Free Ivory Lyre by Shirley Rousseau Murphy Page B

land-world. Against the
shores, white waves broke.
    They did not touch any country this night.
They dove low, observing, sensing the dark. There was strong evil
on Liedref: They picked out half a dozen other lands where they
would return to battle the dark invaders. As dawn neared, the
dragons made for Dacia, swooping low over the small continents that
bordered the Sea of Igness. They came down over Dacia to the west,
behind the mountain that held the palace. They could see the
mountain’s wild western face where trees twisted between giant
boulders. They hovered there listening, but there was no sound.
    They made for the gentler hills, where the
dragons shifted shape and trotted back docilely to the palace
stables. Teb’s boots squinched seawater when he dismounted.
    It was that morning that Teb, prompted by
Accacia’s remarks, thought again of the locked door in the dark
palace passage, where an old woman’s cracked voice had complained,
“. . . porridge. I’m sick to death of porridge.”
    *
    Roderica had taken breakfast at the king’s
table with her father. The horsemaster, Riconder, a square, silent
man with a look of resentment about him, spoke little to Teb. He
praised the horses, it seemed, only out of duty. When he rose, his
daughter followed him, and Accacia, clinging to Teb’s arm, giggled.
“Don’t be late with your ward’s breakfast, Roderica.”
    Teb had a quick vision of Roderica going
down the dark hall carrying a lamp, unlocking that lonely, heavy
door.
    “And don’t forget the queen’s porridge,”
Accacia said rudely. “She does so love her cold porridge.”
    The queen.
    Teb hadn’t known there was a queen, had
supposed her long dead. He glanced at the king, who had risen, and
saw no change of expression. He made an excuse as soon and as
deftly as he could and left Accacia. He hurried down the dark
passage until he saw Roderica ahead, her lamp casting a swaying
light up the dark walls. She approached a passage where brighter
lamps burned. He stopped and drew back into blackness as she flung
open double doors.
    It was the kitchen inside; he could hear the
clanging of utensils and smell food and dishwater. She came out,
followed by a page boy carrying a breakfast tray. Teb waited until
they had rounded a bend, then followed. He waited again while the
food was delivered beyond the oak door. When the page had left, he
settled against the wall. He had no time to move away when Roderica
came out quickly, straight for him, and grabbed his arm.
    She was a thin girl, tall, with an angled
face, sour and unsmiling. “Why did you follow me? I have no use for
spies, even if you are a prince.”
    “I would like to visit the queen.”
    “Why? No one visits her.”
    “That’s why.” He thought the best approach
was the direct one. Roderica seemed serious now, without the
frivolity she displayed at other times. A strange girl, changeable
and confusing.
    “I didn’t know there was a queen,” Teb told
her. “I thought her long dead. I am curious. Is there any harm in
that?”
    She looked him over, not speaking, holding
the lamp high so her own face fell into angled shadows.
    “Isn’t she lonely? Wouldn’t she like a
visitor?”
    “She has me. I am all she needs. The king
would be furious if he knew you were here.”
    “Do you mean to tell him?”
    At that moment the door flew open and the
old woman stood leaning against the sill. “What is it, Roderica?
Who are you talking to? Bring him in here.”
    She was dressed in a pale pink dressing gown
with quantities of ruffles, an old gray sweater pulled over it. Her
feet were shod in heavy sheepskin slippers. Her white hair flew
wildly around her thin, wrinkled face. She leaned heavily on the
doorframe as Roderica reached for her, then nearly fell as the
young woman steadied and turned her toward the bed. Teb followed
them into the room.
    When she was ensconced at last under the
tumbled blankets, she fixed her faded blue eyes on Teb. “Well?