To Marry a Dragon

8. Out of the Pot...

The Locked Sea always reminded Elvira of a dainty younger sister dragged by the passionate elder one, the Roiling Sea, to the ballroom. And, as a child, Elvira imagined that the Twisted Gulf linked their imaginary hands on the maps. The Roiling Sea twirled her skirts, tapped her feet, tossed her curls, looking at the suitors with a challenging smile. The Locked Sea kept its eyes down, her dress almost too demure, a placid blue mirror, and was easily won over by even the slowest and ugliest of ships.

Elvira missed the rippling sails and sleek outlines of the caravelles when she set her foot on the barque that would take her to Antikapey on the southern shore. And, her thumping heart pointed out, closer to home, to Gallicia.

"My homeland, Gallicia has a border with Antikapey," she told Cerne.

"Uh-huh." Cerne darted a glance on the widening strip of the salt water between the ship and the dock, turned greener and curled up in her acorn form.

"Cerne?"

No answer.

Elvira prowled the deck, ignoring the sailor's leers.

"Say," one of them said, "you're some kind of a knight?"

As far as the conversations went, this wasn't the best, but wasn't the worst either. She pointed to the tall stalk of red flowers backed by a blade-shaped leaf on her surcoat with pride. "Yes. I am the knight errant of the Order of Verity."

The sailor took a moment to come up with the next thing to say. "That flower is a carnation?"

"Gladiolus. It stands for honor and bravery."

"Fancy." The sailor sucked his tobacco-stained teeth in search of further inspiration. "Maybe, I'm gonna apply as a soldier. Will you show me a thing or two in private?"

No lightning bolts erupted out of the blue. Evidently, the curse only worked when it was inconvenient to her or threatened Sigvart's rights to her maidenhood. Elvira sighed and took the coiled chains from her belt. "A public demonstration should suffice."

Staring right into the man's piggy eyes, Elvira whipped the chains to their full length and swirled to give her weapon the momentum it needed to lift in the air. Once they whistled in a metal circle in her upraised hand, she said,

"Each knight trains and lives by this oath:

I draw strength from defending the weak,

I grow rich by rejecting earthly possessions,

One is the soul's yearning and the journey,

The destiny, the self-sacrifice are one

In the service to light.

In service to life."

Then the chains made circles in a figure eight around her. Then they writhed in one braided snake by her feet. Then she flowed through her fighting stances, never letting the chains' swirling stop, because they didn't have a target.

By the time she finished her routine, the men's eyes were empty of anything but cowardly malice.

Behind her back, the captain barked, "Get back to work, scoundrels. If any of you wanna sign up for fighting monsters in the woods, go ahead. Antikapey has them, knights."

The grumbling sailors turned to ropes, cleaning, polishing and mending. She turned to thank the captain, but the sea dog frowned. "You made your point, girlie. Now, don't start anything. Better stay in the cabin. Simple folk, they don't know a dame from a scullery maid."

She mostly did as she was told, since it was his ship to command, except for her routines and prayers, at sunrise, at noon and at sunset, with sunset being her favorite. It was when the waves calmed to ripples, and she could imagine a dragon's outline in the blazing sky. The ship rocked her, convincing her to return to her bunk. But above her head, a soft breeze sighed Ferrante. And she sighed after it until the stars came out.