Mated to The Dragon Lord

Chapter 3

　　Memory

　　The day was bright with spring and the air heavy with the scent of the wildflowers that nodded their heads amongst the grasses. Yelena’s mother Cerise held out her hand and a winging butterfly hovered uncertainly over her fingertip. She laughed down at her young daughter, her face radiant with her enjoyment, as the butterfly decided that she was not a flower and continued on its way.

　　“There must be balance with magic,” Cerise told Yelena. “The bees and butterflies eat from the flowers, but they also carry with them the pollen from one species to another which the flowers need in order to grow. They take, but they also give. Ah, dandelion,” she carefully plucked a stem, before handing it to Yelena. “Blow.”

　　Yelena blew against the white fluffy head and watched the seeds drift away.

　　Cerise watched with her. “You just gave the chance of life for those dandelion seeds,” she told her daughter as she stooped to pull the plant from the soil. “To balance our taking of this plant. Can you tell me why we will not just take the leaves, but pull the plant from the soil?”

　　“We eat the leaves, but the roots can be boiled into tea,” Yelena replied.

　　“Very good. Dandelion is a stimulant. As a tea, it can keep the drinker alert. But too much…”

　　Yelena giggled. “And they’ll wee.”

　　Cerise laughed. “Yes, it is a diuretic. But it cleanses the blood and helps digestion. It is a good plant to have in the kitchen. Come, let’s walk into the village and see if the cloth makers have anything interesting.”

　　Cerise took Yelena’s hand and they strolled through the grass towards the road into town, the goats the grazed in the tall grass leaping around them whilst the goat herd overwatched.

　　Wagon wheels had worn deep grooves in the dirt road, and the spring rain had filled many with puddles. It was a game that Yelena played to leap from grass-patch to grass-patch, avoiding a wet landing.

　　“This world is ancient,” Cerise said. “And it’s people are many. Humans are young in comparison to those we share this land with.”

　　“Like the Fae,” Yelena prompted.

　　“Ah, the Fae, as old as they are, are just youths compared to those that originally inhabited this world, Yelena, though the Fae would tell you otherwise. They do not like to admit that they are not the oldest and wisest people. Prideful are the Fae,” she smiled warmly. “But also fair, and honorable.”

　　“Like dadda,” Yelena narrowly avoided slipping into a puddle, and Cerise caught her, laughing, steadying her.

　　“Like your father,” Cerise agreed. “We must always be respectful of the other people and creatures of this world, Yelena. We must always remember the edict that we follow as healers – do no harm. Not only because it is the right way to be, but because of the balance of magic. A healer should always be mindful of the balance, and that great power comes at great cost.”

　　They passed through the ring of the village wall, and villagers hurrying about their days dipped curtseys and gave greeting. Cerise smiled graciously and returned their greetings, enquiring after family and livelihoods with genuine interest and not just duty.

　　As she paused by a house to give the dandelion and instructions to the occupant, Yelena watched the market, her heart leaping when she saw that a trader had come with toys. Children gathered closely around the stall, hands reaching eagerly for the wares, whilst their parent’s bartered.

　　There was doll amongst them with a bright red dress and hair as dark as Yelena and Cerise’s.

　　Cerise caught Yelena’s hand, following her gaze, laughing. “Ah, that stall seems popular with the young ones.”

　　An outcry from the baker’s stall drew their attention as a silver-haired boy streaked across the market towards them, clutching a loaf of bread to his chest. The baker and his apprentice were at the boy’s heels, their faces red with fury.

　　The blacksmith reached out to catch at the boy as he passed, and the boy slid across the dirt and muck, adding to his already bedraggled state, his clothing torn, and his face and hair filthy. He came to a stop at Yelena’s feet and looked up at her with grey eyes that contained shards of silver, breathing heavily, and his expression strained.

　　Yelena threw herself over him as the blacksmith and baker reached them, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, using her small body as a shield against the grown men’s anger. “No!”

　　“My Lady!” The baker protested. “The little thief…”

　　“Is starving,” Cerise said. “Don’t you lay a finger on my daughter, Warren, her father will not care for that at all,” she cautioned the blacksmith with a raised finger. “I will pay for what he has taken,” she took a coin from the purse tied to her girdle. “The village can consider the lad a ward of the keep, as with all orphans and lost ones, no matter their species.”

　　“You are too generous, My Lady,” the baker shook his head ruefully. “The lad does not know how lucky he is that you were passing this way at this moment.”

　　“We must care for those who cannot care for themselves, if we expect to be taken care of in our own times of weakness and suffering,” Cerise said to him.

　　“Balance,” Yelena looked up at her mother, delighted.

　　Cerise smiled. “Precisely. Now let the lad get to his feet, Yelena.”

　　“Come,” Yelena urged the boy. He stood slowly, towering over her by a head for all that he was skin and bones and a shock of overgrown silver hair. She reached up to touch it, and he watched her hand with narrowed eyes. “Pretty,” she stroked his hair.

　　“It will be once it’s washed,” Cerise agreed. “What is your name boy?” The lad swallowed, and a muscle in the corner of his jaw worked as he stared intensely at Cerise, but he did not speak. “Mmm,” Cerise hummed to herself as she considered him. “Perhaps we will call you Sylvin until you wish to tell us otherwise,” she offered.

　　“Sylvin is Fae for silver,” Yelena told the boy proudly as she took his hand. His eyes fell to her face and then where she held him, and his fingers very slowly curled around hers. “It is a good name for you, because your hair.”

　　Cerise’s expression was sorrowful, seeing what the little girl could not, and her smile lacked its brightness, though it remained gentle. “Come, Yelena, let’s take Sylvin to the keep. He is in need of a good meal, a bath, and some new clothes.”

　　“You are safe with us,” Yelena told Sylvin following Cerise as she led them out of the village walls back onto the long road to the keep framed by grasses and fields of crops. “Elliard is what our keep is called. It is a safe space, where everyone is welcome, human, Fae, or,” she looked up at him, frowning slightly as she tried to determine his origins. “Whatever you are.”

　　He looked down at her, his expression mildly baffled.

　　“Mamma says that humans have disrupted the balance of the world, and that we in Elliard must so our best to restore it in whatever small way we can. It is why she married my father, who is a Fae,” Yelena continued cheerfully.

　　Cerise made a laughing noise of dissent. “I married your father because I love him,” she corrected with amusement. “And he is very handsome. That he is Fae and I human was perhaps why our fathers introduced us, seeking to create a unity between the two neighbours, but it was not a deciding factor for either your father, or I.”

　　They entered the keep and Cerise sent the pages to start a bath for Sylvin, whilst she took Yelena and the boy through to the kitchens. The kitchen hands stared at the silver haired boy in open fascination although they knew better than to still their work, continuing to chop, stir and turn in a constant flow of activity.

　　Arithen took one long look at the boy and Yelena and sighed heavily. “Most Ladies give their daughters kittens, not lads, My Lady Cerise,” she observed already scooping stew from the pot that was always cooking over the kitchen embers, adding an extra helping, before placing it and a spoon on the table. “Sit lad.”

　　Yelena tugged the boy down onto the bench seat and took the loaf of bread that he still clutched, breaking it into pieces and putting one into his hand. “Eat,” she encouraged.

　　The boy inhaled suspiciously, eying the stew as if he had never seen it’s like before.

　　“Perhaps have a morsel yourself, Yelena,” Cerise urged.

　　Yelena dipped a piece of bread into the stew and transferred it to her mouth. “Like this,” she showed him. “But mama would probably prefer if you used the spoon.”

　　Watching her eat convinced the boy that it was safe to do so, and he fell upon the bread and stew with a desperate hunger that was heart-wrenching to watch.

　　“Fate’s hand was on us today,” Cerise murmured, her eyes on the two children.

　　Arithen looked from the lad to the Lady, and then to Yelena, and sighed. “That is… trouble to come, My Lady,” she predicted. “His type... They do not live in castles or by human or Fae law.”

　　“I wonder why he is here,” Cerise replied. “What has happened to his people?”

　　Arithen shrugged. “The same as every other people?” She suggested. “Humans have ten children for every one of ours, and spread, and spread, driving us from the fertile lands, hunting us for our magic and treasures, taking more than is their due and forcing on us their way of living, their laws, their religions. The ancient ones struggle to adapt more than others.” She gestured to the boy.

　　“That is… so sad,” Cerise’s eyes filled. “I know it to be true, but to see this lad…”

　　“Fate’s hand,” Arithen said watching as Yelena picked grass from the boy’s silver hair. “His kind, My Lady…” She shook her head in appeal. “They are different. This will be trouble.”

　　“I know,” Cerise murmured. “But destiny will do as destiny will do.”