Here There be Dragons: Testing the Waters

Aella had not known how much of a cage their new existence would become. Despite the Tooth fleeing into the night, neither she nor Nereida were brought to task by the king or by the Dragon in Basiano’s form. Instead, they were fairly ignored, which suited Aella just fine. She had no restrictions on her movements, unlike her wife, and so on market days, she would travel, alone, into the city. No one knew her, no one recognized her insignia, at least not in the market place itself. She bought her wife and children fresh, end of season fruit, trying not to feel a stab of longing when she saw Epelda’s favourite fruit, pickled and bright in jars. She bought a jar, and planned to keep it for the darker days that would come as winter did.

The first trip to the market had been testing the waters; she was making sure she was not followed, and was not harassed. When nothing happened, when it seemed the coast was clear, she grew bolder. She went to the docks on her third market trip, frequenting the tavern that served primarily the Sylph merchants. On her second trip to that tavern, she was recognized as an Admiral of Seliniakos. She quietly told her story, letting the Sylph merchant buy her a drink to dispel the illusion of a debt. The Sylph drank the story in without touching their own mead, and they left the smoky tavern quickly. On her fourth trip, Aella was greeted by an old Sylph with several tattoos. He told her that he had heard tales of the Tooth having disappeared into the Cursed Waters, that her captain was a winged Sylph. That she was last seen fleeing at full sail as if chased by fate itself. He promised that if he made his way back to port, that he would let her know if he heard more. Then, knowing the trouble it would mean, he leaned in low.

“Grand Admiral… how free are your wings?” She closed her eyes.

“The cage is gilded and meant to hold my wife, not me. There’s only one to blame, and so change nothing.” She hoped he understood. Keep doing business with the Salamanders, it was not their fault the king was as irritable as a dragon’s asshole. This was not a reason to go to war. He nodded sagely, and they exchanged other news, news of the shifting tides of the war with the Demons, though his knowledge was almost as old as hers, it was from the Gnomish side, where the smaller, hardier folk were struggling to keep the Demons out of their waters.

“They never manage to make land for long,” the Sylph reported. “The Greenthumbs have developed some downright nasty vegetation that is… carnivorous.” He laughed a mean laugh, and Aella found herself laughing with him, feeling grounded. She even accompanied him back to his ship, Stormageddon, spending an hour looking her over. She had clearly seen more storms than most, and was battle-scarred not from cannons but from lightning.

“Seven great storms have struck her mast, yet she remains. We renamed her Stormageddon after the third strike.” He laughed. “I think the Great Dragon smiles on her now.” Aella laughed at that too, though she privately hoped not. She’d had enough of storms and dragons both. “We will be back in the spring, Grand Admiral. If you are still here, we should reconnect.”

The days at home blended into a quiet acceptance from her wife, acceptance and grief that she had traded their freedom for seeing her mother. Aella made sure to spend time with her wife each night, holding her hand, making sure she knew that Aella did not blame her for any of this. The boys played well enough, and seemed happy, and so she did not fight against the insane etiquette that had the royals demanding she stay at least two paces away from her wife when they were in public.

But one evening in late autumn, things began to change for the worse. It started as a “family dinner”, which Aella saw as a means that the king used for keeping Nereida under his thumb. The dinner started easily enough, until Nereida’s mother asked her if she wanted family rings or to commission her own. Nereida froze, looking like a trapped animal.

“I don’t want rings, we have bracelets, as the Seliniaks do,” she whispered, looking like she wanted to flee. Aella perked up at this, waiting to see if she needed to step in. They had talked about rings, once, but Nereida had told her she wouldn’t wear another ring ever. Her hand still bore the indentation from the cheap ring her husband had bought for her, even after five years, and she couldn’t touch a ring without thinking of him. And without thinking of the things he’d done. Aella knew her wife would never reveal that to her father, never give him a weakness. Still, the old man was like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“Oh? Are our cultures not good enough for you now?” His eyes were narrowed, his hands gripping the fork and knife in his hand like they were weapons and not utensils. The other spouses looked away, no one wanted to speak up on Nereida’s behalf, on her behalf. They were alone, without allies. Bassiano ate his soup as if it were the most delectable thing he’d ever tasted, not sparing a single glance for the sister he had travelled the world to find. And to the others, that spoke volumes. Unfortunately, none of them, save the traitor, knew Basiano was possessed. They couldn’t know.

“It’s not that,” Nereida tried, but her father kept talking, his face reddening with each word.

“I demand that you accept our culture, as you have hers!”

“Oh?” Nereida asked, responding at last to his anger with her ice. Aella smirked across the table at Caleb. Someone always arranged the seating so that she was staring at the traitor’s stupid face. It had to be on purpose. At least he had the sense to look frightened by Nereida’s shifting tone. “Shall I submit to all cultures then? Perhaps follow the ancient siren ways too? Have her bite my neck as part of the ceremony?”

Three different spouses began choking on their soup. The traitor went white and risked glancing at Aella, who, deciding she needed to enjoy herself, winked at him. He made a strangled, choking sound as well. Served the bloody bastard right. But when she glanced at Nereida, she saw that Nereida was clutching the tablecloth in her hands, her claw tips shredding the fine fabric as she shook with the rage she was locking in. Aella quietly slipped over to Alejo at the children’s table across the room, and whispered for him to take his brother and go. Alejo nodded briskly, casting a worried glance at his mother, before they fled back to their wing. Their nanny was the only adult in the room besides Aella who spared a thought for the boys, and she hurried after them silently.

The Grand Admiral slid back into her chair, sitting straight and calm in the soft red velvet chair. The traitor had seen her movements, and, in a surprising move, he was mimicking her and getting his children out as well. He had some brains.

“It is just a ring,” the King declared, sounding exasperated by his daughter’s icy demeanor. “Not some barbaric maiming ritual.”

“It is not just anything,” Nereida countered, her voice still cold and deceptively calm. Aella felt the cool rush of her wife’s magic on her skin, and knew she was barely maintaining control. She looked over to the closest thing she had to an ally here: the traitor, who was urging his children out. She mouthed “Out, now,” at him. He nodded, and started getting Basiano’s children out as well, moving out with them. “My first husband said it was “just” a ring,” Nereida continued, ignoring or unaware of the children being rushed from her presence. The calm of her tone was washed away now by her pain and her anger. “It “just” meant that he owned me. It “just” meant that he felt that he could drown our child if I did not behave!”

Every glass of wine froze in the room. Eating stopped, and no one dared to breathe. Even the king, normally so disagreeable, looked haunted by her words. Nereida’s mother was crying silently, staring in horror at her daughter as if she was broken.

“So no,” Nereida continued, her voice back to the deadly, icy calm. “I will not pick out a ring tomorrow or any other day.” And she lifted her spoon to her mouth and began to eat her frost-covered soup as if it were still warm. After two bites, she set it down. “I find I am no longer hungry. Good night, Father, Mother.” The siren princess stood, moving gracefully out and leaving stunned silence in her wake. Aella stood to follow her wife, but the King, for the first time in memory, addressed her.

“Countess Aella.” She turned and inclined her head in a small bow. She ground her teeth, trying not to take offence that he dismissed her earned "Admiral" title, using instead the one she was simply born to.

“Your Majesty?" She kept her tone carefully neutral.

“My daughter did not tell me how her first spouse died, or even his name for the birth records.” He sounded suspicious, angry even. She lifted her chin, and met the eyes of the Queen, ignoring the King’s anger.

“He drowned at sea along with her captors. That man tried to sell your daughter to the demons. He did, in a way, succeed, and is the reason she carries scars on her body and her heart. He deserves no name, no remembrance and no mention. If you need a name for the records, you may put mine, for I love them all.” The Queen’s smile blossomed, warm and loving. Her husband simmered next to her, but she did not seem to notice.

“Thank you, darling girl. See to Nereida, for me, would you?” the Queen inclined her head slightly as she spoke.

“Yes ma’am.” Aella bowed more deeply to the Queen, ignoring the way the old man was going an ungodly shade of red as he loomed behind his wife. She strolled out as if everything was well. She should have known her attitude toward the king would make her life worse.

At first it was not obvious. But two days after their dinner, when Aella had gone to market, she had to defend herself against a mugger. She did so without too much fuss. The man was not expecting her to fight fast and dirty, and after a well-placed strike to his sternum, she left him gasping in the dirt. That would have not caused Aella worry, except that two days later, when she went out again, a different person tried to mug her before she could reach the docks, in the same spot. This one was better trained, or more desperate, but she believed it was the former. She left that encounter with a quickly blackening eye, though she left that mugger in the street as well, gasping for breath.

The third time she went to the market, eight days after their dinner and a mere week before the first day of winter, she felt her skin prickle as she approached the dock. She was not sure if it was magic or instinct that spoke to her, but she was being followed. Aella deviated from her usual route and headed to the tavern that the guards frequented. She found one that she recognized, a younger man she had sparred with once. She bought him lunch, and made her offer: follow her at a distance. Don’t be seen. And she would pay him his monthly salary for the day’s work. It was nearly all the gold she had carried in, and it was too much gold for the young man to refuse, so he agreed.

The first hour was fine, and she was able to shop without the strange prickling sensation. But once she headed toward the dock, she felt it again, the raising of her small hairs, the prickling of her skin, the overwhelming feeling of being watched and followed. Aella refused to be cornered or cowed, and so she continued as if nothing was wrong, until she got to the spot where she had twice now been jumped. It was a poorer district, where dock-workers lived. The streets always smelled of human waste, the buildings were all muddied. This was the most direct way to the docks, however. The merchant roads were filled with carts, long winding streets, and too many people.

As she walked down the muddy, wet road, something snapped. She turned just in time to catch the assailant’s blade with her own. The person attacking her was larger than her, broad shouldered but still quick. He used a strange two-handed blade that she was not familiar with. It was large, curved and heavy looking with a red tassel at the end. She couldn’t properly block it, and the momentum of the strike knocked her off her feet. She rolled through the mud, striking at the ankle of her assailant as she rolled away. She only managed to graze them, but the cut would sting, and would cause distraction. The assailant roared, their voice echoing in the streets. Good. That would draw attention. Aella’s heart was pounding in her ears, and everything seemed sharper. She let her magic sing, helping her dodge the huge blade, her feet moving of their own accord in a dance that she knew the steps to but couldn’t quite remember. She did not waste her energy on flashy attacks or quips. She would slide in close to her assailant, her much smaller blade only nicking the assailant. She did not want to kill them; if she did, she would not be able to get any answers.

Their clashing dance had drawn a crowd as predicted, and she saw her assailant’s feet shift. He went on the defensive, realizing that he no longer had the upperhand. People were calling for the guards. Her planted guard came forward now, and demanded surrender from the large assailant. He was not prepared for the would-be killer to turn on him. Aella saw, in a rare flash of day-light prophecy, that the guard would die if she did nothing. She could have her answers at the cost of an innocent man.

Aella could not pay that cost.

She surged forward, carried on training, instinct and magic. She slipped inside the assailant’s guard even as he grunted in surprise. She brought her sword up into a small hole in his defences, driving her sword into his gut. With what mercy she could manage, she ended him swiftly so that he did not slowly die of his wound.

Other guards arrived, and her shadow declared her innocence, said she had saved him. There were so many witnesses that none could deny the story. By the time she had been escorted back to the castle, her story had reached the marketplace, and, she suspected, the King.

The next evening’s supper saw the King declaring that the docks were too dangerous for those of the palace to visit without guards. But Aella saw the King’s eyes twitch when he looked at her. She knew that the young guard who had spoken out in her defense had been “let go” for “poor performance.” She knew dragonshite when she smelled it. Her only solace came from the traitor himself, who passed her a single piece of paper with the guard’s name, and a ship name. A ship in the traitor’s control, but it was better than believing the youth had died for helping her.

When the first day of winter came, Aella went to the garden and found a piece of wood. The palace had provided them with wood, but she wanted something that was hers. She sat outside, carving the single name into the wood until her fingers were numb with the cold. And while she could smell the feast that was being prepared, smell the food that Nereida had once made sound heavenly, all she could taste in her mouth was ash. Aella joined the Salamanders as they cast their grief into large fires. She kept the name from her wife, not wanting Nereida to see what she had carved, but once it was in the fire, the log rolled down and revealed what she had carved to her gathered family. She did not let herself cry as she watched the flames consume the name that she grieved most, even as she heard Nereida start to cry. She stared at the letters as the flames made them nothing more than ash and a dead dream.

The Dragon’s Tooth.