“I know that the legend says that they were girls who danced at night and strayed into the sabbath. They were punished for it.The girls turned to stone in one field, and the fiddler and pipers in another where they had tried to leave.”
His response is loud laughter. The courtiers all join him, and I turn to Sigurd in a panic.
“Fear not,” he whispers. “You are doing well, my Cary.”
The king gazes at me. “Is that the story you humans tell?”
I nod.
“Ah, you are such an amusing race of people. The tale will do, I suppose, although my part in it is sadly depleted, for I was that fiddler, and it was I who tempted the pipers and the maidens.” One of the maidens shoots him a murderous look, but when he glances her way, her expression becomes placid. He turns back to me. “And you have found the favour of The Lady. You are obviously more than you seem.”
“That’s rather a backhanded compliment,” I observe idly, and blanch.
He just laughs again. For a moment, he taps his fingers against the throne’s armrest, his green eyes busy. Then he turns to me. “Quid pro quo. I will give you the information you seek, but you must give me the same.”
“But what information do I have?” I ask, bewildered.
Sigurd sits forward on his chair, his golden eyes sharp and alert. “Sire,” he says warningly.
The king waves a careless hand at me. “Tell me why I should grant the dragon a boon when he does his best to stop me from adding to my court? Always removing humans from my reach.”
Sigurd opens his mouth, and I squeeze his hand. I don’t have time to weigh my words, so they come out unforced and naturally.
“Because he has immense power,” I say quietly, and the court falls silent, the king’s eyes on me. “But it’s harnessed to an innate cleverness and wisdom. He is funny, mischievous, but neverunkind. He is not quick to anger. In his youth, he may have been impetuous.”
The king laughs. “Is that what they are calling it now?”
“But I believe centuries of living have changed that. He is agoodman,” I say and turn to find Sigurd watching me. His golden eyes look fierce with some emotion.
“Thank you, Cary,” he says quietly. “You honour me.”
I turn back to the king. He’s watching us, and for a moment, I think I see envy. And then it’s gone. Everything he does is probably weighed up and considered.
“Sigurd is better as an ally and not an enemy.” I shrug. “Just as it’s better to have him as a guest in your home rather than burning the whole place to the ground.”
The king laughs loudly and looks to Sigurd. “That is an admirable testimony. You should be proud to have evoked such passionate defence.”
Sigurd takes my hand and kisses it. “I am proud that he sees me so, sire.”
I see the moment the king loses interest in trying to torture me. He sits back and waves a regal hand. “And so, I shall keep my bargain, Cary. You already have all the knowledge in your curly head to solve the mystery of the missing Melusine. Think hard and the answer shall come to you.”
“That’sit?” I say without thinking.
He winks and then looks at the sky. “Dawn is approaching,” he calls in a loud, urgent voice. “Take your places, my people.”
My mouth drops open as the courtiers around us immediately dissipate into grey smoke. It trails through the air for a moment and then is rapidly sucked into the ground. I turn to see the tables of food have vanished, and the lady dancers stand for a second, clasping hands before moving to form a circle on the field. They look to the sky, and before I can take anotherbreath, they’ve turned to stone. The pipers have gone, too. Only the king remains.
“But I don’t know the answer,” I say, suddenly desperate.
“It is old news,” he says, his voice growing fainter. “Only fit for the tables of small provincial hotels.”
He tips his cap at me, the feather waving jauntily, and then he’s gone.
When I look around, the field is full of dawn light, the stars winking out, and red appearing on the horizon. It’s cold and Sigurd immediately wraps his arms around me.
“Come. You did well.”
“I didn’t. I got nothing from him.” I shiver as we pass the stones. They’re covered in lichen and pitted with age—no sign of the beautiful women. “Speaking of him, where did he go?”
