for any lady.

Chris didn’t notice my distraction as she behaved like a child on a swing, oscillating between two points: one, trying to convince me the men were demon spawn; and two, defending them. A number of times during the day she seemed to catch herself mid-speak as she leapt to their defense. She would then flush, uncharacteristically, before turning away with a confused frown.

Beyond, I could hear the men’s swords clashing as they practiced in another area of the cave. Chris had gone in to watch them, or knowing her character, perhaps join in the swordplay. After our luncheon, with fire boar as the main and only course, James and I discussed politics at the edge of the cavern stream. I felt Tristan’s presence before he spoke.

“How do you fare, My Lady?” His face fixed in a pleasant expression as if he were determined to prove he was in good spirits. Mayhap he was.

I brushed back the loose strands that escaped my braid. “Well, thank you.” My hand grasped my plait of hair.

Chris, Hugh, Piers, and Rauf trotted in, engrossed in trading stories and jokes. Chris, her angst from the morning blown away like the clouds, nudged me as she dropped to my side. “Yuck. I hope to never see a flaming pig again, dead or alive.”

“Fire boar,” Tristan corrected.

She grimaced. “Whatever. Now that I’ve eaten one, I think I might prefer it live.” After a moment’s thought, she amended, “Only from a great distance.”

Tristan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I take it that roast fire boar isn’t to your taste, My Lady?”

“It’s Chris, just Chris,” she corrected. “I’m not complaining, not really. The food is filling, and I’m grateful to have it. But,” she ran her tongue across her teeth. “It’s like there’s a film that sticks to the teeth. A texture that’s a cross between liver and lard.”

Tristan nodded. “It’s somewhat of a delicacy in my land. After a long winter, many look eagerly to the heavily fatted meat. When I was little, I always hated it. My brothers and I would hide it in our laps, hoping our mother didn’t see, before handing it off to our dogs waiting impatiently beneath the table. The nursemaids must have known, though I don’t think they ever told on us. Our clothes were greasy from the meat, and late evenings would find us in the kitchen begging the cook for bread and cheese.”

“But,” Chris said, “you’re dragons. Don’t you normally live a more, uh, natural life?”

Tristan grew quiet.

Piers was the first to respond. “Dad would flail us if we turned dragon within the castle.” He looked over at his brothers, Hugh and Tristan. “Remember when you both flew into the dining hall with the elk?”

Tristan nodded at me, the sadness in his eyes contradicting the beginnings of a true smile on his lips at this memory. “We were so pleased with our first dragon catch that we soared in the open doors, dropping our catch into the midst of a banquet with visiting nobles all donned in their best formal wear.”

Hugh said. “Dad’s face looked as hard as stone, he was so mad.” He turned to Piers. “You don’t really remember that, do you? You were only, what, three, four?”

“Oh, I remember all right. I was fully four. Anne was eight. You and Tristan were almost grown in our eyes, thirteen and twelve. Anne and I were awed.”

Tristan snorted. “What I remember is Mom’s look of dismay.”

Piers looked at Chris. “They were so puffed up with themselves. The carcass was charred with fire, still dripping blood and gore.”

“Hugh and I worked so hard to fly it home, both of us struggling midair with this beast. We were sure we would be praised.”

Hugh sighed. “It was a rough couple of days after.”

The tension between him and Tristan dissipated then, blown away by the shared memory.

Piers leaned forward. “I remember it being freezing cold. Snow coming down like layer upon layer of white fabric.”

James added, “Wasn’t that the first winter Tristan was locked into his dragon body?”

Rauf and Hugh looked everywhere but at Tristan. James’s mouth clamped tight as if worried that he would say something else hurtful.

Piers, not noticing the sadness in Tristan’s face, said, “Anne cried when he wasn’t allowed inside.”

“Remember, Tristan? Every evening for weeks, she would weep when you weren’t there to read her a bedtime story. Many nights I found her outside curled beneath your wing, reading to you before Hugh carried her back to her bed.”

No one spoke for a time. Tristan refused to acknowledge this discussion. In the distance, I could hear the small brown bats as they returned from feeding.

Chris broke the silence, reaching over and giving Tristan’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sure that both you and Hugh were extraordinarily resourceful and daring. I hope someone was appropriately appreciative.”

“Anne was.” Tristan shook his head as if trying to shed something. “She clapped her hands like we had brought it just for her.”

He looked eager to change the subject. “Tell us something about yourself, My Lady. All we know about you is that you’re a loyal friend to our princess. And from a far-away land. Do you have siblings?”

Chris rolled her eyes. “Nope. Mom said I was such a hellion as a toddler she refused to contemplate two of me.”

“What about your lands. How is your court life?” James asked, squinting at her.

“Oh, there’s no court, just school, classes, tests. Sometimes we get together and party. Maybe go out and dance to a local dance band.” She looked so wistful as she spoke. She glanced at me then and said quickly. “Not that I wouldn’t rather be here, of course.”

Guilt coursed through me, a black wave of self-reproach. She should leave. I needed to bid her farewell and let her return to the world of Berkeley.

Piers suddenly brightened. “The lady wants music? Allow me.” He settled near my feet, strumming his lute, the water adding a gentle percussion to his tune. Since the boar incident, he had trailed behind like a supplicant, convinced his duty was to entertain Chris and me at every opportunity.

Tristan spoke again, his voice pitched low, gently riding over the melody. I could hear concern in his voice. “Princess, how
do
you fare? Is this to your taste?” His eyes searched mine, and I wondered what he was truly asking.

Piers hummed along, finishing one tune and starting another. Before I could respond, Tristan tensed and faced Piers, shaking his head at him. A muscle twitched below his eye. A smell, the whiff of smoke. Tristan’s eyes hardened. In that moment, I thought he might transform into a dragon.

It was a haunting melody. I stammered, trying to diffuse the tension. “That’s lovely, Piers. Does it have words?”

Piers had a mischievous look on his face. “Tristan, sing your song. She wants to hear it.”

Tristan ignored him. A flare of panic crossed his face. Piers grinned and started singing,

“Lady with sea-green eyes and dragon-fire hair

Captured in the twilight of my mind,

Standing lost beside the weeping trees,

Far away from all, fair and lovely,

Lost to all, lost to me.”

Blood pulsed in my neck, flaming into my cheeks as I listened. This was the song that Frederick, the unpleasant viscount, must have heard. The song about me. Piers continued to sing and my face grew hot.

Hugh growled and the music stopped abruptly.

Tristan, red-faced also, stumbled over his words, apologizing. “Please forgive us. This song was not meant to tease. It was never meant for your ears.”

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t respond.

Tristan gritted his teeth. “It’s only a song. I must have been melancholy that day, to write something so maudlin.” He raised both hands as if in offering, then tightened his lips and snapped, “Piers, come with me. We have something to discuss.”

Piers resisted, eyes wide with trepidation, but Tristan’s hand on his shoulder allowed no argument as he was marched out of earshot. Rauf followed, grinning as if looking forward to some earthy amusement.

James grumbled to Hugh, “This isn’t entirely Piers’s fault. We should have told him immediately when Tristan said he wasn’t competing.” He turned and followed the others.

Hugh nodded as if distracted. As he moved to join his kin, he paused, looking over toward Chris and me, his face both thoughtful and distant. “It was just a song.” Then he strode away.

The cave was silent but for the trickle of water flowing and the sound of distant footsteps.

Engulfed as I was with thoughts of Tristan and songs of love, it was hard for me to think in a rational way. This was not something to pursue. He wouldn’t be competing. He wasn’t even as human as the other man-dragons. Moreover, Tristan had written this before he really knew me, when I was but a
chosen
princess, chosen for Hugh to be his queen.

Chris watched, obviously waiting for me to speak. I examined my nails, willing my skin to return to its normal color.

“Chris, you should leave. Go back to your home where you will be comfortable and safe.” I struggled to keep the misery from my voice.

“What? Where did that come from? I’m not going anywhere until this is over.”

I moved to sit next to her, grasping her hands in mine. “You have done your part, more than anyone could have ever expected. You saved me, helped hold me together during this trial and stood by my side through all manner of disasters. There is no more you can do. I’m fine. You cannot stay here forever. You have your own life to attend to.”

She looked out into the deep shadows of the cave where the soft yellow glow of the lantern’s light didn’t reach. “You’re wrong, you know. I’m not staying just for you anymore.”

I raised my eyebrows in disbelief.

“Sure, in the beginning that’s how it started, a curiosity, then a challenge. But now it’s become more of a mystery—my being here, I mean. Why me? There are many questions. Too many. I’m not leaving until I figure them out.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to overflow.

Chris shifted, and a grin crept across her face. “So what did you think about all that?”

“About you staying?” I asked, hoping that was what she was referring to. “I’m very grateful. More than you can know.” Guilt twisted my stomach.

Chris said, “Oh, come off it. The song, silly. I saw you look at him. Just a bit in love, are you?”

“No, not at all. I was caught unaware and I felt uncomfortable. Nothing more.”

“Admit it,” she said, almost laughing at me. “You have a crush on him.”

“No.” While I didn’t understand her exact phrase, I knew what she was implying.

Chris tilted her head. “You play with your hair whenever he is around.”

“I do not!” I replied. I was a better master of myself than
that
.

Chris grinned with a smug cat-that-caught-the-finch look. “Oh, but you do.”

I dashed that look with my next words. “He’s not entering the contests.”

“What? Why? I thought, I mean…”

I lowered my head, unwilling to look her in the eyes. “Tristan isn’t offering for my hand.”

“But why?”

“He’s afflicted. He gets trapped for months in his dragon form, much like his ancestors.”

Chris was silent for a long time. “But he likes you and you like him. I know you do.”

“He isn’t human. None of them are, but Tristan is truly a dragon for months. Not even able to speak. I would be isolated for months each and every year.”