The Color of Dragons Read online

  In the hallway, Griffin pulled his knife on the fly. The cheetah’s glow grew in brightness. It was right behind him, and closing in. He used a column to reverse course. Griffin’s arm cocked, his knife’s blade down, he stabbed the vicious animal right between the eyes so hard his hand plunged through its head.

  It burned—so cold—like the weapon had been chiseled out of a frozen lake.

  “Ah!” Griffin ripped his hand and weapon out of the shimmering creature.

  The cheetah melted into thousands of glistening stars, which dimmed, then went out.

  “Did you see? It was the moon and the stars!” a guard exclaimed.

  Everyone in the Great Hall spilled out the door, having witnessed what Griffin had: Xavier performing an inexplicable, miraculous feat of magic.

  There was applause, yes, but also whispers of shock and fear. In his heart, Griffin knew there had to be an explanation.

  Griffin didn’t notice Maggie or Xavier behind him until Maggie shouted, “Xavier, the divine Ambrosius!”

  He slammed his staff into the stone floor and took a dramatic bow.

  King Umbert rose from his seat. He pointed at Sir Raleigh, then at Xavier, bellowing, “Bring him to me.”

  Raleigh pushed through the throngs until he was at Xavier’s side. Two guards trailing after, he led Xavier back into the Great Hall.

  Prince Jori sauntered over to Griffin, wearing a cheeky grin. “I’ll take that.” He pointed to Griffin’s dagger.

  “Magic isn’t real, Jori.”

  “How did he do it, then?” Jori’s unending smirk grated on Griffin’s last nerve. “Hmm? Come now. You make a bold statement like that, then you must have another explanation.”

  “I . . . I don’t know. A powder of some kind.”

  “A powder?” Jori took the dagger then. Griffin didn’t protest.

  Attendees rushed to get a look at Xavier’s props.

  Jori sheathed Griffin’s blade, then padded around Esmera, who had rushed forward with Sybil, to get to Maggie.

  “I was worried for a moment,” Jori said to her as Griffin moved beside him. Esmera and Sybil completed the circle around her. “Griffin had him flustered.”

  “Flustered,” Maggie repeated, the word and its harsh tone aimed at Griffin. She crossed her arms over her chest. Her sleeve inched up enough for Griffin to see a strange scar on her forearm. It looked as if she had been branded. She caught Griffin staring and pulled the fabric down until it was covered.

  “Jori, shall we return to the table?” Esmera hooked her arm through the prince’s.

  “Lady Esmera, this is Xavier’s daughter, Maggie,” Jori explained.

  “Nice to meet you,” Maggie said to Esmera. Yet her gaze traveled the room, never landing long in any one place. To Griffin, it seemed like she was looking for an escape.

  “Are you hungry, Maggie?” Griffin asked.

  “Yes, you must be after such a long trip here.” Jori stepped between him and Maggie, waving at the Great Hall. “Come. Have something to eat.”

  “No, thank you, Jori.”

  “Jori?” Esmera snapped. “You mean, Prince Jori? Or Your Highness, or sire?”

  “Whichever you prefer, Lady Esmera.” Maggie turned her back to them. She faced the courtyard, frowning.

  Was she frightened? The fortress gates were closed. Guards were placed every few feet. Nothing was getting in. “It’s all right. You’re safe here,” Griffin explained.

  She looked over her shoulder at Griffin with an expression that said he patently was wrong.

  Sir Raleigh and three guards padded toward them. “Maggie, your room is ready.”

  “My room?” She sounded put out. “I’m staying here? In the castle?”

  “Yes.” Jori smiled. “As is Xavier, of course. Do you think I’d relegate you to a servant’s quarters?”

  “She is a servant,” Esmera insisted.

  “She doesn’t have a title, but she’s not a servant,” Jori corrected her.

  Esmera shook her head. “Titled or not, all daughters are to their fathers. Told what to do and when to do it.” Her pensive gaze darted from Jori to Maggie. Griffin knew she could see what he had. Jori wanted Maggie close. “Enough. I’m hungry and this conversation is boring.” She turned on her heel, linked arms with Sybil, and retreated into the Great Hall.

  “Maggie, you’re tired. Perhaps you should retire. Sir Raleigh will take good care of you. I’ll have a plate sent to your room straight away. Please excuse me,” Jori said, then hurried after Esmera.

  Griffin snorted. “Sorry. Lady Esmera is—”

  “Not wrong. The prince is a rake,” Maggie blurted.

  “I’m—”

  “An ass? Oh, I know that quite well. Stay away from me if you know what’s good for you.”

  Sir Raleigh chuckled as she walked away. “I would do as she says. Moldark nearly lost a foot to her knife. Deadly accurate strike. Maybe even better than you could’ve done under the circumstances.” He and his guards followed, catching up to her on the stairs, leaving Griffin with a feeling that was pure hatred.

  Stay away from me.

  Stay away from me.

  Griffin heard Maggie’s refrain all the way back to his room, planning to do just that.

  Seven

  Maggie

  I woke up bathed in delicious warm sunlight. It poured through a loophole above the biggest, most comfortable bed I’d ever slept in. My legs wrapped around a soft yellow blanket embroidered with blooming red roses. I had always assumed that the king’s affinity for red came from the color of blood, not flowers. But the blossoms were everywhere. And so was the cloying fragrance.

  I unraveled slowly. The effects of the long day before had settled deep in my muscles. They ached, protesting even the slightest move. Testing my legs first, I set my feet on the floor and stood slowly, trying to regain my wits.

  I was here, in the Walled City, and so was the draignoch.

  Posted guards refused to allow me out of my room last night. Sir Raleigh’s excuse was that it was for my own safety. Someone had tried to poison the king in Raleigh’s absence, and he was taking no chances.

  Raleigh expected shock, I suppose, but all I could think to ask was, “Is this the first attempt? The king is so despised, I’d think a great many people had tried before.”

  At which point he had shoved me through the door and slammed it shut.

  Exhausted and overwhelmed by the long day’s events, I had fallen into bed, fully dressed. I didn’t remember falling asleep. The haze of that kind of deep unconsciousness lingered, fogging my brain as I tried to take in my surroundings.

  Coals smoldered in the fireplace. Before it were two chairs with a small table between. An oversized wardrobe and a wide changing screen with dresses draped over the top sat in the far corner of the room. Red, yellow, and blue. They weren’t mine. All at once I wondered if I was somehow in someone else’s room.

  I stared at my fingers, the sensation the moonlight cast dulled since last night, but it was still there. More in the pit of my stomach, like a single drifting snowflake waiting for the blizzard to begin.

  The door cracked open. Bony, familiar fingers curled over the door. Xavier poked his head in. “Good. You’re awake.”

  “Whose clothes are these?” I asked, pointing to the dresses.

  “Yours. Gifts from the prince.” He was pleased.

  The bones in Xavier’s silver curls had quadrupled overnight, and where there had been one, there were now three red gems on the back of his visible hand.

  “Those gifts from Jori as well?”

  “Jori. Listen to you, already so informal.” That pleased him too. “No. These are from the king.” Xavier swept into the room wearing a red wool cloak with a black fur collar hung to the floor, dusting the back of smooth black leather trousers. He had no red shirts or cloaks among his things. His clothes must’ve been gifted as well.

  With the gems and bones and expensive clothes, his costume made him look
the perfect combination of regal and mystical. He was finally the sorcerer he’d always wanted to be. If only he really had magic.

  I wanted to tell him the truth, that I was making these things happen. If I didn’t, he could end up imprisoned for lying to the king. Or worse. But I couldn’t forget what had happened in the wagon. If he found out, would he do to me what he did with all things he believed stirred the elements? Tie me up like the bones in his hair or drink my blood like the snake in the woods?

  “Come in already,” he fussed at someone in the hallway.

  A flustered girl with wheat-colored hair weighed down by grease, wearing a dismal gray smock, entered the room carrying a tray. A basket of bread, manchet if my nose was to be trusted. As she set it down on the small table near the fireplace, water sloshed out of the pitcher, missing the tray, spilling on the floor.

  Xavier snapped, “Clean that up. Can’t have my assistant’s room a slippery mess.”

  I wiped it with my sleeve.

  “Stop that! Maggie, we are honored guests in King Umbert’s castle. You must start acting like you understand that.”

  I knocked the pitcher over. Water spilled everywhere. “Honored guests aren’t locked in their rooms!”

  “Ungrateful child! I have given you everything! Protected you. Sheltered you. Fed you!” Xavier yelled. “You will not ruin this for me.” He tore the red dress off the screen and tossed it at me. I let it fall to the floor.

  Fine linen. Beaded blue thread, but it was a color I would never wear. I examined the other two. The yellow with puffed sleeves and wide cuffs would be kindling as soon as Xavier left, but the last, the simple pale blue, wasn’t horrible.

  Xavier saw dissent on my face. He picked up the dress off the ground and hung it over the screen. “The red. Put it on. It pays homage to our host.”

  The girl shifted the screen, revealing a steaming wooden tub. She poured oil from a small red bottle into it.

  “Did you come into my room while I was asleep?” I asked her.

  She nodded and set the bottle down.

  “We’re to be at the tournament in precisely one hour. This one”—he tilted his head at the girl—“is here to help you look presentable. Her name is Petal. She doesn’t speak.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. You can ask her when I leave. Oh! And the king has ordered a private performance. Tomorrow night. You will be assisting me.”

  Petal went about setting pristine white towels and a comb on a small chair beside the tub. She wasn’t leaving anytime soon. I would have to wait to talk to Xavier.

  “The second day of the tournament begins soon. I will walk with King Umbert, Prince Jori, Laird Egrid, and his family. Sir Raleigh will escort you when you’re finished.”

  With everyone out at the tournament, many of the guards included, this would be my best chance to sneak out of the castle and find her. Along the way, I could attempt something else. All at once I remembered this magic belonged to Xavier, and him alone. I would have to be covert in any practice. But that could be fun too.

  “I wasn’t bred for all of this, Xavier. Why don’t I stay here? That way, you won’t worry about me embarrassing you,” I said, peeking in the basket. It was manchet.

  Xavier slapped at it, dumping the lovely breads on the floor. “I’ve had enough disobedience from you over the past two days to last a lifetime. You will be on the balcony, with the king and his son, and you will do everything you’re told, or there will be consequences!” He spun on his polished black heel and stormed out without so much as a glance back.

  I picked up the manchet, about to hurl it at the door, but it smelled heavenly. I shoved the whole thing in my mouth, letting crumbs dribble all over.

  “Don’ clea’ dat up.” The p spat bits all over the floor.

  Petal shook her head, wiped the ground with a wet cloth, and grabbed my wrist.

  “Hey . . .”

  For a four-foot bag of bones, she had a deadly grip. She led me to the steaming tub.

  “A bath? Why won’t you just speak to me?”

  Her mouth opened. There was no tongue.

  “I, um, see. King Umbert’s cruelty knows no bounds.”

  Petal’s wide-eyed, weary gaze shifted to the door. She clapped her hands, sounding an alarm of sorts. Then she thrust her arms at the tub, gesturing to get in, stamping her little bare foot, pushing on my back. Truth was, I couldn’t wait to sink into it. Spending most days and nights on the move, we bathed in whatever cold rivers and lakes we happened upon. Only on days when we performed did we have a roof over our heads, and never with a tub inside the room. This was a gift from the gods and I was more than happy to take it.

  I dropped my clothes in a pile on the floor and dipped my toe in the bath. The temperature was perfect. Rose petals floating on the surface parted as I sank in. Hot water against the skin was something I’d only experienced once before when we found a hot spring in the West, on the edge of the craggy hills.

  Petal pressed the top of my head, dunking me under. I shot out, thinking she was going to drown me, but her weapon of choice wasn’t water. Initially, it was a bottle of astringents, followed by oils, all massaged into my hair and rinsed. Then came the blasted comb. She picked every section, working through knots, then lost patience and ripped heaps out.

  “And they say draignochs are dangerous!”

  When she grabbed a bar of soap and scratchy towel, I took them from her. “I can do this myself, thank you!”

  By the time I was done, the bathwater had turned gray from all the dirt I’d brought back with me from the journey. Afterward, she wrapped me in a linen towel, and, through painful gesturing, told me to sit before the fireplace and not move. She braided my hair and picked over and under my nails.

  I was then finally allowed to get dressed. She brought me a new shift. Linen so soft it felt like new skin. Then the blue dress. Xavier could protest all he wanted. I would never wear the king’s colors.

  Petal drew the laces tightly over my chest. She crossed the room to the wardrobe and returned with a brand-new pair of shiny black leather boots that fit perfectly.

  “How did they know my size?”

  She picked up my old pair of boots.

  “You came into my room while I was asleep and did all of this?”

  She nodded.

  “How could I not hear you?” I glanced back at the bed and cursed. “Damn thing left me unconscious.” I vowed to sleep on the floor tonight, if I was still here.

  As I slid my dagger into the top of my boot, Petal pushed the screen aside. She pulled open the wardrobe. Mounted to the door was a mirror. I padded over slowly, staring at my reflection. Petal waited, fishing for a compliment. I didn’t recognize the woman looking back at me. She was too pretty, too sophisticated, and much too clean.

  A costume. I stood taller and stuck what little bosom I had out, but I didn’t look very convincing. “A lady, I am not, and honestly never wanted to be,” I told Petal.

  She let out an aggrieved breath, wrenching my shoulders back.

  Someone rapped on the door. “Maggie. It’s Sybil. Sister of the Lady Esmera. Um . . . may I come in?”

  She entered uninvited. Her footsteps made no sound at all. In lavender that highlighted her pale skin and red hair, she stood in the middle of the room with her shoulders back, her clasped hands at her waist, the picture of nobility. “Goodness, you scrub up well. My sister will be most put out.” She smirked in a way that made me think the thought of that appealed to her. “That blue is lovely on you too. It brings out your eyes.”

  Sybil looped her arm through mine as if I’d known her for years. “Sir Griffin thought you might like a friendly face to show you to the arena.”

  “Who?” The first word I’d spoken to a lady and I sounded like an owl.

  “You don’t know who Sir Griffin is?”

  “Should I?”

  “He won the tournament last year at sixteen. Youngest ever. Tall. Dark. Had a stitched fre
sh wound on his face. Do you not remember him . . . from last night?”

  I knew exactly who he was . . . she was talking about the heckling fool. The one who tried to tell me I was safe within these walls. I’d thought him older than me, but we were the same age. “Figures that blathering blockhead would be King Umbert’s champion.” I let go of her arm. “I recollect telling him to stay away from me.”

  Sybil wrinkled her freckled nose. “I don’t blame you. He was a prick last night. My brothers are the same, Cornwall more than Malcolm. All men are blathering blockheads and unworthy of our time, if you ask me.”

  “Prick? Are ladies allowed to speak that way?”

  “Ladies can do whatever they want, but you will find I’m not much of a lady when you get to know me.”

  “You two will get along swimmingly, then. Neither is she.” Sir Raleigh appeared at the door, standing stiffly. He kept his hand on the pommel of the sword hanging from his belt, not in a menacing way but because it seemed his natural stance. Road dust clung to his black leather tunic and trousers. He either didn’t care or didn’t have time to clean up. I guessed the latter. He was always around. Always watching. Always seeing more than he should.

  “This is becoming old, Sir Raleigh. Don’t worry. I’m not going to burn the place down.”

  He arched a brow. “Not yet, but given time, I have a feeling that you will. And my instincts are never wrong. Time to go.”

  As I passed by, Raleigh stopped me at the door and knelt. He lifted the skirts of my dress.

  “This is highly inappropriate, Sir Raleigh.”

  “You won’t need this, Maggie.” He pulled my knife out of my boot.

  Sybil yanked one out of her boot, resting it on Raleigh’s bald head. “A woman needs protection. Give it back.”

  Raleigh glanced up at me, wearing a knowing smirk. “Moldark is assigned to you, Maggie. He may recognize it.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Sybil asked.

  “Long story.” I groaned because Raleigh was right. I took the knife and tossed it into the fire. The wooden handle caught. “That’s the end of that, then.”

  In the hallway, I saw Sir Raleigh give Petal a coin and a pat on the head.