Sworn To Transfer

“What do you mean?” prodded Ciardis in an attempt to get the Duchess of Carne back on track.

“Your mother wanted to leave the Imperial courts from the moment she got there. To put it simply, she detested it: the fakeness, the frivolity, the life of a spoiled noblewoman. She wanted adventure. At least, that’s what she always said,” the duchess continued with a chuckle. “Make no mistake, she was a consummate actress, charming all of those who met her and making them feel as if they were the only person in the world when she spoke to them. She made sure her feelings about her life here were well hidden, and only discussed them in private under the cover of darkness.”

“Would it have been so bad?” Ciardis whispered. “If people had known? And she had left for a season or two?”

“Oh, my dear,” said the woman beside her as she resumed walking. “You sound so young. You are young. But Lily was your age when she joined the courts, and she knew well what the dangers were. But growing up in the Courts of Sandrin, she had to.”

Firmly, she continued, “You have to understand two things. The first is this: Your mother would have never done anything to disgrace her family name and leaving court, particularly the service of an empress, would have done that. And second: Emperor Cymus was a lax, generous, and bountiful ruler. But he was also spiteful, selfish, and ornery. He didn’t like it when his courtiers strayed too far from his side—what he liked to call his ‘orbit.’ If all of the noblemen and mages were present in court, drunk and satiated, it was easier for him to keep an eye on them. To make sure they weren’t plotting against him.”

She pursed her mouth in distaste. “I can’t say his plan didn’t work. Throughout his rule, he never had any trouble with uprisings or conflict. Not from the wealthy, anyway.”

“Soon, like everyone else, he began to fall in love with your mother,” she said with a heavy sigh. “And that’s when her troubles began.”

“Your husband mentioned something about another dragon,” Ciardis said.

The duchess gave her rueful smile. “I had not forgotten, child.”

“But the dragon—the dragon I know less about. He came to court and set it a flurry with his surprise visit. He was beautiful, the kind of elegance you see only in stone statues. A living tribute to the gods. His eyes were different than the Ambassador’s but brilliant in their own right. A vibrant golden with green specks.”

Pausing, she asked thoughtfully, “Do you know what those specks mean? What their eyes say?”

She didn’t wait for a response. “All male Sahalians have those eyes. When born, their eyes are a warm brown color. They slowly lighten as they grow into the golden hue. Sometime during childhood is when the green specks appear. He told me that.”

No need to ask who “he” was. From the tone of her voice, Ciardis could assume it was the beautiful male dragon.

“But he also mentioned a lot of other things,” said the duchess with a shudder. “Things I will not mention here. But know this: it is rare for a Sahalian dragon to consider humans as their equal. Then and now they are our allies. But you can hear it in their voice, see it in their stride; they consider us beneath them. Mere playthings for their entertainment, and that was what the dragon considered your mother: an entertaining diversion.”

Her tone dipped into a coldness that Ciardis didn’t think the duchess was capable of, “But your mother didn’t want to play. Unlike the courtiers who constantly surrounded her, the dragon could read her emotions, and, she told me, hear her thoughts, as well. As much as she tried to avoid him, he still knew when he saw her that she was lying, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He couldn’t see why she wouldn’t worship him as all the others did, and he poked at her, trying to push down the barriers she was erecting before him. That same season, she disappeared.”

“Well, what happened?” Ciardis said.

“All I know is one night she came into my room in tears,” the duchess said. “She wouldn’t wait the three months until the ship we had planned to run away on was coming to port. She was leaving that very night and nothing could stop her. I couldn’t leave so soon...I wouldn’t leave so soon. She disappeared that night, and I never heard a word from her after that.”

Ciardis sighed. Another dead end.

“But,” said the duchess, “before she left, she gave me something to give to a minstrel who played in a local tavern frequented by the wealthy noblemen of the court.”

“What was it?” said Ciardis breathlessly.

The duchess looked at the young girl standing before her. Eager and smart but naive. The Duchess had a look on her face as if she was seeing a vision – a vision of the past.

“You know you look very much like her and you’re so much less cautious. You should be wary,” she said while staring at Ciardis, “But this is what you seek.”  She raised her right hand and called in her magic. In her palm appeared an oval locket. It was simple and carved of wood.

Ciardis took it tentatively from the duchess’s outstretched hand. The outside was glossy and she could see hinges on the side with a straight line running along the curve of the oval. She tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Who was this minstrel?”

“A friend—a friend of your mother’s who still plays at The Blue Duck Inn on the east bank of the Sandrin River,” the duchess replied. “Every night,” she added significantly.

“Thank you,” said Ciardis.

As the girl walked away cupping the locket in her hands, the duchess thought, Don’t thank me yet, child. I’ve given you more questions than answers. More mysteries than resolutions. If only you could see that.

Ciardis quickly went to her room and changed into something more reasonable. Head rushing with hope she grabbed the first tuk-tuk she could find and instructed them to take her to The Blue Duck Inn. It was dusk now and night was falling. The minstrel who played there should be preparing for his performance.

As she walked in the door, the old dark wood creaked between her feet and rafters soaring above her head. What looked like a three-story building from the outside was actually just one large room. On the main floor were chairs and round tables strategically placed to face the large main stage. Along the wall was a huge bar that curved the length of the room, with three bartenders strategically placed to take orders.

The room was empty except for a few early drinkers. The bartenders knew most of the goings-on of the patrons and performers at any inn. Picking the one currently shining mugs and glasses, Ciardis walked over and ordered a cup of hot cider.

“Will the minstrel be playing tonight?” she asked as she handed over two shillings and took her mug.

“Aye, every night. He’s up first on stage,” said the man with the final wipe of a glass. “You should stick around for the jugglers, though,” he continued, tossing the towel onto his shoulder. “Their fire act can’t be beat. Not another one in town.”

“I’ll be sure to,” said Ciardis while walking away.

She took a seat off to the side. Close enough to the stage to take in the details of the minstrel, but far enough into a dark corner to not catch his eye. She wanted to see him first, to know more about him before they met. And they would meet tonight; she had no doubt about that as she fingered the locket in her pouch.

Before an hour had passed, the inn and tables had filled with patrons. Ciardis hoped Terris wasn’t too worried about her. She’d have to fill her in later on why she’d left the gathering earlier than planned.

And then he came on stage. With curly black hair and a small goatee, he looked like many of the minstrels who’d come to Vaneis in traveling caravans. They’d played in the village inns, accepting coins and a free meal for their performances. As many of them did, he carried a lute, a small string instrument with a melodious overtone. But as he began to sing, Ciardis saw why he performed every night, regardless of the fire-tossing jugglers. His voice enraptured the crowd and his ballads brought back memories of times of old.

As he bowed and came offstage, Ciardis maneuvered herself so that she could intercept him on his way to the bar. Coming up to him, she said, “Good sir, may we speak just for a minute?”

“Now for pretty young woman such as yourself, I have quite a few minutes,” he said with a lecherous wink.

Ciardis decided to ignore the lecherous look and speak plainly.

“You knew my mother,” she said simply.

“Your mother, aye?” he said, continuing on to the bar, “I’ve known a lot of women.” Taking a glass of water