Chapter 2.67 The Meeting
She didn't know I was interested.
As a dragon, and the only one of my kind I've ever heard of.
I can hardly abide her self-absorption in this moment—what it must have been that kept her from thinking I would be interested in a legend of other living dragon shifters. But a few deep breaths have me mastering myself.
I clench my fists to tell my claws they don't need to rise to the surface, a thing which they do when I'm angry.
"I would have been interested," I say calmly.
Through my teeth.
"Oh, well," Cherry says, "that's really all I know about it. Father says all our bloodline have been shifters, and I should have been born one, too. Only I never was."
I goggle at her anew, my brain rapid firing.
"Your father," I say quickly.
Marton is in the same place, asking excitedly, "Is the current Ithymian king one of the protectorkin?"
Cherry gives us both an odd look. "But of course."
No.
No, no, no, no, and nope. There's no way I've lived with this girl for eight years and she's never thought to mention this.
"It's a great secret, of course," Cherry continues breezily, flipping her hair. "None of our line have had to take their dragon form in decades, and they let them lie dormant, saving their greatest weapon for the day an enemy is at our gates. Or that's what father said."
"But," I splutter, "why would your father have had me take you away if he had a dragon form as well? If he could have protected you from whatever threat he foresaw?"
"I don't know," says Cherry with indignation. "I was eight years old when he sent me away, if you recall." She glares to bring home the point, as if this is all my fault.
Marton makes a choking noise, drawing my attention back to him.
"Sent you away!" he repeats in wonder. His attention is on Cherry. "Had you taken away! By the dragon—by Tarah!" Marton's eyes are nearly wild as he repeats these basic facts. We both frown at him.
"Yes," says Cherry, in a tone that asks, What of it?
"But—but—" he looks wildly between the two of us, his eyes finally focusing on me. "But you must know that throughout the land the people cry out that the princess was stolen. Stolen, the story has recently gone, by a fearsome dragon."
I shrug. "I'm not surprised that is the story. Shireen's father would not have told anyone he sent his daughter away for her safety. It was meant to be a secret."
"But," Marton splutters, "but the king has declared that any man who slays the dragon and returns his daughter to him will be awarded the princess's hand in marriage!"
Silence.
Silence in the courtyard, on the mountains, throughout the world.
Silence in my head.
And then—
And then—
What.
The.
Burning.
Hells.
"No," says Cherry, frowning. "Of course he didn't. That would be..." She glances at me, worried.
That would be betrayal, I think.
That would be trickery and deceit. Lies and outrage.
The king who tasked me with his daughter's protection, turning around and declaring me the villain. Declaring me the monster who needs to be slain.
Suddenly dizzy, I lean a palm against the stone outcropping beside me, holding myself upright through sheer force of will. I bow my head, my mind reeling.
This doesn't make any sense. This doesn't make any sense.
No, Marton has to be mistaken. I glance up at him, but he is all sincerity and concern, his forehead creased as he looks at me. He has to be lying. All this must be a lie. A scam to get his hands on the princess, as all other men have tried to do—
Yes, all other men have tried to steal the princess. From me. Knights and vagabonds, nobles and outlaws, commoners and soldiers. So many men have tried to steal her, most of them alone or with only a small group.
And why would they have done that? Why would so many have risked my vengeance to come here, if they were not promised a great reward?
I thought it was something else. I had imagined some vague danger, some fixed enemy commanding his legion of men one by one to come here to face me. But that tactic would be madness. It makes no sense for so many men to come alone. A legion, an army, would need to work together to slay me.
But if all these men were working singly, for selfish reasons, looking to win a kingdom by snatching a princess...
Suddenly it makes too much sense. Fits too well. I don't want to think of it.
Because why would the king do that? What does he gain from this charade? What is he doing? What is he doing wasting the lives of his own people in such a way? What is he doing in his kingdom while the princess and I are here?
Was all of this just a ploy to get the princess far away? Or me? But...why me?
I get to my feet, trembling with rage. My dragon form is right on the surface, wanting to burst through. Wanting to claw and rend. Wanting to defend, from a danger I can hardly understand.
"What is happening—in the kingdom?" I ask Marton. "You must have passed through large portions of Ithyma to get here. What does the king do now? What's been going on?"
Marton slowly shakes his head. "Nothing," he whispers. "It is as it has always been. Quiet. Peaceful. The king sits his throne, and the borders are silent. The only stirrings are tales of the princess and the dragon, but even that is a familiar story by now."
In confusion, I look to Cherry. "What is this?" I ask her. "Do you know? Why would your father do this?" What other information have you conveniently forgotten to give me over the years?
But Cherry only shakes her head, looking as sick with worry and perplexity as I feel.
"What is this?" I repeat, turning to Marton.
"I don't—my lady, I'm sorry—I don't know.
" In my bewildered state, I can't even marvel at being called my lady.
"The declaration was made nearly five years ago, that anyone who found and returned the princess safely would be given a lordship.
Searchers went out, and eventually discovered signs of her leading to the old ruins.
But the men who ventured up the mountain never returned.
And then a few returned with talk of a dragon, who held the princess captive and attacked anyone who ventured near.
"
I feel ill, hearing my own noble duty viewed from this perspective.
A monster viciously killing brave heroes.
"And the king made a new decree," Marton continues gravely, "that anyone who slayed the dragon and returned the princess would be given her hand in marriage, and thereby become the next heir to the kingdom."
I feel like I need to sit down.
Why would the king do this?
Why would the king do this?
"Why would the king do this?" I cry aloud.
Marton and Cherry offer no answers, as baffled and concerned as I am.
But I am more than baffled and concerned. I am completely and utterly betrayed.
My entire life, my sacred duty, the last eight years of heartfelt energy and service. All a lie. All a waste.
My king wants me dead.
But if he wanted me dead, I have to wonder, why would he do it like this? Why not slay me as a child, when I was innocent and trusting?
This has to be about the princess in some way. But if all he wanted was her safe return, he would send a messenger to tell me, or he would never have sent us here at all.
For a moment, I rack my brain, horrified at the possibility that suddenly presents itself to me—that the king did send a messenger at some point, and I killed him before he could relay a message. But no. I always pause. I always give them time to speak.
No one ever tried to speak before Marton.
"What do we do?" asks Cherry. "What do we—Does this mean we can leave this place? Can we return home?"
Instantly, my whole body rebels against the thought. "No."
Cherry gapes at me. "Why not? If my father wants me back—!"
"He doesn't want you back until someone has slain the dragon!
Otherwise he would have simply ordered me to return with you.
This is something else. There's something.
.." Something we're missing. I look at Cherry in apprehension.
"You're father wants to marry you off to someone.
To a man who—" I break off, realization dawning. To a man who can slay a dragon.
And what man can slay a dragon, but another dragon? Another protectorkin.
I glance between Marton and Cherry, putting things together.
"You," I point to Marton, "say the legends claim the royal line of Ithyma have always been protectorkin, but interbred with humans in recent years to the point where the blood ran thin, and the new generations were born unable to shift.
" He opens his mouth to respond, but I move on, pointing to Cherry.
"You say your father is a dragon shifter, and that he thought you would have the ability as well, but you never did.
" Cherry nods mutely.
I look to Marton, wondering if his scholarly mind will draw the same conclusions I have.
After a moment, he seems to catch what I'm getting at.
His eyes widen. "You think the king wants to replenish the bloodline. "
"What?" barks Cherry.
"He sent men to my village as soon as rumors of my existence reached him. Perhaps he wanted an heir, but all they found was a girl. Not someone who could reproduce with his daughter, and pass on dragon stock." I grimace.
"So he gave you a job," Marton mutters, "in secret.
Then he ordered men to find you, with the promise of great rewards.
He couldn't find a dragon man by searching the kingdom, but he was a secret protectorkin himself, so he knew the gift was possible to hide.
He hoped to ferret one out by offering a challenge.
And only a dragon greater than yourself would be able to win, to return the princess and gain the kingdom. "
"And his purpose would be answered," I finish.
"Future heirs would be protectorkin, and when the king passed on, there would be a dragon royal to sit the throne in his place.
And it could all remain a secret. No one outside the royal line would need to know the protectorkin sill lived, as long as the king didn't reveal the truth of his daughter's absence, or the real reason for the reward he offered upon her return. "
"That is—"
"Ridiculous!" Cherry cries. "That is ridiculous. My father would never invent such an underhanded, convoluted scheme! He is a king. If he wanted a dragon for my husband, he would have announced it, and a worthy suitor would have presented himself."
"Maybe not," says Marton. "Maybe the king cared too much about his secret to risk it.
It isn't known that the royals of Ithyma still have protector forms. Publishing it reveals the best weapon in the king's arsenal.
And simply demanding a dragon suitor without revealing the king's own dragon form.
.."
"It would be baffling, and odd, for one," I reason.
"And it could also lead to trouble. If the suitors who presented themselves thought to win a kingdom without marrying a princess. If they weren't very nice men..."
"But this," Cherry flings out a hand to the ruins around us, "is hardly a scheme that attracts many nice men."
I can't argue with that.
"But maybe it was meant to?" offers Marton. "Making the challenge into a rescue mission—that at least has a noble bent to it. Perhaps the king was hoping to attract only the most dedicated and good-hearted of men."
I harrumph at that. "Then he didn't succeed."
Marton winces. "Sorry..."
I wave him off. "I wasn't talking about you, and the rest don't matter anymore." Only in my secret, shredded heart do they matter, but who's ever cared about that?
"I still don't like it," says Cherry stubbornly. "This doesn't sound like my father at all..."
"But you were eight years old the last time you saw him, and he banished you—banished us both—here to this place for a lie. A trick, one way or another."
"But what if the danger was real?" Cherry frets, twisting her overlong hair.
"Then why would he increase the danger by sending men after us? By assuring that everyone would learn of our location by promising a kingdom in return for you?"
"I don't know. Perhaps—Perhaps he wanted our enemies to know I was guarded by a dragon, so they wouldn't come after me?"
"If that was the case, it certainly didn't work. No one has been deterred!"
"But those are the men who want to return me safely! The people who wanted to hurt me, whoever they were, maybe they've never come after me... Maybe it did work..."
"Well it cost dozens of this kingdom's men's lives in the meantime," I say in my hardest voice.
Cherry's eyes abruptly fill with tears, and then she's sobbing.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
"I just—" she sobs, "I can't—" Her breath comes in heaving gasps, and she claws at her throat, panting.
"He wouldn't! He wouldn't do this to me on purpose.
He wouldn't leave me here. He wouldn't—He couldn't—" Her tears come heavier, and I know she'll make herself ill if she goes on much longer.
Left in her agony too long, and she'll start trying to hurt herself, to let the feelings out.
She's done it before, years ago, when her captivity weighed on her heart like the thickest darkness. I returned to the tower one evening to find her arms cut up, blood soaking her skirts and puddling on the floor. And her just staring, numb, a pair of sewing scissors on the floor beside her.
Since then, I've removed all sharp things from the tower—which is why her hair has grown out so long—and I've made a point never to leave her alone for long stretches.
But this isn't like that. Not yet. I'm here. I can help.
I approach and wrap my arms around her tight. She collapses against me, sobbing into my hair. "Tarah!"
"You're alright," I soothe. "You're fine. I'm here. You're not alone. I'm here. Everything will be alright. We'll fix this." I tell her endless, soothing phrases. The things that always calm her down, and new promises, for this new challenge we face. I wish I believed any of them myself.