Part 10
"The Dragon's Curse"
Everything in the room came to an
absolute standstill as the announcement hung in the air. Henrik
stared at the girl standing before his father. She was most
definitely Agatha Farfalle—but why was she wearing Nadia’s dress?
Many daughters had already tried, bringing forth rings and promises,
but none of them were Nadia. He still had to hope that she would
appear at the masquerade.
Lord Sigmund coughed, and Henrik
blinked aside his musings to find his father looking at him.
“Son?” He rasped in a
comically-aged voice. “Is this the woman you spoke of?”
“Of course she is!” snapped Lady
Jacintha, pursing her lips impatiently. “Can’t you see she’s
wearing the Ring?”
Henrik watched Agatha, who gave him a
beguiling smile. “Don’t you remember that night, sir?” She
asked softly, blinking her wide eyes. “We sat and watched the
fireworks, and then you led me into the ballroom for dancing!”
“Your steward can confirm that my
daughter was most certainly in attendance that night,” Jacintha
supplied, waving her hand in the general direction of Sir Travis.
Henrik glanced at his father, and
Sigmund waved for him to respond.
“I’m sorry,” Henrik replied to
Lady Jacintha. “But the woman we seek goes by the name of Nadia.”
“What does her name have to do
with it?” Lady Jacintha’s careful veneer slipped, and she
couldn’t hide the sneer dancing over her lips. “We have the Ring,
isn’t that what you want?” She turned her attention to Lord
Sigmund, but the old man seemed to have fallen asleep—as elderly
men past their prime were wont to do. “Your Lordship was very clear
in the letter. I have fulfilled my terms, as a faithful servant of
the Drakistos family…”
As she spoke, a distinct chill settled
over the room. Ladies pulled their wispy shawls closer, men grabbed
the lapels of their jackets. Henrik couldn’t restrain a small
shiver as a breeze built up through the room, as if they stood on a
mountaintop in the open air.
His father jerked upright, eyes fixed
on the massive window as if waiting for something to happen.
“Is it here?” Henrik heard
him whisper.
The wind played with the skirts of the two women
standing on the floor. Lady Jacintha whirled around with a scowl,
clinging to the folds of her dress as if her hands could hold them
down against the growing wind.
Agatha clung to her mother’s arm.
With the ill fit of the dress, she risked losing it altogether.
“What’s happening, mother?” she
asked. “Where is it coming from?”
Henrik followed his father’s example
and watched the window intently. A shadow unfolded behind it, looming
larger and more defined. He could see it was a winged creature of
some sort, but just before it seemed it would crash into the window
and enter the castle, the shadow disappeared, and the wind ceased in
the same moment.
Everyone in the Governor’s Court let
out a sigh of relief that echoed in the silence. Everyone, that is,
except Lord Sigmund.
Henrik watched him for a long moment,
waiting for his father to stir. Lord Sigmund slumped in his throne,
the sagging wig covering his face.
“Father?” he asked, reaching toward
Lord Sigmund’s shoulder. He prodded it a little, but His Lordship
did not stir. “Father, wake up!” He pushed a little harder, and
Lord Sigmund promptly tumbled out of his throne, and down the steps
of the dais. Lady Jacintha cried out and pulled her daughter back a
few paces.
Henrik felt his fear building as he
stepped down after his father. “Fathe—“
He hadn’t even finished the word
before Lord Sigmund finally moved. His arms stretched out, and his
back twisted, as if he were trying to get his legs under him to stand
up. A steady, grunting growl built up from him, as his body twisted
some more.
“Hen….Henrik…” Lord Sigmund
groaned through clenched teeth, hissing through some inexplicable
pain.
Henrik watched his father turn his
head, and the keen, clear eye stared straight at him. Sigmund reached
a hand out toward his son. “Help me.”
Right before his very eyes, Henrik
watched in frozen horror as dark, knobby scales broke through the
skin on Sigmund’s hand, and his nails lengthened into claws.
Jacintha noticed his other hand transforming as well, and she let out
a wailing scream. Sigmund Drakistos writhed on the floor of his own
palace, moaning in pain as scales erupted over his entire body. The
agony drove him to his feet, and the powdered wig slipped off his
head as scales covered his face and transformed it into that of—
“A Dragon!” Sir Travis
shouted, as the being-that-had-once-been-Sigmund sprouted a large
pair of wings and spread them with a bone-chilling screech.
Pandemonium erupted, as everyone raced for the door, any door, any
way to escape the room and the horrible monster in their midst.
Sigmund the Dragon took off into the
air, flying an erratic zigzag around the pillars and among the
vaulted ceilings. Henrik dashed for the paralyzed guests. Bride or
not, he knew he couldn’t let the Ring be lost in the confusion.
“Henrik, look out!” Sir Travis
called out to him, and the young man dropped to the cold stone floor
as the dragon veered straight for him. He heard a woman scream, and
when he looked up, Agatha Farfalle dangled from the monster’s
claws.
“AGATHA!” Jacintha shrieked, as Sir
Travis pulled her along with the crowd to safety.
“MOMMY!!” Agatha wailed. The
dragon smashed into the massive window with a thunderous crash,
raining shards of glass on the heads of the masses below. Henrik
stared after the disappearing figure until someone grabbed his arm.
“This way, Your Grace!” The footman
coaxed him. Henrik followed numbly until he reached a secluded
hallway, headed to the tower stairwell that led to his room.
“Wait!” He twisted out of the
footman’s grip.
“What is it?” the servant asked.
Henrik couldn’t get the sight of the
familiar dress out of his mind. It was definitely the same exotic
pattern that Nadia had been wearing—and the size difference there
had been between her and Agatha accounted for the ill fit displayed
by the latter. Never mind that she was certainly not the same girl;
the only way she could possibly be wearing the same dress was—
He blinked and grinned at the footman.
“I know where I can find Nadia!” he exclaimed, running down the
stairs and out the side door, toward the stables.
>>>>>>>>>>
Stella tried hard to focus on the brush
strokes as she scrubbed the floors of the villa. Her mind kept
wandering after Jacintha and Agatha, picturing them in private
conference with Lord Sigmund, spinning their spurious tale of how
they had caught their ill-mannered servant pilfering the magnificent
Ring from some visiting dignitary. She pictured them touting how this
same servant girl had seduced young Henrik; Stella was certain
Jacintha would not hesitate to barter for her silence on the matter.
Either Henrik married Agatha, or Jacintha would spread the rumor that
His Lordship’s heir had taken up with a servant girl. What then?
They would have no choice, and once Jacintha had secured this
guarantee for her daughter, there would be no need for Jacintha to
adhere to the Drakistos Rule. Stella imagined them advancing up the
walk, coming to the house to break the marvelous news that Stella
would be turned out of the house—perhaps even banished from Kadros
itself.
A soft sound drew her from her fearful
musings. Stella held her breath to listen.
Hoofbeats; a horse galloping up the
walk. Jacintha had come to gloat, no doubt.
The horse whinnied and the hoofbeats
ground to a stop. She heard quick footsteps on the portico.
“Nadia!”
Stella caught her breath, even more
fear building in her. Henrik? What was he doing here? How had
he found her?
A fist pounded on the door. “Nadia—or
whatever your name is, I know you’re in there! Open up!”
Stella wiped her wet hands on her
apron, and looked down at the wrinkled, scarred palms. She wore her
scars! He would know she tricked him! Would her twisted appearance
scare him off?
Bam-bam. “Please! Whoever you
are! I need help! An innocent life is at stake!”
At last, Stella opened the door,
keeping her head bowed.
“Thank you!” Henrik pushed past her
and stepped into the house. “I’m looking for Nad—Oh, wait!”
When Stella looked up, he was pointing at her, eyes wide and jaw open
in astonishment. “You’re her!”
She couldn’t speak. His face twisted
ever so slightly, just like the small sneers Jacintha would get when
she looked at Stella’s curving scars. Stella gave a small nod, and
then bowed her head to hide her trembling chin. Hot tears bubbled out
of her eyes and down her craggy cheeks.
Henrik grabbed her hands, holding them
gently. He cradled her knobby, hardened fingertips in his palm, and
Stella noticed that he still had the patch of dry “scales” from
the night of the fireworks.
“So it was true,” he whispered
softly in her ear. “You do have scars like me.”
She trembled so badly she couldn’t
speak—she could hardly breathe. “I…” She choked. “I’m
sorry I pretended to be someone else, I shouldn’t have been ashamed
of my scars—“
“Nadia,” Henrik reached out and
nudged her chin, prompting her to look at him. “Or whatever your
name is—“
She smiled through her tears. “Stella,”
she supplied.
“Stella, then.” Henrik’s mouth
quirked in a small smile. “You weren’t hiding because you were
ashamed. I’ve wanted the same thing, too: to be seen for me,
and not just my inheritance—or my skin condition. At least I know
how you did it.” He lifted the hand that had worn the Ring that
night, but then his smile dropped. “Oh! The Ring! My father!
Quick!” Henrik didn’t let go of her hand, but pulled her along
behind him as he made for the door.
“Where are we going?” Stella asked.
“You have to come with me!” Henrik
exclaimed over his shoulder.
Stella staggered a few paces, but then
she dug in her feet. “Why?” Was she in trouble? Was he luring her
into some kind of trap?
“Stella, please!” Henrik begged.
“How do you think I found you? Lady Jacintha brought her daughter
in wearing the dress and the Ring, claiming that she was the
descendant of Nadia—the last true Heir of Drakistos, and the one
who could lift the curse on our family and send the Dragon back to
where he belonged—but because it wasn’t true, my father
turned into a real dragon, and he carried Jacintha’s daughter off!”
“How is that even possible?” Stella
gasped, but just then, a bone-chilling roar cut through the air, and
a massive column of smoke rose in the distance. The scent of burning
wood permeated the air. Stella pulled her hand away from Henrik as
the white billowing clouds swirled around them.
Henrik turned back and refused to leave
her side. “Please, Stella! As the true descendant of Nadia
Drakistos, you are the only one who can right the things that
everyone has done to wrong you! You alone can wear the Ring and lift
the curse!”
Old resentment built like the flames
inside Stella. Why should she care if Jacintha and Agatha suffered
for lying and mistreating her? Wasn’t that what they
deserved?
The clouds of smoke grew thicker and
darker, blotting out the sun, but neither Henrik nor Stella had any
trouble breathing. She could feel the rough, stiff scales in her
throat, protecting her tender skin from damage, in the same way the
scales on the outside shielded her from the increasing heat.
Henrik’s own skin seemed to crust
over, paling chalky-white as the hot air dried his cheeks and arms.
“Stella, please come with me! My
father—“ Henrik choked on the words. “The forest is burning,
and he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He can’t stop this—you
can!”
Stella took a deep breath and gripped
Henrik’s hand resolutely. “All right,” she said at last. “Take
me to him.”
Together, they took off down the road
into Kadros, but while the desperate crowds streamed eastward, away
from the billowing flames, Henrik and Stella ran deeper, straight for
the heart of the fire. The trees burned around them like a hellish
labyrinth, but neither one felt it, as their skin hardened
altogether, rendering them impervious to heat and flame. Sure-footed
and single-focused, they raced on, headed for the dragon and its
prisoner.
>>>>>>>>>>>
No comments:
Post a Comment