The Return of the Dragonhawk

Chapter 23 -- Bespelled

Rhoz drifted into consciousness between silken sheets. A soft shift caressed her skin. She stirred, yawned, and allowed her eyes to half-open.

She was floating in a sea of pink: pink coverlets, pink walls, pink drapes billowing in a brisk breeze from a narrow window, admitting shafts of bright sunlight. She was thirteen again, in her chamber in Muktarshold. Why was Violet not sleeping beside her, poised to guard her virginity with that ridiculous dagger?

Rhoz snuggled into the pillow. There was no hurry to greet the day. She would wait until Violet returned to help her dress.

Someone knocked briskly at the door.

"Enter!"

A slender, dark-haired figure in a homespun gown slipped into the room, carrying an armful of clothes. She was not Violet.

Memory returned with a crash.

Alyx! Alyx is in danger!

Rhoz sat up, looking about her frantically. Her travel clothes and saddlebags were on the chest at the foot of the bed, but nothing else was familiar.

"Where am I?"

"You are in Praxenkyr, Akyna, a guest of King Abbelard.""A guest? How did I come here?" Rhoz glared at the young woman, who hesitated to come closer.

Rhoz yanked the bedclothes to one side and swung her feet onto the soft luxury of a sheepskin rug. Before she had was able to take a single step, dizziness overwhelmed her. The young woman dropped her bundle and rushed to her side to steady her.

"Rest a moment, Akyna. You rode hard coming here."

Am I sick? Rhoz wondered as she was gently eased back onto the bed. Then she remembered the force that had held her upright in the saddle as she slipped into unconsciousness. Not sick. Bespelled.

"Summon the Tirena S'Alyn," Rhoz ordered. "I must speak with her immediately."

The woman busied herself picking up the clothes Rhoz had dropped. "The Tirena is in council at present, but she invites you to meet with her and her father in His Majesty's chambers afterwards. Would you care to bathe before you dress?"

Rhoz examined her bare arms. There were no travel stains, and a faint perfume floated from her skin. Someone must have bathed her before putting her to bed. "Just my face -- that may help me wake up."

"As you wish, Akyna. The pitcher on the wash stand is full." The woman set the clothing on the bed, smiled and turned towards the door. "I will return later to guide you to the king's chambers."

Rhoz sat for a while before she made her next attempt to stand, bemused by the casual treatment she had received. Obviously, in Peregret, high-bred women were expected to fend for themselves much more than in Akynadar. Or perhaps she was not considered worthy of consideration.

When she eased herself to her feet again, her legs trembled, but she managed to keep her balance well enough to walk to the door. She opened it, clinging to the handle for support. An open corridor hung with colourful banners welcomed her. Air and sunlight flooded from the spacious courtyard two stories down, bearing the scent of blooming trees and flowers.

There was no one in sight. To her left, the corridor ended only a few paces away; to the right, it extended almost as far as she could see. Benches had been placed at intervals, inviting enjoyment of the fine weather. The waist-high balustrade was decorated with pots of herbs and flowering plants.

Rhoz stepped into the sunshine, then remembered that she was wearing nothing but a night shift. She retreated and rummaged through the pile of clothes. The things that had travelled on her packhorse were all there, with their wrinkles pressed out. As well, someone had added two embroidered dresses made of a heavier version of the soft cloth of her night shift. Despite herself, she smiled as she held them up in front of her in turn, examining her distorted reflection in the concave mirror disk behind the dressing table. The design of the dresses was unfamiliar -- the traditional fashion of Peregret, perhaps? Flattering and comfortable. Perhaps she should wear one of these to meet the king.