Serial Saturday: "The Dragon's Mark" Part 3

Part 3

"The Dwarf and The Dress"

That fateful morning, Jacintha Farfalle and her daughter sat in the sunroom of their villa, deeply engaged in reading. Agatha turned a page in her periodical and released a noisy, wistful sigh.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Jacintha asked absently, frowning at a particularly salacious account from her Dear Friend (and the neighborhood watchdog) Deirdre, concerning the social travesties of one Libeth Montgoverny, who had appeared at a garden party unannounced. Such an affront to the hostess (none other than Steffani Drakistos, second cousin of Lord Sigmund, herself!) warranted a full recounting of her many infractions by Deirdre, and a warning to all eligible women against associating with her until she submitted a formal apology in the presence of sufficient witnesses. The community of Kadros was tight-knit, with very clear lines and expectations of the levels of social hierarchy, and brooked no threat to said stratification. So engrossed was Lady Jacintha that she barely heard Agatha’s dreamy reply.

“I just wish I could find a dashing, daring young man like Lord Harold Courtland!”

Jacintha set aside her letter and picked up an envelope with the Drakistos Family seal set upon it. Two missives from the governing family, in as many days? What could it mean?

Agatha sighed again, and Jacintha’s thin tolerance snapped. “Will you stop that? You sound like a fish that’s just been taken out of the water.”

“I’m just so—“ Agatha began, but Jacintha cut her off.

“I don’t care what you think you feel, what you are is lazy and discontented, and what you need is motivation to go out and get those things you enjoy. You are a Farfalle, and you deserve to get everything you want, as much as any Drakistos!” With that, she returned to deciphering the stately calligraphy. It seemed to be an invitation of some sort—and she couldn’t remember receiving an invitation from the Drakistos family since Giorgio was alive.

Jacintha gasped sharply, and Agatha cast aside her periodical. “What is it, mother?”

The woman didn’t answer right away. She rose from her seat, invitation clutched in her hands, and began pacing the tile floor.

“This is it, Agatha! This is the moment we’ve been waiting for! Oh, merciful heavens, all of our waiting and planning has finally paid off!”

Agatha pursed her lips in a frown. “Our planning? Mother, what’s gotten into you?”

Jacintha ignored her daughter’s skepticism. She pushed the invitation in front her daughter’s face. 

“Look! The Drakistos family is sponsoring a festival, and everyone in Kadros is invited!”

Agatha squinted at the flourishing script. “Dragon Festival?” she read aloud in a dubious tone, “We’ve never had—“

“Oh, never mind that!” Jacintha waved her hand petulantly. “Do you see where it says that it will be hosted in the Grand Piazza? And that anyone connected to the Drakistos name, anyone under their protection or otherwise living in Kadros, is allowed to attend?”

The plump, dark-haired beauty rolled her eyes. “What’s the use of all that, though?” Agatha whined. “We both know there are simply no more eligible young men to be found in all of Kadros—“

“And,” Jacintha finished, pointing to a small flurry of words at the bottom. “doesn’t it say Lord Sigmund’s son and heir, The Honorable Don Henrik, will be in attendance, seeking a bride?”

In the shocked silence that followed, the door softly opened and the maid, Stella, entered to remove the breakfast things.

Agatha let the invitation drop as she joined her mother on her feet. “The son and heir, Henrik?” she gasped. “Henrik Drakistos?”

“The very same, “ Jacintha answered. “Now what do you say to that, daughter?”

Agatha clapped her hands and gave a little dance. “I think I shall go to the festival, after all!” she declared. “Although…”

“What else could you possibly want?” Jacintha scoffed. “This is Henrik Drakistos we are talking about!”

“I know,” Agatha sighed, “but I can’t help thinking—if everybody in Kadros is going to be there, then how much of a chance do you really think I have of winning his attention?”

“Nonsense, dearest!” Jacintha put one hand on Agatha’s shoulder, and stroked her hair with the other. “We can always dress you in a gown so gorgeous, you will catch the eye of even the blindest of men!”

Agatha grinned smugly at the idea. Jacintha turned her gaze and narrowed her eyes.

“Why are you still standing there?” she snarled at Stella.

The scrawny, scar-faced maid looked up guiltily from the discarded invitation. “Lady Jacintha,” she murmured, “might it be possible… I mean, if it’s all right; if I complete my duties for the evening… Might I go to the Festival as well?”

Jacintha snatched the invitation from her grabby little hands. “To the Festival? Are you daft?”

Stella stepped back, giving ground to Her Ladyship. “I only ask because it did say, regardless of class or station—“

“Since when did you know how to read, lizard-face?” Agatha sneered.

Stella hung her head. “I just wanted to ask,” she whimpered.

Jacintha wagged her head. “Now, Stella, let’s get one thing very clear: we are not, and never will be, interested one bit in whatever it is you want. You are a servant in my house, and if I say that you shall not go to the Festival, then you shall NOT go to the Festival.” She turned away, giving a little sniff. “As if I would let that terrible face of yours be seen outside of the house, and in the company of my daughter? You think I want to be associated with such ugliness?”

Agatha smirked and slid a narrow-eyed glance in Stella’s direction. She saw tears. Good; the stupid waif was finally learning her place. “Be on your way,” she said, picking up her periodical once more. She tried to read the juicy passages once again, but the image in her head of the debonair Lord Courtland no longer held the same allure; instead, Don Henrik Drakistos ruled supreme. No one in her immediate circle had even seen him, though plenty would claim the honor. Did he have dark hair like his father? Or fair hair, like a true Prince Charming should? What color were his eyes? Did he have a strong, booming voice, like so many of the other Drakistos family members—at least the ones that showed their faces in public? Oh, the Festival couldn’t come soon enough!

In the afternoon, Stella left the villa on foot and made her way to the marketplace. Jacintha and Agatha had departed earlier, in the chaise, to place an order at the dress shop for the gown Agatha would wear to the festival.

The rough weave of the huge satchel Stella carried scraped on her arm, and she knew, from the look of the list in her hand, that the weight of everything would only make it worse. Jacintha had ordered enough food for not only tonight’s menu, but several large parties after the festival concluded. Hams, steaks, shellfish, assorted greens, a profound amount of fruit, not all of which was actually in season—Stella sighed as she scanned the market booths for the places she would need. She always made sure to state her requests clearly, without lifting her head until she went to pay for the merchandise, because as soon as she made eye contact with the vendor, he or she would flinch, almost threatening to refuse to touch anything that had come into contact with her… But in the end, money always won out, and she could be on her way to the next awkward encounter. As she walked, she frequently had to dodge out of the way as wagons rumbled down the bustling street, headed in and out of the Piazza. Stella noticed ribbons and streamers in bright, glittering colors, a mysterious wagon purportedly containing live animals of some sort, a caravan or two—but what was the use of paying any sort of attention, if she wasn’t going anyway?

Stella adjusted the position of the basket’s handle to a rough, hardened patch at the crook of her arm. The weight still dragged on her, making it difficult to walk any faster than a crawl, but at least she didn’t have to feel it scraping her with every step.

“Mademoiselle!” cried a voice.

Stella had never heard that language before. She glanced with only her eyes, keeping her head bent—only to discover a strange pair of eyes staring over a bushy beard, directly at her! He gestured urgently at her. One quick sweep of her surroundings confirmed that he indeed meant Stella—but why? She approached the stranger. His shingle proclaimed Objets Antiques—did the man not know how to spell correctly? Stella edged closer. The man with dark hair and mottled skin seemed only a bit more than half her height, up close. It was as if someone had slapped a beard and thick, wiry muscles on a child. He didn’t seem the least put off by Stella’s scars—she imagined he probably dealt with the same looks from people for his height that she did for her skin.

“Un cadeau pour vous, mademoiselle,” he murmured, bowing to her.

Stella’s heart leaped into her chest. Was he addressing her as someone special? Did she have a strange and wonderful heritage after all? She backed a step away, staying just outside the threshold of his shop. “I’m sorry,” she murmured softly, knowing full well that he probably understood about as much of her language as she did of his. “I don’t think I want any—“

“Mademoiselle! Cette boucle!” He held something out to her. It glinted in his stained fingers. She peered at it as he held it out to her. A ring, carved in the likeness of a silver dragon that seemed to grip a fiery red stone in its claws.

Stella shook her head. “I can’t accept that,” she said. “It looks like something a Drakistos would wear, and I’m not—“

“Oui, Drakistos!” The dwarf grew even more adamant, though she noticed that he would not leave the safety of his shop with that ring in his hand. “Il appartient à vous! Veuillez le prendre!”

Stella could see people beginning to pause and watch this exchange. From the way their mouths pulled down at her, she guessed that they assumed she was giving this seller a bad time. He persisted in calling out to her, so she had no other choice. She stepped into his shop and put her hand over the ring. “Hush! All right, I’ll take it, though I cannot pay you.”

The dwarf smiled as she took the ring in her hand, and when she pointed to her coinpurse, he shook his head and waved his hand. “Il est un cadeau!” he repeated a phrase from before. Abruptly, he turned around and seemed to retreat further into his shop.

Stella hesitated only briefly before taking her leave. She didn’t like the looks of this place, crowded with strange and foreign things she couldn’t even begin to understand. What would Jacintha say if she found the ring Stella now carried? Why would this dwarf single her out and give it to her?

His growling, bass voice interrupted her thoughts. “Et… C'est également pour vous,” he stammered, huffing back into the tiny aisle with a mound of cloth almost as big as his whole body.

“Mercy!” Stella breathed when she saw it. The dress was creamy-white, with silver and gold embroidery all over it. She had only seen a dress like it at Agatha’s social debut—and never in her life did she dream of wearing one like it, ever!

This was much easier to refuse. “No, I cannot,” she pushed back against it as the dwarf tried to give it to her. “I am a servant! Why would I want a dress?”

“Il est pour vous!” The dwarf ranted over and over. “Il est pour vous!” His eyes looked so wild and dangerous that Stella feared he might not let her leave his shop if she continued to refuse him. In the end, she silently held out her arms, and the dwarf draped the dress over them.

“If anyone asks,” she told herself as she emerged back onto the street, “it is for Miss Agatha. She’ll probably end up taking it from me, anyway.” Just the sight of it brought tears to her eyes and a lump in her throat—what possessed the stranger to give such a beautiful garment to one so ugly as Stella? Even if it did manage to fit her, the rough, uneven scars would shame the craftsmanship of it!

Upon returning to the Farfalle’s property, Stella nearly considered hiding the dress in the small thicket behind the gate, but as she entered the grounds, she noticed that the chaise had not returned; no one was home, and she was safe. Stella left the foodstuffs in the larder and headed out to the tiny garden shed to inspect her new treasures.

First came the ring. Stella studied it closely. She could see no identifying marks, but the dragon did bear a striking resemblance to the Drakistos family seal. Had the dwarf stolen this from them? Did he think that Stella probably worked for them? It felt heavy in her palm, and her skin tingled where it touched. Very carefully, Stella slipped her finger into the ring. The tingling sensation enveloped her whole body, and the young maid gasped as it felt like all the aches and pains she had carried for so long vanished all at once. Stella extended her hand to admire the way the ring looked on her finger—and that’s when she noticed the change.

The white, flaky ridges on the back of her palm were gone, replaced by smooth, whole skin. Stella rolled up her sleeve to examine the length of her arm.

No patches, no scales… anywhere! Almost quivering, Stella ventured out to the nearest polished surface, a birdbath by the garden path. Bending over, she peered closely at her reflection.

Soft, supple hands covered her mouth as she gasped. An exquisite face stared back at her, and she ran her fingertips lightly over the smooth roundness of her cheeks, the cool, sleek forehead. Her mouth broke out into a smile—a real smile, not the twisted grimace that was all she could manage around the scars.

So this is what she would look like without the horrible scales plaguing her! This was certainly someone worthy to wear the beautiful dress!

Stella heard the creaking of the front gate, and she whipped the ring off in a guilty frenzy. Immediately, her skin returned to its normal state. Stella placed the ring in the deepest pocket she had, and returned to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. As she scurried between the fireplace and the table, she felt tears welling in her eyes. Hastily, she rubbed them away with her sleeve and composed herself on the way up to the dining room.

“It’s about time you got here!” Agatha grumbled. “What have you been doing all day?”

Jacintha kept her eyes averted, busily spreading her napkin in her lap as she said, “There’s been a slight change of plans, Stella.”

The maid kept her eyes on the pile of greens in the bowl she held. “Yes ma’am.”

“You’ll be accompanying Agatha to the Festival tomorrow. Apparently my lazy, spendthrift daughter is convinced that not only does she want to buy plenty of trinkets and baubles from the foreign merchants riding in, but she will need someone to carry them for her. Naturally, that someone will be you.”

A wave of emotion threatened to crash over her again, and Stella found it difficult to breathe.

Jacintha continued, “I will insist, however, that you wear long sleeves, and see that your hands and face are covered with gloves and a veil, for you are still a sight to behold, and not fit for the public eye.”

Anything to be able to go, and not have to spend the day with the Her Irritable Ladyship! “I will, ma’am.”

“You will do everything Agatha tells you to do.”

“Yes, Your Ladyship.”

“You won’t cause any trouble or do anything that would embarrass me.”

“No, ma’am, I won’t.”

Jacintha slid her eyes in Stella’s general direction, not quite looking at her face. “Run along and get the next course, Stella; those greens are quite cold by now.”

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