Ice and Smoke

Chapter 1-2

Genevieve emerged from the kitchen, waving her arms to call us in. We all rushed from the water to help carry dishes from the kitchen to the dining room, trying not to drip in the food or slip in our own trailing puddles.

“Fish? That’s an unusual breakfast!” I said—but of course, Genevieve was an unusual cook, much given to seafood, salt, and strange combinations of spice. She cooked after the manner of her own people, I could only assume; that she hailed from somewhere far beyond my home of Caibryn was obvious through her dark brown skin and corkscrew curls.

Genevieve grinned and tugged my wet hair as she passed with a plate of bread. I stuck out my tongue at her, and she only smiled wider, shaking her head so that the beads and pins in her hair clacked as she bounced away. I followed with the plate of fish, swatting at Rindargeth as he blew smoke into my path.

Unusual breakfast it might have been, but as my nurse Tegwen had once said, the meal one didn’t have to cook oneself was always the tastiest. I ate my fish at an unseemly speed, and fought Gareth for seconds.

With my hunger sated enough for me to remember modesty—I was the only one who ever seemed to care, but I tried to keep up the habit—I dashed upstairs for a wrap to put around my damp shift. I came down again to find the table cleared but for a mound of sweet cakes, and some gifts wrapped in paper and twine. Elaysius descended from the rafters with a wreath of ribbons and flowers for my head, almost too big for him to carry. They started a hale round of “For she’s a jolly good fellow!” while I stood blushing.

Only partway through the song, Rindargeth’s rumbling bass voice stopped as though cut down with a sword. He jerked to his feet, faced turned as though he could see the distant hills through the stone wall.

I knew this look. We all did. The song came to a ragged halt.

“Not today,” I said involuntarily, as if he could, at will, change the fact that a knight had just stepped through the circle.

“What a day for it,” he said softly, as if he had not heard me.

“Curse you for a devil’s child, to come on such a day.”

I expected he would leave immediately, dash to the fight as he always did. Instead he came around the table to me, put his warm hands on my shoulders and kissed my forehead.

“Perhaps it is a lucky day after all,” he said. “Ready your things, my Ari. One never knows.”

He had stepped away before I grasped his meaning, and I leaped after him, clutching his arm to turn him back.

“No! Rindargeth, no! I would rather stay here all my life, I swear I would.”

He embraced me, fiercely enough to startle, and I could feel the hammer of his heart against my ear. Then, with a sharp breath, he released me and spoke with easy amusement. “Fear not, child, I will lie down and die for no man! Eat your cakes, if you still have stomach for them, and we will speak of more pleasant things later.”

Of course I would do no such thing as eat cakes while he fought for his life, and well he knew it. I glowered at him, earning another chuckle, then as one we turned and ran—he for the door, I for the stairs.

When I reached the tower’s top, the knight was just riding into the dooryard of the tower, he and his horse glittering with the most gaily decorated armor and tack I had ever seen. You might have thought he was riding into festival, not battle—but for the sturdy lance he carried at the ready, its sharp tip gleaming more wickedly, to my eyes, than all the rest together.

Rindargeth waited, in dragon form now with wings spread, and even from this distance I could hear the quickening bellows of his breath, smoking rising around him.

“Hear me, monster!” the knight cried. “You shall no—” Rindargeth blasted the knight with a gout of flame.

Though the horse danced and screamed, the fire passed off without harm. A charm against flame, as all the more intelligent knights had. The knight fought for control of his horse, and Rindargeth lunged with a bellow so deep, I could feel it in my breastbone. Elaysius rattled in the air at my shoulder; I was dimly aware of Gareth clutching my hand and Genevieve behind me, panting from the fast climb.

The knight’s mount was nimble, and dodged Rindargeth’s first attack. Rindargeth turned on the horse’s flank only to meet the knight’s lance and draw back with a roar of pain, clawing blindly. He did not retreat, but dashed the blood from his eye and attacked again.

I had never seen him fight like this, all fury and fire. An incompetent knight was a chore, a skilled one might count as a game (until the inevitable, distressing conclusion)—this fight was neither, but battle in truth. As if Rindargeth cared for nothing but to tear this knight to pieces. My hand tightened around Gareth’s until he squirmed with pain.

Rindargeth had the advantage of size, fire, the armor of his scales. But he moved so carelessly, sacrificing defense for offense at every opportunity, taking blows he could have dodged for the sake of

another lunge, another flame—few of which seemed even to impact the knight, who kept shouting—I could not make out his words—I longed to shout myself, but could not, my throat locked too tightly for breath, much less words—

Rindargeth was slowing.

I would not have thought any of his wounds particularly serious, but perhaps they took a toll altogether, or perhaps one of them was deeper than it seemed. His movements were growing slowly weaker, more sluggish, less powerful. He took more wounds as his ability to dodge decreased.

I will lie down and die for no man, you said. You promised. You promised!

He landed a solid blow at last, tumbling the knight halfway from his horse to dangle from the stirrup, and pounced with flame blasting and teeth bared—

—and staggered back, the lance buried deep between the scales of his throat. Staggered back, and back…and fell.

I may have screamed; my ears rang as if I had. Almost before Rindargeth hit the earth, I was on the spiral stair, my feet touching perhaps every third step, and only blind luck kept me from falling.

What I would have done to the knight, I cannot say. Certainly nothing wise, for I was unarmed. I might well have leaped on him for whatever damage nails and teeth could do. But when I burst through the door, all I saw of him was the backside of his glittering armor and the streaming tail of his mount, as he tore away from the tower as fast as his terrified horse could go. Rindargeth raised himself up on scrabbling claws, spurring them on with a strangled roar—then collapsed utterly to the earth.

In stopping, I slid, and ended on abraded knees in the dirt at Rindargeth’s head.

“Rindargeth, get up, get up, let me see the wound—change shape, do it now, you know it is easier to heal in human form—” He had been wounded before, of course. The wounds would remain, if he changed shape, but they would be smaller, and human skin healed much more quickly than a dragon’s hard scales.

“You must go, Ari.” His voice was weak, a strained and distant thunder. “Go home. Quickly. You must go quickly.”

“What are you talking about? Change form this instant, so I can see to your wound.”

“Do not take this ill, child, but I believe I would rather die a dragon.”

“You shan’t die at all, you stubborn creature, for you have not the princess’s permission. Now get up and come inside.”

He made a pained, choking sound that might have been a laugh.

“Such a queen you shall be. My Ari.”

The breath that had been coming more and more heavily trailed away with a last gust of smoke, and the hot yellow glow of his eyes went slowly dark.

****

“Only look, my lady, and thou shalt see, it is gone, it is gone and we may go, Ariana, we may go home, Rindargeth hath said so himself, he desired thee to go home—”

“Pestilent fairy,” I muttered, focusing my eyes with effort on the tiny, luminous blue form of Elaysius. I had the suspicion he had been speaking to me for some time now, but I had no attention to spare for him. My mind still labored to find some way around this unswallowable thing, this block in the road that could be neither moved aside nor walked around—the darkness of Rindargeth’s eyes, the coolness of his skin.

“Princess, the circle hath fallen, or lifted, or, or, in any event it is gone! Only look, look at the flowers!”

I raised my head a bit, turned it toward the line of fire-colored flowers that marked the edge of the circle. For five years they had marched down into the sea, bright enough to be visible despite the near half-mile of distance. But they were not there now. In their place were only dark smudges, like ash or charcoal.

What had Rindargeth said, so long ago? You will live here with me until such time as a knight may defeat me in battle.

Stunned, I looked from the ashen remains of the flowers to the dragon lying still beside me. Had my freedom been his idea of a birthday gift? Thoughtless, reckless, lying creature, had he done this on purpose? I choked on rage, my nails biting the dirt beneath me.

“Princess, the others are gathering provisions and loading the horses even now. I know thy grief is strong, but thou must bestir thyself. Princess.” He alighted on my knee, placed a tiny hand on my face. “Princess, we can go home.”

Home. To Papa, Mother, Tegwen, Tristan. The thought brought a dizzying surge of joy—and fear. That made no sense. I could never fear those I loved, could I? But I had been apart from them for so very long. Suppose they were not as I remembered them? Suppose I was no longer as they remembered me? Suppose I returned to find myself forgotten, unneeded—no, no, my family would not cease to love me, any more than I them. And yet…five years was so very long a time.

“Get thee up, my lady,” Elaysius said gently. “Gather thy things.

We have a long road yet to travel.”

As if in a dream I found myself standing, walking into the tower and up the stairs into my chamber, packing my meager possessions into the sacks Genevieve brought me. She went away again, I supposed to pack her own things, and I looked down at my shaking hands, spilling the skirts and bodices they tried to fold. Hands strong and rough with work—w**d-pulling and pot-washing, horse- brushing and cow-milking and bucket-carrying. I turned toward the looking glass over the water basin. Though old and spotted, it gave a good image—of a trembling girl in a damp shift and ill-fitting wrap, dirt on her knees, her sun-streaked hair a tangle of saltwater and sweat. A tall girl, strong-limbed, pleasant-featured, best described as…sturdy. She looked like a half-drowned milkmaid or young fisherman’s wife. Not a princess. Never a princess.

How can I go home?

A thousand curses on a knight who would slay such a dragon—and then flee! Flee without the maiden he professed to rescue, leave her to find her own way, her whom he should have comforted and guided and protected!