She felt rough stubbled skin against her cheek, arms tense with muscle; the voice husky and pleasant, murmured against her hair.
He was tall and lean, and if the mingling of fire and moonlight did not lie, his face was neither
foolish nor cruel. He was unlike other suitors; there was a certain sadness in his voice, a hesitancy and humor that made her want to hear him speak. He did not touch her again when she drew closer, but she heard the pleased smile in his voice.
His face was quite easy to look at. He had tawny hair and eyes, and rough, strong, graceful
features that were young in expression and happier than their experience.
His name was Perrin. He was gentle and courteous to his servants, had an ear for his musicians' playing, and had lean, strong hands that moved easily among the jeweled goblets and gold-rimmed plates.
The dragon had fallen on its back, with the lion sprawled on top of it.
A woman lay on her back, with Perrin on top of her. His eyes were closed, his face bloody; he drew deep, ragged breaths, one hand clutching the woman's shoulder, his open mouth against her neck. The woman's weary face, upturned to the sky above Perrin's shoulder, was also bloodstained; her free hand lifted weakly, fell again across Perrin's back.
Her hair was as gold as the sun's little box; her face as pale and perfect as the moon's
face. The woman drew a deep breath. Her eyes flickered open; they were as blue as the sky.
She turned her head, looked at Perrin. She lifted her hand from his back, touched her eyes delicately, her brows rising in silent question. Then she looked again at the blood on his face.
She stiffened, began pushing at him and talking at the same time. "I remember. I remember now. You were that monstrous lion that kept nipping at my wings." Her voice was low and sweet, amused as she tugged at Perrin. "You must get up. What if someone should see us? Oh, dear. You
must be hurt." She shifted out from under him, made a hasty adjustment to her bodice, and caught sight of Lark. "Oh, my dear," she cried, "it's not what you think."
"I know," Lark whispered, still amazed at the woman's beauty, and at the sight of Perrin, whom she had not seen in seven years, and never in the
light, lying golden-haired and slack against another woman's body. The woman bent over Perrin, turned him on his back.
"He is hurt. Is there water?" She glanced around vaguely, as if she expected a bullfrog to emerge in tie and tails, with water on a tray. But Lark had already fetched it in her hands, from a little rill of fresh water. She moistened Perrin's face with it, let his lips wander over her hands,
searching for more. The woman was gazing at Lark.
The dragon princess: And the way we suddenly became ourselves again. I am--we are most grateful to you. My father is king of this desert, and he will reward you richly if you come to his court." She took a tattered piece of her hem, wiped a corner of Perrin's lips, then, in after-thought, her own.
"My name is Lark. This man is-"
"Yes," the princess said, musing. Her eyes were very wide, very blue; she was not listening to Lark. "He is, isn't he? Do you know, I think there was a kind of prophecy when I was born that I would marry a lion. I'm sure there was. Of course they kept it secret all these years, for fear I might actually meet a lion, but... here it is. He. A lion among men.
Do you think I should explain to my father what he was, or do you think I should just... not exactly lie, but omit that part of his past? What do you think?
"So I should tell my father. Will you help me raise him? There is a griffin just beyond those rocks. Very nice; in fact we became friends before I had to fight the lion. I had no one else to talk to except bullfrogs. And you know what frogs are like. Very little small talk, and that they repeat incessantly." She hoisted Perrin up, brushing sand off his shoulders, his chest, his thighs. "I don't think my father will mind at all. About the lion part. Do you?" She put her fingers to her lips suddenly and gave a piercing whistle that silenced the frogs and brought the griffin, huge and flaming red, up over the rocks. "Come," she said to it. Lark clung to Perrin's arm.
"Then how wonderful that you have found him. The griffin will fly us to my father's palace. It's the only one for miles, in the desert. You'll find it easily." She laid her hand on Lark's. "Please come. I'd take you with us, but it would tire the griffin-"
"But you see we are going across the desert, and anyway I think a nut might be a little small." She smiled brightly, but very wearily at Lark. "I feel I will never be able to thank you enough." She pushed the upright Perrin against the griffin's back, and he toppled face down
between the bright, uplifted wings.
"Perrin!" Lark cried desperately, and the princess, clinging to the griffin's neck, looked down at her, startled, uncertain.
...while the princess, cheerful again, waved one hand and held Perrin tightly with the other.
"Good-bye . . ."
What would he think when he woke and saw her golden hair, heard her sweet, amused
voice telling him that she had been the dragon he had fought, and that
at the battle's end, she had awakened in his arms?
And so. And therefore. And of course what all this must mean was, beyond
doubt, their destiny: the marriage of the dragon and the lion. And if
they were very lucky--wouldn't it be splendid--the enchantress might come
to see them married.
Finally, climbing a rocky hill, she saw an enormous and beautiful palace, whose immense gates of bronze and gold lay open to welcome the richly dressed people riding horses
and dromedaries and elegant palanquins into it.
She hurried to join them before the sun set and the gates were closed. She looked like a beggar, she knew but the people spoke to her kindly, and even tossed her a coin or two.
"We have come for the wedding of our princess and the Lion of the Desert, whom it is her destiny to wed."
"Who foretold such a destiny?" Lark asked, her voice trembling.
"Someone," they assured her. "The king's astrologer. A great sorceress disguised as a beggar, not unlike yourself. A bullfrog, who spoke with a human tongue at her birth. Her mother was frightened by a lion just before childbirth, and dreamed it. No one exactly remembers who, but someone did. Destiny or no, they will marry in three days, and never was there a more splendid couple than the princess and her lion."
As she walked down the streets, people stared at her, marveling. They made way for her. A man offered her his palanquin, a woman her sunshade. She shook her head at both, laughing again. "I will not be shut up in a box, nor will I shut out the sun." So she walked, and all the wedding
guests slowed to accompany her to the inner courtyard.
Word of her had passed into the palace long before she did. The princess, dressed in fine flowing silks the color of her eyes, came out to meet the stranger who rivaled the sun. She saw the dress before she saw Lark's face.
"Oh, my dear," she breathed, hurrying down the steps. "Say this is a wedding gift for me. You cannot possibly wear this to my wedding... No one will look at me! Say you brought it for me. Or tell me what I can give you in return for it." She stepped back, half-laughing, still staring at the sun's creation. "Where are my manners? She looked finally into Lark's eyes. She clapped her hands, laughing again, with a touch of relief in her voice. "You have come! Perrin will be so pleased to meet you. He is sleeping now; he is still weak from his wounds."
She took Lark's hand in hers and led her up the steps. "Now tell me how I can persuade you to let me have that dress. Look how everyone stares at you. It will make me the most beautiful woman in the world on my wedding day."
Lark, who had been thinking while the princess chattered, answered, "I will give you the dress for a price."
"Anything! "
Lark stopped short. "No--you must not say that!" she cried fiercely. "Ever! You could pay far more than you ever imagined for something as trivial as this dress!"
"All right," the princess said gently, patting her hand. "I will not give you just anything. Though I'd hardly call this dress trivial. But tell me what you want."
"I want a night alone with your bridegroom."
The princess's brows rose. She glanced around hastily to see if anyone were listening, then she took Lark's other hand. "We must observe a few proprieties," she said softly, smiling. "Not even I have had a whole night in my lion's bed--he had been too ill. I would not grant this to any woman. But I know you mean no harm. I assume you wish to tend him during the night with magic arts so that he can heal faster."
"If I can do that, I will. But--"
"Then you may. But I must have the dress first."
Lark was silent. So was the princess, who held her eyes until Lark bowed her head.
The princess said lightly, "You were gracious to refuse my first impulse to give you anything. I trust you, but in that dress you are very beautiful, and you know how men are.
Anyway, there is no need at all for you to appear to him like this. And how can I surprise him on our wedding day with this dress if he sees you in it first?
Lark yielded knowing she wanted to see Perrin with all her heart, and the princess only wanted what dazzled her eyes. "You are right," she said.
"You may tell people that I will stay with Perrin to heal him if I can. And that I brought the dress for you."
The princess kissed her cheek. "Thank you. I will find you something else to wear, and show you his room. I'm not insensitive--I fell in love with him myself the moment I looked at him. So I can hardly blame you for--and of course he is in love with me. But we hardly know each other, and I don't want to confuse him with possibilities at this delicate time. You understand."
"Perfectly."
"Good."
She took Lark to her own sumptuous rooms and had her maid dress Lark in something she called "refreshingly simple" but which Lark called "drab," and knew it belonged not even to the maid, but to someone much farther down the social strata, who stayed in shadows and was not allowed to wear lace.
"Till sunrise," she said; the tone of her voice added, And not a moment after.
She saw Perrin's face in the light of a single
candle beside the bed. It was bruised and scratched; there was a long
weal from a dragon's claw down one bare shoulder. He looked older, weathered, his pale skin burned by the sun, which had scarcely touched
it in years. The candlelight picked out a thread of silver here and
there among the lion's gold of his hair. She reached out impulsively,
touched the silver. "My poor Perrin," she said softly. "At least, as a
dove, for seven years, you were faithful to me. You shed blood at every
seventh step I took. And I took seven steps for every drop you shed. How
strange to find you naked in this bed, waiting for a swan instead of
Lark. At least I had you for a little while, and at long last you are unbewitched."
She bent over him, kissed his lips gently. He opened his eyes.
She turned away quickly before the loving expression in them changed to
disappointment. But he moved more swiftly, reaching out to catch her
hand before she left.
"Lark?" He gave a deep sigh as she turned again, and eased back into the
pillows. "I heard your sweet voice in my dream.... I didn't want to wake
and end the dream. But you kissed me awake. You are real, aren't you?"
he asked anxiously as she lingered in the shadows, and he pulled her out
of darkness into light.
He looked at her for a long time, silently, until her eyes filled with
tears. "I've changed," she said.
"Yes," he said. "You have been enchanted, too."
"And so have you, once again."
He shook his head. "You have set me free."
"And I will set you free again," she said softly, "to marry whom you choose."
He moved again, too abruptly, and winced. His hold tightened on her
hand. "Have I lost all enchantment?" he asked sadly. "Did you love the
spellbound man more than you can love the ordinary mortal? Is that why
you left me?"
She stared at him. "I never left you--"
"You disappeared," he said wearily. "I was glad when the dragon attacked me, because I thought it might kill me. Then I woke up in my own body, in a strange bed, with a princess beside me explaining that we were destined to be married."
"Did you tell her you were married?"
He sighed. "I thought it was just another way of being enchanted. A lion, a dove, marriage to a beautiful princess I don't love... what difference did anything make?"
Lark: "She took you away from me before I could tell her-I tried-"
And thus the princess found them, as she opened the door, speaking softly, "My dear, I forgot, if he wakes you must give him this potion--I mean, this tea of mild herbs to ease his pain a little-"She kicked the door shut and saw their surprised faces. "Well," she said frostily. "Really."
"This is my wife," Perrin said.
"Well, really." She flung the sleeping potion out the window, and folded her arms. "You might have told me."
"I never thought I would see her again."
"How extraordinarily careless of you both." She tapped her foot furiously for a moment, and then said, slowly, her face clearing a little, "That's why you were there to rescue us! Now I understand. And I snatched him away from you without even thinking--and after you had searched for him so long, I made you search--oh, my dear." She clasped her hands tightly. "What I said. About not spending a full night here.
You must not think-"
This dragon princess may have been the inspiration for Elle Skinner's equally blond, blue-eyed, and outrée Lady Valdis (Lark is raven-haired like Svetla, but Perrin is blond unlike Marcus). Let's see if she (Valdis) gets just jilted, like this dragon princess, or defenestrated!
The palace where Katla lives is also on a rock, overlooking Lake Vänern. The court is equally sumptuous, yet slightly austere fitting a warrior nation. The warrior king/former commander of the guards is actually her stepfather (she is a lovechild, conceived by her mother's human beau).
Speaking of being golden blond and blue-eyed, Katla transforms after healing/resurrecting the one she actually loved, Gustav Leutnant. She loses her dragon wings and special powers, the scales on her cheeks become freckles, her talons are reduced to normal nails, her flaming hair turns a lighter shade (golden blond), and her green eyes turn bluish-green. This whole "mugglification" also tears at her state of health. She had been warned not to take such a chance: the resurrection/extreme healing spell (a bullet lodged in a young lieutenant's heart was the wound to be healed!) would at worst cost her her life, but having lost Charles was a lesson harsh enough not to be that shallow and to tell true love from mere infatuation. The one who wished for anything beautiful or exciting her sight was set on sacrifices her powers for the life of the one she truly loved...
Charles Liddell physically resembles his namesake in the Pattou novel:
His hair was golden, glowing bright as a bonfire in the light of the candle. And his features were fair.
In Edith Pattou's novel, the drug used on the dashing and golden-haired Charles by his troll fiancée is a powder called rauha. Which happens, coincidentally, to be the Finnish word for "peace" (cognate with German "Ruhe". Many troll words in the novel are actually Finnish.)! It's used, in the first place, as a painkiller, with the side effects of erasing the drinker's memories and creating a strong addiction, and withdrawal from rauha is lethal to addicts (could rauha actually be opium/laudanum? Or some mushroom substance, perhaps? I think it's most likely to be deadly nightshade, or some other alkaloid!)...
Charles
Nyamh
Ice Queen
It was a man.
His hair was golden, glowing bright as a bonfire in the light of the candle. And his features were fair. The stranger was wearing the white nightshirt. It fit him well, not too wide nor too narrow across the shoulders; the sleeves falling to his wrists, neither too long nor too short.
He lay on his side. His hand curled gently on the white sheet in front of him. There was a silver ring on his smallest finger. I could see sparse golden hairs on the back of his hand, and the curved fingers seemed vulnerable.
I made sure that Urda and Tuki wrapped him well in furs and gave him frequent draughts of slank. The cold will be an adjustment for him, but soon enough he will grow used to it.
His lovely face is pale and pinched with unhappiness, but it does not disturb me, for in time that will fade. There is rauha in the slank and this will help ease his pain, and blur his memories as well.
And my queen is most generous when the nightmares come. If I cry out, which I often do, she will come to me at once and bring me a cup of warm slank. She sits with me until my shaking abates.
I do not think there is anything now that would stir Myk's memory—the rauha slank is too powerful for that to happen—but such a slip-up may trigger a nightmare. (I still do not know why the slank does not eliminate those occasional nightmares. It is irksome.)
I saw Tuki for just a moment that afternoon, and he whispered to me, when no one was near, that he had given Myk the unpowdered slank again the night before. It had been seven days since the white bear's last dose of slank laced with rauha. Tuki saw a difference in him.
Tuki learned that Myk had a large cup of slank each night before bedtime. For a week Tuki had managed to substitute plain slank for the kind with the powder. I have some idea he switched his own slank, unpowdered, for Myk's, which he poured away.
I have been feeling somewhat odd of late. Not ill or unhappy. Just a little different, like my sight is clearer, or my thoughts. Or perhaps it is that I feel more awake; I certainly rise in the morning feeling more alert. I can't quite figure it out, but I am glad of it.
I have even had brief memories of the time before I came to the ice palace. Even before I became a white bear. They are fleeting but pleasant.
Just today I recalled being a child and playing on a field of the greenest grass, with many bright yellow flowers poking through the green. There were other children and we were all laughing together at something. It was very enjoyable, the memory.
I have not told my queen because she does not care for mention of the past. And I do not wish to upset her, especially when she is so busy preparing for our future happiness.
Myk seems sleepy eyed, somewhat subdued. I suppose it is the effect of the double portion of powdered slank I gave him last night. But when he looks at me, he smiles...
Last night Myk had one of his nightmares, the first in some time. I attribute it to wedding-night jitters and am not unduly concerned. He was very agitated, though, and I had to give him double the portion of the powdered slank. It was very peaceful, holding him in my arms as he settled down to sleep, his golden head resting on my shoulder.
MY QUEEN IS RADIANT. I can hardly believe it is me she wishes to wed. Tomorrow. How can I be worthy of such an honor?
Tuki is acting odd. All the time he gazes at the entrance, as though expecting someone to enter. He has hardly touched the delicious food.
I wish I did not feel so drowsy and dull witted.
...but most died because of the slank—or, I should say, of withdrawal from the slank doctored with rauha. Those who had been at the palace for years and had been fed a daily diet of it were not able to adjust to life without slank. The withdrawal was a terrible thing, causing a violent trembling of the entire body, vomiting, and eventually an abrupt halt of breathing.
"Charles," he replied.
"My name," he said with a smile that lit his face. Setting down his flauto, he leaned over and picked up the book beside him on the couch. Opening it to one of the blank pages at the beginning, he pointed to some words written in a flowing, cursive hand:
Charles Pierre Philippe, Dauphin
"I wrote this," he said. "My name. I am Charles Pierre Philippe." He set down the book.
And then he took both my hands tightly in his.
CHARLES PIERRE PHILIPPE was the fifth child of Charles VI, king of Fransk. My friend Havamal, the custodian of Master Eckstrom's library of books, helped me track down information about Charles's origins. It turned out that Valois, the word inscribed on the ring he gave Rose when they married, was the title of the line of royalty from which he was descended. Charles's younger brother was the dauphin whom the maid Jeanne d'Arc helped to put on the throne. But that is another tale.
All it says in the written history was that Charles, beloved son of Charles VI and Isabeau, was born around the time of a peace parley of Amiens and died at age nine. From what we have learned of his parents—his father was hopelessly mad and his mother greedy and traitorous—it is possible he was better off as a white bear. I do not know whether he would agree with that or not.
Charles dedicated himself to music and, in fact, invented a new design for flautos in which the mouthpiece cap contained a sponge to absorb the moisture from the player's breath. It was quite a success, and Charles became both a sought-after musician and an inventor. However, he never cared much for traveling, preferring to stay at home with his wife and children. They had four—one for each of the cardinal points of the compass.
In the Laboulaye story Perlino (rather influenced by Andersen's Snow Queen!), the leading character, blond and dashing like Charles, is tricked by the Countess of Clanking Shields to drink a golden powder that freezes his heart to ice, making him care for nothing but the poisonous powder, and causes addiction.
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