Table of Contents

Gallery of players

Prologue

Return to a time of Magic

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Heather Graham

Fortin & Sanders

Published 2009 by Medallion Press, Inc.

The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO

is a registered trademark of Medallion Press, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 by Heather Graham

Artwork by Cherif Fortin and Lynn Sanders

Cover design by Adam Mock and James Tampa

Book design by James Tampa

Bonus CD produced by Reuven Amiel

Costumes by Connie Perry

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America

Typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Graham, Heather.

There be dragons / Heather Graham.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-60542-071-4

I. Title.

PS3557.R198T54 2009

813’.54--dc22

2009005945

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

First Edition

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

To all those who made this such a fun and wonderful project, Bryee-Annon, Chynna, Jason, Shayne, and Derek Pozzessere, Yevgeniya Yeretskaya-Pozzessere, Helen and James Rosburg, Ali DeGray, Patric Falcon, Abdiel Vivancos, D.J. and Graham Davant, Franci Naulin, Teresa Davant, Al Perry, Alicia Ibarra, Bobby and Victoria Sophia Rosello, and very especially Lynn Sanders, Cherif Fortin, Reuven Amiel, and Connie Perry.

Prologue

Legends

Once upon a time, before the world of man was as old as it is today—but after it was as young as it might have been—there was a beautiful land called Calasia, caught between the new age of logic and the ancient days of magic. It was ruled by the great Duke Fiorelli, and beneath him, in power in their feudal lands, were two renowned warrior counts, the lords of Lendo and Baristo. Calasia, governed by the great Duke Fiorelli, prospered, laws were just, and art and music were loved and enjoyed.

But to the south lived the fierce People of the Distant Land, and when they threatened the borders of Calasia, three great warriors, the leaders of the land, went out to meet them. It had been some time since such an enemy had been met, and those who went rode to fight hard indeed, for it was said their enemies had among their ranks a group of great, tall, dreaded wargnomes, beings said to have armored skin, reptilian scales that gave them the ability to defy the swords and arrows of mortal warriors.

Hectobar, one of the horrid battle lords who led the enemy forces, was known to have stolen a princess from a nearby realm. Being gallant knights, the noblemen of Calasia would not only protect their borders, but they would not stop until they had freed the beautiful damsel in distress. So they rode, and a great battle ensued.

In the midst of the fighting, Alphonso, Count of Lendo, was caught in a tight arena of terrible combat. He could not be reached by his old and dear friend, Fiorelli, and later, the Count of Baristo would claim he was too far from the fighting to go to Alphonso’s aid. And so it was that Nico d’Or, falcon master to the Count, came into the picture. Brave and courageous, he rode forward, fought relentlessly, and smote the enemy to free the Count of Lendo from the evil hordes surrounding him. But alas, the Count of Lendo had received a mortal blow, and in the arms of his falcon master, he found his last strength and comfort. He commended the keeping of Lendo to Nico d’Or, the falcon master, who had proven his strength and loyalty.

As the Count of Lendo placed all he held dear in d’Or’s keeping and sighed his last breath, Nico d’Or rose with a great heartache and a roar of fury, swearing the fine old count would not die in vain.

The knights of Calasia joined in his rage, rallied, and rode on with great speed. They came upon the horrid creature Hectobar, who still held the feisty princess. So great was d’Or’s fury, he hopped atop the creature Hectobar, and, with his bare hands, strangled the beast.

The princess, Elisia, impressed by the mighty knight who had saved her, had no desire to be returned to her home. The great Duke Fiorelli thought it was only natural that the princess be granted to the brave falcon master, Nico d’Or, and that the brave fellow indeed be given the lands and title of Lendo. This was an easy ruling for the great Duke Fiorelli, for he was a married man himself, with a lovely duchess who had given him a fine and hearty son for an heir, as well as a lovely daughter.

Now, it should have been quite acceptable to Marco, Count of Baristo, as well, for he, too, had a countess, Geovana, and a son. However, it was rumored his wife was a witch. She had come from the dark lands to the northeast of the lovely peninsula on which they all lived. Many believed that if his wife was indeed a witch, it was entirely his own fault. The Count of Baristo was an ambitious man, fond of fine living and improving his own holdings, and he was disgruntled. The falcon master was given a beautiful, sweet, wealthy bride, and he was returning home to …

Well, his not so sweet, lovely, or wealthy bride.

Despite his displeasure, there was nothing the Count of Baristo could do, except, of course, return home to his countess, Geovana, where the poor man discovered his wife was far more unhappy than he!

Furious that he had not been the one to rush to the aid of the Count of Lendo, she added to his woes. Had he done so, the charming village and rich and fertile lands of Lendo might have been granted to him, rather than being bestowed upon—of all people!—the falcon master. (To add to Geovanna’s disappointment, certain rumors reached her regarding her own husband, namely that he, too, had been quite infatuated with the rescued princess, Elisia.)

However pleased or not pleased as they might be, Nico d’Or was to marry Elisia.

The night of the formal wedding announcement, Geovana’s servants heard her upon the balcony. Dressed in the black she chose for just such occasions of dark and deadly mood, she stood outside, reaching upward to the sky, chanting. Her voice rose and fell in a strange and uncanny sound of fury. Her cries rose with a vengeance. There was a terrible storm that night, and many thought the sound was the whipping of the wind and the crackle and boom of the thunder.

Long after midnight, the Countess at last came in, calm and serene, and strangely pleasant to all those around her. The people marveled that she had, it seemed, realized the wealth of her own position, and the blessings of her son and husband.

The next morning was when the dragon appeared.

It was beautiful in its wickedness, royal purple and midnight black in color, winged and frilled, with huge dark eyes, a shimmering long tail, and a sharply pointed spine.

The day was rough, with lightning flashing again and again, and storm clouds sweeping the sun away. Some thought they imagined the creature, but when the princess Elisia came to stand upon the balcony at Lendo, dressed in her wedding finery, the dragon came down and swept her away.

It was quite odd that—when she heard the news—Geovana, along with her cries of, “Oh, no!” and “Oh, dear!”—appeared to be either secretly smiling or smirking.

Nico d’Or, the new Count of Lendo, was distraught, and followed a trail, it is said, of blue smoke. The trail took him high upon the cliffs, where great crags and caves were in abundance. He had gone alone in his haste and desperation that no harm should come to his princess, his only weapons a sword and strength of will.

Legend says it was pureness within his heart, along with his fear for the life of another, that led him straight to the dragon. Though he did not see the creature die, he was certain he had inflicted a mortal injury upon the beast. At the least, he wrested his princess free.

In Lendo, all rejoiced. The wedding would be that night, as planned.

But that very same night, the Countess of Baristo apparently suffered a fall or some injury. Still, she was determined to attend the wedding. She dragged herself from her sickbed. For the occasion, she even doffed her habitual black shade of dress, and arrived in shining white in honor of the pair. After the ceremony, she kindly cast a spell for the newlyweds, one that granted love and happiness for all the time they might have together.

As a married couple, Elisia and d’Or were happy. Deeply happy, deeply in love.

Indeed, Geovana had cast such a spell. She neglected to tell the couple, of course, that her spell had included the fact that their happy time together would not last more than a decade.

Life went on. Elisia and Nico, Lady and Lord of Lendo, found happiness in themselves, and though they rued the lack of a child, they worked hard for those around them.

In time, however, they were distressed to hear about the death of their neighbor, the Count of Baristo. They sent their deepest condolences to the Countess Geovana, and sent servants with food and priests to pray for the dear deceased’s soul. The Countess, however, was inconsolable (many said, “Rot!”), and though none knew why, she blamed the happy couple for the death of her husband. Many thought her grief quite exaggerated, for it was whispered that the two had argued most vociferously, and that even the stone walls of the castle were known to shiver by night.

However, in the wondrous haven of Lendo, Elisia and Nico lived in a delightful world of love and peace. The only thing lacking was a child, the deepest desire of both Elisia and her count.

Then a baby girl was at last born to the couple. She was called Marina, for her parents both so dearly loved the sea.

The rejoicing in Lendo was quite incredible, because the people lived in such peace and harmony. There were so many gifts! Beautiful gifts! Most of them.

The Countess Geovana of Baristo sent a rather unusual present. It was quite lovely, but rather large for a tiny infant. It was a bed, beautifully carved, with a soft mattress and elegant silk and velvet trappings. It came with the suggestion that her son and their daughter should become betrothed, and marry at the appropriate time.

Now Nico and Elisia had become well aware by that time that the Countess Geovana did not always intend the best for others. As politely as they could, they hemmed and hawed and suggested they must let the children grow older, and see if they were at all compatible. Geovana seemed to accept their words; she smiled, and raised a glass to them, and murmured something beneath her breath. She touched the bed, and oddly, upon the elegant trappings, she set a stone. All for luck, of course, she told them, and it was only later, late at night, sleeping by the side of his lady, that Nico d’Or remembered that luck could be good—and quite bad, and so he removed the stone from the bed.

For a few years more, all was a most wondrous fantasy in Lendo. Then … tragedy.

The Count awoke one morning feeling fine. That night, however, a storm rose. It was said that the wind had the sound of a woman’s screams. The good Count d’Or went among the villagers, helping them gather their livestock into the safety of the walls. And as they came through an archway, a stone fell, striking the Count on the head.

His countess raced through the driving rain. She wrapped him tenderly in her arms. The finest physicians were called, the greatest wizards. But all to no avail.

The brave and kindly count departed his wondrous world. As he died, the clock struck twelve, and seemed to toll out a misery all its own. At the last stroke, the sky, cleared then of the rain, was filled with stars that created the shape of a magnificent, flying steed. Some of the people found peace in the beautiful sight, for they believed that the Count, risen from the status of falcon master, had found his soul borne away by magical wings, and flown in such a soaring fashion to heaven.

Elisia was inconsolable. But Duke Fiorelli came to see her when an appropriate time had passed, telling her that she must marry again, for the People of the Distant Land were ever ready to ride hard and take what they could. She mentioned to him that Count Baristo’s widow had not remarried, and even the great Fiorelli was perplexed. He was loathe to admit to the sweet and beautiful Elisia that he knew of few knights or noblemen brave enough to wed the Countess Baristo.

In time, it was arranged. And it was actually through the Countess Geovana that Elisia met the Count d’Artois, a handsome man from the Place of Misty Mountains and Legends, where Geovana herself had been raised. He had a daughter near the age of Elisia’s own dear Marina. (Some thought it strange that Geovana had not sought out this knight for herself; others noted that Geovana often had ever-so-slightly devious long-range plans.)

And so, once again, wedding bells rang out and pealed across the hills and cliffs of Lendo.

People came from far and wide. All rejoiced, and it seemed that even the Countess Geovana was at peace, for she arrived once more dressed in splendid white, bearing many gifts (that were actually quite normal gifts, silver and plate). She danced and laughed at the ceremony, and she was, in fact, so charming and lovely that Duke Fiorelli began to believe he might, after all, find the widow a new husband.

In Lendo then, it seemed, there would be peace and strength and prosperity, until …

Once again, a storm rose. And it was quite bizarre, for the Countess Elisia was sleeping in her own bed when a stone flew straight into the bedroom, borne on the wind. It struck her on the head.

Within a fortnight, she, too, passed away. She did so as had her dearly beloved Nico, at the stroke of twelve. When the clock echoed with its last chime, the heavens cleared again and the stars formed the shape of a magnificent, magical falcon. The people whispered that her soul had been taken through the stars to join with Nico’s. True or not, it made for a lovely legend.

Lendo was cast into a deep mourning, for Elisia had been so dearly adored by her people.

The talk around the countryside became, with the passage of time, quite practical. Thank goodness that the Countess had remarried, for Lendo was, at least, left with a new lord.

There was always danger on the wind. The People of a Distant Land might send raiders again at any time.

And then again, they did, indeed, live in a time of dragons …

Years passed.

Fire and danger forever threatened.

Even when the beauty of peace of Christmastide came near.

Return to a Time of Magic

Chapter 1

Marina was awakened by a thumping sound in the back courtyard below her window. She rose quickly, and walked to look out.

And there he was.

Armand, out before the dawn, battling it out with the scarecrow.

Unfortunately, it appeared that the scarecrow was winning. Armand was clad in mail, mask down on his helm. Apparently, he’d been on his horse, Ares, practicing with his sword against the dummy set in the yard, a place where all the fighting men and knights might hone their skills at thrusting hard against the enemy.

Armand had missed the scarecrow.

With his impetus, he had left his seat upon Ares.

His well-trained mount waited a distance from Armand, as if he was determined not to look at his master in his distress, and hopefully, save him any embarrassment. Armand was now sitting on his rear, hands upon the ground, shaking his head. A moment later, he lifted his visor, then removed his helmet, and saw his cousin looking down.

He scowled for a moment, then sighed. “Honestly, I believe that scarecrow moved!” he told Marina.

She gave him a warm smile, feeling a soft sigh in her own heart. Armand was so determined. “Give me a minute; I’m coming right down. Did you hurt yourself?”

He tried moving. “No—I’m afraid that my rear section is quite accustomed to hitting dirt,” he said.

Marina turned from the window, caught up her cape, and came running down the spiral staircase to the back. Once, her room had been in front of the house d’Or, and her windows had overlooked the garden. She scarcely remembered that time, and she didn’t particularly care that she had been relegated to the rear, overlooking the practice courtyard. She enjoyed riding herself, and learning by all that she watched.

When she reached the courtyard, Armand was still dusting himself off. “Ares, are you sure we rode quite straight?” he demanded of his mount.

The huge horse, granted to him because of his status as falcon master, after his own uncle and then father, raised and lowered its handsome head, as if speaking to him in return and assuring him he had done his best.

“Armand, you’re the finest rider I know. Honestly, there is no reason for you to become a great warrior.”

“There is every reason,” he assured her. He walked toward the well, drawing up the bucket and ladle and drinking thirstily. Marina followed him, and Ares ambled along, as well.

“Armand—”

“Marina, I can prove that I’m a worthy suitor for Daphne. I can make the Count d’Artois realize I am an incredible asset to him, and that I should be allowed to love his daughter.” He started to say more, then hesitated. He set the ladle back in the water bucket and looked at Marina again. “He intends to have you both married off within a fortnight, you know.” He made a face. “Christmas weddings. How lovely.”

Marina gritted her teeth against the shudder that swept through her. Christmas. A time she loved so much, with carols in the air and the holly decorated with bows, mistletoe here and there, and all the pageantry. A time of peace and beauty. A time to be thankful.

For the young Count Carlo Baristo?

She shuddered and looked to the heavens; unable to prevent a moment in which she wasn’t thankful at all, she wondered only, Dear God, what are you thinking?

“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” she said aloud. “My stepfather is quite determined that Lendo, Baristo, and the lands of Fiorelli be cemented by blood.”

“Ah, yes! And there you will be, wife of the great Carlo, Count Baristo!”

“And,” she reminded him, “your precious Daphne is to be given over to Michelo Fiorelli. He, at least, is reputed to be handsome and gallant.”

“Reputed to be so … I don’t remember the last time we’ve seen him. Because he, of course,” Armand added bitterly, “has been off fighting in the south, gallantly coming to the aid of nobles in distress wherever they may be.”

“There has been a flare-up of trouble in the south,” she reminded him, and added softly, “I remember my father saying we must always be strong at the borders of our world, and that we can never let enemies— such as wartrolls, wargnomes, and the People of the Distant Land—take an inch away from us, because they will then take a foot, a yard, an acre, and a village.”

“All the more reason I must learn to do battle with a scarecrow,” Armand said dolefully.

“But you can ride so beautifully,” she told him. “And you have an ability with horses, hounds, hawks, and falcons that is surely a greater gift than you can imagine. You speak softly with such animals, and they listen.”

He tousled her hair with affection. “Cousin, I don’t speak with the animals, only to them, and draw from them obedience and loyalty because I earn their trust. Just as you do. Ah, well, we are both the offspring of falcon masters, eh? And we both have a gift with animals. Which, of course, if you truly marry Carlo Baristo, is a talent you may well need.”

She stared at him. “Thank you so very much! As if this isn’t all just as wretched as it can be to begin with!” She shuddered. “I cannot marry Carlo.”

“He’s not so bad. Many a village lass has been known to swoon at his passing.”

“He has but one thought in mind.”

Armand cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. “Ah, yes. The duties of the bedchamber,” he said solemnly.

“No!” she told him impatiently. “His thought is to rule all these lands, and he isn’t at all stupid. He wishes to marry me, because I am the daughter of Nico and Elisia, and because my father and mother are remembered with such love and esteem. And naturally, my stepfather sees nothing wrong with this because his daughter will become a duchess, and Duke Fiorelli sees nothing wrong with this, because Daphne is beautiful and accomplished.”

“So we are all in a sorry state,” Armand said, and his tone was soft, indeed sorry, and somewhat bitter.

“Daphne thinks the world of you, I believe,” Marina said.

“Do you dislike her so, then?” Armand asked. He shrugged. “I mean, she is the daughter of your stepfather. And you were pushed to the back of the house soon after she arrived, while she was given your lovely garden view.”

“Don’t be silly, Armand. I don’t dislike Daphne. I barely know her. I mean, even after all this time. She is always … somewhere. Daphne must play the lute, she must dance, she must sing. We barely pass in the halls, so it seems.” Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t even dislike her silly father.”

“Hush, fie on you!” he teased. “D’Artois may be listening. Many people believe that the old stone walls of this place have ears.”

“It’s her!” Marina said softly.

Armand arched a brow in surprise. “Her?”

“Geovana.”

Armand studied his cousin for a moment. “Marina, you mustn’t believe the old rumors. Geovana has always been kind to me, and I do believe she is concerned for the welfare of our land. She has seen so much happen … she lost her husband so long ago, and then her friends, your parents. And think on it—your stepfather isn’t really a horrible sort, and she’s the one who brought him here and introduced him to your mother.”

“Armand! You may spend your days with horses, but you are as blind as a bat in sunlight. She is like a … wartroll.”

“She can be quite kind and courteous.”

“She is a witch. You will note; she is alive, while Elisia, my mother, is not! She is a witch.”

“There is no such thing, not really. Witches, wizards, creatures of the dark … they are called such because, in our minds, we must come up with reasons that our enemies should conquer, and we should fail. We find we must say, ‘It’s magic; it’s destiny.’ And thus we deal with that which otherwise we cannot. Anyway, you should start to think of Geovana more kindly. She’ll be your mother-in-law.”

“I can’t marry him,” Marina said. “And stop smirking at me!”

“I am not smirking. I am being bitter with you. So, what will you do? Run away?”

“I believe we are part of the prosperity here in Lendo, that our family has kept the traditions, safety, and laws of the village … I couldn’t leave. Who knows what might happen if none of us was here?”

Armand touched her on the chin. “Then you shall have to start calling Geovana ‘Mother’ soon, for it seems your stepfather and the Countess of Baristo are quite determined. And, by the way, if you wish to avoid your future mate, you might want to run back upstairs. He and his men will be arriving for their birds and horses quite soon—there’s a hunt planned for this morning.”

“Now you tell me, Armand! I wish to avoid him at all costs!”

She started back for the stairs, but even as she began to flee, the gates to the rear courtyard opened, and a group of men came walking in.

They came with long strides, clad in the colors of Baristo, and Marina thought they all walked alike, with stiff shoulders and a terrible swagger. She halted, for they were between her and the stairway, and she was certainly far too late to escape them.

Naturally, Carlo Baristo was at the head of the swains, beyond a doubt, the best swaggerer of the group. Tall and dark, he was a man in fine form, spending a great deal of his time battling scarecrows in the yard, and, true in his case, winning the battle each time against his immobile opponent.

He smiled when he saw her. There was something about his smile that made her uneasy. It was a smarmy smile at best. And then there was his voice. It might sound just fine to others, but Marina always felt the sound was like the tear of metal against metal. Then, of course, it could all simply be because she didn’t like or trust the man.

“Ah, Marina, my dear. Will you be joining us, then?”

“No, I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Oh? And why not?”

She stared at him blankly. “Because … I must bring flowers to my parents’ grave sites.”

He arched a brow. “Marina, I’m so sorry to remind you, but your parents are dead. Surely, it will make little difference if you bring the flowers now—or later.”

“Ah, but this is a vow I’ve made, you see, and therefore, I must.”

“I’m certain your parents, known for their wisdom and compassion, would quite understand.”

“But I would not, for the vow is in my heart. Perhaps I should remind you as well, I’m not particularly fond of the hunt.”

“A falcon master’s daughter, and not fond of the hunt!”

“I’m afraid not.”

“And alas, I’m afraid the entire village is fond of eating, and my men and I do bring in the majority of the meat.”

“Of course! No one has ever doubted your ability, my lord, to best the beasts in the forest with your arrows and knives. I’ve heard there is new fighting at the border, that the wartroll and People of the Distant Land have begun to encroach again. In fact, I’ve heard we never do see Fiorelli’s son, Michelo, because he is in command of defenses there. With your incredible ability with weapons, we must all be grateful you are here, among us, fighting rabbits, and not risking life and limb at the border. Indeed, we all must eat. I am so sorry, forgive my blindness. As for today, forgive me again. I truly cannot accompany you. I am committed this morning. So, Carlo, if you’ll be kind enough to excuse me …”

Marina started by him. A strong hand upon her arm curtailed what she hoped would be a swift departure. Her sarcasm, no matter how pleasantly spoken, had not been lost on him. He was angry. But then, beneath his pleasantries, it seemed he was angry most of the time.

“Marina, are you aware your stepfather, my mother, and the great Duke Fiorelli have quite agreed on the future of our three holdings—and the fate of our lives. You’re to be my wife, which of course, pleases me to no end. A lovely, magnificent Christmas present. Since that is to be our destiny, perhaps we should spend more time together.”

“I am committed this morning, Carlo.”

He released her arm, yet his eyes pierced like daggers—which were they, as she often thought—she’d have been pinned to the spot. He lowered his head to speak with her. “In very little time, my dear, you will truly be committed.”

“I really must go.”

“Straight to the grave?”

Was it a threat? Or was he simply questioning her intent?

Thankfully, her cloak was all-encompassing. He could have no idea that she was still clad in her white nightgown.

“Straight to the grave!” she said sincerely.

“Strange.”

“What is that?”

“You have no flowers,” he pointed out.

She stared at him blankly.

“Marina!”

They both turned as her name was called. Armand was hurrying toward her, a large bundle of wildflowers in his hands.

“I think you’ve forgotten these,” he said, his expression entirely guileless. “Lord Baristo, we’re ready; your party awaits.”

Carlo looked from one of them to the other, seeking the conspiracy in Armand’s timely appearance. They both returned his stare with complete innocence.

“Fine, then. I shall see you later, my lady. This evening, at supper.”

“Yes,” she said, and again started by. “I fear so,” she muttered beneath her breath.

“What?” he demanded.

She stopped, and turned back. “I certainly hope so,” she said sweetly.

“Marina,” he replied slowly, “you are going now?” There was doubt and an edge to his tone.

“Yes, now, right now, of course.”

“Your feet are bare,” Carlo noted.

“In honor of my parents,” she said quickly.

“Part of your vow, eh?”

“Oh, yes!” And smiling, she turned and started out—ruing the fact she had no shoes. Lendo was a place of incredible beauty, with cliffs and hills rising high from the sea, and within the great mass of rocks and rises, there were fields and forests, all offering a rich bounty. They were blessed with plentiful fishing, and an abundance of game in the forests, wild hogs, rabbits, pheasants, and more. But the walk up the cliffs and through the plateaus was not a pleasant one in bare feet. Still—this small torment was nothing compared to the torture of a day spent hunting with Carlo Baristo. Determined, she kept walking.

She had cleared the castle, built into a low level of cliffs, and was on the rise when she heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her. Turning, she saw that Armand had ridden out with her mare, Arabella. He dismounted quickly, giving her a hand up into the saddle. He winked as he did so. “You didn’t mention anything about not riding in all those vows.”

She smiled down at him. “Thank you, cousin.”

“My pleasure, Marina.” He bowed deeply. “I am off, then.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe Carlo, Count Baristo, will meet up with a killer rabbit. One can only hope!”

He turned back before she could reply. Both heartened and further depressed, Marina rode onward, very grateful to Armand.

She stopped at the site of her parents’ graves, laid her flowers, and said her prayers. But then she moved on, to one of the cliffs, and toward a plateau where she often came. It was near the caves that were rumored to harbor the menacing Dragon in the Den. She didn’t believe in the dragon, though there were lovely stories told about the way her father had rescued her mother. There was even an underlying superstition in the village that the dragon was as old as man, that he had come before, demanding a sacrifice each year, and if the strength and peace of Lendo ever began to fail, the dragon could come again.

She loved the area herself. There were places touched by beautiful foliage, streams and rivers, and delicate waterfalls. And there was the ancient area, a place where pillars stood, where carved stone seats remained, and it was possible to wonder about the people who created such a charming little realm of both tranquility and mystery.

Marina sat on one of the small benches and curled her feet beneath her. She was actually quite fond of being alone—it was a way to sit and imagine that there had been a dragon, and that it must have been spectacular, her father defying a mighty beast to save her mother. Yet even as she began to imagine the creature, she was aware she had company. Turning around, she saw her friend, the strange, self-proclaimed mystic, Radifini.

Her stepfather dismissed Radifini as a crazy old hermit; Radifini himself insisted he was a wizard, and that he had been a man of great esteem in days of old that were still not so long ago—and he could not believe so many had forgotten his powers!

Marina wasn’t certain where he actually lived, except that it had to be here, somewhere in the cliffs. He told her that, indeed, his home—where he still looked hard to foresee the future and gaze over all that was left of Lendo and the house of d’Or—was within the cliffs. But he never asked her there, for it was dangerous sometimes to foresee the future.

As dangerous as it could be to scoff at a belief in dragons.

“So, my lady, you are here again,” he said sternly. “Dreaming. What—they have no pots and pans for you to scrub today? The servants are all in attendance, and the Countess of Baristo has not warned your stepfather that you must make the beds or polish the silver, since you are in truth but an orphan now, and must be prepared to offer more than blue eyes and a pretty smile if you are to make a good match?”

“I’m here again,” she said, “because apparently, they are all delighted, thinking they have found the finest match in the world for me.”

“Oh?” Radifini joined her on the bench. “And who would this illustrious suitor be?”

“Carlo, Count of Baristo. It will be a Christmas wedding. Daphne will be married as well, to Michelo, son of the great Duke Fiorelli.”

“Ah,” Radifini said gravely. He patted her knee. “Well, then.”

Marina sighed, leaning her elbows upon her knees. “Well, then,” she repeated.

“Merry Christmas?” he offered weakly. She rewarded him with an angry glare.

“Ah, well. You’re less than pleased,” Radifini noted. “He’s rich, powerful, handsome, some would say.”

“I think that he’s really a reptile,” Marina told him.

“And you’re running away—in bare feet, cloak, and nightgown?”

“I’m not running away,” she said.

“So you’ve agreed to the marriage?”

“I’ve not said a word.”

“And why not?”

“I can’t leave Lendo. I must stay—it’s bad enough that my stepfather rules, with the wretched Countess of Baristo always at his side! I think she has designs upon him. Her husband is gone, as is my mother. But d’Artois is not really so cruel, and when I insist upon the old traditions and holidays, he listens. So … I must stay. And make sure that I am in a position of power, as well.”

“What if Baristo is a reptile, and makes you miserable?”

She laughed. “I’m probably quite capable of making him very miserable, as well.”

“But that’s no real life,” Radifini said. He stroked his long white beard. “And not as it should be … Why, I remember when your parents were married; indeed, I remember when you were born! I was there, with all my power, and my white magic … and still, we lost them far too soon.”

Marina placed a hand affectionately over his. “I am sure that you loved my parents, and that you were always there for them.”

“Mock me if you will, young lady. The belief in magic is lost, so none of you young people seem to know what is out there, what glory, what danger. I did more than love your parents. I countered a great deal of evil, but … some are blind to what they can’t see, touch, or feel, and they don’t believe when they should. And always, if one looks, there’s so much in the heart. But your father … perhaps he was too good a man. Still, you know. I serve the house of d’Or, and the day will come when I am able to make a difference!”

She squeezed his hand gently. “Radifini, you make a difference every time I see you! I love to listen to you. You bring back the real splendor of Lendo, and you give me back the laughter and spirit of my parents. You’re a really wondrous white wizard, I do believe it!”

She thought that he was about to shake his head sadly, and insist she didn’t really believe what couldn’t be felt, seen, or touched, and their downfall might well be in that lack of vision. But just as they sat together, there was a disturbance in the brush. Jumping up, Marina first thought she saw an animal—a very large wolf? A horse?—coming low through the brush. But there was nothing. The sun made a sudden shift in the sky then, and a ray of light, almost dazzling, touched down upon the old pillars and seats of the small cove.

She blinked, certain she saw a woman slipping behind one of the pillars and into the ruins beyond. But the light had blinded her; she didn’t know exactly what she had seen.

“Radifini, did you—”

“Sh!” he warned softly.

Then she heard the sound, as well. Horses coming, riding hard upon the plateau.

She wrapped her cloak around her and stood very still. In seconds, Carlo, Count of Baristo, came into the small clearing area, his huge mount pawing the earth and working its bit. He was joined by one of his huntsmen.

“Ah, Marina! Imagine … you’ve fulfilled your vow—and so quickly. No matter, you must leave. There’s danger here. We’ve been hunting a wolf. It’s wounded now … running. Have you seen the creature?”

“A wolf … wounded,” she said. She turned and pointed far across the plateau, in a far distant direction. “Perhaps … I saw something. Low to the ground, running.”

Carlo narrowed his eyes, then stared sharply at Radifini. “You—hermit! What did you see?”

“As my lady says, there was something, yes, low to the ground, running.”

Carlo nodded, stared at Marina, then spoke to his companion. “Flush out the ruins. If Marina says one way, the beast has gone the other.”

Both men turned their horses. On instinct, Marina ran after them. “Wait, no … !”

In a moment, she would hear their cries of pleasure as they went in for the kill … if what she had seen had been a wounded wolf, and the sun had teased her eyes and shown her a human form instead. She might hear the mournful cry of a creature, cornered … baying out its last gasp of breath … then meeting the steel death doled out by such a man as Carlo.

She caught up with Carlo, grabbed him by the leg, and stopped him as he sat on the saddle. “Don’t be daft. I’d tell you if there was a maddened wolf nearby!”

As he looked down at her, there was a sudden disturbance from the bush. Something large moved through the foliage.

“A wild pony!” Marina murmured. “Nothing more, I’m certain.” She looked at Carlo. “A harmless creature! If there is a wounded wolf, it has not come this way. Trust me on this, I beg of you—I’d not let others be harmed by a predator!”

“Go, ride after the dangerous beast, my lord!” Radifini said.

“Marina, you must come,” Carlo said. “Ride with me. There is danger here.”

“I will defend her,” Radifini said.

“You, old man!” Carlo mocked. “You could not defend her from a fly.”

“I’m quite capable of defending myself, thank you,” Marina said. “And Carlo, I do believe you underestimate our friend Radifini.”

“I tell you, young lord, there is no wolf here!” Radifini insisted.

“Marina, you should come.”

“I am still in meditation.”

“With the old man?”

“I remember her parents with deeper love than any,” Radifini said solemnly.

“Be back by supper,” Carlo said impatiently. “Or I shall fear for you, indeed, Marina, and come to insist that I keep my eye upon you, at all times.”

He rode off, his huntsman following quickly after.

“Reptile!” Marina said with a sigh.

“Snake, perhaps,” Radifini agreed. He wrinkled his nose. “Frog.”

“Too noble. He’s a toad!” she argued, managing to smile. But memory served her, and her smile faded. She kissed the old man’s cheek. “I must go. I don’t know what I saw, but brave Carlo was hunting down some poor wounded beast. I must see if I can find the creature. It might be injured. God knows—that was Carlo. He might truly have shot at a wild pony or horse, seeing a big, bad wolf in his mind’s eye! I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude to you, or leave you. I do enjoy our time together so much!”

“Good heavens, my girl! Go find the creature, and hurry now,” he told her.

The sun had become warm. Marina dropped her cloak upon the rocks to move more quickly over the rough terrain, through the long grasses, trees, and foliage. Scampering along carefully, she followed the strange tracks she could barely discern upon the ground, thanking God all the while that Carlo had not been hunting with hounds.

She crawled through boulders and brush, swore softly as she stepped on stones. At last she broke out near the edge of a cliff, and there, upon the smooth surface of a weatherworn rock, belly down, struggling for comfort, was the creature.

Not a pony, or a wolf, or any animal that ran upon all fours. It was a falcon. A magnificent falcon!

“Poor creature!” she said softly. Blood poured from the animal’s wing. A broken arrow shaft protruded from it and she cried out softly, hoping the arrow itself had not imbedded into any bone, breaking the wing.

“Easy!” she murmured, aware she could be severely injured by the beak of the bird should she frighten it. As gently as she could, she touched the creature, carefully feeling the point of the arrow tip. “Poor, poor thing!” she murmured. It seemed only the tip of the arrow had made it into the wing, and that the wound was not too deep. Placing her hand hard at the point of impact to staunch any flow of blood, she gripped the arrow tip. “It will hurt, I’m afraid,” she said softly. “I hope you can realize that I’m trying to help you! Be easy, now … it definitely is going to hurt a bit.”

Carefully, she grasped the bird, set pressure to the wound, and pulled out the arrow.

“A bit!” came a shout. “A bit! That hurt like blue blazes!”

Marina was so startled by the voice she nearly fell off the rocky plateau where she had found the creature. She had been seated; she leapt to her feet, looking around, searching out the surrounding foliage.

There was no one. No one near …

She looked back at the falcon.

“Yes, you silly girl, it’s me speaking!” came the voice again. “Me, here, the falcon.”

Incredulous, Marina walked back toward the injured animal.

“Me, here, yes!”

The beak was moving. The falcon definitely appeared to be … speaking.

“I’m losing my mind,” Marina murmured. “Stress … has to be stress. Surely—and certainly, not surprising—the very idea of marrying the Count Baristo could cause madness.”

“Stress … overload … there’s every excuse in the world!” the falcon sighed.

“Falcons don’t talk!” Marina said.

“Have you ever actually addressed one and expected an answer from it?”

“Well, no …”

“Then how on earth would you know that we don’t talk? I would say that, apparently, sometimes we do!” the falcon said irritably. “Now, please, have you forgotten all about me? My injury? Have you something to use as a bandage? Come, come, girl! Catch your jaw before it hits the dirt. Get over here and help!”

Chapter 2

With a great, heavy blow that extended every ounce of his strength, Michelo, heir apparent to the great Duke Fiorelli, brought his battle sword down upon the shoulders of his opponent. He had done so already, time and time again, and each time, the mail- and armor-clad being had risen again, like some monster, able to turn on him once more with renewed strength.

He heard the great clash of steel against steel; he felt the reverberation sweep through his arm, and then the length of him.

And then … thank God! The man … the thing stayed down. Michelo drew in a deep breath, anxious to approach his fallen enemy and pull the visor and helmet from the face. The warriors of old insisted they had fought wartrolls, mercenary creatures brought in by their enemies, beings that had scales rather than flesh. He’d never seen one, and he’d wondered at times if the wartroll hadn’t been invented by strong men, unwilling to admit they could not face an enemy with an even greater strength. And yet, in the time of his father’s days of battle, they had beat back such an army, won a decisive victory. And over the many years since, there had been comparative peace … with just a few raids now and then.

But their enemies grew bolder, encroaching upon lands where the people lived in freedom from barbarous rules and overbearing tyrants. There is strength in alliance, his father had taught him, and so it had been true. But now …

The legendary Nico d’Oro was gone. Carlo Baristo swore he would raise his army, and come to aid at the border when a real threat existed. Only Michelo’s own father believed the raids were coming far more often now, and with far greater intensity. And so, Michelo had now spent most of the past few years on the border, leading his men against the raiders, and wondering when the time would come when the enemy rose en masse, assaulting them in greater numbers. They would override his father’s lands first, and if the duchy fell, the counties of Lendo and Baristo would not be far behind.

Michelo shook his head with aggravation. The alliance of the duchy and the two counties had now been formed for years and years, but one would think, sometimes, that Baristo was not much of an ally to have—sometimes it seemed as if he worked against the very peace they fought so hard along the borders to maintain.

He moved toward his enemy. Just then, though, he heard the hoofbeats that signaled the coming of his own men, who, in riding against the enemy, had come to assist. They had been in hand-to-hand battles themselves, and only now were rallying again to regroup behind him.

He turned to see them riding quickly, eager to come to his aid and defense should he have been caught off-guard by more opponents.

He waved, then turned back, so anxious to lift that helmet and see if he had battled a man—or the rumored beast-enemy of his father’s day.

The grass was empty. There was nothing there. No man, and certainly, no beast.

He knelt down as his men rode hard behind him. Antonio Tosse from the north jumped from his horse, landing at his side.

“He escaped?” he said.

“He was down … and now he’s gone … so he must have. But surely you saw him rise and run,” Michelo said.

“We saw nothing,” Antonio said.

Michelo touched a dark spot on the earth, and studied the tip of the finger of his gauntlet. Blood. There had been someone, something … wounded. And now it was gone. “Search for a trail,” he said. And so they searched, and there were scatters of blood, and yet no trail.

“What manner of man … ?” Michelo murmured.

“Wartroll,” Antonio said.

“Wartroll … a race we know little about, yet it seems indeed our enemies fight with some magic. They come in hordes … they are gone as if they were never there,” offered Andreas Este, a man who had been a farmer, and honed his skills through many years to become a warrior.

The sound of hoofbeats came to them.

Antonio stood. “There’s a rider coming. Carrying your father’s banner.”

As they waited, the lone rider, heralding the banner of the Duke of Fiorelli, came hard among them. He dismounted quickly, bowing to them all, and handed Michelo a letter, sealed in wax with his father’s great signet ring.

They all waited as Michelo opened the letter, read the words, and stared at them again.

“I am summoned home,” he said.

“But …” Antonio said. He fell silent. They all knew what his words would be. But they remained in danger. Riders came, warriors attacked. Their forces on the front were few, and in the time he had spent here, the men had come to follow him.

“I will not be gone long,” he said quietly. “It seems my father has decided I must marry. A great ceremony, at Christmas. There are more than our forces at risk, so it seems. He believes that I have gone quite far enough alone, and in leading you all against the risk of invasion, I risk leaving the duchy with no heir.”

“Ah,” Antonio said.

“Um,” Andreas murmured.

“Your father has found you this bride?” Antonio said.

“There’s nothing at all unusual in that,” Andrea reminded him.

“But parents find brides for their sons in order to cement alliances, to form treaties, to gain land,” Antonio said sadly.

“She could be five hundred pounds,” Andreas mused.

“Or an old hag,” Antonio suggested.

“Or have a mustache, a unibrow!” Andreas added with horror.

“A true witch!” the messenger said, unable to refrain. They all looked at him. “Sorry, Lord Michelo. It’s been known to happen.”

“I know of my intended bride,” Michelo said. “Daphne, the daughter of the new Lord of Lendo, Count d’Artois.” Count d’Artois had ruled Lendo for many years by that time, but he was still known as the “new” Lord of Lendo.

“Then she’s not hideous,” Antonio said.

“Or huge, six feet by six feet,” Andreas agreed.

“Or even a terrible witch,” the messenger added.

“No, she is none of those,” Michelo said, folding the letter. “In my absence, you will all follow the command of Antonio, and I swear I will not leave you long. You, my friend,” he told the messenger, “ride back quickly now, and tell my father I am coming, as soon as I make a few preparations—as in bathing,” he added ruefully.

The messenger mounted his horse, and turned back the way he had come.

“You don’t look like a joyous bridegroom,” Antonio remarked.

“Or even terribly relieved that you’re not to marry a six-by-six old crone of a witch!” Andreas added.

“With a mustache,” Antonio added.

“Or a unibrow,” Andreas added.

“I am relieved,” Michelo said, smiling ruefully.

“You’re just not happy,” Antonio said.

“How observant!” Andreas quipped. Antonio furled his brow, and stared at Andreas.

Michelo laughed. “No, I’m not happy.”

“But … Daphne is quite lovely,” Antonio said.

“I saw her years ago, yes. And those who speak of her do so glowingly. I just hadn’t thought … well, I don’t love her at all. And she can hardly care for me. She hasn’t seen me. I mean … it’s not what I thought, in my heart, I suppose, when I did think of marriage, and the future.”

“I’m afraid that I would take the six-by-six, wrinkled, pruned, mustached, old hag—to improve my holdings,” Antonio told him cheerfully. “Good heavens, man! You’re getting married. What has that to do with love?”

“Nothing, so it seems,” Michelo said, dusting his gauntlets against his thigh, then heading toward the horses. His own great warhorse, Alexander, named for the powerful Greek conqueror, awaited him. They would be truly allying the lands of the duchy, and those of Lendo. And there was no argument with his father’s logic. The great duke had it all figured out; Michelo would marry Daphne, and apparently Carlo, Count of Barristo, would marry the other daughter of the house.

He couldn’t help but think of Carlo with a certain weary displeasure.

But then …

At least the man wasn’t being married to Adriana, his own younger sister!

So. It was all carefully planned. It was logical. It spun ties between everyone in the duchy, right and proper.

It was just …

Just what?

There had to be more.

Aye, it seemed …

There just had to be more!

Marina staunched the flow of blood from the falcon’s wing. “Let’s see if the bleeding begins again,” she murmured, resting the creature back on the rock.

“You’re not leaving me without this bandaged properly, are you?” the creature demanded.

Marina smiled. “No … I just want to make sure you’re not going to bleed to death in the imminent future! We may need more pressure for a few minutes. It’s a miracle a bone wasn’t broken. That your body wasn’t … well, that it wasn’t more serious.”

The flow of blood staunched, Marina sat back, assuring herself that the bleeding would not begin again. Weary then, Marina rested her head against the rock as well for a moment, wishing that she could stay, and sleep, and then wake, and find her world had changed.

This was it, apparently. Life had become too much for her. She had assumed she could manage whatever came, that she was strong and determined, and would never leave Lendo completely in the hands of such a man as Carlo Baristo.

But now she knew. She wasn’t that strong. She was losing her mind. Hearing words come from a falcon. Perhaps it was a good thing she should lose her mind. Carlo wouldn’t want to marry a lunatic. Ah, but then again! He might marry her, and have her locked up. Carlo coveted Lendo, and marrying her would eventually bring him the land. Her stepfather coveted his social standing more than property, and thus Daphne would marry Fiorelli’s son.

She needed to fight this, because insanity wasn’t going to save her.

“You know, I’m not really a falcon,” the bird said.

Smiling, Marina lifted her head. “You look like a falcon.” She was somewhat amused, still not certain she was in her own right mind.

“How many times have you seen animals talk?”

“Never, we’ve established that. But animals do, in their way, talk all the time. We usually just have to listen differently.”

The falcon sighed with feigned patience. “How many talk, as I am talking now?”

“None, but I don’t believe you’re really talking.”

“What?”

“This is a figment of my imagination. I’m choosing a dream world over the travesty of my reality.”

For a moment the falcon was silent, dark eyes hard upon her. “What?”

“I’m dreaming this whole thing up.”

“Snap out of it, young woman!” the falcon said impatiently. “My dear child, if your life is that distressing, I may be able to help you. If I can actually get your full attention,” the bird said with another sigh, this one very openly impatient. “My name is Thomasina. And I’m really a rather talented fairy.”

“Oh?” Marina smiled. “Of course.” She peered closely at the animal’s wing again. “I just want to see that wound. I think the bleeding has stopped completely.” With fabric torn from her nightgown, Marina began to bandage the falcon’s wing. “So—if you’re really a fairy, why do you appear to be a falcon with an arrow wound on your wing?”

“Well, you see, I was actually doing a bit of eavesdropping earlier today,” Thomasina, the falcon, said. “Ouch!”

“I’m securing the bandaging as carefully as I can. It would be much easier, of course, if you really were a fairy, if you’d pop back to a human-like form. An arm would be far easier to tend to than a wing, you know.”

“Fairies, you know, can shift shapes quite easily,” Thomasina said.

“Then it would be so convenient and helpful if you were to shift now.”

“You’re not letting me finish the story. I had to get away quickly—there are those who should never be given a chance to catch a fairy—and so I turned myself into a wolf. Bad choice, I’m afraid, made too quickly. Then the monster who put the arrow into me was on my tail, and that time, just a bit belatedly, I thought falcon. But now, you see … I’m quite weakened by all this, so I must remain in this form.”

“As you say.”

“Young lady, you are quite patronizing.”

“I don’t mean to be.”

“Oh, that’s right. You believe yourself to be in the midst of a serious mind disease.”

“What I think is that I’m going to see you’re well bandaged and set for the night. Then I’m heading home, and I’ll soak in a long bath, and”—she paused, making a face—”I’ll go to supper, as I must, of course, drink a great quantity of wine to get through it, and sleep just as long as I possibly can. You mustn’t worry, though. I will be back tomorrow.”

“You can’t tell anyone that I’m a magical being.”

“I hadn’t intended to in the least.”

The falcon stared at her, angling its head. “What are you doing up here in your nightdress?”

Marina laughed. “Hm, quickly—I’m supposed to marry this awful man I despise. But I’m going to do so, because I think it’s really the right thing. I don’t like being home because my parents are gone, my stepfather is a wishy-washy man led around by a woman who is a witch, and it’s rather miserable. That’s about it. I come here to … dream, I guess,” she said softly.

“And that’s why you wear your nightgown? The better to dream?”

Marina shook her head, smiling. “The better to escape quickly—I had to pretend I was heading out, rather than be forced to join a hunting party. I have a cloak, somewhere, and my horse is not far away.”

“You do seem to be having a strange existence. As I said, I can help you. Fairies can grant a human three wishes, you know. At Christmastide. It’s quite convenient for you that it happens to be Christmastide.”

“Ah, Thomasina, what a sweet thought! But I do believe that we must help ourselves in life. I could run away, you see, but I don’t think that would do anyone any good. I love Lendo very much, and I do think I’m quite a match for the wretched fellow I’m to marry.”

“Well …” the falcon said softly. “I am, of course, pleased to hear you have confidence in yourself, but … well, my dear, even the strongest man, or the most powerful lord, needs assistance at some point in life.”

“True, but I will be just fine. Of course … if there were any other way … but there isn’t. So.”

“So. Your life is wretched—but you’re resigned. And so you come here … and spend your days in dreams. I’m not so sure that’s helping you. Three wishes, girl. Take a chance.”

Marina laughed. “Well, I must say, I’d enjoy it heartily if that swaggering braggart, Carlo Baristo, were to fall flat into a watering trough,” she said, savoring the image her words brought to mind. Then she noted how far the sun had gone down, and she rose quickly. “I must go. I believe you’re fairly sheltered here … and close enough to the water to drink. I’ll be back as soon as I can in the morning to make sure you’re doing well. I wish you a good night and a speedy recovery. And I still can’t believe I’m talking to a falcon. Or rather, that a falcon is talking to me!”

“I’ve told you, I’m not really a falcon, I’m a fairy, a good one, named Thomasina.”

Marina grinned. “Well, you know the old saying, if it looks like a falcon, talks like a falcon, and so forth. You are a beautiful creature! And whatever you are, don’t worry, I swear I will see you completely healed! But now I must run!”

She blew the bird a kiss, and hurried back the way she had come, collecting the cloak she had doffed earlier and whistling for her mare. Luckily, the horse had not wandered far, and Marina started back far ahead of the coming dusk.

She reached the courtyard, however, to find the hunting party had returned before she did. The men had dismounted, and several were still speaking as their horses slaked their thirst at the watering trough. Hoping she still might not run into Carlo, she rode Arabella through to the stables, and there, dismounted quickly, softly calling her cousin’s name.

“Armand?”

“Armand is busy.”

Carlo stepped from the stall where his huge charger was kept. “Just returning? You’re dedicated to your mourning. I hope you find such zeal for other pursuits, as well.”

She ignored his words.

“Were you able to kill the wolf?” she asked politely.

“We never found the wolf.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure you gravely injured the beast.”

“Did you find the wolf, Marina?”

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

She laughed. “I can swear by all the saints, I saw no wolf after you departed to chase such a beast!” She wondered what he would say if she told him she’d spent the latter part of the day tending to the wound of a falcon—that talked.

“You would try,” he said, “to heal a wolf, no matter how dangerous. Indeed, it seems you are determined to save any bedraggled creature.”

“I’m sorry, I’m lost—to what ‘creature’ do you refer now?”

“That crazy old hermit.”

She leaned against Arabella, a slow smile curving her lips. “Radifini? He is a friend.”

“Quite insane, I believe.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. He claims to have been a great wizard, in my father’s day.”

“Rubbish!” Carlo said, and nearly spit out the words. “Great wizard?”

“Well, if not, then he is a harmless old man. And a friend.”

He started toward her. “You’ll have to learn that there isn’t really enough time in the day to spend so many hours with old madmen who have delusions of grandeur.”

“The old madman was dear to my parents, and I’ll not forget him.”

He was coming too close; she moved to the other side of Arabella, hoping he wouldn’t pen her in the animal’s stall as she removed her mare’s saddle and bridle.

For the second time that day, Armand came to the rescue, striding into the stables. “Marina, you’re back. I’ll see to Arabella for you, since your stepfather expects you to join the company at supper.”

“Thank you, Armand.” He took the reins, winking. She mouthed, “Bless you.” She wanted to say so much more to him! Even if he didn’t believe she’d rescued a talking falcon that claimed to be a fairy, he’d laugh with her about her escape into a fantasy world.

But not now. Now was the time to escape.

She strode quickly across the stables, and winced when she heard the footsteps following in her wake.

“Marina!”

She pretended not to hear.

“Marina!”

She had reached the watering trough, and there were still too many men and horses surrounding it. She paused, turning.

He came to her and took her hand. “Your stepfather and my mother intend to discuss the wedding plans tonight. It will be something of a celebration. We’ll drink to one another this evening, my dear.”

She managed not to wrench her hand away; far too many of his men were looking on.

“Drinking tonight sounds good,” she said sweetly.

She turned again. She had no idea he meant to hold on to her. She walked into the neck of one of the horses, ducked, and kept going. At that point, she realized he had not let go.

Nor did he intend to do so.

She tried to duck back beneath the neck of the horse, but the animal chose that moment to move as well, turning its body in a sudden swing.

Carlo’s grip on her was firm—he had apparently meant to prove he didn’t have to let her go, that she was dismissed only when he chose.

If he’d only let her go …

But he didn’t, and so the great warhorse turned sideways into him, and he was swept off his feet …

And into the watering trough.

He fell backward, flat out, and went under, and it was one of the funniest things she had ever seen in her life. His hands and feet were waving above the surface until his head broke the waterline, as well.

He was bright red, spouting water through his lips as if he were a fountain.

His men laughed.

She couldn’t help it; she burst into laughter, as well.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, all the laughter ended, for Carlo Baristo stared at all of them with eyes so furious they seemed to glow. Manolo, his squire, so often at his side, let out a laugh when all had gone silent. Carlo’s head turned with the speed of a cobra, and his furious gaze settled upon Manolo, who then pretended to hiccup, and went silent.

“Get me out of here!” he raged furiously.

His men sprang forward.

It would have been a fine time to make a retreat, but Marina was still savoring the sight of him, soaked and bedraggled.

He was pulled from the water, and gave no thanks to those who were soaked from their efforts to help him. He marched over to Marina, shaking with a fury that startled her. His voice was a rush of air that held so much malice, she felt chilled to the bone.

“You did that on purpose,” he hissed.

Stunned, she arched a brow. “I didn’t do that at all. You are such a gallant man, who’d have imagined that you’d have such a hold on me when I turned away? And you can’t blame a horse for behaving like one!”

“I will have the animal slain, Marina, and then, perhaps, you’ll understand how I feel about being viciously humiliated.”

“Slain!” she cried. “Not even you are so cruel or careless with life!”

“I warn you, I will do so.”

She spoke loudly suddenly, staring at him with eyes that belied every word out of her mouth. “Thank God, my dear Count Baristo, that you are so magnanimous a man, that your temper is so quickly brought to good humor! Truly, forgive me that you are soaked to the bone, and I pray you’re not too chilled. That was entirely my fault, my absolute lack of grace. I pray, please forgive me for causing your mishap, but then again … dear sir! Why, indeed, you are soaked, and yet … so manly for it all! Your muscles, sir, bulge right through the dampness of the cloth. Wet, my lord, you are indeed something to behold!”

She smiled icily. “I think all your men heard that. Does the horse live?”

“The horse will live,” he said pleasantly.

“Is that a threat against my life?” she demanded.

“Against the daughter of the great d’Or? Never … or at least, not, my lady, in the foreseeable future.” He bowed, doffing his drenched hat. Water, of course, sprayed all over her, spattering her cloak.

She didn’t mind at all. “At supper then,” he said, “we drink to the future.”

“Oh, yes, we’ll drink!”

She turned and retreated quickly up the stairs to her room in the rear of the castle. And it wasn’t until she was there that she remembered talking to the falcon, and the words that she had said herself—wish number one.

“Well, I must say, I’d enjoy it heartily if that swaggering braggart, Carlo Baristo, were to fall flat into a watering trough!”

And he had done so.

Carlo had fallen into a watering trough!

Well, Carlo was certain she had pushed him into a watering trough!

And he had threatened to kill a horse for the act!

But still …

She smiled. It had been miraculously funny while it had gone on. She couldn’t remember when she had laughed so, and she didn’t even mind when he thought he had forced her to apologize. He never realized he was being mocked for he assumed he was so fine a specimen that surely she meant her every word sincerely.

Marina threw herself upon her bed and stared at the ceiling. If she wasn’t losing her mind, the falcon had been talking. And claiming to be a fairy …

A fairy who had offered her three wishes at Christmastide!

She had wanted Carlo to fall into a watering trough. She had made the wish, and perhaps, thus, she had been the one to make it happen.

There was a tapping on her door. The caller did not wait for a reply to bid enter. The wooden door was pushed open.

Geovana was there. Tall, with perfect posture, she seemed able to glide with squared and regal shoulders as she walked. Thin-faced, frightening, yet elegant, she had come to a point in life where she was always in perfect composure, where her voice was always even, where only the slight glint of golden evil in her eyes might give a clue to the fact her machinations were in any way to improve her own lot. She wore black most of the time, in memory, of course, of those departed. Yet her sleek gowns were edged with royal blues and silver, touches of color that spoke of her nobility. When Elisia had married Pietro, Geovana had actually worn white to the wedding. Ah, but now, Elisia was gone, and Geovana had all but taken over the castle at Lendo; Count d’Artois seemed to give the gravest attention to her every word, as if he were hypnotized by the very sound of her voice.

“Good evening … my dear. The finest wine is being served below, in your honor. And that of my dear son, of course. He’ll be joining us shortly … as it seems you played a naughty little prank on him.”

She might have been the most magnanimous woman in the world. She seemed so remote, and yet … such a touch of kindly doting!

Marina rose quickly.

“I will be right there, Countess Baristo. I need but a minute to myself.”

“Dear child, of course.” The Countess walked on into the room, pausing before Marina. She set a hand upon her cheek, and kissed her forehead.

Marina felt an arctic chill sweep over her.

“What a lovely daughter-in-law you’ll be!” she said, and then turned, moving with an eerie silence. Geovanna departed, closing the door behind her.

If only the falcon did really talk …

And if only Marina did have three wishes. Three Christmas wishes.

But then …

It was true. Absolutely true that the Count Baristo had just fallen into a watering trough.

Just exactly as she had wished.

If so, one wish used…

Two were left.

Chapter 3

Michelo Fiorelli rode out by night.

There was a full moon shining overhead, and Alexander knew the way as well as he did himself. This side of the border, peace had reigned for years, and so he rode with little thought given to distance or direction, nearly dozing at times.

He was loathe to leave the battlefield, afraid there was a greater power behind the enemy attacks than had been shown thus far. He remained disturbed by the way the body of the warrior who had so viciously fought had simply vanished, not seen by either him or his men.

Touched by moonlight, the landscape was beautiful. Sloping hills to the sea appeared to be blanketed in dark mauve. Here and there, cliffs caught a reflection of moonlight, and glowed in a softened beauty. He loved his homeland. Loved it intensely. He had been willing to fight and die for it now for many years, and had been ever vigilant.

And it made sense …

Though there was now the lovely young Adriana to fill his father’s days with happiness, Michelo was the great duke’s only son. It was natural his father wanted a continuation of his line.

And still …

If he recalled the last time he’d seen Daphne, she had been a lovely girl. They’d both been courteous and polite. And he’d felt …

Nothing.

And she, in return, had appeared to make the proper moves, to be courteous and attentive when he spoke. And yet, she had looked at him with as much enthusiasm as …

A piece of wilted lettuce.

“Whoa!” he murmured suddenly, startled into awareness as Alexander stumbled on the path. Just then, clouds slipped over the moon, and darkness fell like an encompassing blanket over the land. At the same time, almost exactly, so it seemed, a fog swept in from the sea.

Alexander snorted and whinnied.

Michelo patted his horse’s neck. “It’s all right, old boy. We’ll go just ahead, there are caves down the path to the sea. We’ll stop there, and make it home by tomorrow.”

Alexander tossed his head, as if understanding perfectly. Then suddenly, in the darkness, he reared up, snorting with panic.

Michelo was nearly unhorsed, but held his ground. Out of the swirling darkness, he saw cloaked men had used the cover of darkness to move stealthily upon them. He drew his sword from the sheath in his saddle, then cried out to Alexander. The horse reared up again, then plunged forward. As the first of the men came forward, a flicker in the darkness showed the length of his sword. Michelo swung against his enemy, catching the figure with the impetus of Alexander’s forward motion.

One hung on his left, and one on his right. One had a knife, and planned to use it against the horse to slow him down. He struck that figure with his sword hilt; in silence it fell away. The other clung to his saddle and leg, tearing at him with superhuman strength. Michelo brought the blade of his sword down twice … three times …

At last the figure fell away.

They raced onward, Michelo trying to slow his horse’s gait, for they raced into a stygian darkness. He and Alexander were rising again, climbing to the cliffs.

“Whoa, boy, it’s over! We’re safe!” he cried, and a smile slipped onto his lips as he congratulated himself with great relief upon escaping the danger. “Safe!”

But even as he spoke, Alexander walked beneath an unseen tree.

A large, low branch caught Michelo squarely in the forehead.

With a slight groan, he fell from the horse, and the darkness of the night was complete.

Even with the great Duke Fiorelli, his lovely wife, Lucia, and their pretty young Adriana in attendance, Geovana took her seat at the side of Pietro d’Artois, Count of Lendo, for the evening’s festivities.

“One would think she was countess here,” Armand murmured to Marina, passing her on his way to the rear of the room, a far table, where falconers were allowed to sit. Marina grimaced, for it was true. The chair Geovana took had been her mother’s seat, a place of honor. But then again, she was a countess in her own right, and it was her son’s marriage that would be announced that night to the stepdaughter of the house, just as the marriage of Michelo, son of the great Fiorelli, would be announced, to Count d’Artois’s beloved child of his blood, Daphne.

Marina didn’t particularly care where anyone sat. All she wanted was for the night to be over.

At Geovana’s departure from her bedroom, she had bathed and dressed correctly, or, at least, as correctly as she could, for the clothing that came her way tended to be the hand-me-downs from Daphne. She wondered that night if she lied to herself; if she didn’t resent the fact that Daphne had come into her home, and been the one to receive the lessons, the love, the clothing, the doting of the older generation. Watching Daphne, she felt no real anger. Daphne was a beautiful young woman with a sweet disposition. She seemed a bit distracted, despite the fact she was tutored and adored—while Marina was given the chores. She didn’t seem to be a terrible person, to ever cause ill to others. Since Marina did not want the dictatorial attention of her stepfather, she was glad to take a step behind Daphne, she realized.

Unfortunately, tonight, they were about to share a fate, for Duke Fiorelli, Lucia, and Adriana were seated at the head table next to Pietro d’Artois and Geovana, who were laughing and happy and quite pleased. Serafina, Daphne’s main tutor in the arts of dance and music, was at the table as well, sweet, and lovely, and though usually entirely serene, she looked slightly ill.

Marina, late, hurrying to her seat, saw that Daphne looked wan and pale, and not at all happy. She was seated next to the messenger standing in for Michelo Fiorelli, who had apparently not made it back yet from his battles at the borders.

As Marina approached the table, the men stood. Carlo took her hand, looking for all the world like the courteous, handsome young lord, and she was greeted with affection by all. She offered Carlo an apology for her tardiness, and he gave her a smile and an assurance. “Soon, dear Marina, I assure you, you will learn manners, and never have to apologize again.”

She didn’t have a chance to reply. The great Duke Fiorelli rose, and the company fell silent. He announced first the engagement of Daphne to his son, Michelo, and then the engagement of Carlo Baristo and Marina, the daughter of the late, lamented Nico and Elisia. There was cheering around the hall, and then people were up, standing, kissing one another, and it seemed the whole hall rejoiced.

Marina saw Daphne’s face, and she was startled to see her stepsister looked stricken. After a word with her father-in-law-to-be, she suddenly fled the hall. Puzzled, Marina watched her go. And when Carlo told her they would dance, Daphne’s exit gave her courage. “Forgive me! There seems to be an ague about! Daphne has retired … I fear the same symptoms!”

Carlo hated illness. He doubted her, she knew.

He also hated to be around anyone ill.

She took advantage of his hesitance and fled.

That night, even as she went to bed, she heard the beat of horse’s hooves below, and looked out the window. She felt a great and terrible sorrow, for there was her cousin, Armand, still tilting with scarecrows, more feverishly now, as any chance of his winning Daphne was waning.

The weddings had been set for a fortnight’s time.

Christmas Day.

She woke just as the sun crept over the gorgeous heights and cliffs and bluffs of their region. And before anyone could stop her, she dressed, raced to the stables, saddled Arabella, and took off for the hills, praying all the while that the falcon was faring well.

Indeed, she seemed much better. She appeared to have walked to the water, and was graciously dipping her beak for a long cool drink. All in all, she was making a remarkable recovery.

“You look wonderful,” Marina said softly, checking the bandaged site on the falcon’s wing. There was no hint of renewed bleeding. “It’s quite amazing. You’ll be good as new quite soon.”

“I do hope!” the falcon said, and stared at her with head angled in a birdlike way. “So, how was your evening, Marina?”

“Remarkable, as well,” Marina said. Her lips twitched into a smile. “Well, disastrous, of course, as our marriages were announced. But, Thomasina! Before that, it was priceless! Carlo fell into a water trough. Of course, he says that I pushed him, but it was all his fault, I swear it. And, oh, when he went in, I laughed so hard. And his men laughed … until he gave us all the evil eye! Ah, but still … those moments were worth his wrath! Isn’t that truly astounding, after our conversation yesterday?”

The falcon stared at her for a moment. She could have sworn that the animal was frowning. “Astounding? Let me see, dear, what part about my having the power to grant three wishes did you just not get? And, of course, I’m quite glad you enjoyed the spectacle of the man in the water, but since his dousing doesn’t really change life for you any … it’s my opinion that you think long and hard about your second wish!”

Marina returned Thomasina’s stare. It was so difficult to believe in magic, in wishes. And yet, it had been just as the falcon had said.

Of course, it was difficult to believe in a falcon, and a talking falcon at that, especially one with a name like Thomasina!

But, then, of course, the falcon claimed to be a fairy.

“Could this be real?” she whispered.

“In life, child, we must always help ourselves. But can this be real? A talking falcon? Magic? Maybe magic is also what we make of it. If you stop and let it be, Christmas can be a time of magic. You see, young lady, magic can be in the soul, and come to different people in different ways. Here, my dear, think of the magic in your heart at Christmas.” She ruffled and fixed her feathers. “Dear, dear. So much for my speeches—you must not waste another wish. Think long and hard, and tell me your heart’s desire.”

Marina arched a brow. “I can’t make my heart’s desire a wish, since what I want more than anything else in the world is not to marry Carlo, Count Baristo! In that, I might well lose Lendo, and it was where my parents lived and ruled and I was born, and where I really am needed.”

“At least you’re taking this seriously, and thinking carefully,” the falcon said, seeming a bit relieved.

“So …” Marina mused, rising and pacing several steps around the falcon, still thinking that the creature might disappear at any moment, and she would discover the entire adventure was actually in her desperate imagination. “My heart’s desire—” She stopped suddenly, turning to face the falcon. “One night,” she said softly.

“One night?”

Marina nodded, smiling. “Just one night … with the man of my dreams. Someone who is as enchanted with me as Armand is with his Daphne. Someone who looks at me that way, who sees only my eyes, hears my voice … someone gallant, brave, strong, truly noble—not in title, but in deed, in thought … in care.”

“That’s all?” the falcon queried.

“Did I ask too much?”

“No, no, just checking. It’s always good to state a wish clearly and precisely. This is a bit more complicated than a dunking in a watering trough. Go on, please.”

“Well, of course, it would be great if he were also incredibly handsome, witty, and charming,” Marina said with a grin and a shrug.

“It’s your wish,” the falcon told her.

“That’s it, then,” Marina said. “That’s it—because I have decided my future is the one I must live, and as I told Armand—my cousin—I am determined if Carlo tries to make me miserable, I simply will not let him.” She looked away. “I know how to battle him,” she murmured. “So … what night shall it be?” she asked teasingly. “We are going to have to hurry here, you know.”

“There’s someone coming,” the falcon said, her head cocked at an angle.

“Someone coming?” Marina spun around, anxious to put distance between herself and the falcon, lest it be Carlo, and he decide for some reason he needed to dispose of the magical creature.

To her surprise, she saw Armand on the hill, leading his horse and patting Arabella.

“Armand?”

He started at the sound of her voice and swung around quickly. Seeing her, he let out a sigh of relief.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you. After the excitement in the hall last night … you didn’t appear in the least happy.”

“I certainly wasn’t in the least happy,” she agreed, and smiled at him wistfully. “But, Armand, did you notice? Daphne looked absolutely … ashen! She isn’t happy, either.”

“Do you think she even knows that I exist?” Armand asked. He shook his head then, looking down. “I spend my days tilting with straw mannequins, praying …”

Since Marina still wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t totally delusional herself, she’d worried about mentioning the falcon to anyone. But Armand was her cousin, and her dearest friend. “Armand … come with me.”

He followed her back to the rock plateau, where the falcon stood, watching him warily.

Armand looked at Marina. “It’s a falcon!” he said.

“Yes, I know. Her wing was wounded.”

“A beautiful falcon!” he mused. “Poor thing! Injured. I’ll have a look.”

“She was struck by an arrow,” Marina murmured.

“Carlo!” he exclaimed angrily.

He strode to the falcon, gently moving the bandage, tenderly touching the wing by the wound. He looked up. “Fine work,” he told Marina.

“She can talk,” Marina said.

“Indeed, I often think they communicate, falcons are such fine and intelligent animals,” Armand said.

“No, I mean, seriously, she can talk.”

“Certain cries and calls can mimic words, I suppose,” Armand said, striving to be patient and understanding, since they were all under so much stress.

Marina sighed. “Thomasina, talk to him, please.”

The falcon angled her head, staring at her, then at Armand.

“He’s my cousin; it’s all right!” Marina insisted.

“Be still!” Armand murmured suddenly, and he, too, cocked his head at an angle, rather like the falcon’s. “There’s someone else … nearby,” he said.

Marina moved protectively to the falcon’s side.

“It’s all right,” Armand told her. “If it’s Carlo, I’ll lead him away, somehow.” He hesitated. “You can go on, care for your falcon … talk to it.”

Armand, ever her champion, hurried away to help her in whatever way he might.

Daphne didn’t like to admit to it, in any way, but she knew that she was jealous.

Oh, she was the apple of her father’s eye, all right! And so … day after day, every day, there was something.

And usually something wretched.

Math lessons with the tedious Baldini.

Art with Signora Tuscanianni.

There was the class in which she had to spend hours walking across a room with a book on her head, and needlepoint, and dance, and music …

Well, the dance and music were not so horrible. Serafina was wonderful; she was Daphne’s one insight into the world around their own lands, for Serafina had traveled and entertained great kings and queens across the world. Daphne had often thought that Serafina was secretly in love with her father, Pietro, but if so, Serafina kept her own council. Once, Serafina had told her that Pietro certainly seemed to be intrigued by—if not entirely in love with—Geovana.

“Only because she casts spells!” Daphne had assured her.

Yet, despite her affection for her tutor, Daphne resented the endless hours she was forced to give over to the proper classes. She knew that Serafina herself was puzzled that Marina—destined to marry Carlo—was not forced into the same endless round of learning. “It’s most odd!” Serafina had said, “when she is to be Carlo’s countess, unless …”

“Unless what?” Daphne had queried.

“No, no, that would be … far too horrid,” Serafina had murmured, and would say no more.

So Daphne continued to envy Armand and her stepsister, Marina.

They were always free. Well, there were always numerous chores for them, but they both seemed to take that in stride. Day after day, she watched as they did their work, and disappeared. And sometimes, she would come upon Armand as he sat at a garden bench writing, and he would flush, and hide his poems, except for every so often when he would read one to her, and she would look into his eyes and marvel at the words, and the way he looked at her, at just the sound of his voice …

Then, someone would call her back to a class, remind her she was intended to be the wife of the son of the Great Duke Fiorelli, and Armand would be gone. Oh, yes, she was the child of privilege. And she envied the stepsister who was asked to see to the table settings, the linens, and even, sometimes, the ashes in the hearth. Marina moved quickly, and didn’t mind working in the castle or in the village, giving the castle scraps to the poor, clothing the beggars. She was free when she left the castle. Daphne was never free.

Daphne often wondered why Geovana might not demand her son’s wife be so accomplished—rather than skilled at the dispersal of laundry—but there was simply no understanding the Countess. Especially since it so often seemed that she ruled Lendo, rather than Daphne’s father, Pietro, who, taken alone, could be quite a pleasant man. She did love her father.

This morning, he had stopped by her bedroom, concerned by her illness of the night before. And so she had pleaded she was still weak and would remain abed, but did not need the doctor, just a day’s rest.

And she had watched when first Marina, and then Armand, had hurried away from the castle, and up into the cliffs.

And she had followed.

And now … she hadn’t even gotten to see what they were up to—and someone was coming!

In a panic, Daphne turned to run back down the hill.

Tripping on a rock, she lost a shoe. She tried to come to a quick halt and run back for it, but she froze instead. Armand had come into view, and was looking down at her quizzically.

“Well, hello!” she called cheerfully, her heart thundering.

“Daphne! Are you all right? Is something wrong? You … your father … ?”

“No, no, nothing is wrong!” she said quickly. She waved a hand toward her horse where it lazily ate grass, just twenty feet down the slope. “I …”

Words failed her. She shook her head.

“I had to get away for a bit,” she said simply.

“Does your father know you’re out?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I needed to get away,” she said.

“I’d better get you back,” he told her.

He whistled, and his horse came down the cliff, then followed him to where Daphne stood. Every animal obeyed him, she thought. He never used a whip, or an angry word, and all creatures seemed willing to follow his lead.

“My lady?” he said, offering her a boost up to her saddle.

She thanked him, and thought about his closeness to her as he performed the simple task. And when she was seated, she saw that he looked up at her, and the light in his eyes was so beautiful, so stirring.

“I would do anything, you know,” he said very softly.

“Pardon?”

“I wake early daily, and train at arms. I will gladly go off to the wars, and prove myself. I would do anything to convince your father that I am the right man for you. And yet, I know … I know that I am the falcon master, and you are to wed the man who will be duke.”

She was amazed at the tears that formed in her eyes, the tears she blinked back so quickly. “There’s no way,” she said softly, shaking her head. “There’s no way … the wedding is in two weeks’ time. At Christmas. It’s too late.”

“I would die for you,” he said.

She reached down, curling her fingers around his. “And I will live, with this memory always. I will go through the years, knowing I had this moment, that you loved me.”

She pulled her hand back and turned her horse.

Because there was no hope. And if her father knew about Armand’s love …

If Geovana knew …

Then she would fear for his life.

Michelo awoke with a groan. He stared up at the sky, and saw that it was beautiful and blue, dotted with white clouds, and a glorious sun.

But at that moment, the sun only hurt his eyes. He closed them. As he did so, he heard a gasp. He tried to shade his eyes and open them again.

And when he did, he was dazzled.

Her hair, caught in the light, was the color of spun gold. She had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They rivaled the sky, the sea, the heavens.

And within those eyes … care, compassion, concern … tenderness.

“Are you all right?” A gentle hand touched his forehead, something cool. She had ripped her hem to dunk a piece of the fabric from her gown in the stream he could hear bubbling somewhere nearby. Her touch was smooth and soothing, ever so light upon his brow.

“Sir? No, of course, you’re not all right. There’s a gash on your temple, but …” She moved closer. He inhaled her scent. He saw the clean, classic lines of her face, and she might have been an angel, an ice princess, too lovely for the real world. “It’s really not so bad. A surface wound. You’re a warrior … you’ve been off to the borders?” she asked. “Wait, please, I’m so sorry. You needn’t answer any questions. Let me help you … see if you’ve any other injuries. Can you rise, with my help?”

He looked at her solemnly. “I will definitely need your help.”

“I’m here, and quite strong, actually,” she assured him.

He put his arm around her shoulder. If he staggered as he rose, it would be because he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her eyes.

“It’s all right. Honestly. I have you.” She flashed him a smile. He gained his balance, and yet did not want to let her slip from his hold. “Just a few steps … the brook is here. With clear, fresh, water. You must be very thirsty. I haven’t a cup or anything to offer you.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “Thank you.”

At the brook, she helped him down to his knees. He bent over, splashing his face with the water, then drinking it in. It was refreshing, wonderful, cool, bathing away the confusion of the night, even the pain in his head.

No … it wasn’t the water that had done that. The pain had faded, disappeared, the moment he had seen her eyes.

His thirst sated, his head cleared, he sat back by the water’s edge, looking at her, marveling at her, wondering if she wasn’t just an invention of his subconscious mind, a sprite to wake him gently after his fall. But she was there before him, those eyes still so brilliant, still so kind. And her hair! The wealth of it, touched by the sun.

“Thank you so much,” he said.

“If you’re a warrior returning, I can help get you home. Now, you are on one of the bluffs above the valley at the base of the castle at Lendo. Baristo is to the west, and to the northeast, the lands of the great Fiorelli. But you needn’t fear if you are lost at all; I will gladly help you back.”

“I’m not lost,” he said, but then he wondered if he was. Not in place, not here, on these familiar bluffs. But lost in his future, and his purpose.

“What’s your name?” she asked softly.

He started to answer, but hesitated. He didn’t want her to know who he was, not yet at any rate. He was suddenly not at all in a great hurry to get home.

There would be time enough for duty and responsibility when he did arrive.

She leaned forward, touching his head with worry. “You must have struck your head quite hard. I should get you to a physician.”

“No … no, there’s no real harm. I think I just need time.”

“You don’t remember your name?” Thankfully, she didn’t really give him time to answer. “I’ll have to call you something, you know.” She grinned. “You really are quite the warrior, you know, rather handsome. Perhaps, for now, we can just consider you to be Prince Charming.”

“And you, my lady, beyond a doubt, I shall have to call Angel.”

She inclined her head. “I shall accept, thank you. You poor fellow, truly. Any man who risks his life going to the borders … well, you are a prince charming, whatever your name and place may be. Is it terrible there?” she queried.

“We hold our own,” he said.

She leaned against a rock at his side. He heard a sudden cawing sound, and turned to see that there was an outstandingly beautiful falcon, not a hundred yards from them. Bandages surrounded the animal’s wing.

“A falcon,” he murmured.

“Yes,” the woman said lightly.

“She’s injured.” He arched a brow to her. “So you seek out all manner of wounded creatures in the hills?” he asked.

His Angel walked over to the falcon, gently touching her wing. “Poor thing, such an exquisite creature, and she was hurt by a hunter’s arrow.”

“Why would a hunter seek out a falcon?” he asked.

“Some men are simply killers, and they care not what they hunt,” she murmured. “Isn’t she lovely?”

“A beautiful creature,” he agreed. “You seem to have a way with her, with all manner of beings, I imagine.”

“Oh, yes! I am a falcon mas—” She cut herself off quickly, glancing his way with a rueful grin. “I think that they are magnificent creatures. And she is healing. And you … I wonder how I can help you. What might bring back your memory.”

He came to his feet, a little unsteady.

“Oh, be careful!” she said.

“Walk with me a bit … perhaps I’ll get my bearings.”

“Gladly, sir. I will gladly walk with you.”

Amazingly the falcon found the strength to flutter her wings and hopped upon his arm. The three set off for a walk in the ancient forest along the cliffs together.

Chapter 4

Never, ever, would Marina doubt the word of Thomasina, the falcon, again.

The man she walked beside was everything she had asked for, and more.

He had not injured his head so badly as it had first appeared, and so they spent time just walking the beautiful landscape, traversing some of the little bridges that crossed the streams, finding high tors, and little copses where trees gave shade from the sun, and nature created the most beautiful dens. They talked about horses at first, and Marina, anxious to help, described the wonders of Calasia, the way the mountains fell to the sea, how lovely the aqua waters could be, and how the landscape with the jagged hills and then higher mountains had provided the bases for castles to be hewn into rock, and the deep valleys where rich earth allowed farmers to plow and grow the richest crops.

They came upon Radifini by the ancient stones and pillars, and Marina fell ever further under the man’s enchantment, because he was immediately courteous and kind to her dear, old friend. Radifini listened to the story about the bump on his head, stroked his beard, smiled at him, and seemed not to think it a serious thing that he didn’t know his name, or quite where he should be going.

“All of us have to stop during life at some point, and think about who we are, and where it is we really want to be going,” he said. The old wizard talked with them a while, then said there were things he simply must be doing, and he left them alone.

Marina said that knowing Radifini was part of what made her world here, this part of Lendo, so very special for her.

And her lost “prince” smiled.

He listened to her with wonder, and when she asked why he frowned, he admitted sadly that things were dangerous upon the border lands, that they encountered wartrolls frequently, and he was afraid that the people and rulers of Lendo and Baristo did not fully see the danger.

“They are real then, the wartrolls?” she asked him. “You’ve captured one?”

He shook his head. “I’ve battled them often enough. And they are real—just as your falcon is real. Except she is one form of natural magic and beauty. Wartrolls are magical and evil. They do not die, as mortal men do. They are large, great hulking fellows. And they endure blow after blow … I don’t know if they truly have scales for skin, like an armor. And I don’t know if they can survive with injuries ten times greater than we can bear. But I’ve seen them rise when a man could not do so.”

“If the stories about the wartrolls are true,” she murmured, “then perhaps it’s true that a great dragon lives somewhere near, high in its den, in these hills.”

“The dragon,” he said, and leaned closer to her. “I’ve heard tales of the dragon. They say that it is winged, magnificent, and terrible.”

She smiled wistfully. “Indeed. According to legend, dragons had not been seen for years, and then, when Count Nico d’Or was just about to marry the Princess Elisia, the dragon appeared to sweep her away. But they were deeply, truly in love, devoted to one another. And Nico would gladly have given his life for her. He rode alone, into the hills, and he fought the dragon with the strength of a hundred men and brought her home.”

“It’s a pretty tale,” he told her, smiling.

“It might well be true!” she said.

“He fought a dragon—alone?” he teased.

“I believe it might have been true.”

“How could he have the strength of a hundred men?”

“Love, courage, and conviction can give a man, or woman, the strength of hundreds.”

It was then he reached out to touch her face, marveling at the line of bone, the softness of her skin. And the belief in her eyes, those blue pools of sea and sky. She gave him a smile, a curl of amusement that was still touched by determination and the most beguiling inner belief and therein, strength.

And it was then he said, “I have never met anyone as wonderful as you.”

Her smile deepened, and she said, “You are my one wish, my greatest desire, and just this day …”

“It cannot end here,” he said, forgetting his father’s commitment for him.

She didn’t reply. She looked to the sky rather, and said, “I would dare the day, and the night, and be grateful for the magic within them.”

“The sun is setting,” he noted.

“And I should be gone,” she murmured.

He caught her hand. “But you won’t leave me?”

“Not this night.”

And so, they found bounty from the land, the water that bubbled in the stream, fruits from the trees, berries from the brush, and though he was obviously a well-honed warrior, he seemed satisfied with what they ate. Marina herself didn’t think she could find hunger for anything more than his mere presence when she was in his company.

She didn’t know what would be happening in the court at Lendo, and that night, she didn’t care. She would endure whatever the future brought, for this one night.

The sun fell and they stayed together, finding shelter against the cliffs and rocks. And they mused that one particularly high tor with dark caves might be the one where the dragon slept, if indeed, there was a dragon.

They talked, and they rested, and they touched. They lay together beneath the stars.

Marina held tight to every moment; she savored each word he said. She knew she would remember forever his eyes, and how they touched upon hers, the sound of his voice, and indeed, the scent that was his, the presence, the very vibrance and vitality that was life, and love.

She thought, when she awoke in the morning, he would be gone, that her dream, and her wish, would have vanished. But, as striking in sleep as he was when awake, he still lay at her side.

The sun was up. A new day had dawned. And the dream was over.

She rose. Moving away from the cliff where they had spent their night, she crept carefully, silently, and returned to the stream.

Thomasina, drinking at the stream, saw her and said, “A wish well spent?”

“A dream realized,” Marina told her, and leaned to kiss the falcon gently upon the head. “Your wound … ?”

“Nearly healed,” Thomasina said.

“Then I must go.”

But she could not leave so quickly. She tiptoed back to her sleeping Prince Charming. She watched him a moment, her heart beating too quickly, and she knew that whatever came, she would always have this memory.

And she would love him forever.

She turned, as he was stirring, and ran down the cliff until she found Arabella, then made her way home.

Michelo awoke, and was stunned to find his Angel gone. The beautiful falcon, like a touch of magic, remained, and he looked at her, shaking his head. “How could she leave me?” Rising, he came to the falcon and carefully unwrapped the bandages. The injury was all but healed, and so he removed the binding completely. “Now, beautiful creature, you can fly free,” he murmured. “If only it were so easy. Has she run free, as well?”

The falcon watched him sagely as he strode the area of the stream and the cliff, searching for her—his angel. At last, he saw something on the grass on the downward slope to the valley. Hoping it would give him some clue to the identity of his beloved, he hurried to see what it might be.

A shoe.

A delicate shoe, small, in gold satin.

As he studied the shoe, he heard a sound. Battle with the wartrolls had made him quick and alert. In fact, he wondered how he hadn’t awakened when she had left him, and rued the fact that the one time he should really need to awaken at the slightest whisper of sound, he had not.

There was no danger. It was the old man, Radifini, coming down to join him.

“She’s gone, sir. I have discovered the love of my life, and she is gone. All of these years, I have fought for these lands, never really understanding why honor was so dear, and now … I know that it is people, not land, that makes the fight, and love, not glory, that makes the warrior.”

“Ah, young Michelo, you are a romantic, as well as a warrior,” Radifini said.

“You know who I am?”

“Of course,” Radifini said.

“You didn’t betray me,” Michelo said ruefully.

“Ah, well, there is who you are, and then, there is who you are. And you both needed to know the real who of one another, so …”

“Then who is she?” Michelo asked.

“The stepdaughter of Pietro d’Artois, Count of Lendo. Stepsister to the one you are to wed.”

Michelo stared at him with horror and misery dawning.

“She is the betrothed of Carlo, Count Baristo,” Radifini continued.

Michelo rose, bearing the shoe. “There is a way to change this. I’ll go to my father. He is a great believer in magic and omens—after all, he was alive in the time when the Dragon in the Den supposedly appeared, and kidnapped the Princess Elisia!” Michelo plotted quickly. “I’ll tell him that … my heart belongs to the owner of the shoe. I will slip it on her foot … and declare that it is an omen, that we must be together!”

“Good young sir! I fear that you are underestimating Carlo Baristo!” Radifini told him.

“He cannot love her. He cannot love her as I do!” Michelo swore.

“Well, I bid you good fortune then. I also caution you to take great care. And if, perchance, you should discover you need the aid of an old wizard, well, you know where I can be found,” Radifini said gravely, and turned and walked away.

With his shoe, and his destiny set in his own mind, Michelo knew it was time to head for home.

Carlo was in a rage, which was not a pretty thing.

He had his father’s bluster and the streak of evil that only his mother held in greater supply.

At his own castle in Baristo, he paced before the great fire. “They have told me—my spies have told me—that she didn’t come in at all last night! She’ll concoct a lie, of course, but she stayed out—in the hills. She loathes me—mocks me! Me—Carlo, Count of Baristo! The wretched girl. How can I marry such a young woman? She defies me; she thinks that she will say and do as she pleases!”

Geovana liked Marina even less than her son did—after all, she was the child of the falcon master-who-never-should-have-been-count and the wretched Princess Elisia, for whom men had gone to war, and all adored.

“It has never been the plan that you should stay married, Carlo. You need but walk with her to the altar, make her your bride, and then …”

“And then?” Carlo demanded of his mother.

And Geovana smiled her lovely, serene smile and said sweetly, “My son! Terrible things have been known to happen here! Great rocks—flying into bedrooms. And then, of course, there is the dragon.”

“The dragon! Bah. If there was a dragon, it hasn’t appeared in years!”

“Oh, but there is a dragon. And it will appear—if summoned,” Geovana said, still calm, amused. “You will marry—for Lendo. And when it is yours, joined with Baristo … well, those lands will be greater than those owned by the great Duke Fiorelli!”

Smiling, Geovana left him, heading for her balcony (where, it was still whispered, she had the power to raise the elements, wind and fire, earth and water. And, perhaps, the dragon.)

The great Duke Orisini Fiorelli was really a very good man. He was a cheerful man, as well, one who loved his wife and was grateful for his children. He woke each morning in a good mood, and as was his custom, he walked to his balcony that morning, ready to start the day by waving to any of his people who might be down below. Though he was a little concerned that his son had not appeared as yet, he had deep faith in the boy, and would never believe that Michelo could have fallen on his way home.

That morning, he yawned and stretched, and looked around, but saw no one. He was about to return to his bedchamber when he saw something, perched on his balcony rail, that caught his astonished attention.

A falcon. Shimmering in the morning light. A magical creature, he thought with awe.

“How lovely you are! How I would love to own you, gorgeous creature. But then, you look as if you are the wind, freedom itself, so … I shall just admire you!”

Then, he could have sworn that it talked! Words came to him, as if carried softly on the wind.

“Oh, great Duke! Orisini Fiorelli of Calasia! You are the man with the greatest power, and the greatest responsibility!”

“Is my conscience talking to me?” he gasped. “Where have I failed?”

“Today, in the square at Lendo, you must not allow the future to be set without thought! I will come, and drop an olive branch before the lady who must become the bride of your son. Wrong can wear the face of right. But, you, great duke, must not be fooled!”

The falcon flapped its wing in the air. Then it turned, soared into the sky, and disappeared over the hills. Orisini stared after it. Amazed, and fearing his years were taking a toll on his mind, he shook his head. He returned to his bedroom, where his wife was stirring.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “I saw a falcon. It talked to me,” he said.

“That’s nice, dear,” she said, still half-asleep.

“A falcon … my conscience!” He stood, determined. “That’s what will be done!” he exclaimed.

His wife woke in full, blinking with confusion. “What will be done?” she asked.

“Today … in the square at Lendo. We will assemble all the ladies of Calasia in full. A falcon will come, and drop an olive branch. And Michelo must marry the girl who stands where the branch is dropped!”

He started out of the room. His wife, fully awake, jumped out of bed. “Orisini! There are bats flying about in your head, my love! The marriage is arranged. The invitations to the wedding are printed! There is to be a great feast … It will be Christmas Day! Orisini!” she wailed.

But he was gone.

And she sighed. The printers were going to just be furious!

Michelo came home to jubilation. The people greeted him even as he approached his house, and he greeted them with pleasure in return. At last, he walked into his parents’ home, the great castle in the heart of Calasia. His mother, on the staircase, ran down, crying his name, eager to embrace him. His younger sister, growing now into womanhood herself, raced to him, and he lifted her, and swung her about with happiness. He kissed and hugged his mother, and then his father came, too, and for several minutes, they did nothing other than rejoice in one another’s company.

Then, of course, his father asked about the situation on the borders, and Michelo gravely informed him that it was serious, and they must rally the people of Lendo and Baristo, and make them see the danger. His father listened solemnly, and agreed, but then staunchly decided they wouldn’t speak of such things just yet.

“I have something to say, Father,” Michelo told Orisini.

“And so do I!” his father said.

His mother groaned.

“It’s about the wedding,” Orisini said.

Again, Michelo’s mother groaned.

“I have something to say, as well,” Michelo told them.

“It’s not to be so simple,” Orisini explained.

“No, it cannot be, for I am in love,” Michelo informed.

“In love!” his mother gasped.

“In love! How wonderful!” Adriana exclaimed. Naturally, his sweet young sister would understand.

“Perhaps you should go to your room,” Lucia said worriedly to Adriana.

“Mother! And miss this?” Adriana protested, eyes sparkling.

“No one should miss love,” Michelo said, grinning at his sister.

“Bah, love!” his father said.

“Orisini!” his mother protested, outraged.

“Well, dear, it’s blessed that we are in love!” Orisini said, speaking quickly. “But our marriage was arranged.”

She rolled her eyes, looking at her son. “Hear how he intends to arrange this!”

“Yes, son, we shall all go to the square in Lendo. Every lady in all of my dukedom of Calasia will assemble there. When the olive branch falls—”

“When the olive branch falls!” Michelo interrupted, astounded. “No, no, no, Father. You listened, I know, but you didn’t hear me. I am in love. I know the girl I will wed.”

“You know this girl?” his mother asked.

“I met her in the hills. You see, I did have a bit of an accident on the way home—I hit my head. And when I awoke, she was there.”

“A dream girl, no more,” his father said impatiently.

“You hit your head, dear,” his mother said. “Obviously, you’re well enough now … but she might well have been a dream, indeed.”

“She was real! I have her shoe!” Michelo said, and produced it.

“Really. A dream girl would never lose a shoe,” Adriana said, quite practically.

Orisini ignored them both. “When the olive branch falls—”

“Father—”

“When the olive branch falls—”

“How will this olive branch fall?” Michelo demanded.

“A falcon will drop it,” Orisini said.

“A falcon spoke to him,” his mother said, rolling her eyes once again.

“A falcon?” Michelo repeated.

“Yes, dear, a falcon,” his mother said with a sigh.

“A falcon?” Michelo repeated.

“Why, yes! A falcon,” Orisini said, delighted since it appeared that Michelo understood.

A falcon? Could it be …

Michelo had seen wartrolls. And he had seen the beautiful falcon in the woods. A creature so very magnificent that surely …

Perhaps, myth and magic could be true.

“Let’s see what happens,” he told his father cautiously.

Pietro d’Artois, Count of Lendo, fumed in astonishment. “It’s changed!” he swore angrily. His daughter stood before him, staring at her father. “I don’t believe this insult, this indignity! Now, the great Fiorelli claims we must all stand out in the square, that there has been an omen, that for the good of all the lands, we must gather and wait—and a falcon will decide our fates!”

Daphne listened, barely able to believe her good fortune. “Then—I’m not to marry Michelo Fiorelli?” she whispered.

He glanced at her, dismayed and despairing that she should find such pleasure in this disaster. “The wretched falcon could drop the olive branch before you,” he reminded her. “In fact, it must, it must … I will consult Geovana, that’s what I’ll do!” he said.

Before she could stop him, her father left her.

“Yes!” she cried out when he was gone. “Oh, yes! Please, please, falcon—or whatever you may be! Whatever you do, don’t drop that branch before me!”

If not for the fact that Armand had heard about the happenings in the courtyard, Marina herself might have never known what was going to happen. Apparently, a crier had gone out, informing all the ladies of Calasia they must be in the square at sundown, for the great Duke Fiorelli had been given an omen, and his son would marry only when a falcon had dropped an olive branch before the girl he was intended to wed.

Michelo Fiorelli had been wounded, and he had just made it home after a night out on the cliffs.

And so she knew.

Michelo had been her dream prince. The great duke’s son—previously to marry her stepsister—was now destined to follow a new plan of his father’s.

Somehow, that plan involved a falcon.

Hope took flight inside her. There could be no other falcon to deliver such an omen than her own dear Thomasina.

Armand’s excitement was contagious. But even as they whispered in the courtyard, Geovana called sharply to Marina from her chamber above.

“Come up here, now! Ungrateful girl!” Geovana cried down angrily.

“I’d best go,” Marina murmured. She didn’t want to fight with Geovana. Nor did she dare show her excitement.

But when she went upstairs and met the woman—who really had no business in Marina’s own poor chambers—she was to be severely shaken by the news delivered to her. “There is to be some nonsense in the square today. Naturally, I must be there. However, you are engaged to Carlo. So you will stay here, and see that all is set when we return to the castle for the feast we must have prepared to follow the silliness old Orisini has decreed.”

“But … I was of the understanding that every lady was to be there!” Marina protested.

Geovana looked down her nose at Marina, and suddenly, her hatred was so apparent in her eyes that Marina nearly recoiled from it.

“You! You! No, my girl, no! You will be Carlo’s wife. You ungrateful wench! You are nothing but the daughter of an upstart falcon master, and you should be on your knees with gratitude that a man such as my son even considers you to be his wife!”

“Geovana, the great Duke Fiorelli—”

“Is addled! Senile. You will stay here!” She wagged a finger at her. “You will stay here and obey me. You know, child, that great rocks have been known to fly about this place!”

“I must be there,” Marina said determinedly. She headed to the door.

To her amazement, Geovana set her hands upon her shoulders, wrenching her back. She did so with such strength Marina was amazed. She flew back against the wall, barely maintaining her balance.

“You!” Geovana said, pointing at her with repugnance. “You!”

She said no more.

She turned and left through Marina’s door, slamming it in her wake.

Marina stood still for a minute, shaken by the intensity of the hatred the woman had shown her.

But she would not stay. Somehow, Thomasina, the falcon, had managed to give her far more than her second wish. She was trying to give her a far greater gift—a chance at a real life.

She walked to her door, determined she would get out and disappear at that moment.

Her door, she discovered, was locked. Bolted from the outside.

She cried out and banged against it, then stopped. No one would come. No one in the household would dare defy Geovana.

Trying to calm herself, she walked to the balcony and looked down. Armand was gone.

They had probably tied him up somewhere, lest he cause trouble!

No one was about.

But she had to be in the courtyard! There must be a way.

The fall to the ground would be … deadly.

Marina went back to her room and sat at the foot of the bed, thinking. She had one more wish left. And yet … to use it would leave her with nothing if worse things were to happen.

She had to help herself.

And yet … how?

She walked to the balcony again and looked down, judging the distance. She paced back into her room, and began to strip the sheets from the bed, tying them together.

She ran back to the balcony, throwing her makeshift rope over to judge the distance anew. There would still be a fall, and yet …

Oh, dear God! She had to risk it!

She was just about ready to take the chance when her door suddenly opened.

Chapter 5

There wasn’t much time.

Geovana hurried to her own balcony, where she kept a great cauldron. There, she threw into it the items necessary for any great spell.

Eye of newt.

Horn of toad.

And so forth, and so forth.

At last, her great potion was steaming. She cast out her arms, and spoke the words.

And she drank deeply …

Then she carefully took a bit of time—naturally, she had to be attired in her best—and hurried back to Lendo.

Let the old fool Orisini bring on a falcon!

“Daphne!” Marina gasped. She nearly threw her bedsheet-rope-ladder right over the balcony window; she had been caught red-handed.

“What are you doing?” Daphne demanded.

“Nothing!”

Daphne laughed softly. “You might have killed yourself!”

“And I might have gotten down safely.”

“At any rate, it isn’t necessary,” Daphne said quickly. “Geovana had to go back to Baristo for some reason. She ordered that the servants go nowhere near these doors, and she forced poor Armand to ride with her. But no one ordered me not to open the door, so …”

Marina stared at her stepsister for a long moment. “I’m in love with the man who is supposed to be your husband,” she said quickly.

And to her amazement, Daphne smiled. “Then let’s pray the silly branch falls in front of you!”

“You … don’t want to be the wife of the great Duke Fiorelli’s son?” Marina inquired carefully.

“Good heavens, no! Oh, I’m sure he is a decent fellow. But I … oh, I am hopelessly in love with Armand!”

Marina gasped with pleasure, flying across the room to hug Daphne. “Oh, you’ve no idea how he adores you!” she said, and Daphne flushed.

“I think I have an inkling,” she murmured. “But … that is probably a truly hopeless quest. And yet, if I can just avoid having to marry Michelo Fiorelli …”

“I will leap to the heavens to catch that olive branch!” Marina swore, and she started out of the room. Then she paused. “No, I must wait. Hide somewhere until the last minute. Or else … she will find a way to stop me from being there. Geovana will stop me.”

“My room!” Daphne said, after a moment’s thought. “Then, when it is time …”

Marina smiled, looking at her. “All these years!” she said softly. “We’ve barely brushed by one another, and yet … well, you are the finest sister!”

“And I have envied you, when I just wanted to have more of your strength!” Daphne told her.

“Somehow, I will help you. You and Armand,” Marina swore.

“Hurry then, I must get out here, and you must time things well!” Daphne said.

“Yes, always, we must help ourselves—and be grateful for aid from others!” Marina agreed, and they were arm in arm as they snuck out of her room, careful lest they should be seen by any other.

Arriving with great fanfare in Lendo, riding with his wife, daughter, and son, Orisini was glad to greet the people, and he was glad, too, of the air of happiness and excitement around him. The people were pleased their great overlord would consider them all when seeking to find a bride for his son.

Minstrels played, music abounded. The path was strewn with flowers where their horses trod, and the people called out, hailing Michelo. Michelo, his dear son, true to his blood, responded in good nature, reaching down to touch hands, to thank those who applauded him.

He saw Pietro awaiting him, Geovana at his side, at the steps down to the great square. Carlo Baristo was there, as well, as he should be. And in the square, with many other fair young maidens, was Daphne, the beautiful, accomplished daughter of Pietro. There was another girl, Orisini thought with a frown. Dear Nico and Elisia’s daughter. She was nowhere to be seen. But he’d heard she was something of an eccentric, never attending state functions, always preferring to run about in the hills. Ah, well! Pietro had told him she would be wed to Carlo, so …

All about … people danced and sang, making way for him and his party.

They came to the center.

“Pietro! Geovana! Carlo!” he cried.

And, of course, as was their way, once he had dismounted, they all greeted one another with warm affection, hugging, kissing on both cheeks.

“Well, Orisini, this is an interesting piece of business you’ve devised,” Pietro told him.

Orisini smiled. “It’s what must be. We shall see if we have all envisioned the future as it should be for our children.”

He turned back to see his son. To his consternation, it appeared that Michelo was looking anxiously through the crowd.

“She isn’t here.”

“Who?”

“The girl I will wed.”

“Son! We agreed that where the olive branch falls …”

“Father, we didn’t exactly agree—”

“Look! See, it is true! There is a falcon, a beautiful falcon! Magic does exist; I am not in my dotage! Here comes the falcon!”

The people began to ooh and aah. Michelo saw everyone was looking through the square with amazement—his father’s certainty that a falcon would come was being proven to be true. Pietro was staring at the creature with a frown, Carlo with anger, and Geovana …

Was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

Michelo looked around anxiously. Indeed, the beautiful falcon he had first seen by the stream was now flying through the square.

But his angel of the night was nowhere to be seen.

He gritted his teeth. No, no, no … !

Then he saw her. She came streaking out from the courtyard of the castle, agile, graceful, running … seeming to slip through the crowd like a wisp of smoke. She hurried to where Daphne stood, along with all the young women of the dukedom and counties. She and Daphne smiled, embraced, and stepped apart.

His heart seemed to thunder and tremble in his chest. The falcon was an omen, a true touch of magic, and she would set things straight. She flew over the crowd, an olive branch held lightly in her beak. She had come to help them; all would be well.

And then …

Suddenly, there was a dragon.

A dragon, yes, huge and snarling, its smoke-infused cry so loud and piercing that people screamed out with dismay, stepping back. As the falcon dove downward, the dragon tore through the crowd, flying low, its terrible tail whipping about, as it zigged and zagged, furiously going after the incredible falcon. The falcon flew hard, heading straight for Marina d’Or. But the dragon, creating fear and panic in the crowd, was nearly atop the falcon.

The falcon let forth a caw.

The olive branch dropped as the falcon burst forward with speed, but then veered, and flapped her wings into a furious soar, the heinous, huge dragon at her heels.

The olive branch fell directly between Marina and Daphne.

The people began to murmur, and many trembled as they stepped forward again, watching the falcon and dragon disappear up the hill, and into the forest.

Suddenly, the falcon, the dragon still hard upon her, rose and fell, clawing at the dragon.

And they could all hear the cry of rage and pain that the dragon let out, falling back. As they all watched in silence, the falcon flew on.

For several minutes, the wind blew, and it was all the sound in the world as the people watched, sighing with relief as the falcon appeared alive and well and uninjured on the crest of another peak.

“It was a dragon!” someone called out. “There is a dragon!”

“A dragon!” someone else repeated with horror.

“And a falcon!” Duke Orisini announced, his voice strong.

The people moved forward again, all staring at the olive branch on the ground, fallen between the two stepsisters.

Again, there was silence, as moments ticked away.

“It is before Daphne, as it should be!” Pietro exclaimed.

“Indeed, exactly!” came the strong sound of a woman’s voice.

As Michelo walked forward himself, he saw that Geovana was there. Her headdress was a bit askew, and she looked winded and flustered. She was bent slightly, as if she had a pain in her ribs. But she was right there, with them, insisting that the branch was closer to Daphne.

His father was at his side. “Wait!” he implored. “There must be a measurement. Where is the ducal measurer?”

Michelo stood in silence as they waited. Marina’s eyes touched his, blue as the sea, as the sky, and he stared back with all the love in his heart.

The ducal measurer arrived, and with consternation, rose to inform them all that the olive branch lay exactly between the two girls.

The great Duke Orisini Fiorelli was silent. Michelo stepped forward, producing the satin slipper. “Father, this is the shoe of the woman I will marry. It will fit the right foot.”

He’d been so certain …

Then, he knew he was wrong as he saw the confusion that touched his beloved’s face—and the horror that was reflected in Daphne’s.

Still, he bent down before Marina. She leant over to whisper to him, “My feet are huge! I’m so sorry … that will never fit me.”

And close to her, Daphne whispered. “It’s mine! I lost it the other day. Good Lord, what will we do now?”

Marina, bending low, whispered in sorrow, “I am so … so sorry. Daphne is right! What will we do now? I suppose the wife of a duke’s son should have dainty feet … mine are just … big!”

“There, the shoe fits Daphne!” Geovana cried loudly.

“No!” Michelo cried. “I am in love with Marina, the child of the late and beloved Nico, and his princess bride, Elisia.”

“And I am in love with Michelo!” Marina vowed, looking with love into his eyes, that he should declare his devotion there, in the square, before his father, his mother, and everyone.

“And I’m in love with Armand!” Daphne cried, bravely stepping forward with her conviction.

Pietro d’Artois gasped, turned red, and looked as if he would have apoplexy.

“I love Daphne!” Armand shouted, pushing his way through the crowd.

But before he could do more than come near, there was the sudden sound of a horrible explosion in the air.

It was like thunder, and it was as if lightning lit up the sky.

And there, above them all, was the dragon again.

Now there was time to really see the being, to study it.

Huge, beautiful in its ferocity, multicolored, with evil-glowing yellow and gold eyes, it soared above them, and the lightning was the fire of its breath, and the thunder the flap of its wings.

The people began to scream. After all, the dragon had been after the falcon. Now it was after them, invoking pure terror! The people ran in confusion, desperate for cover.

Jagged streaks of fire fell upon the square. Thatch-roofed shops went up in explosions of flame.

Michelo cast himself upon Marina, and they fell to the ground together. All around them, people screamed and ran.

Then, after raining down fire bolts and creating absolute mayhem, the dragon was gone.

Slowly … slowly, the people began to reappear in the square, murmuring about omens, and saying with fear that if there was good magic, such as the gorgeous falcon, it was natural that there should be bad magic.

Like the dragon.

The dragon—gone again. It was as if it had come, and then completely disappeared.

Michelo cried out, “We must be calm. Evil has been fought before; evil can be fought again!”

“Fought! What, shall we bring about the deaths of every man, woman, and child in all the land?” It was Geovana, naturally.

She walked to the center of the square and cast out her arms. She looked more disheveled even than she had before. In fact, quite frankly, she was something of a mess.

And yet she appeared …

Powerful. Her eyes were as gold as the dragon’s, and her voice carried the thunder of the flapping of its wings.

“We have awakened the great Dragon in the Den! He is filled with rage. The old ways, the omens, have been invoked. Now, if any are to live, we must give him his due, his sacrifice!”

She whirled then, turning to the place where all four lovers had gathered together.

“The old ways have indeed been resurrected, and the result—that terrible dragon! As in the days of old, we must do our part. He must have a sacrifice, if anyone is to live, to survive! And his sacrifice must be the fairest damsel in the land. The woman who would be wife to the greatest leader, the greatest warrior. The woman who would wed Michelo, heir to the great Duke Fiorelli!”

There was a shuffling sound. It was Pietro d’Artois. He stepped forward, anxiously pushing the olive branch with his toe until it lay directly before Marina.

He wasn’t a bad man, not really. But then, he’d been given a chance to give either his stepdaughter or his precious Daphne up to a dragon that meant to have her for dinner … literally!

“Marina!” he cried. “Alas!” And he either wept, or pretended to do so. “It must be Marina, child of Nico d’Or, who stole away the Princess Elisia when she was in the dragon’s keeping. It must be Marina!”

“Aye, Marina!” cried someone in the crowd.

“No!” someone else protested.

“She must be given to the dragon—or else it will eat us all!” another voice roared.

“Wait a minute!” Michelo insisted. “What are you? Men—or mice? We will put together a hunting party. We will fight the dragon!”

“It should have been me!” Daphne said. “I am the upstart here, really!”

“Shut up, girl!” Pietro chastised her firmly.

Marina stepped forward. “Seriously! What are we? Cowards? Michelo is right. Appease the dragon once, and he will take everything from you. I will fight! We must all fight!”

“Men—or mice?” Michelo shouted again.

And a fellow, his cap in his hands, stepped forward. “To the dragon, great Michelo, I’m afraid that we are nothing but mice!”

“Duke Fiorelli! The dragon must be given his due!” another cried from the back of the crowd. Michelo thought that the voice sounded suspiciously like that of the Countess Geovana.

His father sighed deeply.

“We’ll all die!” the miller’s wife cried out.

“Duke, you must save us!” the baker himself pleaded.

Orisini Fiorelli looked at his son. He was obviously in great torment. “Michelo, I am sorry. The people come first,” he said softly.

“No!” Michelo said.

But his father raised his voice. “Place my son under arrest. And God forgive us all, but … take the Lady Marina, and see that she is kept under lock and key and guard …”

“Father, no, no!” Michelo protested.

But the guards were racing around him, doing his father’s bidding. He struggled, but there were too many, and in minutes, despite the black eyes and swollen jaws he doled out, he was in chains.

And when he looked across the square, Marina, calm, dignified, tall, and beautiful, was in chains, as well. Eyes meeting his.

She spoke to him, and the crowd, as a wistful smile touched her face. “I will not go easily!” she cried. “I will fight the dragon, when the time comes. I will fight it for myself—and for your daughters, because if you give in now, the dragon will demand more and more.”

There was silence.

“This is foolish! You would think that we were living in the Dark Ages!” Marina cried.

Daphne cleared her throat and said softly, “We are living in the Dark Ages.”

Marina shot her a quick glance, and nodded. “We must no longer live in the Dark Ages! We must find enlightenment in strength, in unity!”

“We will fight!” Michelo raged, straining against his shackles.

“They’re right!” came another cry, and this time, it was the beautiful dance tutor, Serafina, who stepped forward. “We mustn’t ever give into tyranny of any kind!” she cried. “Marina has spoken with such truth. If we give in now, the dragon will have us at its mercy. It will demand that we give in time and time again, and that we give in a little more each time. We must fight!”

But Geovana stepped forward. “Fight the dragon, and everyone will perish!” she proclaimed. “Take them away! Now!” she told the guards.

“Geovana, you must listen!” Serafina begged. Geovana offered a grim smile, and raised a hand, and guards rushed forward to seize Serafina. “See that she is banished,” Geovana said sweetly, and lowered her head to offer a soft whisper to Serafina. “Return, and you will be the next sacrifice we offer to the dragon.”

“Wait!” Michelo shouted, and began to fight again. But someone smote him on the head, and he discovered he was living in a personal dark age himself, for the light faded before his eyes, and he fell.

The following morning arrived with a brilliant sunrise.

“I’m quite confused,” Radifini said, pacing the small confines of the deep, dark dungeon cell where Marina had been taken.

“You’re confused?” Marina said. “I am about to become dragon chow, Radifini, and you are confused?”

He shook his head, stroking his beard as he walked. “There was a curse, you know. I thought perhaps it had been averted …”

“A curse? Dear Radifini, it seems that my life has been a curse!” she told him.

“Yes, yes … I’m quite sure that she put many curses on the house of d’Or.”

“She?”

“Geovana, naturally. She was insanely jealous from the moment she heard about your mother, Marina, and she is quite powerful. But … rumor had it that the child of Nico and Elisia was to fall from a horse, crack her head on a rock, and fall into a deep and endless sleep. Naturally, when I heard this, I did my best to create counter-magic. I couldn’t stop such a spell, but through my magic, I had it that after the crack on the head, the child should awaken at the slightest brush of love’s true kiss!”

Marina sighed. “Radifini, I have never fallen from a horse. I haven’t cracked my head, and I’m not asleep. I’m in a dungeon, about to be dragged up a cliff, tied to a stake—and left to be charbroiled by a dragon’s fiery breath, and savored as supper.”

“Yes, yes, that’s how it appears,” Radifini murmured.

He smiled at her. “Maybe! Just maybe, you’ll fall off the horse while you’re being taken up the cliff!”

Marina stared at him. “Radifini, I do love you, but … I think I need to think much more deeply to get out of this situation.”

“Well, if you are to be charbroiled and consumed, it would be best if you were in a deep and endless sleep when it occurred, don’t you think?”

“Radifini!” Marina protested. She began to pace the cell herself. “Armand is in chains, Michelo is in chains … and I am here.” She paused. “There is my third wish. I can just wish—!”

“No, no!” Radifini protested, putting up a hand to prevent her from speaking any more words. “You must save the wish for a very last resort.”

“I may be on my last resort right now,” she reminded him.

He shook his head. “Wishes can come true, but the way they come true might not be to the very best good.”

“Wishing myself not to be eaten by a dragon seems rather good to me,” Marina commented.

Radifini shook his head. “Such a wish could put Daphne in your place. Or mean that all of Calasia is swept by a firestorm. Or that some other terrible event occurrs. Yes, you have your third wish. But you must keep and guard that wish until there is no other choice.”

They heard the sound of heavy footsteps, coming along the dungeon path.

The guards of Pietro d’Artois came into the barred cell, pushing Radifini firmly aside, but with no malice.

The man in charge had tears in his eyes as he told Marina it was time. They were to climb the hills, and in front of the caves where the dragon had been reputed to sleep for all the years prior to yesterday’s appearance, she was to be shackled to a post to await the dragon’s whim—or appetite.

Marina listened to the decree.

One of the other guards fell to his knees. “Bless you, dear Lady Marina, that you make this sacrifice for us.”

“Sir, get up!” she scolded him. “I intend to fight the dragon!”

They all looked at her sadly. Rather hard to fight a dragon, shackled to a post.

They led her from her cell, out from the bowels of the castle, and to the square, where Pietro read another decree, and even he had tears in his eyes. Real tears, she thought. He wasn’t such a bad man. He was simply under Geovana’s power.

Marina could only shake her head with impatience—growing desperation—and another passionate plea that they fight.

“Stepfather! People of Lendo, and all of Calasia! There is no appeasing a monster, don’t any of you see this? The dragon will taste blood, and want more!”

This didn’t seem to assure or inspire any of them, and though the good people around her continued to weep and sob, they saw to it that she was mounted upon Arabella, and the solemn ride up the cliff began.

She was alone, she thought. Radifini had been shoved back and left behind when the guards had come. Armand and Michelo remained imprisoned. Even Daphne had been locked away somewhere, to prevent her from rousing the people.

And yet, as they neared the cliffs, Marina heard the thunder of hooves.

And the falcon, Thomasina, came to fly alongside Arabella as they rode.

“You have your third wish!” the falcon reminded her.

“Radifini warned me that I must use it as a last resort, lest I take the chance of bringing harm to others,” Marina said softly. The guards stared at her. They were aware, of course, that the magical falcon had come to ride with them, but they could not hear her speak, and so they thought that Marina was losing her mind.

But since she was about to be fed to a dragon, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

“Radifini is wise,” Thomasina concurred. “Remember, wishes are what we dream in our hearts, and of course, we must always help ourselves!” If a bird could offer a dry smile, it seemed that Thomasina did then. “Remember. It’s nearly Christmas. It’s a time of belief, and belief is in the heart.”

“I believe the dragon is about to help itself,” Marina murmured.

Thomasina suddenly flew from her, heading to a distant plateau. As she rode, Marina began to mull the question of how best to use her last wish, taking care that her freedom from the jaws of the dragon didn’t imperil the life of someone else. She smiled, remembering what both Thomasina and Radifini had told her. Christmas. A time of real magic in the heart and soul. A time of true gifts to all men—and women—of good faith.

She must be strong, and remember.

Suddenly, as they rounded a bend, a creature darted from the brush.

It was a skunk! A shimmering, almost silver, albino skunk!

Arabella reared up high, spooked.

Marina, with her hands tied behind her back, could not keep her seat in the saddle.

She was thrown from the horse’s back.

She landed hard upon the ground, hit her head on a rock, and was out cold.

The guards, who had all heard rumors about such a curse, gathered round her.

“This is it!” one cried. “The deep and endless sleep!”

And another worried, “What shall we do?”

“Bring her before the cave, and leave her as we were commanded,” the first guard decided.

“But … is a dragon like a reptile?” one asked. “With certain reptiles … well, they like their meals alive and warm and moving about. Snakes … certain snakes will only go for wiggling, moving prey!”

So they all argued among themselves, wondering if their great sacrifice to the dragon was still worthy.

But then the head man of the guard gave a great sigh. “Our poor, valiant, Lady Marina! Let’s be grateful she is in a deep and endless sleep. Then she will not know …”

He didn’t finish his sentence. They’d all seen the dragon. And they wept again as they picked up Marina, thinking that the curse was actually a blessing.

Their precious lady would not see when she became their ultimate sacrifice.

In time, she was taken before the cave of the Dragon in the Den, and before it, as decreed, she was bound to a stake.

The guards, certain they heard heavy breathing, and the rasp and cackle of fire from within, hurried with their task.

And then, they hurried with even greater energy to depart from the dragon’s arena.

Chapter 6

All this time, Marina’s friends and her beloved, Michelo, had not been sitting idle. Yes, in chains, but not idle.

Michelo, being a warrior, and a hero, was being kept under guard.

But thinking that Armand was just the falcon master, a man who tilted with scarecrows and lost, Pietro had only ordered him kept in the dungeon, and even his chains had been loosely secured.

And so, through the night, he had slowly, persistently, worked at the chains, and by midmorning, he had caused them to slip from his wrists. As he reflected upon how best then to escape the bars of his dungeon cell, old Radifini came down the dank winding stairs, and hailed his guard, telling him that he had come to spend this time of the dragon with Armand, their dear lady’s cousin. As Radifini spoke, Armand rose, seized the unwary guard’s sword, and placed the point threateningly against the man’s back. Though he protested, warning Radifini and Armand that they would bring about the demise of all if they were to interfere, the guard saw the immediacy of saving his own life as more important. He opened the barred door, entered the cell himself when his captors insisted, and was then locked away with a bump on the head so that he could not sound an alarm.

“And now … ?” Armand reflected.

“We must go for Michelo,” Radifini said.

“There will be dozens of guards around him,” Armand pointed out.

“Yes, that will be a problem,” Radifini mused. And so, he paced again as he thought. But as he did so, there was a rustle in the corridor of the dungeons, and they looked up to see that Daphne was hurrying toward them.

“Daphne!” Armand cried, and flew happily to her side, taking her into his arms with amazement. “How … ?”

“I learned a trick or two from my stepsister,” she told him, and grinned. “I exited my chamber using my bedsheets and lowering myself into the garden.”

For a moment, they marveled at her ingenuity. But then Radifini stopped them. “We must free Michelo.”

And Daphne told them, “He is not heavily guarded. He is merely held back by chains of magic. I heard Geovana assuring my father that it would be so.”

“Magic!” Radifini said with pleasure. And so, with Daphne in the lead, they hurried to the place where Michelo was kept.

He was rather sorry looking at that moment, hair disheveled, clothing torn, for he had tried again and again to break through the invisible bars holding him to the farthest, darkest, dankest wall in the deepest pit of the dungeons.

“Thank God!” he breathed when he saw them. “We must hurry!”

Radifini raised his hands, and began to thunder out words of magic. He nodded, pleased, to Michelo, who once again tried to step free.

But Michelo bounced back against the wall as he tried to move, as if struck by a giant hand.

“Radifini!” he cried.

“All right, all right, I’m rusty! It’s been a long time since anyone has believed in magic here!” he told them.

He began another incantation.

And then another.

And finally—after both Armand and Daphne had been forced to sit, the wait growing very tiring, he said some words in an ancient tongue. “It’s up to you now!” he implored Michelo.

Michelo stared at him. And then he said, “Before God, I love her more than life itself! I will save Marina! I have the strength, and I will break free from these chains of evil, slay the dragon, and rescue my bride!”

And with that, he burst free.

“Old man,” Michelo said, “what words did you use that were finally the right ones?”

“Oh, I just spoke gibberish,” Radifini told him cheerfully. “You spoke the words of magic! Love … emotion, the goodness in the heart and soul that is stronger than all else! Now—we must move quickly!”

High upon the highest cliff, the sleeping Marina remained bound to the post.

Thomasina, the falcon, had come to perch by her side, anxiously watching her.

And then …

The dragon appeared. It grinned an evil grin, for all had come to pass as the dragon desired, and the child of Nico and Elisia was there, for the taking.

But when the dragon, with all its power and brilliance, strode out for the sacrifice, the falcon let out a shrill caw of challenge, stretching out her wings, flying forward, ready to skewer the dragon through with her claws.

The dragon flew high, avoiding the talons.

The dragon had long awaited this day. It did not intend its sure destruction of Marina d’Or be disturbed; the dragon intended to savor every morsel. And so, it intended to see to the destruction of this new foe first.

The falcon must die.

The dragon flew, soared, glided, and attempted many times to breathe fire upon the falcon, or to slam it to the ground. But the falcon was swift and fleet, and though heavily beset, she evaded every attack.

Thus it was when the defenders arrived, Michelo in the lead, followed by Armand and Daphne.

Following them, of course, were others. The brave Antonio, Michelo’s right-hand man, was there, back from the border as if he had known his mighty sword arm would be needed. Guards followed him from the castle, at his command—and because they had discovered their prisoners were gone. They were in confusion at first, for though Geovana and Carlo were not about, Pietro d’Artois was incredibly upset—if Marina was to escape, he feared for his own daughter’s life. Antonio simply meant to be a defender in the righteous battle undertaken by his friend Michelo. They all quickly saw it was time to stand and fight.

As they reached the crest, Michelo drew forth both his sword and shield, anxious to rush forward and battle the dragon. But old Radifini stopped him, a hand upon his shoulder.

“Marina first!” he said.

“Old man, you must free her, as I fight the dragon,” Michelo said.

To the amazement of all, Carlo Baristo, mounted on a great roan stallion, suddenly appeared on the cliff.

“I will save her!” he cried. He dismounted, heading straight for Marina. “I will kiss the lips of my beloved, and save her from the dragon! I am the man to do so!”

Now, they all doubted this very much. Carlo had been very angry with Marina, and if they had searched their hearts, all in Calasia would have known he had never intended to keep Marina as his bride for long.

“She is my beloved!” Michelo called angrily.

It was what Carlo wanted, of course. He smiled, and stepped forward, his sword swinging.

The two began a terrible battle. Swords clashed; steel sparks flew. The others fell back, watching their great fight with one another.

It was Daphne who noted the dragon was ignoring the two, and approaching the post where Marina slept, vulnerable to the attack.

“The dragon!” she told Armand, and they both rushed forward, dodging the shots of fire the dragon breathed, Armand trying very hard to pierce the armor of its scales with his sword, Daphne punching with all her strength.

The falcon, seeing everything in disarray and fearing the dragon’s triumph, rushed in, coming between Michelo and Carlo Baristo. She flew high, then low, wings flapping, talons grasping at Carlo, causing him to stumble back and fall.

He, too, hit his head on a rock, and didn’t rise.

“Is that fair, in magic?” Michelo asked softly.

The falcon cawed.

“The dragon, I must slay the dragon!” Michelo roared, seeing his friends at battle.

“No, you must kiss Marina,” Radifini told him.

“There’s a dragon to be fought!” Michelo protested.

“She sleeps! You must kiss her,” Radifini argued. “Oh! When will you humans learn that love and compassion are far stronger than even the mightiest sword arm?”

Though Michelo loved Marina more than he knew a heart could bear, this made no sense. But Radifini was insistent, and so he ran first to the post where Marina was tied. The dragon attacked as he did so, but Radifini, flapping his arms as if he were a deranged bird himself, ran to the dragon, hitting it with all his strength in the nose.

The dragon roared, nearly singeing them all with its fiery breath.

“Can’t you deliver a kiss quickly?” Radifini shouted.

Though it was not at all the deep and binding kiss a lover would give, Michelo quickly brushed his lips against Marina’s.

And she awoke. Eyes wide and beautiful, as blue as the sea, as blue as the sky.

“Now fight the dragon!” Radifini begged, for the creature had drawn back, and pure evil and pleasure was in its eyes as it contemplated making a snack of Radifini.

Marina, awakened, struggled fiercely with her shackles. Armand and Daphne, relieved from their fight with the dragon, hurried over to help her. Between them, they freed her, and they hugged briefly as she spoke her gratitude.

But there, on the cliff, Michelo still fought valiantly against the dragon. Marina cried out softly, for the creature was very fierce, and it didn’t seem that Michelo’s sword was denting the scaly armor of the creature at all.

“Rocks!” she cried. “We must all throw rocks!”

They did. They created a fierce hail of stone, pelting the creature in a fury. It roared its anger, snapping here and there in a frenzy, yet held back by Michelo’s sword. He must have penetrated the dragon’s skin at some point, for flecks of blood flew from the dragon, and fell to the ground.

Where the blood drops landed, the earth itself began to rise, and every little speck of blood writhed and inflated until it became …

A wartroll.

Marina cried out with horror, warning them all.

And yet, as the newborn enemies advanced, the guards from the village at last began to arrive. So it was that the battle with the dragon became a great war, and the guards of Lendo realized at last that there was no appeasing such an enemy, and they began to fight. No man, woman, child, or even beautiful damsel in distress should ever be sacrificed to fear and tyranny.

It was a wicked and desperate battle. Yet with pride and purpose, they all held their own, fighting with what weapons they had, swords for some, rocks for others, dodging, feinting—running!—when all else failed.

Marina had gotten her hands on a sword and was very desperately fighting a wartroll herself when Radifini whispered in her ear, “Carlo lies there, beginning to rouse. You must go kiss him.”

She was so stunned that she was nearly smote in two by the wartroll she battled. He had been right many times, but now, it seemed that poor Radifini had finally lost his senses.

“Kiss Carlo!” she exclaimed. “I’d as soon kiss a toad!”

With a lucky duck and blow, she was able to stop the wartroll who had so nearly done the dragon’s work of dissecting her.

“Kiss Carlo. In life, there are times when we must kiss a few toads,” he said calmly. “Then we know them clearly, for what they are.”

He was dear; she loved him. But poor Thomasina was flying about in a frenzy, attempting to be a distraction; Michelo was still so desperately fighting the dragon; and the battle was going on all around her.

“Kiss him, quickly!” Radifini insisted.

And so, she lowered her sword, rushed to the area where Carlo lay, and knelt at his side.

He looked up at her, and she thought his eyes were evil, cold, and yellow-gold, like those of the dragon. And of his mother, Geovana.

His anger erupted as he looked at her. “Did you think I would have ever let you serve as ruler with me? Always, Marina, you were intended for the wrath of the dragon!”

“Kiss him, quick,” Radifini commanded at her shoulder.

She shrugged. And she leaned down and kissed Carlo.

To her amazement, he began to bubble. Yes, bubble. His whole body seemed to grow great bubbles, and she jumped back, away from him.

The bubbles popped.

And Carlo was gone. All that remained was a huge, ugly toad.

A cry of fury rent the skies. The dragon roared, and the earth was set afire with a lightning strike of flame.

The dragon rose high, high in the sky, and began a descent, speeding down toward Marina.

Just in time, Michelo made it to stand at her side. He raised his sword. The dragon, so intent on Marina that it was blinded, soared straight into the tip of the blade.

There was another huge and horrible cry.

The dragon fell, causing the earth to tremble.

Radifini came rushing forward, this time talking to Michelo.

“Kiss it!”

“I’ve kissed it with steel!” Michelo shouted.

“No, kiss it!” Radifini said.

And Marina and Armand and Daphne, and all the guards who had seen what had happened to Carlo, shouted out, “Kiss it!”

Michelo, thinking they had all lost their minds in the frenzy of battle, bent over and kissed the dragon.

Smoke, in a sparking puff of brilliant color, burst from the dragon.

And there … soon, as the smoke began to clear …

There were two. Two beings.

Two—the dragon, quite unlike a horrible, mean, fire-breathing creature at all.

Indeed, it was actually, quite adorable. Like an overgrown puppy!

But by the dragon’s side, having split from its form, there was something else.

No. Someone else. Someone who had taken over the form of the dragon.

For the briefest of moments, they saw the true face of the evil that had threatened them. Not so much in magic now. But in hatred, vengeance, bitterness, and greed.

Moaning, injured, in the midst of the multicolored mist, lay Geovana. Sorceress, witch, the things within her heart having made her the cruelest of enemies. She had walked with a smile so often, while jealousy and a coveting of others had ruled her every action.

And then … Geovana began to bubble.

“Back up!” Marina warned.

And they all did.

Bubbles grew and grew … and then there was a mighty pop!

“Ugh!” said Armand, jumping back quickly to avoid being splashed by the wretched bubble brew.

There, where Geovana had lain, there was nothing but another nasty-looking, injured toad.

It let out a furious croaking.

Then, the toad that had been Carlo croaked, as well.

And both croaking in loud, dissonant tones, as if they argued still, they hopped off together.

The wartrolls melted into the ground.

“The Dragon in the Den! It’s really a sweet and gentle creature!” Daphne cried out.

The dragon shyly lowered his head. His ears twitched, he blushed shyly, and he wagged what had once seemed a ferocious tail.

Adriana, Michelo’s dear little sister, rushed forward, anxious that no one should now injure the creature. “Please … let the dragon go now! We’ve all seen! The kindest of creatures can be used by others … even in innocence. As we were all used!” she cried out. “Yes! We were used, just as the dragon. We let Geovana instill fear into our hearts, and make us behave as we never should have behaved!”

Michelo picked up his little sister and swung her around. “She’s right! Everyone must let the dragon live in peace!”

Atop the cliff, people began to cheer.

The beautiful falcon flew over to where Marina stood with her beloved Michelo and friends. Together, they knew the strength of the wartrolls, and even that of the fiercest dragon.

The great Fiorelli, having heard the news of the dungeon breaks and the terrible battle, arrived upon his horse, and with gladness and amazement saw what had been done.

He dismounted from his horse and walked to where his weary son stood with the lady of his heart. He looked from Michelo to Marina and cried out, “A wedding, a wedding tonight! For Christmas nears, and we must make Christmas Day one of joy and thankfulness, and you two duly wed. Man and wife. We will celebrate a time of peace and wonder—and belief. You have proven that there can be no appeasing a dragon, that evil can wear a pleasant mask, and that belief and honor—and the courage to fight for what we love—is the greatest magic! And then we will all remember Christmas is a time for strength in belief, a time of love and goodness.”

And so, Michelo kissed his soon-to-be bride. And that time, he kissed her as a lover should, and all around them was applause and the sound of cheering.

When the kiss broke at last—by that time, many of the tired warriors were sitting and wondering if it would be over by sunset—Michelo turned to his father.

“A wedding, Father? There must be two weddings!”

And, of course, the great Duke Fiorelli turned to Armand and Daphne. “Yes, two weddings. And you, falcon master! Armand, you will take the title of the Lord of Baristo, and with Daphne, child of Pietro, and our very good friend, you will live in the castle, and bring peace and prosperity to all the folk there!”

Again, there were cheers.

Armand, not to be outdone, even by Michelo, kissed his soon-to-be bride.

This time, the people cheered, but then groaned as the kiss went on and on, and they were forced to sit and wait once again.

“Good heavens!” Radifini cried. “We will never get to these weddings!”

And so, for the moment, the kissing was over.

Before dressing for her wedding, Marina spoke tenderly and privately with the falcon, Thomasina, thanking her sincerely for all that she had done.

Thomasina reminded Marina that she had never used her final wish.

“Wishes are precious, and must be thought out with grave attention to detail,” Marina told her, smiling. “And I have thought … and what I wish now is that you are returned to all your strength, that you are able to be all that you want to be, just as you have enabled me!”

“You are sure?” Thomasina asked her.

“Oh, yes. You’ve taught us all that we must help ourselves, and one another, to make our wishes come true. There is nothing I want more than to share the happiness I feel.”

Thomasina raised her wing and gently touched Marina’s cheek.

“Leave me be then, child, and get ready for your wedding!”

There had not been such rejoicing in all the territories of Calasia in years. By sunset, before moonrise, Marina was married to Michelo, and Armand became husband to his Daphne.

Champagne flowed. People danced and sang.

And the world itself seemed magic.

Christmas Day came soon after.

When she awoke, after the most magical days ever, Marina raced to the balcony of her new garden room at the castle of the great Fiorelli. (He planned to retire from being duke, leave the realm to his son and Marina, and take his wife on an extended cruise of the known world, until such time as they should return to play with the grandchildren.)

To her astonishment, a falcon perched outside her window.

“Thomasina?” she said, and she was startled, for there was no reply other than a blink of the eyes. Marina realized that, beautiful and wonderful, Thomasina was a falcon. Rare and precious in what she was, but just that, and nothing more. The magic within her was gone.

Michelo came out to the balcony, and he drew her into his arms, startled by the tears in her eyes.

“My love! It is Christmas Day. The church bells are ringing, and we are together. We have our lives to live to bring to others what Christmas magic has brought to us.”

“It’s just … the falcon, Michelo. We must care for her, my falcon, with the greatest tenderness, all of her days!” she told him.

And he, surprised by her strange emotion, but touched by it, held her gently, and said, “We will love her, and care for her always.”

Later that day, after the church service, a magical, beautiful snow began to fall. It was the most beautiful snow Marina could remember. And with carols filling the air and more feasting going on—it was really, really, a big celebration—Marina saw that Radifini was not alone. He was with an older woman, beautiful and regal.

They appeared quite happy.

They were giddy, in fact, like children, whispering to one another about magic and belief and all that kind of thing.

As if aware that Marina was watching her, the woman looked up. She wore a strange, lovely smile of amusement, and Marina was suddenly reminded of the day she had found the falcon, when Carlo had been out hunting, when he had wounded the bird.

At first, she had seen something … an animal.

And then a woman …

And when she had searched, she had found Thomasina. The gorgeous, magical creature that had claimed to be a fairy.

The woman winked.

And Marina smiled, and turned away. Yet, she paused again. For they were not the only happy couple to be seen together.

Serafina had returned. And she was at the banquet table, seated beside Pietro. Her stepfather was beaming.

Serafina was flushed and exceptionally beautiful, and apparently very pleased to be right where she was.

And Pietro! For once, he seemed truly at ease. Marina realized that she had never really known him before; perhaps he had never really known himself. Now, he was free, as well. And being free …

Well, he’d never actually been a bad man.

Marina’s happiness increased. Sometimes dragons came into the world. But they could be fought, when there was love and courage and conviction. And sometimes, when such demons were bested, there was tremendous beauty to be found.

The woman with Radifini was still watching her.

“Merry Christmas!” the woman called.

“Merry Christmas!” Marina called back happily.

Seeking Michelo, she went off to find—and make—her own magic. Life was the magic one made it, she knew. But Christmas …

It would always be a special time of magic. For magic was in belief.

Naturally, in the beautiful fairy-tale realm of Calasia, they all lived happily ever after.

Heather Graham

New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Heather Graham majored in theater arts at the University of South Florida. After a stint of several years in dinner theater, back-up vocals, and bartending, she stayed home after the birth of her third child and began to write. Her first book was with Dell, and since then, she has written over one hundred novels and novellas including category, suspense, historical romance, vampire fiction, time travel, occult, and Christmas family fare.

She is pleased to have been published in approximately twenty languages. She has written over 100 novels and has 60 million books in print. She has been honored with awards from Walden Books, B. Dalton, Georgia Romance Writers, Affaire de Coeur, Romantic Times, and more. Heather has also become the proud recipient of the Silver Bullet from Thriller Writers. Heather has had books selected for the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild, and has been quoted, interviewed, or featured in such publications as The Nation, Redbook, Mystery Book Club, People, and USA Today and appeared on many newscasts including Today, Entertainment Tonight, and local television.

Heather loves travel and anything that has to do with the water, and is a certified scuba diver. She also loves ballroom dancing. Each year she hosts the Vampire Ball and Dinner theater at the RT convention raising money for the Pediatric Aids Society, and in 2006 she hosted the first Writers for New Orleans Workshop to benefit the stricken Gulf region. She is “thrilled” to be a Thriller Killerette in the Thriller Killer Band, and she is also the founder of “The Slush Pile Players,” presenting something that’s almost like entertainment for various conferences and benefits. Married since high school graduation and the mother of five, her greatest love in life remains her family, but she also believes her career has been an incredible gift, and she is grateful every day to be doing something that she loves so very much for a living.

The Death Dealer, a hardcover sequel to The Dead Room, was released April 2008. The Flynn Brothers Trilogy will be released in late September, Deadly Gift in late October, Deadly Harvest in early November, and in late November, Deadly Night.

www.theoriginalheathergraham.com

Cherif Fortin Lynn Sanders

Cherif Fortin is a freelance photographer, illustrator, and writer living in Chicago, Illinois. At one time he has worked as a professional stuntman, as a full-time firefighter, and as one of the country’s leading romance cover models. Cherif’s artwork has been featured on the covers of hundreds of books in dozens of countries, and on calendars and collectibles. He runs the successful Fortin & Sanders Studio along with partner, Lynn Sanders, producing commercial art and photography for leading clients internationally. He lives with his wife, Dawn, and their three children: Kira, Kai, and Lara.

Lynn Sanders is an artist, photographer, and writer of romance fiction and children’s books. She is co-owner of Fortin & Sanders Studio, which produces cover art for some of the top publishers in the world. Her paintings have been exhibited at Epcot Center and are owned by private collectors such as Hugh Hefner and Fabio. She has three adult children, three grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. She lives in northern Illinois with Ce Ce, her faithful Cirneco dell Etna.

www.fortinandsanders.com