Chapter Four - Izzy
Vukyar 14th, 1459
Sometimes, I find myself so frustrated I can barely think straight. I know that I shouldn’t take it so personally, but…
Vicomte Remy can occasionally spin me right round the bend.
I am normally a paragon of patience, and grace and—
Oh, who am I kidding?
I’ve never been one to hold my tongue, and no one brings my temper out like he does. But every once in a while he remarks on one of our laws or codes and completely surprises me.
We were in the midst of discussing the committee delegation process, and he remarked that without counsel from the mages and natural philosophers, there was no real way our committees involved in the sciences and magics could possibly have the best, most grounded decision-making on any endeavors. He stated that simply having a proposal sent after the decision had already been made was hardly enough. Within another ten minutes, he had a simple form to provide for review by a council of mages from the Academy of the Ancients and the Yaventown Guild of Natural Philosophers.
It seems so silly that it’s not something we’ve thought of before. Of course our committee delegates, once selected, counsel with those institutions in their own time. But those relationships are more personal and grounded. Of course it would make sense to consult with them during the delegation process. While they won’t have the final say—we would hate for there to be a sudden imbalance of power—it’s still wise.
Clearly we have much to learn from each other.
The knock on the door broke Izzy from her thoughts.
“Oh, come in!”
A young dragonkin woman walked in. After being here for a few days now, Izzy was beginning to see some distinctions between them; while every dragonkin she had met was broad and taller than humans on average, female dragonkin tended to have a wider stance, their tails sleeker, the crested spines taking on a narrower shape.
Izzy chatted with the dragonkin as she helped her get into her dress for the evening, a dark blue brocade with the Echtarch lilies neatly embroidered in gold along the outermost layer of her skirts. She had to pull her own corset strings, as the poor girl, Manon, was terrified that she would snap Izzy’s ribcage. After she assuaged Manon’s fears that yes, a little bit of chest-heaving was normal, and no, she wasn’t going to pass out, she seemed to calm down. Manon was more willing to help her with the other undergarments, before slipping into the forepart, overskirt, and gown.
She’d noticed a few differences between her kin and the dragons of Onson. For starters, their clothing seemed to be much breezier and less structured. Manon herself was in a dress made of four or five lightweight layers that seemed to float with her when she moved.
Also, there was something about scents. She had the opportunity to see Remy talking with some of his fellow courtiers, and there was sometimes a pause where they would seem to take in the room before switching course completely in a conversation. It was maddening. She had informed Remy to not ‘scent’ her. If she wanted her emotions known so blatantly, she would be more open about them. He seemed put off by that, stating that it was as natural as breathing, but that he would make the attempt.
The food had taken some getting used to, as well. It was quite rustic, but rich and heady in a way that she hadn’t expected. Each day there were new pastries and desserts, including these delicious little chocolates. But the food was normally some sort of roasted bird, cooked in full fat with savory roasted vegetables, with good cheese and bread. In some ways it did remind her of home, more so than the fare in Yaventown, which was much more eclectic and inspired by the more fragrant spices of Dexmaro to the south. But it meant that she found herself sleepy and lethargic in the afternoons. She had nearly fallen asleep when trying to teach Remy about the fete schedule.
While she was remorseful that she wouldn’t be able to spend more time here, she was sure that Aldric would prefer to get home sooner rather than later.
“Are you prepared, Princess?” Manon asked, in rough Aurelian, breaking her from her thoughts.
“Oh, yes, I apologize. Manon. While we travel, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course, please. I am at your service.”
“The stonework here is remarkable,” she said, gesturing to the carved archway. “I haven’t seen a technique like this. You said you had stoneworkers in your nest?”
“In my cluster. A cluster is a group of dragonkin with romantic ties. They may extend that out to the whole family, if talking about them like nobles. If they are only referring to their offspring, they will call them their nest. Those who hatch together as part of a clutch consider their clutch mates their siblings.”
Izzy fought the urge to ask a thousand questions about the concept of a cluster. While she had heard of some elven couples taking a third, it was never so formalized as to have its own name. Truly a lot to learn.
“Ah, yes, I see. My apologies. Members of your cluster, then?”
“Yes, Benoit. He’s a golden dragonkin, and breathes fire. This method of stone carving comes from the breath work, Princess. It takes remarkable precision to heat the stone just hot enough to become pliable, and then shape it while warm.”
“That is fascinating,” she said, marveling at the intricate relief.
“Benoit is quite talented,” Manon murmured, clearly proud, her tail flicking in the way that Izzy had seen Remy’s do when he successfully puzzled out a difficult thread of ritual and regalia.
She walked with Manon, seeing other dragonkin making their way into the hall. As the door opened wider, she took a step back, surprised. The room was raucous, with excitable chatter coming from all directions. There was a crush of dragonkin of all colors moving in and out, and a fragrant cloud of sweet smelling smoke softly wafted out of incense burners that hung in each window.
“This is the fete?”
“Yes, Princess,” Manon said.
Izzy looked around, quickly getting up to speed. The music was unlike anything she’d ever heard. Instead of the strings and woodwinds she was used to, the musicians played larger horns and strummed away on large instruments that looked like overgrown lutes, with metal strings that didn’t snap under their sharp claws. But the focal point was driving percussion. Instead of the musicians being off to one side, they were in the center of the dance floor, and people danced around them in wide looping, interconnected circles. Not only did they revolve around each other, but there was a slow revolution around the bard-stage, forcing Izzy to constantly shift her gaze to focus on any one dragonkin.
She carefully clasped her hands in front of her as she walked further out into the hall. She greeted a few of the archivists she’d been working with during the week, then passed by one of the food tables. It was a massive square table with a giant bird in the center of it, its wingspan arcing high up and over the table and casting a shadow that extended ten feet in each direction. Surrounding this clear trophy bird—a Roc, she supposed—was more food than she’d seen in one place since the last summer court season galas at the palace.
Izzy moved to the far end of the room and saw Remy standing with several dragonkin of the same coloring as him. She was drawn right to him. At first she’d thought she would have had difficulty picking him out of a crowd, but she had recognized his spine pattern, and the sharp curl of his horns. He was dressed in a fine wine-colored leather vest with detailed embossing, a compliment to the bronze sheen of his scales. Below the vest was a softer tunic that draped across his torso, revealing the hard-won muscle of his chest (the scales there seemed smoother and smaller, how interesting) but keeping the rest of him covered.
He looked up at her as the song changed, and she felt hot and flushed, as if she was wearing far, far too many layers.
“Princess? Are you sure you’re alright? You are panting.”
“I’m fine!” Izzy said too quickly. “Go on, enjoy yourself, Manon. I’ll be fine for the rest of the evening.”
Manon nodded, dropping a low bow with her arm crossed over her chest in the Onson style, before slipping into the crowd to join her own friends or family. With that settled, Izzy raised her hand to wave at Remy.
Remy nodded in turn, starting to saunter towards her, sure in his stride.
“Well met, Your Highness,” he murmured in Aurelian, giving a short bow. “Would you like to dance?”
“Well met, Vicomte Remy. I admit I haven’t danced to this sort of music before.”
“You are an intelligent woman. I have no doubt you’ll catch on quickly,” he replied.
He extended a claw to her and she placed her hand in it, letting her fingertips graze over the smooth scales. He clasped his hand around hers delicately and guided her to one of the closest circles, which seemed sparse enough for two more.
Izzy took some time to get the hang of the dance, but with the drums setting a driving beat, she quickly fell into the pattern. Remy mimicked the hand motions of the others, moving up to clap after eight measures, and spinning her into the next circle.
Her acclimation to the dance was slow for the worst reason: Izzy couldn’t take her eyes off Remy. He seemed so sure of himself, sure in his steps in a way she hadn’t seen before. Occasionally he would move in to steady her, to guide her through a particularly tricky move or turn. He was careful with his claws, setting them just barely on her arm to correct a pose. She was surprised at the sensation of his claws on her arm, the tiny pinpricks of pressure as she was held so delicately, which seemed so at odds with the strength he must have.
She felt dizzy, giddy in all the best ways. After two more dances, she set a hand on his arm, feeling the smooth slide of his scales over the muscle beneath. “I have to refresh myself soon. Do you mind? I’d like to meet your clutch if at all possible,” she murmured, gesturing to some of the dragonkin he had been standing with before.
Remy pulled his gaze away from her eyes, resting it briefly on her exposed chest and then lower, following her hands. After a moment, he shook his head, and looked into the crowd “Oh, ah, yes. That’s my clutch—part of it, anyway. I’m the youngest of the five. Those are my older brothers, Antoine and Amaury. I don’t know where Mirielle and Noelle are. If I had to hazard a guess, they’re probably driving some poor suitors to consider returning to the cliffs instead of cater to their outrageous demands.”
Izzy smiled. “I have a sister as well. She would probably enjoy their company. I can’t wait to meet them too. Perhaps if I give you enough time, I could meet them all at once?”
“I suppose so,” he nodded. “I’d also like to introduce you to some of the other courtiers within our cluster and our allies. But that can wait until you’ve refreshed yourself. Enjoy the festivities. I’ll wait by the stairwell there,” he said, gesturing to a wide stone-hewn staircase leading up to smaller alcoves on the second floor. He gave her a short bow, and strolled away.
Izzy watched him walk off, immediately feeling his absence. Which she wasn’t surprised about. Why should she be surprised? He was really the only person she’d talked to. It would be absolutely normal to feel a strong attachment to anyone in those circumstances. Yes, that was all it was.
Now that she had safely stowed any nonsensical thoughts, she returned to the refreshment table, picking up a glass of something bubbly and amber in color and taking a sip. She coughed, marveling a bit at its strength. It must have been a reinforced wine, like the dockers enjoyed in Vinitore. This was certainly not like the Rintlings or Cerises from home. She took a longer, slower draw and began a turn about the room, looking over the large interlocking circles. She nibbled on a piece of hard, nutty cheese as she watched another dance.
Whenever the drummers changed the tempo, there would be a sharp cry of excitement from the rings, followed by a blur of fabric and scales, the candlelight and opalescent smoke making everything in the room shimmer.
Between the heat of the room, the much-too-strong wine, and the long dances she’d had, she felt her head swimming. She wandered towards the outer edges of the room, discovering the twinkling lights of the homes buried into the mountainside below. She walked through an archway that led to a balcony jutting out against the mountainside. There was a light snow flurrying, and it made the entire landscape look like a painting.
She sat out there through at least another song, taking in the breathtaking view, and wished for her sketchbook.
As a particularly cold gust of air came through, she ducked back into the ballroom, content to take in more of the views another time, when she was sufficiently dressed.
She finished off her wine and set it down on a nearby servant’s tray; it took her at least two tries to place it. Perhaps this drink was light fare for the heartier constitution of a dragonkin, but it had hit her far too hard. But she didn’t want to be rude, so she turned toward the stairwell at the back of the room, where Remy had told her to meet him. She walked up behind him, just close enough to make out an animated discussion he was having with one of his brothers.
“Come now, Remy. I think your tongue is too sharp these days.”
“It’s only half as sharp as my mind is,” he said, taking a sip from his glass. “Fine. A fairer assessment then. If you can get over the fact that she talks down to everyone she meets, then yes, I suppose the girl is nice enough. But this all just seems like an utter waste of time. We have to traipse halfway across the continent. What are we even going to talk about for that long? Clearly the Aurelians see us as a nuisance, if the rest of the empire behaves anything like her. I imagine we’ll just be met with the same contempt. Hardly going to be a fun trip.”
“You’ve always been a good conversationalist, though,” one of his brothers replied, looking out on the festivities. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
“Yes, I’m sure if I wanted to talk about the fifteenth emperor Whoever-he-may-be and his illustrious idea to sculpt his likeness into a rock in the middle of nowhere. How very droll. I think I’d rather talk to a mountain goat.”
The heat that rose within her was of an altogether different sort now. She bunched her hands into fists, stalking straight towards them.
“It can’t be all that bad,” the other brother said. “You’ll be buried in a book most of the time anyway. She also enjoys reading, you said. So you should be in good company.”
“Words on a page will be far better company than Her Highness,” Remy scoffed. “At least the characters from my books don’t try to demean me each step of the way.”
The taller of the two brothers scoffed. “Now you’re just being petulant. Something you’d like to tell me? The last time I heard you speak like this was about Olivia, before you started courting her.”
“Don’t. Don’t say her name. Gods, the only thing worse than dealing with an entitled aristocrat is bringing up her of all people—”
“You are incredible!” Izzy finally exclaimed.
Remy turned, and stopped, eyes widening as he turned to face her. “Princess—”
“Oh, so now I’m “princess”? And not a girl, or an utter waste of time? How quickly my station has risen!” she snapped, unable to help herself. “Where is your decorum? Talking about me so rudely and… and without deference, to your own family!” she said, pointing a finger at the other dragonkin, who glanced at Remy, having the good sense to look bashful. “Clearly he is a man of much more honor than you ever will be.”
“Excuse me?” Remy said, his spines flattening with anger.
As the music died away, more of the dragonkin looked on, their raised voices drawing attention. Maybe if she hadn’t imbibed so heavily she would have cared more. But she was too upset now.
“You are excused!” She said, stamping her foot once as she turned away. “I apologize for wasting your precious and valuable time, Vicomte. Gods willing, you’ll be clever enough to pick up our antiquated language as fast as possible and we won’t need to spend a minute longer than we have to together.”
“Gods willing indeed.” He muttered back. “Good evening, Princess.”
“It will be much better now,” she snapped back, and stalked out of the ballroom. She didn’t bother to look back, content to steel herself for what was about to be a very long trip home.