The Birthday Dragon Page 7

  “Is that the duchess, sir?” I said, with the little breath I had that wasn’t taken away.

  “Aye,” said Fenric, “and you show her the respect due a poor widow.”

  “A widow?” I said. “I hadn’t heard.” Our duke was dead? Apparently so.

  “Been living under a rock, lad?” said Fenric. I shrugged.

  “In a way. At Lower Beech.” He nodded.

  “The duke was killed,” he said in a low voice, “only two days ago. We’re all moving to Peterhaven.”

  Then the duchess was there, and I was looking on politely as Fenric showed my paperwork. Her eyes were a dazzling bright blue with a sapphire orbital ring. The duchess nodded and smiled to me, and I melted. If she had ordered me killed on the spot I would have gone quietly, happy to be smiled at.

  “That’s Theo’s signature,” she said to Fenric, and then stepped over. I wasn’t sure whether to grovel or smile, but chose to smile and grovel. “I’m Saraia Westwych,” she said, “recently widowed former Crown Princess of Sendren, former Duchess of Beech Wood.” She rolled her eyes. “So he says,” she went on, “former! He’s never liked me. Anyway-”

  I was standing by, still smiling, trying not to look bewildered, or worse, as if I thought she was crazy. She was too beautiful to be crazy. She offered her hand. “My mother was a Casterton,” she said. I nodded and smiled, shook her hand and before I could introduce myself, she added, “You have a grandmother Daeva?” I nodded again. “Ah, that would be it. I think we’re third cousins. Or something.” I gibbered about it being simply wonderful to meet Her Grace, then remembered she was recently widowed and apparently stripped of her titles.

  “What should I call you, ah, Your Grace?” She shook her head.

  “I’m a highness in my own right, but you can call me Saraia,” she said, and took my hand again, fingers gently touching my pulse. I forgot my own name and barely heard what she said. I tried to slow my heart, as a good warrior should be able to do, but her scent teased my senses, something rich and sumptuous with rose and musk, mingled with the heady cedar, bay and sandalwood fragrance of the fur until my pulse thudded and I thought I might faint.

  I did see the guard captain, Fenric, react to her flirting with me. He rolled his eyes, but he was looking at her, not at me. That’s when I recognised Fenric, just as Saraia patted me on the arm and I forgot my own name again.

  “Here he is,” she said, “my son, Azrael.” It was lucky she said it, because I looked up, saw him, and was about to say something that might imply his name was something else. I made a kind of strangling noise.

  The boy sliding down the great marble banister rail was someone I’d met before. Now I understood why Fenric looked familiar. He was the uncle who collected Al Westwych from the Beech Wood library. Al, or Azrael, gave me a quick apologetic look that begged me not to tell, so of course I kept quiet aside from the required responses for the princess.

  Inside I was thinking, Azrael, eh? Crown Prince of Sendren, eh? Above us, he reached a landing and leapt for the next banister.

  “Walk like a normal person!” shouted his mother. “You’re going to ruin those trousers!” She turned to me, her voice normal volume. “Fenric says you’re coming to the capital with us?”

  “For my last year at school,” I said, “and the bit that’s left of this year.”

  “Azrael too,” she said, as that young man landed with a thump near us. “Polo’s going to be at school with you, dear,” she started, but the coachman stepped in.

  “Pardon me, ah, ladyship Highness?” he said, hedging his bets on titles. “Coach is on a timetable,” he said, and tapped his watch, “we need to get on.”

  “Oh,” said Saraia, as if she had forgotten there might be time constraints, “sorry, Master Coachman. In the coach, come on, boys.” We piled in, the bodyguards all mounted horses, and off we went.

  Inside, we settled in. Azrael and I both pretended this was a first meeting. Saraia introduced us and I shook hands with Azrael Westwych, Crown Prince of Sendren, and Lord of Beech Wood. “He can’t be duke or more than Heir Elect until he’s eighteen, of course.” Polo Shawcross, late of Lower Beech, lovely to meet you.

  “Polo’s mother is a Casterton,” added Saraia, “we’re all related somewhere.”

  “Second cousins,” I said, “once-removed? Though that’s Mother to Uncle Theo, I think. With the Casterton’s I’m not sure.”

  “With poor Azrael’s father having met such a nasty end,” Saraia said, “it was decided we’d move to town.” I was startled. I assumed the former Crown Prince had simply died.

  “A nasty end?” I repeated.

  “You didn’t hear?” said Azrael. I shook my head.

  “No,” I said, “I hadn’t, but then news takes a while to get to Lower Beech. He was killed?” I imagined some hunting accident. Father would have enjoyed reading that titbit out. “How dreadful.”

  “It’s not that bad,” said Azrael, looking as if he was trying not to grin.

  “Don’t look so pleased,” said his mother, “pretend to be in mourning.” He touched his arm, where a white ribbon was tied.

  “I’m pretending,” he said, sounding sour. Saraia rolled her eyes, which reminded me of my mother and I felt a pang of sadness.

  Would Mother and Father be alright without me? How would they manage? Still, without the farm they wouldn’t have as much to fight about, and with me gone they lost another source of arguments. Then I remembered what they were like, Father soused and bitter, Mother high on mindweed and moral outrage, and decided I didn’t miss them at all.

  “He was a drunk,” said Saraia, and I thought she was talking about Father.

  “Oh,” I said, “I didn’t realise you knew.” She gave me a strange look.

  “Of course I knew.”

  “Well, I suppose everyone in the village did,” I said, surprised Father’s infamy had spread as far as Sutherland Castle. Still, if news of my sex life had reached Grandmama Daeva down in Cragleas, anything was possible.

  “I think everyone in the kingdom did,” said Azrael, “they’re all so pleased he won’t be king.” The copper dropped. They weren’t talking about my father. Azrael scowled. “And now I don’t even have a younger brother to pass on the job to.” Saraia sighed.

  “If you were going to have a sibling, dear, it would have happened before now. The drink destroyed his abilities in that area.”

  “Oh,” I said, “your husband, I mean your late husband, he was a drinker?” They both looked at me.

  “Aye,” said Saraia, looking puzzled.

  “My father was too, is,” I said, trying to explain, “I thought you were talking about him.” Azrael grinned and Saraia threw back her head and laughed. I admired the lines of her throat.

  “Sorry, Polo,” she said, dimpling prettily, “I needed a laugh.”

  “Glad to be of service,” I said, feeling like an idiot. “So, I had the wrong end of the stick there. Your husband died of drink?”

  “In a way,” said Azrael, sounding thoughtful, “if he wasn’t drunk, he probably could have fought off the assassin.”

  “Aye,” said Saraia, “the man wasn’t big. And he only had a letter-opener.”

  “Stabbed him thirty-six times,” said Azrael, sounding so satisfied that his mother told him off again. “I don’t care,” said the heir to the throne, with some heat, “I didn’t like him when he was alive and I’m not going to lie now he’s dead!”

  “You are going to lie through your teeth!” shouted Saraia, and I leaned back, pretending not to be there. I was quite fascinated, as Royal Family gossip had never been acted out right in front of me before. For the first time in my life, I was at the source. Azrael shouted that she didn’t treat him like a grown-up and then got sulky. I looked briefly at the ceiling while Saraia lectured him on the importance of pretence.

  “-and it won’t hurt you to listen to this, Polo, it’s part of surviving at Court.” From then on, I could openly pay attention and eve
n ask questions instead of pretending to be deaf.

  “One must never be shocked,” Saraia began, looking serious, “being shocked is the sign of the ingenue, the cousin from the country. As far as Peterhaven is concerned you’re both cousins from the country. You can of course be pleasantly surprised.” Azrael and I mimed pleasant surprise, and she looked sternly at us. “You must always be polite, because the one time you are rude there will be twenty-five witnesses who will tell Peterhaven and the whole of the citadel. Before you have time to snap out of your state of petulance someone will have told me. In your case, Polo, they will have written to your mother.”

  It was rather like home, except I wasn’t in trouble so didn’t feel defensive. I noted the warning that my mother’s reach would extend at least as far as my new residence. Saraia’s tips for Court survival passed the time until the turn onto the Peterhaven-Port Azrael highway. I’d never seen the southern road and said so. That distracted us all as I asked questions about the city and the school, which Azrael was also attending for the first time. Azrael said he’d put his head down for the few hours until we got to Peterhaven.

  “I’ll need my strength,” he said, “if I’m to mourn properly.” He grinned at me, his mother rolled her eyes, and it was like watching Mother and me when we fought. For a moment I felt homesick again, then just the idea of a fight with Mother was enough to lose the feeling.

  Azrael fell asleep, the journey continued as it had while he was awake. Saraia was answering my questions about the landscape out the window, and I was asking more. Then she told me to look out the other side, as the country house coming up was the home of some branch of the Casterton’s.

  “You’re second cousins,” said Saraia, sounding sure, then added, “I think. We’ll have to work it out.”

  “I’m very interested,” I said, “I don’t really know how I’m related to everyone.”

  “If you’re a Casterton,” said Saraia, “or a half a one, you’re related to everyone. I take it for granted with most Blood we’re related. Look, over there, that’s Russel House, named for a famous explorer and soldier. His wife was a Casterton.” I got up to look through the windows on the other side. Visible through mature trees, which Saraia said had to be pruned so the building could still be seen from the road, it was a very nice house. Maybe twenty bedrooms, several staterooms, a multitude of sitting and dining rooms and a ballroom, along with attendant outbuildings, set in beautiful grounds. Our cottage would have fitted in a corner of their walled kitchen garden. “An artificial landscape,” she added, “but naturally they want people to admire the house. Now, coming up on this side, it’s one of Azrael’s favourite bits. The Old Mill. It’s still working and thought to date to First Settlement.”

  I was just back in my seat, so leaned past Saraia to see. The coach bumped and swayed a little, making me lean against her. I wasn’t making a pass but I felt her breath on me, her warmth against me, and when I looked into her eyes, reading properly what I saw there, well, what is a man to do? I did what came naturally.

  We surfaced, panting, from a long kiss, one of my hands down that blue dress cupping a breast, and I suggested we move as far from Azrael as possible.

  “Or it might be embarrassing,” I said, looking down at my hand. She began to giggle, so did I. We sat back and laughed for several minutes before we could catch our breath.

  “The Old Mill was very nice,” I said, when I could speak, “where do we go next?” Turned out she had her own ideas about that.

  ****

  Chapter 7 – The Big City

  The coach stopped every hour to change horses, so we stopped too and pretended to decorum. Saraia would carefully check that Azrael was still sleeping before retiring again to the nest we had made as far away from him as we could get. Half-hidden by several rows of seats and baggage, we could pretend we were talking while beneath our clothes we did interesting things to each other. We didn’t have sex, if sex to you is simply penetration. I didn’t mind at all.

  After several hours of sensual explorations, involving the use of two of the three hankies Mother had packed and a shirt of Azrael’s that Saraia assured me wouldn’t be missed, we were sated.

  The walls of Peterhaven hove into view as we moved back to our previous seats, straightened up, neatened hair, examined each other carefully, sitting and standing, fore and aft, then she handed me a mint from her purse.

  “I’ve realised something,” Saraia said, “if you’re Azrael’s age, you’re only sixteen.”

  “Not quite.” She winced.

  “I think that’s a record.” I frowned.

  “How old are you?” I said.

  “Thirty-eight,” she said. I raised my eyebrows. More than twice my age.

  “Personal best,” I said, grinning. She laughed.

  “Oh shush. Now, you mustn’t talk about this, understand?”

  “Aye,” I said, serious, “I don’t kiss and tell.” She popped a mint in her own mouth, licked her lips, and shook her copper curls.

  “You do kiss well,” she said. I smiled.

  “You kiss like an angel.” She laughed again.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “Only the ones that kiss like angels,” I said.

  “Idiot,” she said, smiling, “shut up and listen. It would hurt me deeply if you spoke about this to anyone.”

  “Obviously,” I said, and shrugged. “I’m rather good at keeping secrets about my personal life. Even in a small village like ours, Mother didn’t know most of what I got up to.” At least, I reflected, not from me talking about it. Saraia nodded.

  “I would normally assume, but-” I smiled.

  “I know,” I said, “I’m so young. I’m not quite sixteen-” She grimaced.

  “Yes, that. So, Polo, do you often get mistaken for an older man?” I grinned, delighted.

  “Aye,” I said, “though never by someone so beautiful.”

  “Pfft,” she said, waving a hand, “I’m heading south all over. And if I follow my mother’s example, I’ll have pure white hair by the time I’m fifty.”

  “It will match this coat,” I said. “And if you’re white down there you’ll be easy to find in the dark.” She giggled. Azrael woke up and I adjusted my behaviour carefully.

  “What are you two laughing about?” Azrael said, sounding sleepy.

  “Your snoring,” said Saraia, “like a little goat. Look, Polo, we can see the Peterhaven Wall properly from here.” Dutifully, I looked. It was huge. I leaned a bit, not too familiar.

  “I wouldn’t like to be trying to live in a house in the lee of that,” I said, “it must cast an enormous shadow. Has anyone ever invaded Sendren?”

  “Not yet,” said Azrael, yawning and moving to sit with us. “It’s only a matter of time,” he said, stretching. The kingdom was nearly three thousand years old, but I supposed the monarchy must take the long view when it came to the kingdom defences. “I feel better for a sleep,” said Azrael, “Mother, is there going to be a reception?” Saraia shook her head. “Good.”

  “There is your birthday party,” she said. “On the weekend.”

  “It’s my birthday tomorrow,” I said, “if tomorrow’s the third. When’s yours, Azrael?”

  “I’m the fifth,” he said, “Saturday.”

  “Nearly twins,” said Saraia, “and both of you young men already.” That pleased both of us.

  Saraia was a daughter of the King of Cragleas. She was blase about being a princess and said it meant nothing, but I wondered if that was because she was born to it. I rather fancied the idea of a title.

  “I lived in Cragleas until I was nineteen,” she said, “then I went to Sendren on a holiday and met the late Crown Prince. There’s never been time for a trip home since.”

  “You’re not to be queen?” I said, not really sure how the succession worked. She shook her head.

  “I’d have to be queen by bloodline not by marriage. In Cragleas I’m youngest of six. The others ha
ve broods of cat’s-eyed children so I’m well out of the running. To be honest it’s a bit of a relief not to have to be queen here. I’ll get my life back.” She gave a happy sigh. “I can’t wait to leave Sendren.” I raised my eyebrows. “The king and I don’t get on,” she added.

  “That’s understating it,” said Azrael, “when Father was killed the first thing the king did was send documents for Mother to sign, affirming she has no claim on the Sendrenese throne.”

  “Gods,” I said politely, “how inhumane.”

  “He did that while the assassin was still loose in the castle,” said Saraia, “and Perry’s body still warm.” I made a sympathetic noise. She smiled. “That’s fine by me, I don’t want power or titles. There are more important things in life.” I smiled too, as if I couldn’t imagine wanting a title either. “I remember,” she said, “being very excited at first, over the idea of being queen one day. Nevertheless, being Crown Princess was enough for me to know I didn’t want more. I have never been so bored.”

  “Wasn’t it fun at all?” I said. She sighed.

  “It could have been if Perry was interested in ruling well. His plan was to send me to events in his stead while he stayed drunk and went gambling with his friends, signing documents as necessary. All the income, none of the responsibility, while I had to defend his and his father’s actions.”

  “What sort of events?” I said, thinking parties. She smiled.

  “I have to give prizes, most days. Often to children competing in sporting or academic contests. I visit children’s hospitals to distribute toys and gifts of coin from the Crown. It’s traditional for the Crown Prince to hand out this kind of thing, especially to the children of the realm, and Perry won’t, I mean, he wouldn’t.” She laughed. “I’d say Haka take him but the goddess already has.” To suggest Haka take a person was an extreme curse, one considered possible bad luck as Haka might take the one saying it instead.