A Ballad of the Sun and the Moon

Chapter 7

Sleep hardly came and when the first rays peaked over the dark woods of Darkfirth, Sunniva rose despite her fatigue. Eager to get some answers, she ensured her silk stockings and a fresh shift were already on before the maid arrived to help with the rest. It was an apple-green day dress this time - also too tight in the shoulders - with a stay that cut into her ribs.

She moved through the milky, pastel corridors feeling like a specter. For the first time she noticed just how many servants busied themselves in the great house.

A footmen passed by with a breakfast tray pressing his back to the wall as she approached. He greeted her cordially with a bow of the head, his hands held steady so as not to spill milk out of the miniature pitcher meant for the pot of Earl Grey. She stared at him as she walked by. Joan wouldn't be joining them for breakfast then. Tired from another late rendezvous perhaps?

She tightened her lips, wondering if he was an ordinary footman or a guard posing as one. It probably was irrelevant. Footman or guard everything was most likely reported.

She fell into her old habit of watching each servant she passed; their livery, where they were going, what they were carrying, at what hour. They all eyed her, some suspiciously, others with faces full of questions, but not a single one said more than a simple 'good morning, miss.'

She'd passed seven by the time she stood before the dining hall. Two more footmen, a kitchen maid, three valets and a livery boy carrying firewood. The size of the place certainly left no one idle.

There was a single presence just beyond the door;

Male. Strong. Virile.

Certain it must be Kimber she turned the brass knob only as much as necessary before swinging it open. Much to her chagrin only Rhys awaited her. He had already begun eating and was ensconced in a newspaper as she entered.

"Will Kimber be joining us?" she asked pointedly.

Rhys folded his paper towards his chin peering out over the top at her. "I dare say not. Some urgent business has arisen that requires his immediate attention."

"I see," she replied, dryly as her lips drew flat. There was no sense in delving further. He was clearly lying.

Rhys flipped his newspaper back up, shielding his faced and paid her no attention for the rest of the meal.

The afternoon came and along with it the dress-maker that had been promised.

Not much younger than she, the seamstress had the blackest of eyes and thick silvery-blond hair. A wig or powder to achieve the latest fashion would not have been necessary, only perhaps a hot iron to mold her heavy, straight locks into curls. She didn't seem interested in all that anyways, keeping a simple long braid thick as a tangle of vines draping down her back. She wore jewels - like everyone in this place - but hers were modest. A few rings adorned her hand, thin bands of silver and gold. A chain, also of silver, hung around her neck with a diamond at the end cowering between her bosom. Sunniva didn't need to see what her blood could hear. And that wasn't all it heard; a peculiar organic hum of flesh and light, dim and quaint and stemming from the woman. She was drákon, but there was a subtle variance in that radiance she carried.

They were granted the privacy of Sunniva's chamber, who was surprised the whole ordeal wouldn't be supervised by at least one of the Langfords. It seemed, until today, everywhere she went Kimber or one of his siblings was present.

The seamstress withdrew a measuring tape, a bit of parchment and a pen from a small basket, all of which she placed atop a small writing desk tucked into a corner of the room.

She helped Sunniva undress, first with the gown, then the skirts finally removing the painful stay and cumbersome petticoat.

"You may leave your shift on," she said as she neatly laid the borrowed garments onto the bed. Sunniva already had the thin fabric nearly over her head. She let it fall slipping back over her breasts and hips like a gentle waterfall coursing over rounded river stones.

The silence between them was deafening. The scratching of quill on parchment clawed at Sunniva's ears and the measuring tape chafed every time the seamstress held it against her skin.

"Have you been instructed not to say anything of significance to me as well?" Sunniva asked, thinking of the maid that helped her dress.

Zoe pulled the length of the measuring tape taught and smiled. "I was told to take your measurements and have at least one gown finished by next week. That was all. A brand new one isn't possible in that amount of time of course but I can alter another I've nearly completed."

"So you weren't forbidden to talk about the shire or the drákon or whether the Langford's ritually sacrifice humans on the night of a full moon?"

Zoe Lane let out a laugh. "I can assure you they most certainly do not."

"A shame. It makes them appear so harmless."

"Appearances can be deceiving. Hold up your arms please."

She wrapped the measuring tape around Sunniva's mid then jotted down the number on the bit of parchment.

She did the lengths and circumferences of arms brushing skin against skin.

"Miss Lane can you Turn?" asked Sunniva abruptly.

Zoe let one end of the tape slip from her fingers. "That's a rather personal question," she replied, not making eye contact.

Sunniva found her patience running thin. The sting of Kimber's rejection was still fresh and she couldn't make sense of it.

As Zoe raised the tape to her neck Sunniva snatched her wrist.

"Can you?" Her voice was low and dangerous, her question a threat.

Zoe Lane tried to jerk away but Sunniva's fingers dug into her tendons. The woman was afraid, betrayed by the thumping of her heart, a fact that didn't escape Sunniva who only cocked her head and gripped tighter.

The rumors were true, the thief was feral. A human with an ounce of drákon blood enjoying their strength. And then Zoe saw it. A dragon's eyes staring back at her, bright and terrible and...glowing. It was unlike any she'd ever seen.

"I cannot," whimpered Zoe.

Sunniva wanted to ask her more question, but the anger bubbled up from her throat. She wasn't angry at this woman, but rather at this place, at Kimber. Why was it so important she need to Turn?

Sunniva released her, shaking her head trying to regain a semblance of her civilized self.

Zoe rubbed her wrist, a ghost of a smile threatened an appearance until her face twisted in pain as the blood returned to her fingers.

"I'm sorry," Sunniva said.

"It's alright. No permanent harm done."

"Do you have what you need?" Sunniva asked looking away.

"I still need to measure your-"

"Make it up," Sunniva demanded. "And get out."

"Is there something wrong? Something you would like to-"

"No," snapped Sunniva and then she sighed. "I need to be alone."

Zoe gathered her things and left swiftly.

Sunniva began pacing back and forth thoughts churning. There was no one she could ask. No one to tell her the truth. A den of liars. Kimber had insisted she was a part of the tribe, but at every step she was met with scorn and distrust.

A storm was drawing near, the hot, summer air taking on an oppressive degree of moisture, thick and stifling as curdled milk. Sunniva threw open a window sucking air deep into her lungs. A few gardeners down below drawn by the scraping of iron looked up her as if waiting to see what the feral dragon might do. Not quite ready to give up on the visage of a civilized woman of good breeding - though she wasn't very good at it - she resigned to take the front door. She'd only gotten part of the dress on and laced, as high born lady's fashion was constructed such that assistance was always necessary. The petticoat was left on the bed as was the stay.

The clouds were black and thick by the time she left the manor. Upon reaching a juncture in the gravel path she took a right instead of going straight, heading towards the fields. A small wall of flat, stacked stones rose on either side separating the tracts from the road and from each other. She came up over a hill crest giving her a nice view of wheat, golden and awaiting harvest. The path beyond was blocked by a wagon half filled and lacking horses. Men vigorously swiped scythes back and forth, while others wielded rakes sweeping the stalks into organized piles where they were then gathered and tied off, all of them racing against the imminent rain.

The wagon continued to fill, the men working frantically. Sunniva marveled at the sight of shirtless bodies, showing off the sensual concurrence of muscle and bone covered by glistening skin. The wind picked up sending a pleasant combination of musk and sweat her way. All dragon. Powerful and masculine.

They paid no attention to her, intent on their arduous task. It was better, she thought. She wanted to watch them as they naturally were, not putting on a show for her benefit.

A shout came from near the wagon and the men gathered, flinging tools atop the bundles of wheat. Two of them took up the wooden shafts lugging the harvest forward. It made perfect sense - oxen or mules would only frighten and were probably not much stronger than a male drákon anyway.

The rest remained as they were near the stone wall watching the sky, waiting. The wind picked up again sending eddies of dust swirling across the field. A few large drops fell breaking that soupy pressure that always mounted before a storm.

The first to Turn was a mature man with flaxen hair hair held back with a leather strap. He'd worn a thin muslin shirt and linen trousers which were now left in a pile atop the stiff, shorn stalks. Glimmering eyes watched as he rose in a streamer of smoke merging with clouds before taking form.

Sunniva couldn't see him, he'd waited till out of sight, but that snap of power was unmistakable. The other men took it as a cue and like a line of dominoes Turned one after the other rising like errant ribbons caught in a wave.

The clouds broke releasing their fury, the downpour stinging her eyes and soaking her clothes. She welcomed the soothing tap-tap-tap, the mellow of cool water running down her chest culminating in her bodice and sending streams of water along her legs.

She trailed the deepened ruts of the wagon not particularly certain where else she'd like to explore. Her guards had of course followed, towed along behind her through the drenching rain at a distance they probably considered inconspicuous. She paid them no mind. They hadn't moved to stop her, probably ordered just to watch and report, so she kept walking.

The rain pulled her short hair into a few thick strands. She wiped a palm across her face moving them to the side to see better. Just ahead was a small cluster of buildings standing like apparitions behind the silk sheets of rain that fell.

Upon closer inspection it became clear that it was a farm house with a large gambrel barn and a few sheds for whatever purposes a farmer might need. The wheel tracks led straight into the barn, doors flung open where the wagon was being unloaded. Strong arms tossed wheat into the loft quick and effortlessly most likely driven by the need to fly.

Sunniva understood this, having always taken any opportunity she could to merge with the heavens. The thought brought her back to Kimber, wondering if he was up there now soaring with his kin. The impulse to find out rose as bile in her throat; she wouldn't, couldn't Turn until she understood his behavior. His painful rejection.

"That'll be it Alec. Let's fly!" one of the young men whooped.

"Wait a sec. Mother said she'd have our hides if we left our clothes out to be soiled again."

A scoff was made, but both young men dissolved into smoke under the cover of the barn regaining their naked human form only a few seconds later. They slung their garments over the back of the wagon, Turned to smoke again, and shot up into the sky.

Sunniva felt tickled. What a humbling sight. Two dragon boys taking care to not upset their mother before transforming into the most ferocious of beasts.

She cast out her senses wondering if she could pinpoint their location when she caught the feeling of a cluster just a short distance away. Standing under the covered porch of the farm house was an older woman in twill weave. Most likely the mother the lads had spoken of. Her eyes were fixed upwards, with a glaze of sorrow covering them. Next to her stood a girl of similar coloring and next to her two more. Twins most likely, though they weren't identical.

The mother caught eyes with Sunniva. She turned with a scowl to her daughters. "Come on girls, off you go. We've work to finish."

Sunniva felt the bite of her look. Distrust. Hostility. Darkfrith was no place for strangers.

She left quickly not wishing more disdain than necessary.

She followed her senses to the village. The concentration of energy made it easy and she had a general recollection of the direction having been there once before. There were few out on the cobblestone streets, understandably so. Those who were carried dripping parasols or held shawls over their heads as they scurried from shop to shop.

Past the main square, beyond the courthouse, Sunniva came upon a structure with a covered pavilion. There sat a large gaggle of well dressed ladies quaffing tea and thumbing cucumber sandwiches and scones with clotted cream. Sunniva couldn't understand this country's obsession with the drink, though understood the appeal of the pastries, pleasing morsels at every bight. None of the women looked pleased, though. The conversation was stunted and between sips from dainty cups the women stole glances upward.

She couldn't understand why they were here, why they wouldn't join their husbands and sons in the sky.

Can you Turn? I need to know.

Kimber's last words to her echoed in her thoughts accompanied by the memory of his naked body pressed against her.

The realization came over her in a sickening swell. They can't. All of the women, drákon, steeped and stewed in the magic of this place, each containing a slumbering beast within that simply would not awaken. Earth-bound and forced to watch their men enjoy the freedoms of the heavens as their kind was meant to. Sunniva couldn't imagine such an existence. She couldn't look at the envious faces any longer; wives, mothers, grandmothers, young, hopeful women; all of them had the same look. A painful longing for something they had lost.

Sunniva walked back to the manor slumped and wet wondering the implications of her own abilities. As far as she could tell she was unique. And being unique could either be a blessing or a curse.