Chapter 23
In all my imaginings of life in a foreign land, never did I think I’d find myself in a tent surrounded by guards while I hold the hand of my dragon betrothed as we uncover a wyvern plot.
What have I gotten myself into?
I reached out to Soren only that I might ask Tallin a question, but now I twine my fingers with his, taking strength from the grip that tightens on me.
I wish Cassandra were here. Or my sister Ambril. Both of them excelled at exercises in political machinations, while I would rather have been practicing weaving, or seeking out rare flora for Mother in the forest, or doing anything else, really.
As it is, I’m the one here, so I must act as a queen. I clear my throat.
“This leader,” I say, “he denies your kind water then?”
Tallin shakes his head. “No, there is no water. As I said, what is left we’ve rationed. There is enough for three more days, four at the most. For weeks, I’ve waited for direction, for some sign he’s aware. I’ve received nothing.”
“Has he responded to crises before?”
“Yes, which makes his silence all the stranger.” A shadow of discomfort, or perhaps guilt, passes over his face.
I lower my voice. “You worry he is…gone.”
“Dead,” Soren says.
Tallin sighs. “I have considered it.”
I ponder this. Though I’ve offered to draw water for the wyverns, Tallin may not realize how much time this could take. “Forgive me for my ignorance, but are there not other areas you could seek? Temporarily even?”
The wyvern looks decidedly uncomfortable now.
“We cannot. Nialan, our mountain,” he clarifies at my look, “is sacred to us. She sheltered us when others would not.”
Soren looses a low growl, and though my guards stay silent, their expressions curdle with contempt. It seems I’ve touched upon some old grievance, one I’d rather avoid.
“If that is how it is,” I say quickly, “then what I told Seltzen, I tell you. I will draw water for the wyverns, but I can only do so after I draw for those here.”
Desperation swells in Tallin’s eyes. “We will not survive that long, Your Majesty.”
I know this, and taking a deep breath, I pray I’m not being a fool; I pray I’m not overplaying my cards.
I pray Soren won’t think I’ve gone mad.
Lifting my chin, I fix Tallin with what I hope is a regal look. “Then if His Majesty approves, you will share Tirenth’s water until I can come.”
I’m met with shocked silence all around.
Water is life, and nowhere is that truer than in a desert.
In Vasna, we never wanted for water. Too much water, whether from rain or storms, that was the concern.
Here, water is a priceless resource, more precious than gold or jewels; I know this, and I know it can’t be given lightly, not when Tirenth’s cisterns will be empty in less than two weeks.
Yet I also know there is plenty of water for all beneath us. Even now, I feel the water murmuring deep below, like a giant at rest.
“There is enough water here for dragons and wyverns alike,” I say as the silence stretches on. “I’m certain of it and of my ability to draw the water to the surface.”
No one responds. My palms begin to sweat.
“No one in Tirenth or Nialan need go thirsty.”
With difficulty, I resist the urge to say anything more. That would make me look unsure. I think of Mother, of the calm command she can hold over a room, and try to imagine myself doing the same.
Finally, Lord Tallin, who’s only stared at me in slack-jawed astonishment, glances slowly from me to Soren. “You—you would share water with us?”
Soren still holds my hand in his. I dare not look up at him.
“If that is my queen’s will,” he says without inflection, “then I will make it so.”
I fight not to bite my lip. I can’t tell from his tone whether he’s angry or not. He certainly has a right to be. Still, I plunge ahead before he can change his mind.
“There will be terms, Lord Tallin.”
“Of course,” the wyvern says faintly.
“First, you will bring a gift in honor of our wedding. In return, I will offer the wyverns water so that your leader’s suspicions will not be raised about you coming here. Whether he lives or not, he can find no fault with one gift given in exchange for another.”
Demanding a gift feels vulgar, but I can’t think of an alternative in so little time. Tallin only continues staring at me, his mouth slightly ajar. I barrel on with feigned confidence.
“You will choose a dozen wyverns to transport water daily.” I have no idea if that number is adequate. “If any of them act in a manner unbefitting of the generosity being shown, they will suffer the king’s wrath, and you will not intervene.”
Tallin hesitates only an instant before agreeing. “I understand.”
I hear my own voice turn grave as I lay down the final condition. “And whatever your leader may wish, you and all those with you will speak respectfully to any female you encounter. If I hear otherwise, I will toss the offender out of Tirenth myself.”
He can’t know anything about my magic’s capabilities, and yet he agrees as if he wholeheartedly believes me capable of such a thing. “You have my word.”
I force myself to seek Soren’s eyes. “Do you find the terms acceptable, Your Majesty?”
His hand twitches in mine.
“If they please you, Princess,” he says, but his words are devoid of all emotion.
That does not bode well.
I turn my attention back to the wyvern. “Then I believe we are done here, Lord Tallin. Can a gift be brought tomorrow? The gift itself is unimportant. It only matters that the ruse is believable.”
Just as I think I may need to repeat myself to put an end to Tallin’s gaping, he bows himself all the way to the ground, and speaking in a voice muffled by the rug beneath him, says, “There is no gift to equal your generosity, but I will bring you the best Nialan can offer, my queen.”
I startle at the honorific, but before I can react, he’s rising and rushing from the tent. I don’t think I imagine the wetness in his eyes.
My guards are quiet and Soren even more so. Perhaps they’re all appalled by my behavior. I can’t regret it, though. I won’t. I sit and wait for the condemnation, for the accusation of sympathizing with enemies.
“Leave us,” the Dragon King says.
I hold myself tall as my guards file out and I’m left alone with my betrothed, his dragon-shaped shadow still looming on the wall. Inexplicably, the head swivels toward me even though Soren himself remains still.
Well, I refuse to be cowed by shadows. A water drawer cannot deny someone water when she can give it. If he can’t understand that, then perhaps he should have chosen someone—
My agitated thoughts come to a standstill as Soren’s bare shoulders begin to rock.
Is he…laughing?
“How is it,” he begins, and indeed he is laughing, for he has to pause and start again. “How is it, Princess, that you have negotiated greater peace between dragons and wyverns this evening than my predecessors have in a century?”
I blink at the fine planes of his back. I was prepared to defend myself. I find myself utterly unprepared to be praised.
“I don’t know, Your Majesty.”
He drops to his knees in front of me and tilts his head to peer into my face. “How many times must I tell you not to call me that?”
His sudden proximity befuddles me further. “I don’t know,” I say again.
He searches my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s only that I thought you would be displeased with me.” Displease is a tame word. I expected outrage. Who am I to barter with his kingdom’s limited water?
“I wasn’t angry before,” Soren says. “Why would I be now?”
I moisten my lips, and his gaze follows the motion. “Most kings don’t want their queens brokering peace with their enemies. They’d rather do such a thing themselves.”
“Most kings are fools. I want to see my queen shine.”
For some reason, the statement makes me feel lightheaded. Giddy, even. My eyes fall to his own lips.
“I do have a question, though,” he says.
I glance up, sobering.
“How are you going to marry me early if you’re busy coddling a bunch of half-dressed wyverns?”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “Is that the part you’re concerned about?”
“Yes.”
I glance away from his chiseled chest. “If you don’t put on a shirt soon, I’ll begin to think you’re a wyvern yourself.”
He grasps my chin and draws my eyes back to him.
“I think you rather like it off.”
I let out a playful huff. “You aren’t being fair.”
I expect him to say that he never claimed to be, like he did once before. Instead, his gaze turns serious. Then a bit sad. He traces the lines of my face with a thumb as if committing my skin to memory.
“You’re too good for me, Serah,” he says.
The sudden shift perplexes me, and I’m grasping for the right words when there’s a call at the door. Soren instantly releases his hold on me.
“Enter,” he says. It may be the first time I’ve seen him not grieve an interruption.
It’s Rally, and his mouth is set in a firm line.
“I apologize for yet another interruption, Your Majesties,” he says, “but we’ve just received a messenger bird from The Siren.”
I jolt upright. The Siren? That’s my mother’s ship.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
His eyes shift to me, and I don’t like the sympathy I see there.
“We don’t know, but she’s calling for aid.”