Liam continued. "The guard at the gate thought it best to send word. We didn't wish to disturb you – or you, my Queen," he added hastily. I could almost hear him blushing.
"Direct him to the hall," I ordered. "Be sure to have at least a dozen guards there by the time he arrives, and leave him alone for not a single moment. I'll be there shortly."
With that, Liam left the room.
"Caside, I am frightened," Anabelle whispered urgently. "Why do you have to go and have audience with a beggar? This can come to no good. What if Arthur gave him something with which to harm you?"
I patted her hand and sighed. "Anabelle, I have no compunction against shifting in an instance and incinerating any old beggar who wishes to do me harm, whether intentional or no. I am still a dragon, after all," I reminded her. She sighed, clearly not convinced that I was making a wise decision.
"I don't care to hear any message from Arthur," she said, her voice tight. "I believe he told us everything we needed to hear from him earlier today." I agreed, and told her so.
"Still, we can't openly antagonize him," I reminded her. "If we can avoid in any way starting some sort of war with him, I want to take any steps necessary to ensure that."
"Oh, Caside," Anabelle whispered, her voice full of woe. "For such a fierce warrior, you're quite overly-optimistic."
*
A short time later, I sat on my throne, crown on my head. There was something to be said for presenting a kingly image … even if I was still in a dressing gown. But this was a tactical move; I wanted to be able to shift quickly, should the need arise. Shifting while wearing armor is a very difficult and dangerous maneuver, and can cause harm to bystanders … including my own men.
There were six guards on either side of me, three beside me and three slightly in front of me. I was taking no chances, regardless of how harmless this beggar may have appeared. There were also armored guards lining the walls on either side of the great room. Torches burned, illuminating the darkness. I waited impatiently; if there was to be any sort of threat, I wanted to face it sooner rather than later.
After what felt like an eternity, the great doors opened. Into the hall walked four armored guards with a shriveled, withered old man in the center of the square they formed. He looked terrified, and overwhelmed by his surroundings.
As they drew closer, I saw how filthy and ragged he really was. His head was nearly bare, except for a handful of long white hairs that ringed the base of his skull. His eyes were wide and bulging from his dirty, wrinkled face. He was stooped, a hunchback; likely from carrying a pack of goods on his back for much of his life, I deduced. Beggars were normally seen carrying their earthly possessions on their backs as they traveled from place to place, and often their backs would grow hunched as a result. His clothes were in tatters; I could hardly tell what color or cut they were in their original form. His feet were bare and heavily blistered.
I wondered at this old man, and at the fact that Arthur had chosen him to deliver a message. I wondered how he had threatened the old man; or, worse, what he had promised him if he caused harm to me or my queen. I was sure that a life of comfort would look quite attractive to a miserable old beggar. Perhaps it would even look attractive enough to convince him to perform treason or regicide.
The old man's escorts came to a halt before me, at the foot of the stairs leading to where I sat upon the throne. The beggar looked even more overwhelmed than he had before, and dropped to his knees before me. He was trembling even more severely than he had on his entrance.
"Please, rise," I commanded, my every instinct at attention. The dragon within me huffed and breathed fire, ready to attack at any moment if called upon to do so.
"Your highness," the old man croaked. "I come to you with a message of heavy importance. It was given to me by a dark wizard who called himself Arthur. I came across him on the road, as I traveled here on foot. He was a sight to behold, to be sure, and he threatened me with pain beyond any I could imagine if I did not bring his message directly to you. I desired not to disturb your slumber; were it not for fear of a fate far worse than death, I would leave you in peace and gladly." He trembled all over, and would not raise his eyes to meet mine.
"What is this message you were ordered to bring to me?" I asked.
He reached into his pack, and at once the guards were at attention. He froze, shaking in panic. I waved them away, and bade him reach into his pack for whatever it was he was pressed into delivering.
He reached in, then, and dug out something I recognized almost immediately. My heart nearly stopped beating, I was so overwhelmed.
From the old man's hand dangled a thick, heavy gold chain forged from many links. And from that chain hung a large, heart-shaped stone in the deepest shade of near purple-red. In the light from the flaming torches the stone glowed as if it, itself, were on fire.
"Do you know this, sire?" the old man asked. "Does this mean anything to you?"
I nodded, my throat too dry to speak.
"The dark wizard bade me deliver this to you, and told me to say these words." The beggar cleared his throat and recited as if he'd been made to repeat the words the entire journey to the castle:
"I've taken the heart of the dragon once, and will do so again … sooner than you know."
Later, after the beggar had been led back to the gates of the village, which surrounded the castle, I sat alone in my council chambers. I had gone back to Anabelle first, to assure her that no harm had come to me. She was nearly overcome with relief; we made love for the second time that evening, only then it was urgent and desperate. We released the tension and anxiety that had plagued us both by losing ourselves in each other. Now she was sleeping peacefully.
Despite the vigorous nature of our activities in bed, I was anything but peaceful. I dipped into the pocket of my dressing gown and pulled from it the item the beggar had been tasked with delivering. The Heart of the Dragon. I hadn't seen it in years, but the moment the center stone caught the light from the fire and shimmered as I'd seen it do so many times, the memories flooded back.
Along with the crown, the Heart was something every Celtic dragon in my bloodline was presented with at their coronation. I had never seen my father without it hanging from his neck. He had surely been wearing it when he was killed, only it wasn't around his neck when his body was found. Now I knew why.
I remembered my father, and how proud he was to wear the stone. He'd tell me of the day I, too, would wear it as the King of County Cork and the leader of the dragons. I would dream of that day, and touch my finger to the shimmering blood-colored stone.
Now, as a man, I held the Heart in my hand. I hadn't received it as I'd intended, but I would by the gods wear it proudly.
I held the chain in my hands, and the stone dangled from the middle. I slowly lowered the chain over my head, until the Heart rested over the heart that beat in my chest.
"Father," I whispered, my eyes closed. "I swear to you by the gods that I will find some way to avenge you, if it's the last thing I do. Please look after my wife and mate, that she might not suffer pain at the hands of this dark magic."
I felt the Heart resting heavily on my chest. Finally back where it belonged. I felt as though I had my father with me once again, at long last.
Early the following morning, I was told of yet another visitor to the castle. A pair of them, in fact.
Rather than meeting them in the hall, as was customary, I chose to have them shown to my private chambers. Not only did I wish to keep our conversation private, but I wanted to ensure that as few people were aware of my meeting with them as possible. I didn't want fearful rumors spread about.
When I arrived, they were waiting for me. Both rose at my entrance, and I bade them to sit once we greeted one another.
Two such different looking creatures I had never seen together. The gypsy and the wizard, both highly revered in their own circles and both possessed of magic far beyond that of many humans, sat at opposite sides of a small table in the center of the room. At one end was Gaeth, a wizard so ancient and yet so mysteriously youthful there were none who could accurately assess his true age. My own father had known him, and his father, and his father before that. Yet he seemed to never age. He was dressed in long, flowing robes of deep purple. His lustrous white hair, so out of place with his smooth, unlined skin, flowed down his back and was tied with a leather strap. His long, elegant fingers had cast spells too numerous to mention.
At the other side of the table sat Syeira, Queen of the gypsies. Her people had traveled the lands, far and wide, for untold generations. She had shown immense gifts of great power from an extremely young age and from that time forward had been regarded as the most respected and, some would say, feared leader in the history of her tribe. She had the dark skinned, dark haired beauty of so many of her people, and her eyes glowed like amethysts from beneath sooty lashes.