Page 4 of Water Dragon
She glided over with another blithe smile and a nod when he asked her to keep Iona company, then he jumped over the balustrade and joined Sir Patrick in the center of the circle.
Chapter 2 - Iona
She watched as Malcolm gave Sir Patrick a slight bow. Sir Patrick did as well, indicating he was ready to begin. They raised their swords and, within a blink, Sir Patrick had moved forward, the blade of his sword singing along with Malcolm’s as they began the dance around the training circle.
Iona bit the inside of her cheek, knowing Sir Patrick was a tough opponent. For all her blustering of how he had crossed the line by using magic on her, the last thing she wanted was to see him humiliated before his court. She could feel Lady Shannon’s gaze on her but pretended to be too preoccupied with the swordfight to pay the highborn much heed.
Of course, it didn’t take long for Lady Shannon to speak.
“Who taught you combat?” she asked.
It was an innocent enough question, but there was no way that Iona could let her know she had been trained by the prince himself. It would put too many things into question, the foremost being exactly how close the two of them were. The last thing Iona needed was a rumor spread that she was doing more than simply making the prince’s bed. And so, she replied, “My father.”
“Your father?” Lady Shannon asked, eyebrow cocked so high it looked ready to kiss her hairline. “The sheep herder?”
“Yes,” Iona said, though she kicked herself for her choice, thinking fast as she added, “In another life, before he chose to settle down with my mother and raise sheep, he fought in the wars alongside the king. It’s how my mother got her position here.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Her father had been present during the wars, but he had not fought in them, and he did not know even the first thing about what to do in battle. He was a gentle sort of dragon who would much rather herd sheep than rip them out of the fields and devour them in some far-off glen. He liked to make that clear every so often. especially to the sheep in his care, patting them each in turn with such affection it always made her proud to be his daughter.
She could have such affection as well. Her desire to hold a sword she got from her mother, who might never have wielded anything bigger than a knife, but who had a fighting spirit.
“How quaint,” Lady Shannon said. “And how long have you been on such good terms with his highness?”
Iona glanced at her, then focused back on the swordfight, replying, “You know that I have known his highness since we were dragonlings.”
“You’re right, I did know that,” Lady Shannon smiled. “I have eyes, you know, for every dragon—big or small—that moves through the castle. I’m not Sir Patrick, after all, who only has eyes for what is right in front of him at any given moment.”
She huffed a laugh, expecting Iona to join in her mirth, but Iona refused. She would not be baited into speaking about a highborn behind his back. Not when said dragon could outmatch her with sword, tooth, and talon any day of the week. Lady Shannon grew quiet, looking for a different tack, Iona had no doubt.
The lady was not that bad, if she was honest. There were far worse courtiers. Those that would step over someone who had fallen down in their path and simply carry on with their day. When Lady Shannon joined the court, they had all been beyond childhood, and Lady Shannon had never been brutal or unkind. But the way she had a habit of willfully choosing to make Iona feel as though she was see-through had, on some days, been just as bad.
Especially when Iona had always been perfectly aware that Lady Shannon was observant of her surroundings, and that the lady could see her perfectly well. Servants were not to be seen nor heard. That was what Iona had been taught her whole life and the highborn took this adage most seriously, but none as serious as Lady Shannon. Iona straightened her back, lifted her chin, telling herself to not care. At this moment, she was present among the courtiers at the prince’s request. That should afford her some standing. She would not be intimidated.
“My question, though, my dear, was regarding how long it has been since you formed a friendship with him,” Lady Shannon practically purred.
She was not going to let it go, was she?
“I would hardly call it a friendship, my lady,” Iona lied.
“Please know that if there is one thing that I cannot stand it is being taken for a fool,” Lady Shannon bit, this time her tone sharp with a sincere warning. “He desires to make you a courtier,” she added firmly.
Iona’s stomach swooped as the words were spoken. That was impossible. The lady must be mistaken.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” Lady Shannon huffed, mildly impatient though not very harsh. “Why else would he be introducing you now, after all these years?”
Iona plastered on a smile, even though her hearts had picked up their pace considerably. What was he thinking? She had no conceivable reason to accept a place at court. And, frankly, she had no conceivable right to a place either. He couldn’t create a space for her simply because he was the future monarch. Could he? And even if he could—should he?
By the behavior of Lady Shannon, Iona got the distinct feeling that he shouldn’t, and perhaps most of the courtiers weren’t as astute as the lady and thought of Iona as a mere plaything brought out to be shown off to them. If they caught wind of the true reason Iona had been asked to fight, she was certain there would be far less smiles directed her way.
She watched as Sir Patrick was seconds from being defeated—Malcolm avoiding using magic this time—and, with a reddened face sleek from sweat, he was beginning to look as though he knew it. Malcolm was the strongest fighter. But since Sir Patrick clearly recognized this, and as nobody actively watching their clash could question it, Malcolm slipped up with a parry and gave Sir Patrick the chance to uphold his reputation by offering him the win. Sir Patrick took it graciously and everyone watching applauded and cheered.
It was a farse, but one so regularly played that no one questioned it. Apart from Malcolm, who was the most formidable of the formidable, Sir Patrick bested anyone who stepped into the circle with him, so clearly there was no need to nihilate him or teach him lessons in humility.
Iona rolled her eyes at Malcolm, who was forever mitigating to keep all those who surrounded him happy and content. Perhaps especially those with power. It was strategic, but there was also a streak of indecisiveness in his behavior that made Iona want to shake him. Sometimes she wished he would focus less on what everyone else wanted and more on what he wanted for himself.
Malcolm grasped Sir Patrick’s hand, raising it high, as he had with her. Accepting the cheers of their onlookers, both men smiled broadly. When Malcolm saw her expression, that smile faltered slightly. He knew what he had done and what she would have to say about it.
She didn’t want to be a nag, but sometimes she felt like she was the only one speaking the truth in his ear. She knew he needed it and that, deep down, he was grateful for it. She was just waiting for the day when he could be his own truth-speaker. Could this be the reason he wanted to elevate her? Make her part of his court before he took the crown? So that he would be able to keep her close and have her whisper corrections in his ear whenever he might stray?
