The Return of the Dragonhawk

Chapter 2 - Arabelle and the Wildcat

"Leave me be, you fool!" Violet flared at the herald. "I cannot be two places at once!"

The early-morning babble around them fell abruptly silent. It was unusual enough for a herald to visit the kitchen. But for a servant maid to dare refuse an urgent summons from the Dowager Kyn! Blood was sure to flow.

For a breathless moment, there was no sound save the contented humming of the all but stone-deaf head cook, who was absorbed in arranging two coddled duck's eggs, scones, and strawberry compote on an ornate silver tray.

"There!" the cook exclaimed with a beatific smile. "Her Kynship's breakfast be ready, extra strawberries and all."

"Thank you," Violet said, bowing her head to demonstrate her appreciation as she reached for the tray.

"Not so fast!" the herald exclaimed, pulling on her arm. "Come with me now! The Dow'ger Kyn awaits."

Violet jerked away and glared at the man, her right hand in a secret fold of her skirt. "Touch me again, and you will lose your fingers."

"No need for that," a woman's voice said behind her. Violet whirled instinctively, her dagger half out.

"Gently, gently, my little wildcat," the older woman soothed in a low tone with a note of authority in it. "I will take the tray up to Her Kynship and do what is needful."

Violet relaxed and pushed the dagger back into its place. "Thank you, Martenn."

Martenn had been nursemaid to Violet, then governess and teacher to her and her brother and sister after her, more than earning a peaceful retirement. Instead, she had insisted on following her nursling to Akynadar and hovering over her like a guardian spirit.

"Hurry!" the herald commanded from a safe distance. Violet lunged abruptly in his direction, itching to draw her dagger again for the pleasure of seeing the superciliousness in his eyes give way to terror. He retreated up the narrow back stairs. "I hope you know some choice bits of gossip to placate Her Kynship!" Violet called over her shoulder.

"Do not fret yourself -- I will manage," Martenn said. As Violet mounted the staircase, she could hear Martenn's voice behind her, now sharply edged, pressing a scullery maid into service to carry the tray.

She followed the herald down the marble corridor leading to the entry hall, marshalling all her self-discipline to calm herself. In the two days since she had become maid to Akyna Rhoz, her rage had steadily grown into a fierce, unpredictable beast, eluding all her efforts to tame it.

No matter how often she told herself that the senior daughter of Muktar was the enemy -- a fat, ignorant slug unworthy of even a shred of sympathy -- her heart twisted at the sight of the pained confusion in Rhoz' amber eyes, as if the ground under her feet had suddenly lost its stability. Violet understood only too well what she felt.

She quickened her steps and caught up with the herald on central curving staircase that led to the apartments on the upper floor.

"What does Her Dowager Kynship require of me?" she asked.

The man scanned her warily out of the corner of his eye. "Kyn Arabelle is in misery with one of her famous headaches, and she says none but you can relieve it."

Violet shook her head. Why had she not minded her own business, instead of offering Arabelle a neck rub to ease the throbbing in her head? Didn't she have enough to do, with orders flying at her from the chatelaine, the cooks, Kyn Inteza, and even Akkyn Muktar himself on occasion?

What kindness could she possibly owe any member of this predatory house which had stripped her of her name and title? She was the Tirena S'Alyn, Wildcat of Praxen, the most probable successor to the throne of a great nation. How dare Muktar saddle her with the insipid appellation "Violet", like any common girl born without even the dignity of a family estate? Peregret was his partner, not his thrall.