The Return of the Dragonhawk

Chapter 1 - The Tribulations of a Lady

Year of the Brazen Stallion 3013

"And who are you?" Rhoz demanded of the raven-haired girl who had presumed to tap on the door of her bedchamber. After the nerve-wrenching ordeal of her thirteenth birthday festivities, she was in no mood for intruders.

The girl curtsied with a tiny wobble, momentarily lowering herself to Rhoz' eye level. "Your maid, Your Kynship."

"My maid? I have no need of a maid."

Before Rhoz could slam the door shut, her new maid stepped over the threshold into the chamber.

Rhoz raised her hand to strike, her voice thinning to a screech. "GET OUT!"

The intruder closed the door softly behind her. "Your Kynship, you are now no longer a child, but a lady, and you must have a maid." She spoke with refinement, as a lady speaks, but haltingly, as if groping for words.

Rhoz let her hand drop to her side. "Very well. Then you must do what I command, and I command you to leave me alone until morning."

More than anything, Rhoz craved solitude to pull off her sweaty garments, stretch out on the couch, and admire the newly-decorated chamber that was hers and hers alone, with no younger siblings to claim any part of her territory.

"Go away!" Rhoz ordered again, hardening her voice to mask her inclination to plead with the wench to show some sympathy. "I will look into this in the morning."

The other's eyes met hers resolutely. "I regret, Your Kynship -- Akkyn Muktar has ordered otherwise."

Her Kynship's shoulders slumped. "So, I am released from the nursery -- only to be saddled with a spy."

The maid's eyes sparkled for an elusive moment. "Indeed? Are you planning to do something worth spying on?"

Despite herself, Rhoz felt the corners of her mouth quiver. "I certainly hope so."

This girl, perhaps two or three years older than herself, wore the blindingly yellow ankle-length gown of the personal attendants of the court ladies. The blaze of colour was dampened by a dark brown overgown embroidered with curious designs unlike anything Rhoz had ever seen. Except for Governess Aster, whose steely eyes laid bare every fault, this was the first servant who had ever presumed to look her full in the face.

"My name is Violet, Your Kynship," the maid volunteered. "Shall I help you undress?"

"I am not a baby any more." Rhoz said haughtily. She turned away, remembering, too late, that it had required the combined efforts of three tiring women to imprison her in the fortress of gilded brocade she wore.

Watching her new maid out of the corner of her eye, Rhoz pretended to be intent on inspecting her new quarters, racking her brain for some way she could reverse her decision without seeming weak and indecisive. Weakness and indecisiveness were cardinal sins in Akkyn Muktar's moral hierarchy, especially where inferiors were concerned.

The chamber was larger than the nursery she had shared with her four sisters and infant brother. Now that she was officially a lady, she would sleep on a massive gold-canopied four-poster bed with silken coverlets and five pillows. She could leave her things scattered wherever she wished, and find them again in the same condition she left them. She could stare into the flames of her very own fireplace as long as she wanted without being reprimanded for daydreaming. Her ornate storage chest with its upholstered lid would accommodate her growing trousseau until her wedding day three years hence, when she would leave the walls of Muktarshold behind to become Lady Brelathan, mistress of the great estate of Pathlow.