The Dragon’s Treasure

What would you do to save the life of someone you loved?

Isabelle Falcone has been asking herself that question ever since her brother was born. He’s always been ill and no one has any answers for her. When her family’s healer leaves, she has to find the strength to get help outside of the city she calls home. With only her frail brother by her side, will she go to the last people that may be able to save him? They’ll ask a high price, one she might not want to pay. But for her brother’s life, anything is worth it. Isn’t it?

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The Dragon’s Treasure

Copyright © 2013 Caitlin Ricci

ISBN: 978-1-77111-663-3

Cover art by Carmen Waters

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or here
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The Dragon’s Treasure

For Love of Dragons 1

By

Caitlin Ricci

Isabelle Falcone dressed quickly, donning a simple blue gown in the still semi darkness of the early morning. Wrapping a heavy wool cloak tightly around her shoulders and pulling on a pair of soft leather boots, she stepped out into the crisp air. The coming rains mixing with the ever present ocean air had cooled the city of Nuer and the surrounding flat plains considerably over the past few days, resulting in one of the dampest and coldest falls she had ever experienced in her short lifetime. Although she was inside, she was not immune from that chill as she walked through stone corridors lined with wide arches that allowed heat and sunlight to flood the palace during the balmy summer months. But today they only added to her already dark mood. No one needed to remind her of the date as she ventured deeper into the labyrinth of the inner palace corridors, though the sympathetic looks from many of the palace guards she met along the way certainly didn’t let her forget.

Not that she ever could.

Arriving at her destination, Isabelle took a deep breath and wrapped the cloak tighter around herself, a nervous habit she had developed from watching her mother for so long and finally learning to mimic her movements. She swept thoughts of the woman swiftly from her mind, though she doubted they would ever leave her completely today. She hesitantly raised her knuckles to the large wooden door and again paused before tapping lightly on it.

Within seconds, a young boy no more than six years old opened the door, quickly stepping aside to welcome her in. She took a long, hard look at him in the slowly brightening day. Though he wasn’t nearly as frail as he used to be, her brother’s small build, thin frame, sallow cheeks, and sunken, hollow appearance were enough to make her want to cry out of sheer frustration if nothing else.

He must have seen the pain in her eyes as she watched him. He laid a gentle, small hand on her shoulder, his delicate fingers barely twisting into the thick material of her cloak. “Don’t worry, Father will help us,” he whispered hopefully.

And for once she didn’t have the strength to argue with him.

Instead she merely nodded and offered him a soft smile before she pulled him tightly into her arms. “How do you feel this morning, Caden?” she asked him, hopeful to hear a difference but knowing there was none.

The boy shrugged and melted into his sister’s warm embrace. “Are you leaving?” he asked, his voice barely more than a muffled whisper against her shoulder.

“Yes, I just wanted to say good morning to you first. Would you like me to say anything to Mother for you?”

The boy pulled back for a moment, his eyes closed, his teeth nibbling at his pale lower lip as he considered this. Isabelle brushed a few damp strands of dark blonde hair away from his forehead. His skin was cold and clammy, making her recoil slightly.

“Did you sleep last night?” she quickly asked him, not waiting for an answer to her previous question. Before he could respond, she said, “Have you eaten yet today, Caden?”

“I…” the boy stammered before quickly being whisked into her arms and lifted into the air. Isabelle kept him tightly pulled against her as she exited the room and sped down the wide hallway as fast as she could.

She knew her sudden change in behavior was making him nervous, but was grateful Caden knew enough to be quiet and just to be patient. Within seconds, they were in front of the healer’s chambers. Isabelle took a few calming breaths to ease her panting and knocked loudly on the door. When there was no immediate answer, she tried again.

This time the door swung open, revealing a withered old man in a long white nightshirt. He glared at her for a moment, his eyes adjusting to suddenly being awake, but then ushered them inside as soon as he recognized them.

“Princess? Is everything alright?” the man asked her as he began to visually assess her ailing brother.

“It’s, Caden, he’s sick,” she quickly said.

Both her brother and the healer looked at her as if she had suddenly grown another head. Of course he was sick, he had been sick since birth.

“My dear, your brother’s illness is nothing new,” the healer said in a tone that only helped to frustrate her further. She was not a child and would not be treated as such.

“I know that. This is different,” she bit out between carefully controlled breaths.

Caden’s pale blue eyes, their father’s eyes, became wider. Her eyes met his and she nodded quickly, answering his unspoken question.

The healer began moving his hands over the fragile boy still clinging tightly to his sister’s neck. “His skin is chilled and damp, but his arms and hands are burning up!” the man finally exclaimed.

Isabelle fought the urge to roll her eyes at what she already knew. “What can you do?” she asked instead.

“I’d like him to stay here for a little while. I will keep a cold cloth on him and give him some salves that should help bring his fever down. There is a gruel I will make him that should make him feel better in the time being and some rest should help him all around.”

“And a decent breakfast. If you can eat it after the gruel,” Isabelle reminded her brother pointedly. The boy nodded, obviously hoping his stomach would obey this once and allow him to keep something down. She placed her brother gently down on the crisp white sheets of a bed the healer kept in his chambers for the young prince. Over the years Caden had spent many nights in this bed, possibly more than his own. She gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek, patted his hand and then pulled the covers over him, leaving him to his rest as he was already beginning to close his eyes.

“What’s wrong with him now?” Isabelle whispered to the healer once she had made sure her brother was comfortable.

The man’s eyes looked glassy and he frowned. “I don’t know this time, Princess. His condition, it keeps getting worse. I can make him comfortable, but I’m afraid I don’t have the answers you seek. Have you heard anything from your father?”

She quickly shook her head, impatience and worry making her too irritable to speak of the man that had deserted them so many years before.

* * * *

The man nodded gravely. He had been employed by their family for generations. He was the most trusted and knowledgeable healer in the city, and probably in most of the surrounding lands. But he had not been able to find a cure for the illness the boy had suffered with through birth. Really he was amazed the poor child had lasted this long, but he would never tell his sister that.

“He seems to be resting comfortably now. I will do what I can for him here. Why don’t you take a walk or something? The fresh air may do you some good,” he suggested.

Isabelle nodded quickly. “I was on my way out to do just that, but I wanted to make sure he was okay before I left. And then I saw him like this…and…” her voice broke off into a muffled sob that she tried to hide against the balled up cloak in her hands as she brought them to her mouth.

“There, there, child. Caden will be alright, you’ll see,” the healer said as he began rubbing her back in large soothing circles. The girl needed to hear these words, even if he didn’t believe them himself. In truth, looking over at the boy with his pale sunken features and his hollow expression, he didn’t believe he would last much longer. Maybe not even the week. At least it would be peaceful though, the healer promised. He may not have been able to heal the boy, but he could certainly help him leave this world without pain.

* * * *

Isabelle nodded quickly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Within moments, all trace of the tears were gone and in their place was the carefully controlled expression of mild indifference she had mastered over the years. Only those closest to her would know that this look of strength that she wore daily was nothing more than a mask to keep herself safe.

“I will be at the graveyard if you need me,” she said as she began to leave. “Send word for me if anything happens please. I will be back later.”

The man’s eyes softened. He led her to the door, obviously struggling to find any words of comfort that he hadn’t already used. But none came. None would help ease her pain over the loss of her mother or change her brother’s condition. He only nodded and offered her a quick pat on the shoulder.

“And if you could, and he feels like it, could you please give him something sweet to eat? Only if his body can handle it of course. I think it would be nice for him to have something after all,” she said without looking at the healer.

She didn’t hear his mumbled response. Within a few strides, she was again crouched by her brother’s side, the long hem of her dress flowing with that of her cloak to pool at her feet. “Get some rest, Caden. I will tell Mother that you love her. You’re a big boy now. Happy birthday, love,” she whispered before placing a kiss on his temple and then quickly leaving the room.

The guards had realized years before not to follow Isabelle as she made her way out of the back doors of the palace and down the carved stone steps. She spoke to no one as she walked and barely lifted her eyes from the well worn path below her feet. For years she had been making the short trip from her rooms to the secluded sanctuary of the graveyard. The path was shaded by large trees with plentiful green leaves. Usually these trees sang with the calls of birds and other animals, but today even they seemed to understand where she was headed and who she would visit there.

Lush grass gave way to light gray stones as she approached the large iron-gate that guarded her family’s final resting place. Two carved lions greeted her as she pushed the rusted gate open, cringing slightly as the hinges squealed in protest. Once inside the graveyard, she pulled back the hood of her cloak and began the familiar walk up the small hill to her mother’s grave. Many graves lined her path and most of the names she only recognized from the stories her father used to tell. Sir Marcus, she was told, slayed a dragon while riding atop a fiery black unicorn before the dragon could eat his bride. Such foolish stories of distant relatives she knew were common amongst the children of nobles. When she was younger and peace flowed through these lands like the ancient rivers, the children would be allowed to play together as their fathers, kings and princes and the like, would sit at the council meetings and discuss the future of their kingdoms and tell stories. The children traded their own stories of relatives they had never known and the more elaborate a story the better.

Times had changed since then though. She had grown up quickly after her mother’s death. There had been a baby to take care of after all. And she had learned fairly fast that peace was not the everlasting promise her father had made it out to be.

Her mother’s grave was small and simple, as Isabelle suspected she would have wanted. The life of frills and lace was not for her. Much of her mother’s same practicality wore off in Isabelle. She knelt down in front of the gravestone and lovingly traced the name carved there. She had no flowers to lay on the small grave as many of the others had. Cut flowers had not been welcome in her mother’s rooms and so were not allowed on her grave. Isabelle could remember her saying that flowers were meant to live and bloom, not die in a vase never to be enjoyed again. Only her mother’s yellow roses were to be put near her grave and those beloved flowers still bloomed vibrantly in a mound of soft black dirt behind her headstone.