The Dragon of Trelian (2 page)

The approaching party was indeed now close enough to see, and Calen knew at once that it had been worth the wait. Princes, apparently, traveled with a great number of people, at least when they were riding into an enemy kingdom for a war-ending marriage. A dazzling jumble of colors and banners and horses and riders was pouring slowly over the rise and down along the Queen’s Road. Mounted soldiers led the procession and created a formidable-looking border around everyone else. Bannermen held the flags of Kragnir aloft and musicians played instruments, which Calen realized he must have started hearing a few minutes ago without knowing it. As they reached the top of the rise, a pair of wagons carrying wicker cages paused and men jumped down to attend to them; in a moment, scores of colorful birds burst from the cages and spilled up into the sky like a living rainbow. Calen couldn’t help grinning in admiration. If the prince had been hoping to make an impressive entrance, Calen thought he was succeeding.

Meg had boosted herself up to straddle the window ledge, one leg dangling insanely over nothing. Calen, not about to climb back up there, contented himself with standing beside her and resting his elbows on the ledge. She pointed.

“See the man on the tall black horse with the red trappings? That’s Prince Ryant of Kragnir. He’s the one who’s going to marry my sister Maerlie. She thinks he’s
quite
handsome, but of course she’s only ever seen his portrait, and honestly, if I were painting a portrait of a prince, I’d probably make certain he looked handsome in it, too. They’ve never met in person, although they’ve been writing each other constantly since the betrothal. She thinks they might really be falling in
love,
” she said, rolling her eyes again. “As though you can fall in love through letters!” But Calen thought Meg’s face looked just a little wistful as she said it.

She turned her attention back to the scene below. “The three men directly in front of the prince are his personal guards. I met one of them before — Jorn. He’s the one who brought Prince Ryant’s offer of marriage. He has this scar that runs from one side of his forehead across his face and partway down his neck.”

Interested, Calen squinted at the man he guessed was Jorn, trying to see the scar. “How did he get it?”

“No one knows, though there are stories enough. Everyone tells a different tale, but no one is brave enough to ask Jorn himself. Well, I would do it, but Nan Vera says it would be unforgivably rude, and I don’t want to offend the prince’s guard and embarrass my sister. I’m hoping Maerlie can find out the truth once she’s married the prince.
He
must know.”

Calen couldn’t quite believe he was discussing scars with one of the king’s daughters. Were all princesses like this? Somehow he didn’t think so.

“Your sister must be pretty brave,” he said. “I mean, getting married to the enemy and everything.”

Meg rolled her eyes again. She seemed to do that a lot. “Well, that’s the whole point, isn’t it? The marriage is supposed to bring the two kingdoms together so we can
stop
being enemies. Don’t they teach you apprentices anything? Do you even know the story of why we were fighting in the first place?”

Calen shook his head. She was beginning to make him feel a little stupid.

“Oh, it’s a good story,” Meg told him. “Well, not good, exactly; actually it’s rather terrible, but — well, here, I’ll just tell you. Years and years and years ago — exactly one hundred as of next month, actually — Kragnir had a young queen named Lysetta. She had been a poor country girl, just like in a fairy tale, and all the people loved her. King Holister’s first wife had died in childbirth, and he’d been so heartbroken that no one thought he would ever marry again, but they say Lysetta mended his heart and he came to love her more than anything. Soon after the marriage, Lysetta came to visit Trelian. That had been a tradition for as long as anyone could remember; every time Trelian or Kragnir had a new queen, she went to visit the other queen so that they could get to know each other and become friends. Our kingdoms were steadfast allies back then.

“The night of her arrival, there was a grand feast, and Lysetta was formally introduced to the Trelian royal family and all the visiting cousins and dignitaries and whoever else had come for the occasion. Everyone was charmed by the new queen, and the evening was considered a great success, even though Lysetta retired somewhat early. The next morning she failed to appear for breakfast, and when Trelian’s queen — her name was Aliwen — went to her rooms to see if their guest was all right, she wasn’t there.

“Where was she?” Calen asked, drawn in despite himself. Meg was a pretty good storyteller. This was a lot more interesting than the history lesson he’d been expecting.

“I’m getting there,” she said. “Just listen. When Lysetta hadn’t been found by midday, they began to search in earnest, for her escort was still at the castle and none of her attendants had any idea where she might have gone. They searched for two days and might never have found her, except that one of the kitchen boys reported hearing strange sounds in the cellar. When they went to look, they discovered a hidden passageway behind a wall, and at the end of a long dark tunnel they found Lysetta, imprisoned in an iron cell that no one had known even existed. She was dead, but there were no marks to indicate how she died, and they never discovered why or how she had ended up there.”

Calen shuddered. He felt like a child at a ghost-telling, but he couldn’t help it. He’d been down in that cellar countless times.

“When King Holister heard the news,” Meg went on, “he went mad with grief. He blamed Trelian for his young wife’s death and arrived at the castle gates with an army. My ancestors tried to convince him that they had nothing to do with what had happened, but he refused to believe them and demanded the head of Queen Aliwen in retribution.”

“Her
head
?”

“Naturally, the Trelian king refused, and the Kragnir army attacked the castle. There was a fierce battle, and eventually Kragnir was defeated and returned home, but not without great loss of life on both sides. The war continued over the years, with violent assaults and assassination attempts and all kinds of ugly and horrible things.”

Calen was fascinated, the procession below temporarily forgotten. “But then — how did the marriage offer come about? If we’ve been fighting with them all this time . . .”

“My father and King Ryllin — that’s Prince Ryant’s father — had wanted to find a way to end the feud between our families. They had met each other as boys, completely accidentally, when Trelian and Kragnir had both sent envoys to the coastal nations in the south without realizing that the other kingdom was doing so, and there was a terrible storm and they all ended up at the same inn — that’s a really good story, too, actually. But the short version is that after that chance meeting they kept in touch, secretly, and wanted to find a way to stop all the fighting, but when they tried to make it happen, neither of their fathers would allow it. Now that the old kings aren’t around anymore to say no, and King Ryllin and my father both have children of marriageable age, they decided to try again. And the hundred-year anniversary makes it seem all the more significant and important. There are some who still don’t trust Kragnir and are against the wedding, but my parents both believe in Ryllin and the promise of peace.”

“And do you?” Calen asked.

“Of course,” Meg said quickly. “Certainly I want the chance to meet this Prince Ryant for myself, but my parents wouldn’t let Maerlie marry someone they didn’t trust. And no one can deny that now would be a very good time to renew the old friendship between our kingdoms.”

Calen knew what she meant by that, at least. Each time Serek sent him to the market for supplies, the traders — those who still came — always seemed to have new stories of thieves and bandits on the roads. And sometimes, worse things, although surely
those
stories weren’t true. Supplies were stolen, or never sent at all, and there were even rumors that some traders who ventured into the vast Hunterheart Forest, which bordered the castle grounds and stretched over much of the distance between Trelian and Kragnir, disappeared and were never heard from again.

They watched as more riders came into view, Meg pointing out those whose names she knew and sharing bits of stories she’d heard about them. Calen had never met anyone quite like Meg before. She was nicer than she’d seemed at first, he thought. Maybe she couldn’t help being bossy; she was a princess, after all. And she sure did talk a lot. He wasn’t used to it, but at the same time it was a welcome change from his usual nonconversations with Serek. Even if he was mostly just listening. It was nice to actually have someone to listen
to.

When the prince and his guard reached the main gate, Meg jumped down from the window.

“I have to go — I’m sure Father will be angry I missed his discussion on how to behave at dinner, but if I’m not back in time to greet our guests at the table, I’ll really be in trouble.”

Thinking of trouble reminded Calen of his own situation. Serek would not be pleased he had been gone this long.

Meg started to push through the curtains and then turned back. She looked at him for a long moment. Finally she asked, “Can you get away tomorrow afternoon?”

“I think so. Why?”

She smiled mysteriously. “Meet me by the small gate at first bell. I’ll share a secret with you.”

MOST OF THE CASTLE HALLS WERE
lined with tapestries and paintings. Some showed glorious battles, or what Calen guessed were important friends and ancestors of the royal family, but others were complete stories in themselves, with entire lives depicted scene by scene. Calen usually stopped to admire them when he passed, but right now he hardly saw them at all. He turned down a dimly lit corridor that led to the mage’s quarters. No point lingering in the hallway worrying; he’d find out soon enough how much trouble he was in and would just try to say as little as possible about where he’d been and what he’d been doing. He’d leave Meg out of it entirely. Serek probably wouldn’t believe that he’d been talking with the princess anyway — Calen still hardly believed it himself! — and if Serek did believe it, Calen was afraid he’d decide it was improper for his apprentice to be interacting with royalty outside of duty’s requirements and forbid him to see her again. Meg might be a bit pushy and condescending, and perhaps slightly intimidating, and, okay, yes, she had nearly killed him, but she was also the first person he’d had a real conversation with in a long time. And she seemed to find him interesting enough to want to talk to him again tomorrow. To share a secret! He didn’t want Serek to take that away. It would be nice to make a friend.

In the six years he’d been apprenticed to Serek, they’d spent time in several different households, among families of varying ranks and stations, and Serek had never seemed interested in getting to know anyone closely or, gods forbid, actually making
friends
anywhere. He kept to himself, focused on his craft, and seemed disdainful of other mages they’d encountered who mixed personal relationships with work situations.

Which was all very well for him, but Calen had no desire to live the rest of his life with no one but Serek and his ill-tempered gyrcat for companionship. Life before Serek hadn’t exactly been perfect, but at least in between the work there had been moments with other people — feastdays and shared errands with the other inn workers, friendly patrons and occasional kind words from the cooks or the stable master, gifts from the innkeeper’s wife once a year at Turning Day. But Serek seemed to go out of his way to avoid other people. Even Calen’s company sometimes appeared to be more than he could bear. Which was something the great mage really should have thought about before dragging Calen away from the only life he’d ever known to be his stupid apprentice.

That day, the day Serek had carted him off to be initiated, Calen had thought he was leaving his mundane and unimportant existence far behind. He’d looked back at Arster’s inn as the other boys stood outside, watching him ride away in the wagon. He’d felt different from them, special. Destined for a new and exciting future. He’d imagined all the grand spells he would cast, working wonders, fighting enemies, defending his patrons . . . and when Serek began teaching him those early lessons, he’d loved the way it felt to cast, to channel the magical energy toward a purpose, shaping it to accomplish whatever he held in his mind. But soon enough it became clear that most of the time there
was
no purpose. It was nearly all just books and learning and memorizing things to recite back to Serek. What was the point in becoming a mage if you never really got a chance to use magic?

Serek spent nearly all his time with his nose buried in books and papers, coming up for air only long enough to assign Calen some pointless task that was supposed to be furthering his magical education but seemed more likely just a way to keep him busy and protect Serek’s beloved solitude. And lately it had gotten even worse. Ever since Serek had been appointed King’s Mage, he’d been more distant than ever, sending Calen off on errands rather than letting him help with anything or letting him know what was going on. At least at their last post he’d been able to work in the gardens, so he’d felt that he was doing
something
. . . but here they had a whole army of royal gardeners for that, and it had been made quite clear that they didn’t want the mage’s apprentice hanging about or, gods forbid, actually doing anything useful.