Serial Saturday: "The Dragon's Mark" Part 10

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.

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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.

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