Chapter Nine

Uthyr came to her door just as the sun was going down. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Holding out his hand, he handed her the companion piece to the one that lay beneath the skin between her breasts. She ran a thumb over the raised knots that linked the design together. She placed the piece in her leather purse and did up the strings, unable to meet his eyes. It was too odd, not being able to feel him through the link. There was nothing.

“How do you feel?” she asked as he led her into the corridor.

“The doctors say I’m just fine. Healing well, all things considered.” His soldiers joined them as they left the royal quarters.

She nodded, but continued the rest of the way in silence. When she reached the door, she lingered, staring at the wood. At the path that lay before her.  ‘Be strong,’ her mother had always said, ‘It takes great strength to be the guardian and queen, and both shall you be. Be just. Be strong.’ Uthyr stood to her right, his soldiers lined up behind him, she couldn’t feel him anymore and it unnerved her.  She brought a hesitant hand up between her breasts, then lowered it. She could be strong. She was strong.

She nodded, and Uthyr opened the door.

Artair stood, back erect as the soldiers filed in first.  Her personal soldiers, and his soon, the dragon emblazoned on their tunics in brilliant gold satin stitches. Protectors of the realm. They lined the walls, eyes staring straight ahead—present, but not.  Uthyr entered the room, leading the way for Muirgen to make her entrance. She motioned for him to settle into a padded chair as she lowered herself amidst the pillows of the lounging area, her skirts lifting ever so slightly to show the toes of two tiny slippers. “This evening you will take the oath before our country.” Her eyes flicked to the Dragon, still stationed at the door.

Artair nodded solemnly, aware of the honor and great responsibility that was being asked of him. She rose and Artair shot to his feet, bowing his head. “Uthyr, help him find his way?” The Dragon stiffened and she raised a hand against his protest. He had been at her side almost constantly since she had been crowned Queen, but now he was no longer the Dragon. He bowed his head and opened the door for her.

Muirgen swept out of the room, her breath stolen by the cold air as the soldiers led her out of the castle. She would arrive first, giving Uthyr just enough time to tell Artair what to expect.

Her people were lined up on both sides of the path, waiting for her. They had candles lit, a sea of light against the dark.  She smiled as she walked through them, though she doubted most would be able to see. A raft waited at the end of the path, candles bright and burning along the edges, making a mess of wax on the wood, and slowly dripping into the water. She stepped out of her slippers, the moist earth cushioning her feet as her maids helped her undo the laces of her gown. In the first ceremony, her ancestors had gone down to the lake naked. But, eventually the ceremony had turned into a more public event, so her shift stayed on. She re-tied her leather purse and dagger around her waist, then stepped onto the raft, careful to settle the hem of her shift away from any of the flames. She grasped the pole in the center of the raft and waited as Artair made his way through the crowd, two lines of light parting for him as they had for her.  The next Dragon. He stepped onto the raft, grasping the pole in the center as Uthyr untied the rope from the shore and set them drifting slowly toward the center of the lake. She leaned on the pole, pushing it back and forth, sending them further from the shore.

She stayed silent as they drifted to the center of the lake, just a lake now, but with the right magic and words, the prison concealed beneath would shutter forth into her world. When the lights of her people gutted and she could no longer hear anything but the slow lap of the water against the raft, she stopped rowing and righted the pole. Muirgen swallowed the hard lump in her throat.

“Please lay down,” she requested softly.  He nodded, holding onto the pole for balance as he went down.  She kneeled next to him, her eyes once more going to the shore, wondering what Uthyr was doing.  

She slid the dagger silently from its scabbard. “Try to relax,” she whispered, laying the dagger across her knees, taking shaking fingers to push up his shirt.  His skin prickled from the cold. He grunted in surprise as the knife bit into the side of his abdomen, but his eyes remained locked on the stars above. Muirgen opened the pouch at her waist, fingers wet, the blood staining the white linen of her shift as she struggled to remove the delicate gold piece, twin to her own.  She slipped the piece into the incision, then pinched the wound together, and waited.

She remembered how it had felt, when she was 16 and had become Queen. The flash of pain, then blossoming awareness. Artair jerked, his abdomen going taut as the wound cauterized itself, leaving only her bloody hands on unbroken, well-muscled skin.

“What was that?” he croaked, but she shook her head.

“There will be enough time for questions later. Rest.” She stood and leaned on the pole, pushing back and forth, her eyes set on the opposite shore as her skin rose in stiff goosebumps.  When they reached the shore the candles had melted down to almost nothing. Muirgen jumped from the raft, the chill water coming up to her ankles as she ran the rope from the raft to a tree.  A few loops around a branch left the rope taut and anchored enough that it wouldn’t drift.  She cast a glance at Artiar on the raft, his body an indiscernible shadow.  Going to the lake, she dipped her hands in, scrubbing at the blood that had dried there.  Then wiping her hands on her thighs, she sank onto the padded grass of the shore, her shift pooling around her, ready to keep watch until morning’s first light.

The sun crept over the mountains, and Muirgen sighed in relief as Artair stirred on the raft.  His hair was tussled and shirt stiff with blood. He stood shakily, his hand on his stomach, the slight tang of his confusion rolling through her. She stood, brushing the dirt and leaves from her shift, though it was pointless. The thing was ruined anyway. She wove through the forest, concentrating on the crunch of his steps against the leaves coating the forest floor. His emotions were rolling through her, making her stomach queasy. He was confused, and didn’t feel like he had any right to be the Dragon, though he was trying to convince himself otherwise.

“We are going to a holy place that our ancestors built,” she said to distract him.  It was different than communicating with Uthyr. Uthyr had had such mastery over his own feelings and what went through the link, that the unfiltered white noise of Artair’s thoughts rumbled through her. The wind was cold. His head hurt. He was anxious, but willing to do anything to prove that she had been right in choosing him. He still wasn’t completely sure he was the right person. She understood what Uthyr had meant all those times when he urged her to hold back, to disconnect the link.  It was a lot to process and it felt much too personal. She focused even harder on pinching closed her side of the link so he could be alone with his feelings, if only for a while.

The cave was not far, the entrance closed, as it had been when she had come here before.  Half worn symbols were etched around the entrance, claiming the land as a part of the crown’s possession, warning off any those who had any desire to harm.  Strong enchantments that still held.  She slid the dagger from the scabbard and pressed the tip into the pad of her thumb until the blood welled up around it.  Muirgen dragged her thumb across the door and whispered, “Blood of my blood, allow us entrance.” The rocks shifted, and Artair stepped back, crossing himself. A walkway, large enough for a single person, yawned before them.  She turned to Artair, his eyes wide, his emotions shouting danger and distrust. She moved toward through the doorway, but he stayed put.

“You are Dragon now,” she said with some irritation, “You will see and do things you are not comfortable with, the least of which is going inside this cave.”

He shook himself, then nodded, “I know.”

She smiled sadly, “No. No you don’t.” She studied his face, “But, it’s too late to go back now. The transfer has been made.”

He quickly stepped through the threshold to join her, and the door reconstructed itself, closing them in the earth. There were several holes along the ceiling, letting a spray of sunlight through to guide their way.

“What sort of magic does this place have?” he whispered, too afraid to speak louder than a whisper.

“Long ago our ancestors made this place as a safe haven for the Dragon and royalty,” she explained, leading the way.

“I’ve never heard of it,” he whispered, half in awe half in fear.

“No,” she agreed, moving forward taking them deeper.  The tunnel widened into a cavern, dimly lit now that they were further below the surface. There were several cots, a modest bookshelf, and a few chests of non perishable supplies. It had been Uthyr’s job to keep the cave stocked in case of emergency. And now it would be one of Artair’s duties. “I know you have questions,” she said, settling down on a cushioned cot and motioning for him to do the same. “I had questions too.”  After glancing around at his surroundings, he settled onto a bed.  “Long ago our ancestors fought a great war. Our kind nearly were defeated, but we managed to survive.”

“The Tuatha De’Dannan,” he whispered, and she nodded, her eyes bright.

“You know the history then.”

He shrugged, playing with the ties on his sleeves, “I know the story.”

Once she had said the same thing. “It is true. Our survival did not come cheaply,” she said, eyes turned to her hands as they played with her filthy shift. “Many died, most of our people died. But in the end we won. Beneath the water the fae sleep, captive of a powerful curse. But not all. A few escaped and are resolved to wake their kind.”

He frowned, his eyebrows casing his eyes into darkness, “But no one has seen them for…generations upon generations.”

She grimaced, “They are...clever. They allowed us to forget about them, and now use others to do their dirty work for them. The Northmen’s sudden desire for our lands, for example. They slaughter our people. Burn our homes. Mostly, they take our gold. Have you not ever wondered why?”  She pulled the tie at her collarbone apart, shrugging the fabric down so it slid down her shoulders.  She pulled the fabric aside to show him her piece, the intricate filigree knot-work just visible beneath her skin. “They seek the pieces.” Her fingers caressed the work of knots that had fused with her flesh many years ago.  Artair’s fingers went to his stomach, feeling the hard lump of metal that lay just below the skin.  Her eyes followed his fingers, and she whispered, “As Dragon it is your duty to hide and protect your piece. Two pieces to trap the fairies. Two to set them free.”

He reached toward her, fingers curiously touching the piece beneath her skin. He stroked the raised skin, feeling the bumps and whirls of the piece beneath and she suddenly could not remember how to breathe normally. He jolted backwards, eyes going to hers and she slammed the link down again, still able to feel the thread of his desire and guilt for crossing such a distinct line. She moved backwards, lifting the shift higher and firmly tying the knot. Her stomach twisted, Green earth and twisted roots. Uthyr had been right. She took a deep breath, then another, forcing herself to stop. She had chosen him, whether for the right reasons or not, she had chosen. He was the Dragon now.

He closed his eyes, clearing his throat before asking, “If there are fairies left, why have we not hunted them down?”

She swallowed and shrugged, “If you’ve heard the stories, you know. It is almost impossible for humans to kill them.”

“That’s why you haven’t sent our troops to the North?” he asked, trying, unsuccessfully, to relax against the wall.

She nodded, “No matter how many we sent, our people would die.” She pulled a blanket over her shoulders, clutching the ends to her chest even though it was warm in the cave. “Soon I’ll have to travel to the North. The council has reached out on my behalf, arranging a betrothal with the king of the North. In return they will sign a treaty agreeing to no longer pilfer our shores.”

He frowned, his dark eyebrows lowering over the bridge of his nose, “You can’t mean to go through with it.”

She smiled, “Queen I may be, but the Council makes decisions for me. If I do not follow them I risk alienating the men who rally soldiers to fight for me. Without a council I have no soldiers.”

“You have the Dragon,” he said.

She laughed, “One old, one new and untested. What will your men do, do you think, if I refuse to act on their behalf to end the war?”

“And why not tell them the truth?” he insisted, “If they knew what they were asking of you, surely…”

She frowned, “There are many in the Council who would like me removed from the crown in any way possible.  If that means selling me to the Northmen and the fairies they’ve allied with, some of them would take that chance.” She sighed, already resigned to the idea, “Besides so many believe they are fairy tales. With no proof…why would they believe me?”  

“I will have to go to the North, and soon. Our only protection will be that they do not know where we have hidden the pieces.” He raised his eyebrows at her, as if not realizing that she would ask him to attend to her there. “I’ve been told I can bring one soldier, and one maid,” she said. “I cannot ask any of my maids to make the journey. So you and I will travel alone.” She toyed with telling him about her dream, but bit her tongue. Learning that the Tuatha de Dannan were real and searching for them was enough to digest for one day.

“When do we leave?” he asked, shoving a hand through his hair in an effort to straighten it.

“When we return to the castle we’ll make arrangements and leave,” she said, her stomach churning with fear and anticipation.

Artair raised an eyebrow at her, his hand going to his stomach. She quickly clenched off the flow of her emotions. “I can feel...what is it?” he asked, his voice rough.

“It’s me. My…emotions,” she explained.

He frowned, staring at his stomach as though it weren’t a part of him, “Fairy magic.”

Muirgen shook her head, “No. From what I’ve read, our ancestors had a small amount of magic themselves and they used it to bind the fae. The magic in the pieces are remnants of that magic.”

He still stared at his stomach as if unsure whether to believe her, but finally he lifted his eyes to hers, “So can you feel mine?” She nodded warily. “But I can’t feel yours?”

“You can. I’m just suppressing them.”  Then, as Uthyr had done for her, she held out her arm. “Pinch me.” He raised an eyebrow, but did as she asked. She loosed her emotions for a moment, the torrent from the link causing him to stiffen.  Then, with some difficulty, she bottled them, shoving them away from the link.

“You’ll learn to contain them with time,” she said. “I’ve never been much good at it.” She paused, then clarified, feeling guilty, “I never really bothered to try.” They sat in silence for quite some time, Artair leaning on the link, pressing and pushing, finding its limits. Finally she stood, “We should be getting back.” She pinned him beneath her gaze, “I assume I do not have to tell you that you cannot speak of this to anyone. You are the Dragon now. You must protect the secret and your piece with your life.”

He nodded slowly, “Of course.” After a moment, he smiled wryly, “I didn’t realize what I was getting into.”

“And would you go back now, if you could?” she asked, almost nervous of the answer.

He shook his head, “Being Dragon is a great honor.” He shrugged, “Even if I only get to be Dragon for a fortnight or so.”

She stuffed her guilt away from the link. He had won the tournament and been awarded the land’s highest honor, but at a steep price.

As they got back onto the raft, Artair took the oar, rowing them slowly to the other side of the lake.  “Uthyr will take you on a tour, get you all the things you’ll need as Dragon,” she said as they neared the shore. “When he is finished, we will attend a council meeting to introduce you and announce that we will be leaving for the North.”

Uthyr was waiting for them on the shore, and it pained her to see him but not feel the presence of the link. He smiled at her and held out his hand to help her off the raft. “How did it go?”

“Well, I think,” she said watching Artair tie the raft to its post. Uthyr took her hand a squeezed it lightly, then let go, heading toward the castle with Artair.