The egg emanated an aura like ringing voices that seemed to reverberate within me. There was something under there, curling, burning, living.
I trembled under the first touches of a haunted ecstasy. High lonely towers. A beat of leathery wings. A freefall into a starry night.
But my visions were quickly strangled by memories. The shadows of dragons over the cobblestones, their piercing shrieks. The cloud of smoke that engulfed the city, the flicking flames and the distortion of heat over Visenya's burning hill.
I saw the egg as it truly was-an embryo of destruction, a gaping infant that could cast the city into the inferno.
I would not tell him. I remembered Rhaenys's hill, his glittering smile when Vhagar called to him. I did not want to see the flames beneath his eye ignite, to hear that unearthly laugh. I almost felt as though the power of his joy might hatch the thing, and bring the sticky yawning beast to the surface.
"Go ahead," he nodded encouragingly. "Touch it."
I felt faint. I shook my head and mouthed my entreaties but no sound came out. My fingertips nearly brushed the surface. I could feel the pulsing heat and hushed whispers seemed to fill the room.
I yanked back.
"I don't understand." He blinked gently, though his eye was dilated. "It's only an egg. What exactly do you fear?"
My hand pulsed. I studied it intently, certain I had been burned, but there was no mark.
"Prince Aemond." Would he even listen to me in this state? He seemed so happy, and yet so dead to the world. I shook my head. "You told me I came here for a betrothal. I have little to offer but I have tried. Do not..." I looked down and the brimmed tears fell. "Do not ask me to be what I am not."
His breathing was heightened. He seemed so taut, that with the wrong movement he might pounce.
"You hear it, don't you?" He was smiling, and it was all the worse as I doubted he could even help it.
"No," I lied. I had to be more convincing. "I don't know what you mean."
He ran his hands over the top of the egg as though it were a child's head. "We say we are blood of the Dragon. It is not an empty boast." He lifted on appraising eye. "There is a shared memory between us and the dragons. A longing, really."
I leaned against the wall and the wood panels dug into my shoulders as I slid to the floor. I remembered the weirwood, the golden hour I had nearly felt at ease with him, now dead and gone. I pressed my eyes close and tears fell over my cheeks. "I hear nothing."
He merely nodded, but his expression was distant. "I never hatched an egg. I wanted to, of course, but merely as an expression of my worth, to stop the mockery. And finally, I gave up hoping." He looked out the window, towards the gathering clouds. "And then I heard her. Mournful, older than I could understand at my young age. She had known Old Valyria, a land destroyed. I could never have hatched an egg, not while she lived."
I wiped my eyes, and watched him. Vhagar was more than a weapon to him. She was a conduit to something. Something I had just glimpsed, a yearning far older than I was and beyond my every instinct. I was too weary to understand, too overwhelmed by the ferocity of it.
"She called to me. Others just hear her roar, but there's a song beneath, a beckoning." He spoke with nervous energy, but there was a strain of something sweeter, an intensity that stemmed from passion, not greed. "I had my ambition, Marai, I have never denied it. I longed for her power and the status it would grant me, but there was more. I had no choice but to seek her."
He was looking at me, but I could not decipher his expression. "If only you knew it. Marai..."
The door creaked beside me, and he flinched. "Aemond, what's this?" Aegon strode in, leaving Ser Arryk at the door. "You asked for one of Dreamfire's clutch? You know I don't like you to-"
He jerked as he noticed me, and looked down at my crouching form, at my tearstained face. "Seven hells." Aegon reached out, brushing my shoulder with his outstretched fingers.
"You were charged with preparing her, brother." He grimaced at me. "Not tormenting her."
Aemond's eyes flickered. "You misunderstand, Aegon," he said, his voice wavering.
"Get that out of here," Aegon said with a flick of his hand. The handlers hurried in, securing the egg in its brazier and hauling it out. He knelt beside me, his nose still crinkled.
My father. The thought came involuntarily, but it felt so false that quickly faded. He was too boyish with his shaggy hair, too unsure. "There. All is well," he said, patting my shoulder nervously. His smile was forced, his face pale.
"The Blackmont brothers have landed. We expect them within the hour." Aegon said, crossing his arms and pouting as he rose. "You may recall them, as you invited them."
"Brother, not now." Aemond's voice was weary.
"When then? I admit I was never enamored of the idea. But now that she's here she is my-" he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, you know very well what she is."
"Up now!" he said, with a pitiful attempt at cheerfulness, and he aided me to my feet. I could not meet his eye, but forgetting all Lark had taught me, I forced a clumsy curtsy.
Aemond's mouth wavered under his narrowed eyes. "You know I would never-"he stammered. He inhaled deeply and walked towards us. His eye darted from his brother to me.
"We'll expect you for the greeting party," said Aegon. He rested an uneasy hand on my arm. "He can be uncouth at times," He said knowingly. "Be patient with him. Ser Arryk, see her back to her chambers."
"Your Grace," I whispered, bowing my head as he strode out of the room.
The knight bowed as he passed and walked towards me, but Aemond checked him. "Wait," he said.
Aemond took my hand. He seemed almost dazed, as though the talk of Vhagar had drained him. "They're here, it seems. Sooner than we expected." He pursed his mouth. "You remember what Ryker has taught you? Lark's lessons?"
I nodded. "I think so." I was glad for the dim light, as I could feel the tears that lingered on my lashes.
"And I have taught you something, though perhaps not enough." He looked troubled. "But look to me, and I will guide you, if I can."
"Yes, your highness," I whispered, resigned. He could never guide me enough.
"You must send a letter, to your mother." he said, his eye trained on mine.
"Please!" I did not want her to forget about me. I looked down"I can't write all I wish to say though, not by myself."
"No need. We will write it tomorrow. Think today on what you will say to her. It will carry you through."
xxx
A gown was laid out on my bed, blue silk slashed with white and silver embroidery on the sleeves. I would have liked one like this, once. But my heart hammered as I lifted it.
Deziel.
I still had not decided who he was. I had only heard that his brother was gallant, that Dornishmen were proud and fearsome, that his family vulture with a baby in its claws. It was not enough, and also far more than I wanted to know.
"M'lady." Sage crept through the door. "I am to help you dress."
I shuddered. "I can dress myself." I said absently, but the gown was shaking in my grasp. She placed gentle hands on my shoulders. I was not used to being this alone, to having no one to confide in, and the relief being touched staggered me.
I took her hand in mine. Her eyes opened wide, and then softened.
"What do you know of Dornishmen?" I said, aware of the creeping desperation in my voice.
She had to know I was to marry one, and she looked at me pityingly. "They are- very bold in battle, m'lady."
"Bold? I have heard. But do they care about, what do they think?" Ryker had not neglected me. I knew about the wines they brewed, their love of loose fitting silks and light armor, and of the olives, lemons, and peppers that flourished there. But it was not enough.
"I could not say. They are likely much like us."
And you are not like me. I thought bitterly. We were both lowborn, and yet I had been a whore. And a king's daughter, now to be married to a knight. Every minute difference was of dizzying importance.
I grew placid under her gentle hands, and let her work. She undressed me and helped me into my gown, and brushed my hair. I pretended she was Alla.
Dear Mother, I thought of the letter I was to write, and imagined phrases I would never dare to write. My beloved, black haired mother. You should be here, not her. I long for your voice.
"You have such pretty hair," she said with an encouraging smile in the mirror. I gave a tiny nod. I resented her for noticing what was clear to all.
She knows too much, I thought irritably.
She braided half my hair, and set it in place with a comb. I was disturbed by the expression in my eyes, the contracted pupil that made me look like a hunted animal.
Mother, what use were we to each other? You could never protect me, and I left you sobbing in the hall.
I forced a smile, trying to soften my features, but the effect was ghastly. I closed my eyes, slowly. I tried to remember how I had interested the patrons. Deziel would no doubt not appreciate me using my whore's arts on him but I had little recourse.
Forget. I let blankness wash over me. Perhaps I could wear this mantle for the rest of my days. Forget playing in the streets of King's Landing, forget my mother's voice, forget how Aemond brushed my hair from my face and whispered 'orange.'
xxxx
It was Ryker who came for me. There was a kindly light in his stern eyes. "Will our lessons be over now?" I asked. My unsteady voiced echoed through the hall.
"Do you think you can read, girl?" he snapped. If I had a rise in station, nobody had told him, and I liked him for it. "I am not sending you to Dorne illiterate. Ser Deziel will be here some weeks, and perhaps the marriage will fall through anyway."
"He will reject me?" It was far too late for such worries, but I could not help myself.
He huffed. "Reject you? I think not, after such a journey. Though he may merely wish see King's Landing and enjoy the king's hospitality. But his brother comes and they must work out the details. And the Marcher lords reject the match."
"Because of the land..."
"Yes. While they will not lose their own properties, they are intermarried with those who will. And the hate over the border between the Reach and Dorne is old and deep. They do not wish to see those lands granted to a Dornish lord."
xxxx
A damask canopy had been erected in the courtyard, though with the setting sun there was little need for cover. A warm breeze rippled through the fabric and over the hair and clothing of the courtiers. Aegon and the two queens were seated on high wooden chairs. I could see Queen Alicent's pursed lips in profile, but all I could make of Helaena was her loose hair that rippled in the wind like a flag of surrender.
Lord Otto and Prince Aemond stood beside each other, discussing something with great seriousness. They resembled each other in their upright bearing but Aemond seemed more at ease, his shoulders relaxed where Otto's were rigid. Lord Larys nibbled at cakes with Lady Redwyne, who every so often would lift her fan to hide their whispers.
The attendants of the two queens huddled together, pointing and murmuring. Sabitha stepped towards Helaena, and tidied her hair, while Roelle filled Queen Alicent's cup and laughed with her. A harpist and a lutist nodded at each other as they coordinated their song, and from its irregular harmony, I supposed it was some Dornish ballad. There was a fool as well, who darted about the ladies' skirts and shook a rattle with a cross eyed dragon's head. His face was so plump and yet so wizened I could not decipher his true age.
I felt very much like an afterthought. Aegon honored me with a smile, and Otto nodded slightly, as though pleased the event was going smoothly. Helaena darted a nervous glance in my direction, but Alicent kept her gaze fixed on the gate.
Aemond's conversation with the Hand grew more heated. I waited, jarred by the plucked strings, the whispering and the rattling around me. Finally, he looked at me, and with a thoughtful expression, he bowed at the waist. His pale green jacket was cut long in the Dornish style, and his sharp features were limned with the hazy glow of sunset. He looked so handsome that I almost forgot he was responsible for all of it.
Almost.
I barely noticed Jocasta's quiet footsteps. She stood beside me, a small smile on her lips. "It's not so bad," she said, slipping her fingers in mine. "I met Lord Fossaway on an evening like this." Her eyes were so dark and distant I could not decide if the thought was comforting. But I was so grateful for a kind word that I pressed her hand. "Listen!" she said in her low voice.
The sound of drums heralded the party. The common folk likely had no idea who these men were or why they came, but they would enjoy the show by a foreign noble. I was one of them once, and the rumor of a nobleman's ship in harbor or his appearance at the city gates spread with remarkable speed. We would cheer anyone with clothing and horses splendid enough, but we particularly loved music, and the those who could afford it distributed shining coins or sweetmeats and earned uproarious applause and blessings.
I doubted a Dornish lord would benefit much from the love of King's Landing, but most nobles seemed to revel in simply having a large crowd to impress. I supposed I would feel the same way if I had spent so much on horseflesh and silk.
Two young girls in yellow silk were the first to step through the gate. They walked in stately grace and played wooden flutes.
"The heirs of Lord Blackmont of Blackmont!" called the one, in more a song than a sentence.
"Ser Castos Blackmont, Ser Deziel Blackmont, and the Lady Sylva Blackmont! " The other answered. They continued on their flutes, and scurried to the side to make room.
I started, thrown off by the announcement. I had never heard of a Lady Sylva, and even with Jocasta's arm in mine, I had little relish for another highborn girl.
The band of knights rode the sprightly horses of Dorne called sand steeds. I knew from my lessons they could not carry a man in full armor, but were light enough to tread over sand without sinking. Larger horses lumbered behind them, drawing cartloads of crates.
I held my breath.
A slender knight pulled at the reigns, and with a rapid movement, leapt from the saddle. His sandy hair curled over his neck, and his warm brown eyes crinkled as he grinned. He wore a tunic of orange silk over loose fit trousers, and glinting gold chain around his neck.
Deziel. He did not look so hard, so forbidding. He has freckles, I thought, rather foolishly.
He honored us with a quick glance, before approaching Aegon. He swept into a bow, and nearly hopped upright. "Your Grace! Lord Blackmont sends his greetings."
Aegon beamed, and stood to kiss him. Helaena and Alicent shared a knowing look, and smiled.
"My best love to Lord Blackmont." Aegon called out, so all the courtiers and guests could hear. The knight had clearly impressed him. "You must rest tonight. But prepare for a feast in your honor," he said. "To be followed by my name day tourney."
Lord Otto's eyes went wide and his features contorted. "Your Grace-" he started, but Aegon silenced him with a wave of his hand.
"Now, Ser Deziel, you will wish to meet the Lady Marai." Aegon motioned to me. Aemond's eyes darted between us and he worked his jaw. He had worked hard for this.
With all the self-control I could master, I made a slow, proper curtsy. Before I had risen, the knight had bounded to my side, and he wrapped his arm around me. I struggled to control my trembling. "A joy to meet you, my dear," he said with a smile, and he kissed my cheek. "But I am Ser Castos Blackmont, the heir. Here comes my brother now."
Ser Deziel turned his massive black destrier, and its nostrils flared as a groom helped him from the saddle. His clothing was simpler than Ser Castos's, brown leather, with only a red silk kerchief for color. He had the dark brown hair and the bronze skin of southern Dorne. His features were wide, heavy and oxlike, his eyes narrow. Ser Castos pressed me close as his brother stepped forward.
My betrothed looked down at me and grimaced.