While Tobin soothed her, I finished stashing my riding dresses in a large leather duffel bag. They would be sadly creased, but there was nothing I could do about it. My greater concern, beyond the threat of a second Dragon War, of course, was that Marta and our assistants would not be able to finish Lady Isla’s trousseau in time for the royal wedding. On the other hand, if we were unable to avert this war, there might not be a royal wedding.
It was a sober party that rode out from our shop. Marta had, at the last minute, decided not to see us off at the site of the dragon rendezvous, and so we all hugged and kissed on the step of the shop. One of the King’s Guards accompanied us to the city gates. He would take the horses back to the royal stables and report our departure to the king. We rode in silence to a field outside the King’s Seat, and waited until Niva, Amacarin and Feniul arrived.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Feniul apologised as the horses reared and snorted.
Tobin and I quickly handed our reins to the soldier, and sent him to wait some distance apart. I wanted to send him back to the palace entirely, to spare the poor horses any further distress, but he was under orders to see us fly away.
“What did you do with your dogs?” I asked Feniul, to lighten the mood while Tobin tied our bags and hampers to the dragons.
“Well, I took some to Shardas. He said that Niva’s hatchlings can help care for them,” Feniul told me. “And that nice Prince Milun has a few of the larger ones. ”
“He does?” This was rather startling. I didn’t know that Feniul and Miles were friendly, although Feniul had given Miles a dog after the Dragon War.
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“Yes, he and Azarte were hunting near my cave yesterday, and I asked him if he would take some of the larger dogs. Azarte will enjoy the company, I’m sure. ”
“I’m sure,” I echoed. It was, I thought, a great step forward in human-dragon relations that the crown prince and Feniul could meet casually and do each other favours like this. “Take that, Earl Sarryck!” I thought.
“Are you quite ready?” Niva seemed anxious to be off, and Amacarin had hardly said two words to us. He looked slightly stunned, and I guessed the news that both Shardas and Velika were still alive had been a bit much for him to take in.
“Yes, I think so. ” I looked at my human companion. “Tobin?”
He nodded, and I started to climb up Feniul’s shoulder. It was more comfortable for me to ride Feniul, first, because I knew him best, and second, because his neck was narrower than Niva’s. Tobin was just settling himself on Niva’s shoulders when another horse came galloping up.
“Wait!” Marta scrambled off the horse, dragging a large, overflowing leather knapsack with her. “Wait for me!”
“Caxon’s bones!” I swore. “What does she think she’s doing?”
I looked over at Tobin, but he was already off Niva’s neck and striding towards Marta. Her horse spooked and ran, and the soldier hovering at the edge of the field barely managed to catch it. Tobin grabbed Marta’s arm, but she shrugged him off.
“Are you Amacarin?” She looked up at the blue-grey dragon, ignoring both Tobin’s attempts to speak to her through hand signals and my continued profanity.
“Yes, I am. ” Amacarin looked down his nose at her. “Who are you?”
“I’m Marta,” she said. “And I want to go to Citatie with you. ”
“It’s all the same to me,” Amacarin said. “Fasten that bag behind the other one on my back, and climb on. ”
“You’re not helping,” I said to him.
“Shardas ordered me to take some humans and spy on the Citatians,” Amacarin said. “He didn’t say how many humans, and frankly, we can use the help. Although I don’t see what good a single human maid will do. ” He paused and looked at me. “You managed to cause quite a storm last time around, however. ”
Tobin looked at me, helpless in the face of Marta’s stubborn determination. I shrugged.
“I suppose Alle and the others will have to finish Isla’s trousseau on their own,” I said, half-resigned and half-hoping that the reminder of our royal commission would bring Marta around.
“Isla’s trousseau can go to the bottom of the Boiling Sea for all I care,” Marta retorted. She kissed Tobin’s cheek and clambered up on to Amacarin’s back to fasten her bag. “We can go in two minutes. ”
“Whenever you’re ready,” I sang out, and got back on Feniul.
Tobin, who appeared to be mouthing something that I was glad I couldn’t hear, remounted Niva and sat looking into the distance while his betrothed scrambled about on the back of her dragon. It was some ten minutes before she was settled, and then we took off with the sun climbing the sky and the horses panicking below us.
I prayed to the Triunity for help as we winged our way towards Citatie and its army of dragons.
Heat That Shimmers Like Silk
The summers in Feravel could be very hot. In fact, most of my childhood had been characterised by droughts that dried up streams and withered crops. But I had never experienced heat like that in Citatie. The air wavered with it, and the sun on my head was tangible, like a weight pressing me against Feniul’s neck. He and the other two dragons glided through the thick, dry air, moving their wings as little as possible. It seemed that even dragons were not immune to the heat.
“It’s so horribly hot,” Marta shouted to me.
I looked over at her. The neck of her riding gown was unfastened and she was fanning herself with a handkerchief.
Not wanting to open my mouth to shout back, for fear that the heat would dry up my tongue, I just fanned myself with both hands in agreement. Then I unlaced the sleeves of my gown and rolled them up, to get a bit of air on my arms. It was so hot I thought I might be sick.
“I feel as though I could set fire to the entire country,” Amacarin announced. “How marvellous. ”
“My wings feel brittle, though,” Feniul said. “I’m not sure the added fire is much compensation. ”
“You will both adjust to the weather,” Niva said. “Now, Creel, where are we to meet this prince?”
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“There is a large, flat-topped hill to the southwest,” I said, remembering the directions Earl Sarryck had given me. It seemed that the Feravelan spy forces had a regular hideout here in Citatie. “On the north side is a cave entrance concealed by a grove of olive trees. ”
By the time we identified the correct plateau, in a barren landscape broken by many such broad, flat-topped hills, I was ready to faint from the heat. A glance at Marta showed that she was holding fast to the straps that held her baggage in place, as though that alone was keeping her to her seat. Tobin, stalwart as always, showed no sign of discomfort.
When Feniul came to rest on the shady side of the plateau, I all but fell off his neck and sat there beside an olive tree, panting for breath. Tobin dismounted with greater ease and went immediately to Marta to help her down. Her face was red and her strawberry-blonde curls were bedraggled.
“No wonder they want to conquer Feravel,” she gasped after drinking from the waterskin Tobin brought her. “It’s too hot to breathe here, even in the shade. ”
Meanwhile, Amacarin was amusing himself by sending out little tongues of flame along the rocks and fallen branches of the olive trees. Feniul kept spreading his wings and checking them for signs of damage, and Niva watched them both with half-lidded eyes and an expression of disdain.
“Please put out that fire, Amacarin,” I said. “It’s hot enough without you setting the grove alight. ”
“Besides, you’ll burn down the cover for the cave entrance,” someone said from behind us.
“Luka!”
Smiling, the prince came out from behind another tree. He was very brown, and his hair had been cropped short. My heart lurched at the sight of him, and I went to give him a friendly hug, conscious of the others watching. I trippe
d over a tree root on my way and practically threw myself into his arms.
“Hello,” I said, blushing bright red as I disentangled myself. “So nice to see … you’re looking well. ”
“Hello. ” He was blushing, too.
Marta scrambled to her feet, and swayed in place until Tobin picked her up. He and his former charge – he had been Luka’s bodyguard for years – exchanged nods.
Luka greeted the dragons, and then showed them how to walk around the grove to the cave entrance, which was large enough even for Niva to use. They had to lower their heads and tuck in their wings, but they followed us into the darkness without complaint. The entrance tunnel turned sharply before opening into a large chamber lit by torches. There were several Feravelan soldiers there, sitting on camp beds playing cards.
“I thought you’d be arriving soon, so I went to have a look,” Luka explained, and then introduced the soldiers to us. I moved away from Luka, worried that one of the soldiers would report to King Caxel if we seemed too close.
The dragons settled themselves against one wall and the humans all sat on beds near the other, and there we were. The cave was hot and stuffy, not nearly as nice as Shardas’s old lair, and with the dragons inside, it was barely large enough for us all.
“Well,” Luka said after a moment, “here’s the situation. King Nason will not back down. He actually ordered me killed, right there in his throne room. ” Luka’s voice rose with disbelief. “So much for being a goodwill ambassador. If my men hadn’t helped me escape through a window, I’d be dead. ”
My hand rose to my throat and my stomach knotted at the casual way Luka described his near murder. I gave him a quick look up and down, to reassure myself that he had escaped unscathed. He saw my look and squeezed my other hand. I caught one of the soldiers watching, and pulled my hand away.
“Shouldn’t you have gone home, then?” Marta glanced around, nervous. “We’re so close; I could see the city before we landed. ”
Luka shrugged. “Our spyhole hasn’t been discovered yet. It seems safe enough: we’re ten miles out and I doubt they suspect I’m still in the country. ”
“An excellent ploy, Your Highness,” cheered one of the soldiers.
“So now what do we do?” It was Marta who voiced what I had also been thinking. Here we were in a foreign – and hostile – land with three dragons in tow. What next?
“Tobin and I are going to wear these Citatian uniforms and have the dragons help us infiltrate their army,” Luka said. From under his bed he pulled a bundle that proved to be two white uniforms.
“What about us?” I said, gesturing to myself and Marta. “We’re not just going to sit here all day. ”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the soldiers smirk and whisper something to the man nearest to him, but I ignored that. I hadn’t come this far to hang back and let Luka and Tobin do all the work. And where dragons were involved, I felt I owed it to Shardas to do all I could to help.
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“Don’t worry, Creel,” Luka said breezily. “I know you, and I know there’s no way you’ll hide here and let us have all the fun. ” He laughed, but Tobin made a face as if to say that there was nothing fun about it. “I bought you these. ” He reached under his bed again and pulled out a basket. It was full of garishly coloured silk. “Some Citatian clothing. You can roam the marketplace to your heart’s content, asking questions and listening to the latest gossip. ”
This made Marta frown. “We don’t speak Citatian, though. Won’t people know we’re from Feravel?”
Luka shrugged. “Pretend you’re from Roulain, or Moralien. Citatians love to shop, but there’s some ancient law that says only one hundred Citatian merchants can set up shop at any given time, so they invite foreign merchants to Pelletie to fill the market. ”
I stared at him. For the thousandth time, I wished that the Carlieff schoolmistress had been a better teacher. There were more than one hundred dressmakers alone in the King’s Seat. How was I supposed to help stop a war if I didn’t know the first thing about our enemy’s customs?
“What?” Marta was staring at Luka, too.
He laughed. “Oh, yes. Merchants from all over the world are invited to the Grand Market to hawk their wares for the Citatians’ enjoyment. The visiting merchants’ wives do a good deal of shopping as well, buying silks and jewels for themselves while their husbands try to turn a profit. The Citatians who have a merchant’s licence wear blue hats, but all the other merchants are foreigners. Take two soldiers with you as bodyguards, and you’ll just look like some wealthy merchants’ daughters. ”
Marta’s eyes gleamed at this. “I think we can do that,” she said, pulling some of the clothing out of the basket to look at it. “Wait a minute, what are these?”
Luka grinned at us both. “Haven’t you ever seen Citatian fashions before, Marta? Creel?”
We both shook our heads. I held up more of the clothing, and my eyes bulged.
“Those are your new trousers,” Luka said with a snigger. “Don’t you like them?”
And now Tobin had a gleam in his eye. He smiled broadly while Marta and I both turned beet red.
Trousers!
A Shopping Spree
“I feel so immodest,” Marta hissed. “Do you think everyone is looking at us?”
“No. ” I shook my head, liking the feeling of the dozens of tiny braids swinging around my face. “There are plenty of women here dressed like this. Now stop fussing. ”
I, for one, was enjoying the Citatian mode of dress for women. The lightweight trousers were paired with a long tunic, belted by a sash that was wrapped from just under the bust to the top of the hips. Over that was a long loose jacket, and a gauzy scarf worn loosely around the neck. Marta and I had braided each other’s hair in a couple of dozen tiny braids, tied with bright yarn. My straight hair had never looked so exciting, but Marta’s curls were threatening to spring loose at any moment.
I did feel like the soldiers escorting us were looking at our legs a bit too much, but there was precious little I could do about that, so I chose to ignore it. I also chose to ignore the dragons flying endless formations overhead, since no one else was looking up. It was unnerving, but we didn’t dare draw attention to ourselves by gawking.
What I didn’t want to tell Marta was that I wasn’t so much concerned about whether or not it was immodest to wear trousers, but with how the Citatians would receive us. Luka had assured us that the Grand Market was always full of foreign women, and that we would only be two more wealthy shoppers in the crowd. I couldn’t help but remember my first day in the King’s Seat, however.
Dowdily dressed, I had been looking for work at a dressmaker’s shop, asking directions of strangers and wandering the streets until curfew. I had trodden on a small dog (Feniul’s Pippin), and nearly caused a diplomatic incident with a Roulaini princess, the evil Amalia. I had been jeered at, ignored, and threatened with prison for violating a curfew I hadn’t known existed. If our experience here in the Grand Market was at all similar, I didn’t know what I would do.
All around us were Citatian men with tanned faces and pale hair, wearing conical red or purple or yellow hats, depending on their occupation. Every so often we saw a blue hat worn by someone working at a booth. Women in bright silks strolled in pairs with bare-chested bodyguards at their heels. The women held square sunshades to keep their skin from being tanned like their husbands’, and their pale braids were often dyed fanciful colours: royal blue, scarlet and deep green.
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But there were also women and men with tattooed hands wearing dark robes, shoppers in high-collared, lace-trimmed Roulaini gowns and suits, and some people wrapped head to toe in long, seamless draperies that left one shoulder bare. Many of the women had small pet monkeys with jewelled collars frolicking along beside them, attached to their mistresses by long chains that fastened to a br
acelet on the women’s wrists.
“We should get a monkey,” Marta said. “It seems to be the accessory of choice. ”
“Absolutely not,” I disagreed. “Don’t you remember Lady Katta’s pet monkey? It shredded two of her gowns with its little fingernails, and when she scolded it, it flung its own waste at her!”
Marta made a face. “Bleah! I’d forgotten that. ”
We went to a booth that sold bolts of silk embroidered with tiny silver mirrors. Far from sneering at us, the proprietress scrambled to show us her finest wares, bowing and smiling and communicating to us in broad gestures. She wore mirrored silk twisted and draped around her stout figure, leaving both arms and one shoulder bare. I was hard-pressed not to stare at the tattoo of a snake on her naked shoulder.
While the merchandise was appealing, it was clear that she spoke not a word of Feravelan or Roulaini, which I knew a few words of. Marta also tried Moralienin, Tobin’s native tongue, but got nothing more than nods and smiles. Still, I resolved to come back another time and buy a bolt of the mirrored silk. It would be a wondrous addition to Isla’s trousseau. We would just have to look elsewhere for someone to gossip with.
It was Marta who spotted a trio of Moralienin men coming out of a low building near some leather workers. Their shaved heads and gold earrings hardly looked exotic in the sea of strange clothing that we were walking through, but people gave the heavily armed, fierce-looking men a wide berth nevertheless. Marta immediately took my arm and dragged me within earshot of them, much to our bodyguards’ horror. As we strolled by with false casualness, Marta began to jabber in Moralienin, while I nodded and smiled as though I understood every word.
The ploy had the desired effect, and one of the burly men stopped in surprise. Addressing Marta, he bowed to us and then apparently introduced himself and his men. Marta introduced herself using Tobin’s sister’s name, Ulfrid, and then called me something that sounded like “Hime-trout”.
Releasing my arm to gesture effusively, she chattered (as near as I could tell) about the market and the strange clothes and then grinned broadly, seeming to invite the men to add their own opinions. I groaned inwardly. Tobin and his sister were so taciturn that I had thought Ulfrid was also mute when we first met. I couldn’t imagine that these men would really believe us to be their countrywomen, the way Marta was babbling on.