Mistress of Dragons Read online

  “When you make the ritual greeting, welcome the men and praise them for the deeds they undertook to win this honor. Keep the greeting short, so as not to try their patience. When you have concluded, dismiss the women, send them to their chambers to make ready. After a decent interval, have the guards escort the men. When each man has entered a room, the doors are locked and sealed.”

  The Mistress seemed to want to say more, but she had to use her breath for breathing, not for talking. Her eyes closed. She gasped, coughed.

  Melisande rose from the bed. “Do not tire yourself, Mistress. I know how to perform this ceremony. I have been witness to it often enough. I will leave you to rest.”

  The Mistress grimaced. “I will rest soon enough, Melisande. I have all eternity. . . . What was I saying? Remind me, Daughter.”

  “The men escorted in and the doors locked.”

  “The food and drink—”

  “—all prepared, Mistress, and I have ordered that it be taken to the rooms.”

  “With the special herbs. You did not forget—”

  “No, Mistress. The food and the wine are both laced with aphrodisiacs.”

  “And the fertility potions,” the Mistress said. “The women must drink the potion this night.” She tried to rise. “I should go …”

  “I have seen to it, Mistress,” Melisande assured her. “The women know what to do. I will check each personally in the morning to make certain they have obeyed. They know the importance of the Coupling. We all do.”

  Frustrated at her lack of strength, the Mistress sank back down among the pillows. “You and the others will spend the night in prayer, Melisande. Pray for fine, healthy children to be born of his union.”

  “Yes, Mistress. The omens are good. Five healthy babes were born this day and last night.”

  The Mistress’s eyes brightened. “Five?”

  “Three girls and two boys. And four babes were weaned this day, taken from their mothers into the nursery.”

  “I recall the day they were born. All boys.”

  “All four, Mistress.”

  “Ah, well.” The Mistress sighed. “At least we have three healthy girls born to us this day.”

  “The boys are ready to go to families, but you have yet to tell me the proper procedure. I understand that they are taken away during the night and that no one knows how or when—”

  “For the sake of the mothers,” said the Mistress gently. “This is a difficult time for them. Removing the children in the night, without their knowledge, makes the separation easier.”

  “But how is that accomplished? If I am to be responsible—”

  “Tomorrow,” said the Mistress, closing her eyes. “I am very tired, Melisande. Please leave me.”

  Melisande gave an inward sigh. She had so much to learn and it was always tomorrow.

  “Can I bring you anything, Mistress? A glass of wine? Some food? You have eaten hardly anything for days.”

  “I have no hunger anymore. No hunger for anything. Not even life. Place a glass of wine by the bedside. That is all I want.”

  “I will do that and I will send someone to sit with you—”

  “No!” The Mistress was fretful. “The others fidget and whimper and worry me to distraction. You are the only one I can tolerate.”

  “Then I will come back to see if there is anything—”

  “You will not.” The Mistress’s voice was sharp and the tone startled Melisande. “I am sorry, Daughter. I did not mean to snap at you, who have been so devoted to me. You have not slept in nights, however. Did you think I didn’t see you slip in here every hour, hour after hour? This night, I will sleep and so shall you.”

  “Yes, Mistress. If that is what you want.”

  The Mistress’s voice softened. “I am so very tired. No one is to disturb me. Come to me in the morning.”

  Melisande bent down, whispered a heartfelt prayer, and kissed the Mistress’s wrinkled hand. Blinking back her tears, she washed her face with cold water, then left the chamber.

  Dusk layered the garden in blues and purples. The moon would rise shortly. It was time for the ceremony.

  Melisande made her speech of greeting, repeating words she’d heard spoken every month of every year for all the years of her life, words that held deep meaning for those who heard them—or so she hoped. The words held no meaning for her this night. She might have been speaking a foreign tongue. She had so much to do, so much to think about, so many responsibilities falling on her, and no time to think clearly about any of them.

  When she stepped into the quadrangle, taking the Mistress’s customary place upon the raised dais at the north end of the quadrangle, a wave of dismay rippled through the Sisterhood. Where was the Mistress? The sisters clutched hands. Some gave audible gasps and one actually burst into tears. The priestesses who were soon to be coupling with the men started to wilt like cut blossoms. The men had no idea what was going on, but they could feel the tension. They cast swift glances at each other, shifted uneasily in their places.

  Melisande had to seize control of the situation, keep it from spiraling into disaster. She was thankful for the discipline of Bellona and her warriors, who stood calm and steadfast. Walking over to take her place beside the dais, Bellona gave Melisande a reassuring smile that warmed her like spiced wine.

  “The Mistress sends her regrets,” said Melisande in ringing tones. “She is sorry she cannot take her accustomed place before you this night, but the battle with the dragon has left her fatigued. Men of Seth, I bid you greeting in her name.”

  She continued on with the traditional speech and though she could not have repeated afterward a single thing she said, the words had the desired effect. Her explanation, delivered in a cool, strong tone, spread soothing balm upon the fears of the sisters. Her praise for their deeds of heroism heartened and strengthened the men, while her expressed admiration for the women who were soon to be mothers caused them to preen themselves with pride.

  Her speech concluded, Melisande relinquished control of the evening to Bellona. The sisters went to the nave to recite their prayers. The women went demurely to the coupling rooms, there to wait in a flutter of nervousness their chosen companions. Some had already borne children and knew well what to expect. They looked forward to the act of love eagerly or with dread, depending on past experiences. Some were virgins. This would be their first experience and they waited in trepidation.

  Bellona’s troops escorted the men, saw to it that each was locked in a room with a mate and given food and wine, heavily laced with potions and spices known for their ability to loosen the inhibitions and strengthen a man’s potency. Guards were placed at either end of the hall and nature was left to take her course. Soon the night air would dance with the sounds of giggles and deep laugher, which would give way to grunts and sighs and cries of pain or pleasure.

  Melisande should have been in the nave praying with the sisters, but she needed a moment to talk with Bellona. Over the years, only a few untoward incidents had threatened to mar a Coupling Night and these had been dealt with swiftly and quietly. But there would be no rest for Bellona or her troops this night, so long as there were men present in the monastery.

  Melisande slid into the fragrant shadows of an alcove created by shrubbery and a twining honeysuckle vine and waited for Bellona. The commander was still inside the coupling chambers, making certain that all was well. Within a few moments, the door opened and Bellona stood outlined against the backdrop of lamp light, giving final orders. This done, she shut the door. She headed across the compound at a brisk walk. Melisande did not speak. She did not have to. So close were they that she knew Bellona would find her.

  Bellona had gone only a few paces past where Melisande stood when she stopped, turned, and sent a piercing gaze into the shadows.

  “Melisande? Is everything all right?”

  Melisande shook her head, and Bellona was by her side in a moment.

  “You’re chilled, shivering.” Bello
na drew Melisande into her arms. “What is it? Tell me.”

  “Oh, Bellona,” said Melisande, holding fast to her lover. “We are to begin the death watch tomorrow!”

  Bellona whispered a swift prayer, tightened her grip. “I will take charge of everything in the monastery. You do what you must do and give no care or thought to anything else.”

  Bellona hesitated. “Thirty years have passed since the last death watch. Few here are old enough to remember what needs to be done. Has she told you?”

  “Yes,” said Melisande. “I was going to tell you, but I thought I would wait until after the Coupling Night. I didn’t know it would happen this soon.”

  “I have time to talk now.”

  “But I must be at prayer—”

  “Hang the prayers, Melisande,” said Bellona roughly. “Your voice will not be missed. Lucretta will take great pleasure in leading them in your absence.”

  “And make snide remarks about me later,” said Melisande with a faint smile.

  “She would not dare,” said Bellona in low tones. “Not about the new Mistress.”

  Melisande shivered. She pressed closer against Bellona.

  The fragrance of the honeysuckle was sweet in the warm night. They could hear borne on the still air the murmur of prayer on one side of the compound and the sounds of high-pitched laughter on the other. The two sides of life, thought Melisande, the spiritual and the physical. And over both is raised the hand of death.

  “When did you last eat? Or sleep?” Bellona demanded.

  “I can’t remember. Don’t scold me,” Melisande said wearily. “You don’t know what it’s like. I hold onto her hand, trying to hold onto her, but she slips a little farther away from me every moment. She is our mother, Bellona. The only mother most of us have ever known ...”

  “I know, dear one. I know. But it is her time. We all must come to it.”

  “Spoken like a warrior,” Melisande said bitterly.

  “That is true, dearest one. We warriors give ourselves to death and perhaps that makes it easier for us to accept. A warrior’s death is quick and clean, or so we pray. This lingering, wasting death must be terrible to see. I wish you were not alone with her, Melisande. You’ve been closeted with her for days now. You do not eat. You do not sleep. You are half-sick from fatigue. Can’t you persuade her to allow some of the other sisters to share this sorrowful task?”

  Melisande shook her head. “Only the High Priestess may oversee the death of the Mistress. Thus it will be when it is my time.”

  She leaned her head against Bellona’s strong shoulder, let her eyes close for just a moment. “Though I can’t understand why it should be this way, Bellona. It would be different if she taught me things—how to perform the ritual, for instance, or gave me instruction on dragon lore, passed on to me her wisdom. She does not, however. I don’t understand ...”

  Her voice died away. She sank into the darkness, into the honeysuckle sweetness of the night and Bellona’s embrace.

  A voice calling for Bellona roused Melisande. “What?” she gasped, starting suddenly awake, sleep-drowned, and fuddled. “What is it? What is wrong?”

  Bellona cursed. Standing up, she walking out of the shadows of the trees so that she could be seen. “I am here, Nzangia. What do you want?”

  Halting, the warrior saluted, her fist to her chest. Melisande recognized Bellona’s second-in-command, a young woman of twenty years, tall, raw-boned, awkward in everything except fighting.

  “I am sorry to disturb you, Commander, but you asked to be kept informed—”

  “Well, then, what is it?” Bellona snapped.

  “The strangers at the pass are still there.”

  Bellona frowned, displeased. “Your last report said that they departed.”

  “We thought so, Commander, for we saw no sign of them for a fortnight, but we were wrong, apparently. One of the scouts spotted one this morning. I rode back to tell you.”

  “How do you know it was the same?”

  “They are easy to distinguish, Commander, with their black robes and bald pates.”

  “What are you talking about?” Melisande asked, now wide awake and tense. “Strangers near the pass? For a fortnight? And I am only hearing about it now?”

  “The Mistress asked me to say nothing to you,” said Bellona. “We reported this to her at once, of course. She said they were probably wayward travelers lost in the mountains. But no lost traveler hangs about for over a week.”

  “And these are strange travelers,” said Nzangia. “There is something sinister about them, fey. I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t either. I want to think about this, Nzangia. You are dismissed. I will have orders in the morning.”

  The warrior saluted and departed. Bellona sat back down on the bench, hunched over, her arms on her knees, her chin in her hands, staring unseeing into the night.

  Melisande waited patiently for an explanation, but none came.

  “Are you going to tell me what is going on?” she asked at last.

  Bellona stirred, shook her head. “I’m not sure I should. The Mistress said I was not to worry you.”

  “It is too late for that,” said Melisande dryly. “You will worry me far more if you say nothing.”

  “It is not important, really. Except”—Bellona frowned— “it is very odd—”

  “Bellona!” Melisande exclaimed, exasperated. “Tell me!”

  “A week ago, the border patrols reported seeing a party of men riding near the pass. There were eight in all. Five were cloaked and hooded, so that it was difficult to tell anything about them, but three were very strange looking. They wore black robes and their hair had been tonsured.”

  “Like the old paintings of the monks who once lived in this monastery,” said Melisande. “What did they do?”

  “They stared at the pass and stared at it and stared at it some more, all the while pointing and talking. They investigated the area around it and then left, or so we thought.”

  “They did not try to cross there or anywhere else?”

  “No, and that in itself is odd. It was almost as if they knew that trying to break through the enchantment would be futile.”

  “And now they are back.”

  “Yes, and they shouldn’t be. The enchantment works by filling the mind with lethargy. A person eager to enter the pass through the mountains suddenly realizes that it is not worth the effort. He has no care for what lies beyond. He forgets why he was ever interested in the first place. And so he departs and never gives the matter another thought.”

  “But these did give the matter more thought.”

  “Yes,” said Bellona. “And not only that...”

  She rose abruptly to her feet, walked a pace or two, stood with her back to Melisande, staring up at the stars, as if seeking guidance.

  “What is it?” asked Melisande, a catch of fear in her voice.

  “These strange people aren’t the only ones to take an unusual interest in the border. I wasn’t going to tell you now. I was going to wait...” She paused, irresolute, then turned to face Melisande. “A dragon made the attempt. Not the green dragon we saw and drove away. Another.”

  “Impossible,” said Melisande crisply. “I would have seen it in the Eye. The Mistress would have seen it. . .”

  “You have been occupied with other matters,” said Bellona, looking gently on her lover. “And so has the Mistress.”

  Melisande reached out, grabbed hold of Bellona’s hand. “I would have seen it, I tell you!”

  “But you didn’t, Melisande,” said Bellona softly. She brushed back the tendrils of fair hair that straggled down the careworn and sorrow-softened face. “I don’t know why or what went wrong. A dragon did try to cross. The enchantment kept the beast out. A border patrol saw the lights and heard the blast of the angry magic. They hastened to the site and found scorch marks on the rocks and a rock slide and smears of blood.”

  “Some person ...” said Melisande stubborn
ly.

  “The enchantment doesn’t react violently to people. Only to dragons. Dear Melisande.” Bellona put her arms around her, drew her close. “You didn’t fail! Never think that.”

  “But I did! I should have seen . . . Without our prayers, the dragon might have won its way through ...”

  Tears welled up in her eyes and burned in her throat. She never cried. Not in front of Bellona. Not in front of anyone. Angrily Melisande blinked the tears from her eyes, pressed her lips together until she had mastered the painful swelling in her throat. She drew back from Bellona’s embrace, put aside her lover’s caressing hands.

  “You must ride to the pass,” said Melisande. “I want you to personally investigate this.”

  “But the death watch—”

  “The Mistress’s quarters are cordoned off. No one may enter or even come near until she . . . she has passed.”

  “Except you.”

  “Except me. Nzangia is like your right arm, Bellona. You’ve told me that often enough. You can leave everything in her charge. There is nothing to do here except give the guards their orders. It’s not like anyone would dare disobey.”

  Bellona remained irresolute. “The men are still here—”

  “They will be gone by morning. You can escort them out and then depart. You must see to our defenses, Bellona. The Mistress has assured us that we could repel invaders if we needed to, but it has never been tested. I would feel better if you went there yourself, made certain that all is well. There is nothing you can do here. We can only wait.”

  “I will go on one condition,” said Bellona. Taking hold of Melisande’s hands, she brought them to her lips, kissed them. “That you spend this night in our bed.”

  “Bellona, I must say prayers for the success of the coupling,” said Melisande.

  “Bah!” Bellona snorted. “Either the battering rams will thrust through the gates or they will go limp and fail and if that happens I doubt if the prayers of the likes of Lucretta are going to stiffen their resolve.”

  “Bellona!” Melisande exclaimed, shocked, but before she could continue the reproof, the ludicrous side of praying over fornication struck her and she started to laugh. Horrified, she clapped her hands over mouth.