Damsel, page 11
“When it’s my turn to get married, I shall have a gown of pale silver, like moonlight on the clearest night.”
And so Floria eventually fell asleep, still in her butterfly dress, dreaming of her own future, and a wedding and husband as perfect as Elodie’s.
CORA
Someone knocked on Cora’s bedroom door.
“Sweetheart, it’s Mama. Are you still awake?”
Cora curled up a little tighter on her bed. She wasn’t looking forward to more disappointment from her parents, but she had to say yes. Her mother was a sailor who would head out to sea once the harvest was ready, to bring Aurea’s grain and fruit to the rest of the world. Cora had learned from a young age to spend whatever time she could with Mama, who was away from home more often than not.
“I’m still up,” she said. “You can come in.”
The door opened, and Mama came over and sat next to Cora on the bed. “I heard you broke into the palace.”
“I might have done so…” She braced herself for another reprimand.
But instead, Mama ruffled Cora’s hair. “How did you manage to get past the guards?”
Cora blinked in surprise. “You’re not mad?”
“Oh yes, I am plenty mad. But also impressed.”
The pleasure of making her mother proud tingled in Cora’s toes. “I walked in with a troupe of acrobats who were going to perform at the reception.” Cora was lithe and strong from her work in the fields, so it hadn’t been a stretch for an outsider to believe she was part of their group.
“Brilliant.” Mama laughed. But her amusement quickly faded. She lowered her voice and said, “Papa told me why you went.”
Cora looked down at the bed and picked at the comforter. Unlike peasants in other countries, the farmers of Aurea slept on down mattresses and blankets woven from cloud-soft aurum wool. They owned their own land, which thrived under always perfect weather, and everyone had plenty to eat. But Cora hadn’t known it was any different elsewhere until Papa explained tonight that it was the presence of the dragon that made Aurea so.
“I don’t need another lecture,” Cora said. “I know I was wrong.”
“Were you?” Mama asked.
The genuineness of her tone made Cora look up. She was a kind mother, but she was a parent nonetheless, which meant she did not often ask for children’s opinions. Now, though, Mama tilted her head and waited patiently for her answer.
“Papa said that life is harder outside of Aurea,” Cora said. “That there are kingdoms where every single person suffers, in one way or another.”
“And?”
“And we are blessed to have this paradise. Living dragons emanate magic from the strength of the blood that courses through them, so we must keep the dragon happy, in order that Aurea may remain as good as it is. Life is never fair, Papa said, and everyone has to make compromises.”
“He shares the view of most Aureans. But sometimes I wonder, what compromises are worth making?”
Cora furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
Mama rose and began pacing. “Peasants usually do not live like this.” She gestured to Cora’s room. It was small but tidy, with tiles hand painted with flowers, a pretty mural of the aurum wheat fields on the wall, and satin drapes around the picture window. “I’ve sailed to many a country and seen what their working men and women are like. Skin baked and cracked from the sun, unpredictable snowstorms in winter and tornados in summer that destroy their crops, coffers empty from too much taxation.”
“That sounds awful,” Cora said, shaking her head.
“It is. Believe me, most would do anything to be able to live in prosperous peace like we do.”
She nodded.
“But not everybody. What if”—Mama looked straight at her—“you were born in one of those kingdoms? And what if Queen Isabelle came to you and said, ‘Cora, I invite you to my perfect island where you shall never want for anything. The price is only a small one—you must choose three girls to die.’ ”
Cora’s eyes widened.
Mama continued. “If you make that choice, then you and thousands of others can enjoy a rich life of all you can eat, all you can buy, and all you can love. Just three lives a year, in exchange for the happiness of an entire kingdom. Could you do it?”
“D-do I have to know the girls personally?”
“Does it make the decision any less morally fraught if you don’t?”
Cora hugged her stuffed sheep toy to her chest. She was too old for it, but she needed something to hold on to. She understood that Mama was asking if everything she’d ever known was a crime.
“If I said no to the queen,” Cora said slowly, “then I would have to live an ordinary life, in an ordinary country, and suffer?”
“Perhaps you suffer, perhaps you don’t. There would still be plenty of moments of joy and love. Families and friends still exist out there. But there’s no guarantee of bounteous harvests or fair weather or money for pretty dresses. No promises of down comforters and songs in the wheat fields with a benevolent sun shining over our heads.”
“But if I say yes, I condemn someone to death. Three someones, every year.”
Mama closed her eyes for a moment and said nothing. Then she nodded. “Yes, and those three souls are on your conscience forever, whether you choose to think of them or not.”
Cora curled up around her toy sheep. “Am I a bad person if I want to be happy?”
Her mother sat back down on the bed and stroked Cora’s hair. “No. You’re only human. We do what we must to survive. Life is not as simple as good and evil. It is mostly lived in the pages in between.”
They were quiet for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. Cora thought about how beautiful Princess Elodie had been. How compassionate in leaping to her aid when the boys shoved Cora in the ditch. And how by doing nothing, the people of Aurea had sentenced a good person to her death. At the jaws of a dragon.
“But what can we do?” Cora asked, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know,” Mama said. “The antimonarchists want to revolt against the royal family. But that is too simplistic. The king, queen, and prince are all that stand between us and the dragon. Without them—without the horrible peace their ancestors negotiated—the dragon would destroy us all. We are, as ever, mere guests on this isle. To live on Aurea is to accept this price.”
“We could slay the dragon,” Cora said, eyes darting to a play sword in the corner. There was a matching shield, too, bearing the coat of arms of Aurea—ironically, with a prominent dragon.
“First of all, if we did that, we would lose the magic that grows the aurum wheat and silver pears and sangberries and more.”
“Oh. That’s bad.”
“Yes, it is. But even if that were not so, it’s a fantasy to think we could slay the dragon,” Mama said, her shoulders drooping. “That’s where the founding royal family made their first mistake—their hubristic belief that they could beat such a legendary beast. No, the more realistic outcome of picking a fight with a dragon is that we start a war we can’t win. And then many, many more innocent lives are lost than only three.” The bags beneath Mama’s eyes seemed heavier than when she’d walked into the room. She had clearly lost plenty of nights of sleep thinking over this dilemma.
“And if life isn’t just good and evil,” Cora said, “maybe the dragon is not solely a villain. Perhaps we ought not kill it, even if we could. Who are we to say which life is worth more than another?”
Mama gave her a sad smile. “You are very wise for such a small person.”
Cora shook her head. “But it leaves us with the same problem as before. It’s wrong to sit back and let Aurea’s tradition continue. It’s also wrong to try to save the princesses or slay the dragon. We’re stuck.”
“There is one other possible solution,” her mother said, although she didn’t seem very happy about it.
“What is it?”
Mama leaned over and whispered in her ear.
Cora furrowed her small brow as understanding sank in. Then she grabbed her stuffed sheep and hugged it tighter, biting her lip to try to keep in her tears.
ALEXANDRA
Alexandra Ravella shut her daughter’s door gently after she’d soothed Cora to sleep. In the hallway outside her room, though, Lieutenant Ravella leaned against the cool wall and squeezed shut her eyes.
She had almost told Cora her secret. But at the last second, Alexandra had pulled back, because she’d already burdened Cora too much tonight. Cora was only nine; she didn’t deserve to shoulder all the guilt her mother carried.
But knowing that Cora had broken into the wedding—that she, a mere child, had more gumption and conscience than she, a woman in her fifties…
Alexandra sank down onto the tiles. She couldn’t do it anymore. To her family and everyone else in the village, she was a mere sailor on a merchant ship that sold the fruits of Aurea’s harvest. No one knew she was a scout, tasked with finding women from other shores who would sate the dragon’s hunger. After all, Aurea did not want to give up its own daughters to marry Prince Henry, only to be tossed into the chasm of Mount Khaevis.
Hence, the scouting ships sailed to new lands in remote parts of the world. Alexandra’s job was to search for families who were willing to betroth their daughters in exchange for gold or grain or other resources they lacked. She never lied about what would come after the wedding, and still, there were men who fell at her feet for the contract.
Bloodhound. That was Alexandra’s nickname. She’d started as a ship girl when she was fourteen, carrying messages among the crew and taking care of small tasks like mending sails and helping on the night watch. But soon word of her keen insight into the personalities and motivations of the other sailors made its way to the scout on board, and Alexandra was brought under his training as an apprentice. In the decades since, Alexandra had helped recruit dozens of potential candidates for princess. While some scouts specialized in identifying greedy fathers, Alexandra’s specialty was recognizing the despairing, dutiful ones who felt honor bound to help their people, no matter the personal cost. Including giving up one’s daughter to a dragon.
Lord Bayford of Inophe was this type of man, who could be convinced that he was making a noble decision by giving away one daughter for the lives of many. Alexandra had told Lord Bayford of how lavishly Elodie would be treated in her final days. How this young woman who had grown up in a parched land would be showered with gifts and gowns and food and drink, how she would be spoiled beyond her wildest dreams, and how this would honor her for what she was about to do.
Alexandra had built a bond with Lord Bayford, explaining how she, too, understood the difficult decisions a person must make when charged with the well-being of many. Aurea may have been wealthy, but it was much like Inophe in that something had to be given in order for the rest to survive, to thrive.
It had been Alexandra who arranged for Elodie to begin a correspondence with Prince Henry. Alexandra’s fault that Elodie fell for the prince’s practiced charisma. Alexandra’s doing that Elodie agreed to the betrothal and set sail here, to her doom.
And yet, even though Alexandra was sick for days after every arranged marriage, she had always kept her head down, blinders on as much as possible, just like her husband and everyone else in Aurea had. She had accepted the devilish bargain and her role in it.
Until Cora dared to try to put a stop to it.
So now it had come to this, the only solution Alexandra could think of. She wished there were another answer, but she had spent many years vomiting her guilt on her voyages, and she could think of nothing but this single way out.
Alexandra opened her eyes and forced herself to stand from the hallway floor. Her small daughter had shown her what bravery looked like. Now it was her responsibility to show Cora what to do with it.
ELODIE
Elodie wiped the tears from her puffy eyes and the snot dripping from her nose. Her skin felt like it was still on fire, her ankle throbbed, and who knew what shape her calf was in, other than the unexpected blessing that the dragon’s fire seemed to have cauterized the claw wound.
I’m glad Flor isn’t here to see me like this, she thought. For the obvious reason that she would never want Floria to have to face a dragon, but also, Elodie was supposed to be the courageous older sister, the one who didn’t cry and who could take on anything.
She hadn’t known that “anything” included a traitorous husband and in-laws who would hurl you into a gorge for a bloodthirsty dragon. And what was Father’s role in all this?
Pain washed over her like lightning strikes alternating with typhoon waves of nausea. Elodie turned her head sideways and threw up.
But she hadn’t been able to get clear of herself because she was still wedged inside a crack in a cave wall, and now she was covered in her own vomit in addition to the priestesses’ ceremonial paint. And she was burned. And probably on the brink of infection in her leg.
The walls of the crevice seemed to close in on her, and Elodie began to hyperventilate.
“I c-can’t do this,” she whispered through a fresh onslaught of tears.
She was going to suffocate here, her skeleton trapped between slabs of sharp rock, her burned skin stretched taut like a charred mummy’s. She would never see the sun again, never smile at the lightness of Floria’s laugh, never see the beautiful sandy landscape of her homeland again.
And how would Floria feel when she went home to Inophe and wrote letters to Elodie but never received a reply? She would think Elodie had abandoned her, that Elodie thought it beneath a princess to write to a poor daughter of an unimportant lord in an insignificant land.
Would Flor really think that of her?
Elodie’s heart ached at the possibility.
And what about when Flor grew older and found her own match? Who would comb her ebony hair for her on her wedding day? Who would help her into the gorgeous gown she designed? Who would offer the first toast at her reception?
“It’s supposed to be me,” Elodie said.
And suddenly, a rush of anger flooded through her veins, because how dare Henry and Queen Isabelle take those milestones away from Elodie? How dare they leave Floria alone in the world, without her sister and best friend by her side?
I won’t let that happen, Elodie thought, teeth gritted.
She swiped the tears from her eyes, and this time, they did not return. Because she was going to make the people who put her here pay. She didn’t know how, but it was a promise to herself and to Floria.
But first, Elodie had to find a way to stay alive.
* * *
—
An hour later, she had managed to squeeze herself about fifty yards deeper into the crevice. It was slow going, because Elodie had to keep pushing down the claustrophobia that threatened to subsume her. But it was necessary, for she’d decided that going back out into that cave—with the big tunnel that might be hiding the dragon just out of view—was not a risk she was willing to take.
The crack in the rock wasn’t level, either. At some parts, it ascended and widened; at others, it went down and narrowed. Now, Elodie navigated a section that had twisted sideways, and she had to inch along practically horizontal, with who knew how many tons of granite above her, only inches from her face, possibly about to cave in and crush her and—
Stop it. Elodie bit her lip and forced herself to take a long, slow breath while she stopped her spiraling thoughts. She needed to take this one step at a time. Or one wiggle at a time, as it were.
The mental image of herself wiggling made Elodie laugh a little. And then a lot.
She couldn’t stop giggling, caught halfway between hysteria and soul-crushing fatigue. She laughed and laughed, thinking about how ridiculous it was that she was a princess in a torn-up ceremonial gown, wriggling around like a rainbow-painted caterpillar trapped inside a…inside a what? Elodie was too worn out to come up with a suitable analogy, and for some reason, that made her laugh even harder.
I am losing my mind.
Elodie snorted.
A good ten minutes later, the giggling died down, and bone weariness settled in. Her eyes drooped, and for a second, Elodie fell asleep.
Merdú! She jolted awake. She would not sleep yet. If she did, she might as well die here as infection took hold of her leg, and then dehydration and starvation finished her off. Perhaps the other way around. But in any case, she would not die in the middle of a crack in a rock.
“I am not going to die at all,” she growled to herself, and pushed onward.
Soon, the crack twisted forty-five degrees, so at least Elodie was upright (mostly) again.
“Sakru, kho aikoro. Sakru errad retaza etia.”
Elodie froze.
The dragon’s voice was faint, but menacing. Was it near her? Or was the wind carrying the threats through the caves?
“Kho nekri…sakru nitrerraid feka e reka. Nyerraiad khosif. Errud khaevis. Myve khaevis.”
She shuddered. But the dragon couldn’t reach her inside this small space, right? If it hadn’t already roasted her, it probably wouldn’t do it now. She hoped.
Strong blood is the most powerful blood, Elodie remembered it saying. It wants a chase, an opponent. Not just an easy kill, she reasoned. In the other chamber, the dragon had tried to heat the rocks with its flames to force her out. The temperature was enough to scald her skin but not to kill her. It could have sent fire into the crevice, but it didn’t, because then it would lose both its challenge and its dinner.
