“So we don't have to aim for their eyes; like Arnet does?” Hugin ignored Barret, in preference to teasing me. “Well, that's a relief.”
The dragons dipped and came up along the wall, no doubt intending to roast us as they surged past. I watched their jaws open and tensed. Barret threw his spear. Too soon, I knew it immediately. It missed, ricocheting off the tough dragon scales. A little more... I threw my lance. Seconds later, Robyn threw his, followed closely by Hugin. Both men missed, but they had hit the emerald dragon square in the chest, hard enough to send him veering off course, his fire spewing harmlessly over our heads.
I had aimed for the black, knowing full well it was Meara. And my aim was true. Everyone, including myself, gaped as she fell from the sky. The spear had struck up into her skull, killing her instantly. There was no shrieks, no painful moans, she simply plummeted to the ground, crushing some wooden carts beneath her. My husbands turned their shocked faces to me, and I smirked.
“You still want me to go inside?” I asked them.
“No,” declared Arnet as he joined us. He had his gun in one hand and a lance in the other. “I want you to throw another lance, soldier,” he tossed me the spear, and then went to the stone crenelations and leaned against one. Arnet laid his gun on the stone and calmly sighted on the shrieking emerald dragon.
“That's my daughter!” my father shouted from the ramparts across from us. He had a group of knights, all holding lances (and all gawking at me), standing beside him. “I love you, my brave girl!”
“I love you too, Daddy!” I shouted back and then turned to face Malcolm with a smile.
No one was more surprised by Meara's death than her husband. King Malcolm clawed at the air in grief, roaring and spewing fire randomly. Then he circled back and headed straight for us.
“Do I even need to bother?” I teased Arnet as he focused on his prey.
“Adelysia!” my mother's shout sent a shiver of cold down my spine.
I glanced behind me and saw the Queen running up the steps to the battlements.
“Eufemia, get inside!” my father shouted at her.
“Not without Addy,” my mother kept running for me, her maids scampering behind her bravely.
“No,” I whispered as I watched Arnet turn, distracted by the shouting.
I brought the lance to my shoulder, but I was too late, Malcolm was already upon us. I thought he'd surely burn us all to cinders. I was certain we were about to die. But Malcolm had decided that such a death was too good for us, too quick. He wanted to pick us off, one by one, and tear us to pieces. Starting with my sweet Barret.
I screamed as the dagger-like talons struck my husband in his stomach, then watched Barret tumble backward. My other husbands roared denials around me, but only Arnet and I had weapons. My father and his knights were too far away to help us. My mother and her ladies were useless, dropping to the ground to scream in terror. As tears coursed down my cheeks, I threw my lance. It missed its mark, but it didn't matter because Arnet had fired at last. And Arnet never missed.
Malcolm crashed down the side of the castle wall, tumbling head over tail, to lie in a motionless heap on the rocks below. My husbands and I instantly ran down the stairs to where Bayard was already holding Barret, crying brokenly over his son. I was crying too, for the first time since I was a little girl. I just knew this had been too much happiness for me. Too much joy for one mere woman. But did Barret have to pay the price? Sweet, kind, beautiful Barret.
I dropped to the dirty ground beside Barret and laid my hand on his forehead. He was cold, his sightless eyes staring up at the sky in shock. His abdomen was a mess of blood and entrails, the stench of bowels blending with the tang of blood. Battlefield perfume, they called it. I had never thought to smell it myself, much less inhale it as it rose off my husband's body. I bent over Barret, laying my hand to his wounds, trying to put him back together. If it had been anyone else, I would have asked Barret to stitch them whole. He had told me that his needle worked on living flesh too. Barret had once sewn baby birds back together, right inside their shells, and they had been born healthy and whole.
But it was Barret lying there, dead on our wedding day, and he would be doing no more stitching.
“My son, my dear son!” Bayard wailed. “You lied to me,” he cried out to no one in particular. “You said they would live forever. You said whomever they loved would live forever. But here lies my son! Dead! Why?”
As we all gaped at Bayard, wondering at his strange words, I felt a twitching beneath my fingertips. I jerked back in shock and Bayard abruptly stopped wailing. He looked down with sudden hope. Barret's flesh started to pull back inside him, everything knitting together as if he had done the stitching himself. Blood and stench disappeared as if it never was, and soon Barret laid whole beneath us. He gasped and sat up, hands flying out to his sides.
“Barret?” I felt my jaw fall open. “How?”
“A mermaid!” Bayard screeched in delight. “Bless you, you watery woman! She did not forsake me. My boy!” He hugged his son to him, and Barret gaped at us, as shocked as we were about his resurrection.
There was a sharp scream, and then my mother fainted.
Chapter Fifteen
The invading armada must have been watching the flight of their leaders through telescopes. After the dragons were both killed, they turned their ships about and headed home. No man wanted to risk his life if he didn't have to. Still, my father sent a group of soldiers down to the beach, just in case it was a trick.
Bayard confessed his mermaid meeting to us, and what had come of it, concluding that we, his sons and I, were immortal. I would not have believed it, had I not already seen what my husbands were capable of and witnessed Barret's miraculous healing firsthand. The men were meant to have immortal lovers, as in plural, so I suppose the magic got a break with me, and only had to make one woman immortal. And yes, we are. All of us are still alive today. How else could I be here to tell you the truth of it now?
My husbands and I have lived through several lifetimes, seen amazing things, and still, we love each other as fiercely as the day we pledged our lives to each other in that stone chapel. But those are other tales, for another time, and I first need to end this one. It ends, as it began, with love.
We feasted and danced, several bards singing the tale of the princess with the hair of fire, facing down dragons in her wedding finery. How her husbands stood strong beside her, one falling to the vicious dragon's claws, only to emerge unscathed. A miracle. Magic. The foundation of our fairy tale had been constructed. But somehow it ended up wrong, like a game of telephone. It was told and retold until the result was completely different from the original. In the Grimm's fairy tale, none of the brothers married me. But in reality, we all had our happily ever after together.
It was a short celebration since many of our people were busy burying their loved ones and rebuilding their homes. My father sent men to help them, and it felt wrong to rejoice when so many were grieving. So my husbands and I retired to my bridal bower much earlier than we'd expected. I was nervous, even after slaying a dragon. There was always the possibility that I'd do something wrong, touch them incorrectly, or just plain screw up the... well, the screwing. Yes, I know your modern terms. I may have been born in another time, but I've learned how to adjust to the ages.
