Calling the Dragons Home

Excerpt From: Calling the Dragons Home

The Councilmen, the nobles, and their wives spun around in lazy circles to the music, staring with lids half-mast into the bleary, dull eyes of their dance partners across the space between them. The vielles and flutes whined restlessly through another of Pavrol's State—approved tunes. Had the stone walls not been dressed with rich but simple floral tapestries, the sound might have been something quite interesting, bouncing about in echoing chaos. However, it was instead much like Pavrol's other compositions, recycling whole bars where the Council likely found the progressions too...progressive.

Syra did not dance with anyone. She sat with her back straight and her feet flat on the floor, her arms lined up with the slightly cushioned arms of the golden throne. Her gown was fashionably cream—coloured, as were many of the gowns in the throne room, to contrast with the brown of the men's tunics. She was permitted one item of jewellery, according to the State's laws, and, given her position as Queen of the State, she wore her crown instead of a necklace or ring or girdle like many of the wives. It was heavy and ugly, with gaudy rubies and emeralds inset among square carvings. She would not be able to dance in it, even if she wanted to dance to this dreadfully soporific tune. Instead, it took all of her concentration to sit upright while wearing it.

The musicians paused, then started again with a new, indistinguishable tune. Syra suppressed a yawn. Her father would have words with her if she showed her displeasure with her position. There were any number of other expressions that would lead to words—and perhaps more—should she be careless enough to show them...a furrowed brow, a frown, a clenched jaw...even a smile, lest some Councilman or member of the nobility interpret it as approval or invitation. Her purpose was to survey the festivities in a dignified manner. She was Queen—her unsunned skin was to remain pale and unblemished, unlined, unmarred by things of human concern.

One more tune, then the musicians set down their instruments and sat against the wall. The women delicately blotted their faces and the men swiped the beads of perspiration from their brows. The smell of their feast was still thick in the close air, and the weight of the boiled stew no doubt sloshed in their bellies. They seemed happy to have the servants bring them their seats for further entertainment. Once their task was complete, the servants disappeared back to the edges of the tapestries, awaiting the will of the Council.