He smiled modestly. “One cannot study one without the other. Draca and dragons are intimately connected to the Tudors. Mary Tudor bound a golden wyvern on her wedding night, and she had tremendous empathy with the creature. It followed her commands, even the most brutal. She claimed they conversed, and from their conversation, she learned of dragons. Then she sent her knights searching for relics that would raise a dragon.”
“A dagger?” I suggested.
His eyebrows shot up. “An excellent guess! I have only recently researched the dagger. It is a difficult subject as Queen Elizabeth purged it from the royal archives when she ascended the throne. Doubtless, she wished to protect the Tudor name. But I hope to document the provenance so we may add the dagger to our exhibit.”
My heart jumped. “Youhavethe dagger?”
He turned and opened a wide, shallow drawer.
The dagger lay alone, nestled in green velvet. The same dagger I had seen in the painting of Queen Mary at Chathford House. The hilt was wrapped in plaited brown leather and had a small, gold medallion. The blade was long and slightly curved, black as night, and lustrous as obsidian. The outside of the curve was smooth and thick as my finger. The inside gleamed with wicked serrations.
“Gramr,” Mary said. She was reading a card beside the hilt. “That is from legend. The dagger that Sigurd used to kill the dragon Fafnir.”
“Whether this is the legendary dagger, I cannot say,” our guide answered. “But this dagger has carried the name ‘Gramr’ for centuries. Queen Mary acquired it when her knights”—he hesitated, choosing his next word—“liberatedit from a noble house in Denmark. That family had documented the dagger’s history to ancient Germania.”
I could restrain myself no longer. “It is a dragon’s tooth.”
He madehmm-ing noises. “The blade resembles the draca teeth in our collection. But even if one accepts that ancient dragons were the size of a horse, this length is preposterous. My article will state that it is sculpted ceramic.”
“May I touch it?” I asked. He smiled and nodded. I ran a finger along the leather-wrapped hilt, then touched the golden medallion. It was engraved: ??. “What are these symbols?”
“They are Chinese characters,” Mary said. Her black bonnet dipped to read the paper in the drawer. “It has been transliterated as ‘Fennew.’ Chinese sounds are not fully described by our alphabet, so that is likely inaccurate.” Our guide gave an offended sniff.
I stretched my hand beside the blade. Yuánchi’s longest teeth were five inches. This was twice that. Bigger. Much bigger.
I touched my fingertip to the flat of the blade. Cold rushed into my body, climbed my spine, and overcame my senses.
My hair,loose and black, whipped behind me. The wind dashed tears from my eyes. I shielded my face, leaning and squinting to look down. Below, our huge, winged shadow rushed over the forest at incredible speed.
Far ahead, I saw the soldiers marching in their rhinoceros hide armor. The same soldiers who burned our peasant village and killed our parents. Behind them followed the wagons of tribute, heaped with rice and silk, and the palanquin that jailed my sister.
I leaned farther, keeping my seat by pressing my body into the rushing air. The woven hemp of my jacket buzzed in the wind. Our speed was reckless. Exhilarating.
“Keep her safe!” I cried. “Show the rest my fury!” But I closed my eyes, afraid, until the storm was done.
We landed, and I skidded from my perch, tearing my clothes on the scales. Around us, every green leaf and brown clod of earth sparkled with crystalline ice. Cold mist flowed around my ankles like water.
The palanquin, abandoned, lay fallen on its side.
Frightened, I drew aside the curtain. My younger sister, dressed as if she were an Emperor’s daughter, not a poor peasant, stared back in shock.
I smiled in relief and held out my hand. “The Dragon Queen came.”
“Lizzy!”Mary cried. Her face was in front of mine and so close that her height advantage was very apparent. One of her hands gripped my left shoulder. Her other held my right wrist like a vice while I twisted to break free. She had pushed me away from the open drawer. Out of reach.
I stopped fighting her grip. “I am b-better.” My teeth were chattering.
“What happened?” she said. “You shouted a strange language…”
Cold lingered in my jaw. My teeth ached. “C-can you touch the blade? I need you to touch it.”
“Lizzy, it hurt you. I had to pull you away from it!”
“Please. I must know what happens.”
Mary bit her lip, then nodded. Gently, she backed me another step away from the blade, leaving me beside the open-mouthed museum guide, then returned to the drawer. She did not hesitate, just tapped the blade with her finger, then rested her finger on it. “It feels cool, like iron or silver, but moreso. Heavy and dense.” Cautiously, she drew her fingertip across the serrated edge. “It is extraordinarily sharp.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You have answered my question.” Whatever reaction I had, it was not shared by Mary. That meant it was exclusive to great wyves. Or to me.
