does not concern you—”
“But it does,” Ermintrude said, calmly refuting him. “You speak of Draconas,
don’t you, Gunderson?”
The seneschal made no response, other than a noncommittal bow, but
Ermintrude didn’t need his response.
“I was not spying on you, so don’t give me that look, Edward. I guessed who
it was the moment I saw Gunderson come up here. If you must know, Husband,”
Ermintrude continued, “I’ve been hoping Draconas would come.”
“You are mad,” said Edward, turning away.
“I am not mad,” Ermintrude cried, her voice shaking, “but I am nearly driven
so. He might be able to help, Edward. He might!”
Gunderson glowered and Edward shook his head emphatically and made an
impatient gesture of dismissal. “Go back to your women, my dear—”
Ermintrude held her ground, which, considering the amount of room her hooped
skirts took up, was considerable.
“We owe it to the child, Edward,” she said emphatically. “We owe it to him
to find out if there is anything that can be done.”
“And what makes you think Draconas knows any more than I do—his father?”
Edward demanded angrily.
“I’m not sure,” Ermintrude faltered. She laid her hand on her breast. “But I
have a feeling here, in my heart. Call it a woman’s instinct, if you will, but
please see Draconas, Edward. See him and tell him . . . tell him the truth.”
She drew near him, stretched out her hands in supplication. “For the boy’s
sake, Edward. For the sake of our son.”
He looked at her and for a moment his anger still burned. She clasped her
hands over his, held them fast, and looked into his eyes. His anger, which was
more truly fear than rage, could not withstand her loving gaze. He bowed his
head.
“You always say ‘our’ son,” he murmured brokenly.
“And so he is, Edward,” whispered Ermintrude, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“And so he is and always will be.”
“Tell Draconas we will see him, Gunderson,” said Edward.
Gunderson hesitated, not wanting this, disapproving it. He longed to urge
the king to follow through on his first command and have the “dragon hunter”
marched to the border in chains. Gunderson looked pleadingly at his king, at
the man who was so much more to him than king, dearer than son.
Six years ago, Edward had been a youthful king in his thirties; open,
earnest, handsome, with hazel eyes and a charming smile. Then Draconas had
entered Edward’s life and carried him away to a strange kingdom and a terrible
adventure, that had left him with a son born of death.
Now Gunderson saw Edward stagger beneath the heavy burden of this terrible
secret. Gunderson realized then that unless something changed for the better,
the burden would crush the king. He would fall beneath it and with it, the
kingdom.
Shaking his head, Gunderson headed for the door.
“Gunderson,” called Ermintrude.
“Your Majesty?” He turned.
“Do not bring Draconas here,” she said. “Bring him to the room.”
Gunderson glanced at the king.
Edward closed his eyes. A spasm of pain constricted his face. When he spoke,
it was without a voice. His lips formed the words. “Do it.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Sighing deeply, his heart full to bursting,
Gunderson left to obey his king’s command.
9
HIS EYES WERE PRISMS, HIS MIND A FRACTURED RAINBOW.
All day, all night, Marcus gazed in rapt fascination on colors unimaginable.
If such colors existed in the world at all, they came as unexpectedly as the
rainbow and faded away before anyone could capture them. Anyone except Marcus.
He held the colors trapped in his mind, admired them, played with them, danced
among them. The sun shone through the perpetual stained glass of his fancy by
day. The stars shone through a night that was bright and vibrant with moon glow
and white fire.
People were nothing, food was nothing, sleep was nothing.
He was nothing. The colors were all and everything.
As beautiful and amazing as the colors
“But it does,” Ermintrude said, calmly refuting him. “You speak of Draconas,
don’t you, Gunderson?”
The seneschal made no response, other than a noncommittal bow, but
Ermintrude didn’t need his response.
“I was not spying on you, so don’t give me that look, Edward. I guessed who
it was the moment I saw Gunderson come up here. If you must know, Husband,”
Ermintrude continued, “I’ve been hoping Draconas would come.”
“You are mad,” said Edward, turning away.
“I am not mad,” Ermintrude cried, her voice shaking, “but I am nearly driven
so. He might be able to help, Edward. He might!”
Gunderson glowered and Edward shook his head emphatically and made an
impatient gesture of dismissal. “Go back to your women, my dear—”
Ermintrude held her ground, which, considering the amount of room her hooped
skirts took up, was considerable.
“We owe it to the child, Edward,” she said emphatically. “We owe it to him
to find out if there is anything that can be done.”
“And what makes you think Draconas knows any more than I do—his father?”
Edward demanded angrily.
“I’m not sure,” Ermintrude faltered. She laid her hand on her breast. “But I
have a feeling here, in my heart. Call it a woman’s instinct, if you will, but
please see Draconas, Edward. See him and tell him . . . tell him the truth.”
She drew near him, stretched out her hands in supplication. “For the boy’s
sake, Edward. For the sake of our son.”
He looked at her and for a moment his anger still burned. She clasped her
hands over his, held them fast, and looked into his eyes. His anger, which was
more truly fear than rage, could not withstand her loving gaze. He bowed his
head.
“You always say ‘our’ son,” he murmured brokenly.
“And so he is, Edward,” whispered Ermintrude, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“And so he is and always will be.”
“Tell Draconas we will see him, Gunderson,” said Edward.
Gunderson hesitated, not wanting this, disapproving it. He longed to urge
the king to follow through on his first command and have the “dragon hunter”
marched to the border in chains. Gunderson looked pleadingly at his king, at
the man who was so much more to him than king, dearer than son.
Six years ago, Edward had been a youthful king in his thirties; open,
earnest, handsome, with hazel eyes and a charming smile. Then Draconas had
entered Edward’s life and carried him away to a strange kingdom and a terrible
adventure, that had left him with a son born of death.
Now Gunderson saw Edward stagger beneath the heavy burden of this terrible
secret. Gunderson realized then that unless something changed for the better,
the burden would crush the king. He would fall beneath it and with it, the
kingdom.
Shaking his head, Gunderson headed for the door.
“Gunderson,” called Ermintrude.
“Your Majesty?” He turned.
“Do not bring Draconas here,” she said. “Bring him to the room.”
Gunderson glanced at the king.
Edward closed his eyes. A spasm of pain constricted his face. When he spoke,
it was without a voice. His lips formed the words. “Do it.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Sighing deeply, his heart full to bursting,
Gunderson left to obey his king’s command.
9
HIS EYES WERE PRISMS, HIS MIND A FRACTURED RAINBOW.
All day, all night, Marcus gazed in rapt fascination on colors unimaginable.
If such colors existed in the world at all, they came as unexpectedly as the
rainbow and faded away before anyone could capture them. Anyone except Marcus.
He held the colors trapped in his mind, admired them, played with them, danced
among them. The sun shone through the perpetual stained glass of his fancy by
day. The stars shone through a night that was bright and vibrant with moon glow
and white fire.
People were nothing, food was nothing, sleep was nothing.
He was nothing. The colors were all and everything.
As beautiful and amazing as the colors
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