Serial Saturday: "The Dragon's Mark" Part 4

Part 4

"The Drakistos Rule"

Stella spent the rest of the evening waiting on the ladies, and when they finally went to bed, she finished the rest of the washing-up.
Among the dishes lay a silver tray. Seeing her reflection in it reminded her of the birdbath and the ring. She slipped it out of her pocket and put it on. Once again, she gasped as her reflection changed.

Instead of rough, flaky skin and twisted, pocked features, she saw a silky-smooth visage; even the quality of her hair was different. Instead of the usual lank, stringy, dirty mop, her hair took on a sheen she hadn’t even seen in Agatha’s hair, and curled beautifully around her clear—albeit plain—face. The tears returned, and this time, Stella let herself cry. She set down the tray and wept into her threadbare apron. She wasn’t nearly as beautiful as Agatha, with all her makeup and paints—but just the sight of her face without the scars and scales was the prettiest she’d ever looked in her life. She had never dreamed she could look like that. And now she could go to the Festival!

That night, Stella lay down to sleep with her head full of anticipation over what she might see the next day. But in spite of all the excitement, her dreams took a decidedly different turn.

She dreamed of a woman who wore the same dress the dwarf in the antique shop had given her. The woman sat at her vanity, applying the last touches of makeup to her face.

Behind her, a man entered the room and approached her, caressing her shoulders tenderly.

“Are you ready, my love?” he asked.

“Almost, James,” the woman replied.

He bent to kiss the top of her head. She laughed and nudged him away. “Stop, you’ll ruin all my hard work.”

“You make stunning look easy,” he murmured, stepping back as she inspected her face.

The reflection in the mirror came into focus, and Stella could have gasped when she saw that the woman’s face was almost completely covered with scales, like those of a dragon! The woman turned around, and her face seemed perfectly normal.

“You are kind to say that,” she murmured, stand up to give this man a full view of her, from head to toe.

“That dress is perfect, your hair is perfect…” James murmured. “Nadia, my treasured bride, you look perfect tonight.” He pulled her close and wrapped her into an embrace. “I never knew how happy one person could make me until you dropped into my life out of nowhere.”

Nadia’s face fell, and she leaned slightly away from James. “Dearest, please don’t—“

“No! I am not asking about your past, darling; I promised I wouldn’t. It’s just…” He broke off and sighed.

Nadia tilted her head, her red lips bent in a frown. “What is it?”

“Some gossip traveling between the wives of the other dignitaries, apparently. Someone is convinced that there is something you’re not telling me.”

Fire flashed in her eyes. “James!”

“Nadia, I swear, it’s only gossip, and I won’t believe a word of it!”

“I would hope you trust me better than that!”

“I do! I believe you, even though you won’t tell me how you managed to arrive in Rome with that strange dress and absolutely no knowledge of the world. I trusted you enough to marry you, didn’t I?”

Nadia tried to distance herself, but that only moved her closer to the mirror, and the horrible, twisted visage that was the exact opposite of Stella’s experience. She glared at her mottled appearance, and turned back to him.

“All right, I trust you, James.” She gave herself a little shake and offered her hand with a brave smile. “Let’s put all this behind us for now; what’s done is done, and we can’t help what people are saying.”

“That’s the spirit,” James declared, tucking her arm through his. The couple swept out of the room, and for a brief moment, Stella stared at this dimly-lit, silence space in her dream, without ever waking.

The next sound she heard was a low, deep moan. The vision shifted, and the bedroom was filled with people in white robes, milling about and fussing over a moaning, pregnant woman in the bed. The dream gave Stella a bird’s-eye view of the whole scene, and she could tell the pregnant woman was the same Nadia who somehow had a terrible secret that she managed to keep hidden from everyone, even her own husband.

“Careful!” said one of the men to a woman standing near the end of the bed. “Is she nearly ready to deliver?”

“Everything seems to be ready, Doctor,” the woman murmured, “but there is a problem.”

Stella’s attention moved to the pain-filled patient on the bed, who seemed rather stiff and immobile.

“What is the problem?”

“The mother—there are not the contractions sufficient to deliver the baby.”

“No contractions? Impossible!”

“It’s as if she has turned to stone. It appears she is dying.”

“We must save her at all costs!”

In her dream, Stella managed to catch the woman’s reflection in a mirror. Just like the vanity in the previous scene, this mirror gave a glimpse of a horrible, twisted creature, almost completely covered with scales. Stella watched as the operating surgeons seemed to pull an infant-sized glowing figure from the scale-covered woman’s womb. A frenzy of activity and plenty of shouting and running, and the next moment, Stella watched a nurse hand a blanket-wrapped bundle to her colleague, along with a letter.

“What of the father, Captain Stevens?” The woman asked.

“She asked that we never tell him of the birth. Her last request was that this child be sent to the nearest member of the Drakistos family, in Kadros.”

“Drakistos? Have they agreed to a meeting?”

“They cannot help it. Anyone living under the protection of the Drakistos family must accept responsibility for anyone bearing that name, or they forfeit their connection.”

“That is a most singular circumstance!”

“It is called the Drakistos Rule, laid down by High Chief Gabbaldur Draksitos, himself. That is why Giorgio and Jacintha Farfalle are on their way.”

Stella watched with growing interest as the couple she had lived with appeared in her dream as much younger versions of themselves, and childless. Their voices were muddled in the dream, but she heard at least Jacintha’s familiar, cutting voice, “We will accept the child in the name of the Drakistos family, and raise her as our own daughter.”

Stella awakened from the dream with a gasp. What did it all mean? Why was that woman wearing the same dress the dwarf had given her? What curse had befallen her, that marred her reflection so badly?
The morning bells began to ring, and she had no more time to spend dwelling on the strange story.

“Oh, there you are,” Jacintha grunted at her when she brought up the morning coffee. “Are you ill, Stella? I will not have you gadding about after Agatha infecting everyone you see—“

“No, ma’am,” Stella assured her quickly. “I am well.”

“Just remember, you are there for Agatha’s sake, and you are not to speak to anyone, even if they talk to you. You’re her pack-mule, to carry her things, and nothing more. Goodness knows the child will spend more than she ought to, but it cannot be helped!” Her Ladyship wagged her head with the air of benevolent long-suffering.

Stella hesitated over the coffee things. Jacintha glanced at her over the rim of her coffee cup.

“Is something wrong, child?”

Something in her face, in her voice... Stella fought for the words. “What does it mean to be under the protection of the Drakistos family?” she asked.

Jacintha raised a delicately-drawn eyebrow. “To be under the Family’s protection is the greatest honor, only afforded to those who have pledged their unwavering loyalty. Their people defend us, we have access to their money—it’s why a widow like me can continue to live in this villa that belonged to my husband, because the Family pays for it, and in return, I submit to whatever they ask.”

Like a servant? Stella wondered, but aloud, she asked, “Am I under the protection of the Drakistos family?”

Jacintha’s prim lips folded into a frown. “Where would you get such an insane idea? Have you pledged yourself to them? Do you have any financial stake in the Family at all?” She gave a short chuckle. “Don’t be silly, Stella; you are my servant, under my protection, and you are at my mercy, not theirs. According to them, you don’t exist.”

Something rang hollow in the woman’s words. Stella stood straight, leaving the spent dishes and the cold coffeepot where they lay. “If I don’t exist,” she asked softly, “then why am I still here?”

Jacintha looked straight at her, but she could only stare at the scabs and scars for so long. “What do you mean, impertinent girl? You’re here because I want you here.”

“But why me, out of all the other servants you had? You dismissed them all after—“ She saw Jacintha’s hand twitch as she nearly said his name aloud, and she plunged ahead without it. “After His Lordship died. But you kept me on, and only me. Why would you do that if I wasn’t protected by The Family?”

“You aren’t!” Jacintha stood from the couch, fists clenched and eyes blazing. “You can’t be! You’re under no one’s protection but mine—and if you would like to continue thus, I demand that you cease these insubordinate questions!”

Stella felt the old fear of being displaced reach up and choke the words in her throat. She hung her head. “I meant no disrespect, Your Ladyship.”

Jacintha sighed, but the tension in the room remained. “Then why are you asking all this? Where has it come from?”

Stella hesitated; even she didn’t know why the dream had happened—how could she explain that to Jacintha, who already thought she was crazy and almost worthless? “I dreamt of Lord Giorgio last night,” she said. “Something must have reminded me of the night I was left on the doorstep, as you have said.”

“Yes?” Lady Jacintha gripped the wooden scrollwork on the side of the couch. “I remember how I told you that three days ago. But even so, why would you dare to question the Drakistos Rule?”

Drakistos Rule, just like the nurse in her dream had said. Stella fought to keep her voice steady as she answered, “I remember Gio—His Lordship telling me that you both had sworn to care for the infant on the steps ‘as your own daughter,’—and, well…”

Jacintha sneered. “Are you saying that you think you deserve better treatment than you’ve gotten? Are you ungrateful, is that where this is coming from?”

“Oh no, ma’am,” Stella stepped back and raised her hands defensively. “I know I’m only a servant, and the only person in this house whom you treat as a daughter is Miss Agatha… Which, if you’ll pardon the assumption, could only mean that—“

She had taken her eyes off Jacintha, and focused on her shoes and on the tiled floor, which was the reason she didn’t see the blow coming. The full force of Jacintha’s palm slammed into the side of her face with all of the woman’s fury behind it.

“You dare!” Her Ladyship screamed. “You dare insinuate that my Agatha is not the very child I carried and birthed? You dare to think that I would not love my child, who is my flesh and blood, unless money were involved?” The blows rained from every side, driving Stella to her knees, her hands shielding her very little as she felt her skin harden under the barrage.

“You are nothing, Stella! I own you! Agatha owns you! You never belonged to the Drakistos family, and if you ever speak of this again, I will have you run out of Kadros altogether! You will never be anything but a toad-faced housemaid until the day you die!”

Jacintha slumped into the nearby lounge, her rage spent. Stella gasped as the pain faded as soon as the beating stopped, and sobs gripped her throat.

“Get out of my sight,” growled Jacintha, and Stella picked up the coffee tray and scurried away.

In the privacy of the kitchen, Stella surveyed the new swatches of flaky scales covering the entire side of her face. Her mouth carried the coppery taste that stained her tongue with the redness of blood.

Why had she let herself assume that the baby was actually Agatha?
If it wasn’t—then what happened to the other child?

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