The Return of the Dragonhawk

Chapter 4 - Death of a Princess

Rhoz was chilled to the bone when she woke. Her head was throbbing mercilessly. She was lying on something soft, and all around her was quiet.

I did not die after all, she thought dully. Aster always said I was too hard-headed for my own good.

She opened her eyes. She was on her bed, fully dressed, with neither candles nor a fire to offer comfort. The laces of her gown had been loosened and her jewels removed.

She pulled the coverlet over her shivering body. How long will it be until Violet comes to help me out of this gown? Mother must be keeping her late, cleaning up after the barbarians.

Jumbled images of the disastrous banquet tumbled through her memory. Halgrim's impassive eyes -- the Leopard Man, intent on his kill -- Brelathan, knowing he was no match for the monster, but standing his ground nonetheless because his code demanded it. And Violet, full of unquenchable fire, defying Muktar and then disappearing in a blue haze.

Violet was gone.

Rhoz whimpered. She had depended on Violet to be her strength, and now she was gone, perhaps even dead. Perhaps they were all dead, slaughtered by the Northlanders.

Be reasonable, a dry inner voice admonished her. If all are dead, who carried you here?

Rhoz forced herself to step outside her terror and regard her situation as she would a story in a book. Whatever the body count in the banquet hall, it was clear that she had survived to face something much worse than death: to wed that accursed Leopard Man and live in a land of endless winter nights.

She pressed her eyes shut and pulled the coverlet over her head. If only sleep would come, she might wake in the morning to discover that all this was just a particularly evil nightmare. However, she had never experienced a nightmare as sinister as this.

Despite his vile temper and cruel ways, she had always assumed that her father had her best interests at heart because it was his duty, just as it was her duty to love him, or at least to feign love. She knew now that she was no more important to him than one of his hunting dogs.

She turned onto her side. Her head exploded with pain, and the stays of her corset dug into her breast. She lowered her feet over the side of the bed, sat up, and worked on extricating herself from her gown. Her teeth began to chatter. When she was finally free, she wrapped herself in the coverlet and searched through the wardrobe for a nightgown. It was difficult work in the dark, and she blundered into Violet's clothes instead of her own. Her groping hands found a woollen gown. Its cut was generous enough to accommodate Rhoz' figure, but it dragged on the ground. She knelt and felt around the floor, searching for shoes and hose.

"I must have some light!" she said out loud. The sound of her own voice convinced her that she was not dreaming. This was reality, a very rough reality that she was ill-prepared to face. She found the tinder box, and after a few attempts managed to light some candles. It was no trouble then to find the shears which Violet had borrowed from the sewing room for the endless alterations her lady's wardrobe required. Rhoz cut away a generous strip of the hem from the dress. It was a makeshift job, but at least she would not trip.

Rhoz pulled Violet's sturdy hose over her thin stockings, and tried on a pair of her shoes. They fit like her own, but much more comfortably. She took a few steps around the room. Shoes like these would take her far without pinching her toes. She walked faster, circling the room like a caged beast, then tried her door.

Thank Horakkyn! It was unlocked.

Her hands shaking, Rhoz unpinned her hair, brushed as many tangles out of it as she could without aggravating her bruises, and braided it in the simple style she had worn as a schoolgirl. She returned to the wardrobe and found a woolen cloak with a hood that would hide her face. If they came to take her to the Leopard Man, she was not going to be waiting for them like a trapped animal.