Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Melodrama! Also a wee bit of romantical action.
A/N: Marianis' characterisation is still something of a blank to me, however as she had an extremely sexy voice in The Chromatic Dragon (and yes, I've also seen her in Still Waters Freeze) I'm willing to attempt to fill in those blanks. Pairing challenge given by Kay Yasha. All feedback appreciated!
--
"She's gone!"
The hysterical voice on the other end was far too excessive for ten o'clock in the morning. Pyrrah yawned languidly, reclining across her silken sheets (twenty-five-momme genuine silkwyrm, far too expensive but worth it).
"I don't know where she's gone! Her room was in a mess, I think someone kidnapped her!"
"Of course, darling." Pyrrah waved a hand vaguely in the air, admiring the still-wet red nail polish which adorned her fingers. Perhaps she should try Strawberry Fields next, because she vaguely recalled this had chipped slightly during a race, but on the other hand Ruby's Flame was so vibrant…
"Are you listening to me? She's been kidnapped!"
Was Ignight talking about a dragon? A pet? His state of health? His voice sounded more than a little off-colour for him, come to think of it, but nobody else in her Crew would call her at this hour to inform her of whatever trivial little problem they had encountered.
"Marianis has been kidnapped!"
Pyrrah's hand paused in the air.
"Ignight, have you been taking Claw-juice again?"
A heavy sigh on the other end, followed by a long, deep breath.
"That's better," Pyrrah said. "Calm down; it does wonders for the digestion."
"It's Dorsull here! I said it five minutes ago!" he yelled.
Evidently his digestive problems had not been improved.
"Dorsull, darling. What can I do for you?" He was a talented racer, she recalled, though their previous social intercourse could hardly be said to be extensive.
Another deep breath. "Marianis. Has. Been. Kidnapped."
"Oh dear," Pyrrah said, nonplussed for once. This was quite…unexpected.
"I need your help to find her!" Dorsull said. "You raced with her on the Element Track. Now I need your skills to bring her back!"
Come to think of it, the next Element Track was scheduled for the next month. If they set aside Crew-rivalries a second time, they could win coveted eighth-level multi-environment gear. And besides, when they weren't competing against each other she quite liked Marianis.
"All right," Pyrrah said. "I'm on my way."
--
Two hours later (she needed her beauty sleep; these early mornings were so hard on the physique) she appeared at the Dragon Fish headquarters, met by a ragged-looking Dorsull whose eyes darted everywhere, as though he was in desperate need of some sleep or at least an addiction support programme.
"You went to that supplier in Shadde Alley, didn't you?" Pyrrah said sympathetically.
He ignored her. "I'll take you to her room. We must search for clues!"
They passed through a long room with various Fish members sitting or swimming in a vast pool with their dragons, either clad in towels or not at all; Pyrrah would have been willing to join them (the hot-sand-and-oil method was only popular among Dragon Flares in urban myth; steam baths were far more relaxing), but a cold splash hitting her hand caused her to reconsider and return her attention to Dorsull.
"I haven't told any of them yet," he whispered. "We can't afford to lose our confidence just before the All-City Adaptation Race!"
The Adaptation Race wasn't one her Crew was especially interested in; she made a mental note of the information, though, in case Wordie or another client would buy.
"This is her room," Dorsull said quietly, glancing along the narrow passageway before opening the door carved in elaborate waves. "Have a look!"
It was, indeed, almost as untidy as her own room at times. Pyrrah noted the upturned desk, the broken gear strewn on the floor, the flash-pod smoke on the walls. "She's usually neat?" Pyrrah asked.
"She's obsessive about it," Dorsull said. "We all fear her inspections. That's why when I came here to see if she was all right to run today's practice session I was so worried."
Pyrrah prowled through the room, looking into closets—mostly containing blue jumpsuits, though Marianis did appear to own a rather stylish purple sheath that would have highlighted her eyes marvellously—and drawers filled with various Crew-papers.
"She must have been kidnapped," Dorsull said. "The window's broken, and there was obviously a fight in here. But I can't think of any reason why!"
"Perhaps Moordryd reached the Sex Slaves And You chapter in Word's evil overlord handbook?" Pyrrah speculated.
"That's ridiculous! Why Marianis?"
Pyrrah looked down at the blue satin brassiere in her hands as she rummaged through the underwear drawer, its delicate lace almost begging to ornament pale, water-slick skin. "I don't know," she said.
"I didn't even know there was a chapter on that! Why am I always kept out of the loop?"
"What is this?" Pyrrah pushed a pair of tasselled garters out of the way to reveal a photograph.
Dorsull snatched it from her, and frowned as he stared at it. "Does something about these children look familiar to you?"
Pyrrah glanced down at the picture, two white-haired children—Sun City dwellers by their appearance and environment—soberly posed in front of the camera, siblings by the looks of it.
"Marianis' family?" she asked.
"It must be!" Dorsull said. "She never spoke about her family. And if they're from Sun City, they might have fetched her back! We must commence our investigation there immediately!"
Pyrrah frowned. "Don't you think that's a teensy-weensy bit of a logical leap?"
--
Three days in reporters' garb sneaking around Sun City, and Pyrrah was tired of it.
"I told you we should have started at Paynn's Citadel," she told Dorsull (heavily made up in the guise of a private detective and wearing a thick moustache, sending vast amounts of smoke in her direction from a scaleroot pipe) while irritably flicking through the Sun's Gazette. "We haven't found the smallest hint of a Sun City damsel recently reunited with her family."
She turned the page. "Paynn Incorporated hits record share price yet again, Triton House's new scholarship students proving successful in their Academy studies, Venables Synthetics announces merger with Aristassia Luxuries, Talis Heir to wed Triton daughter…"
She looked down at the two photographs accompanying the last announcement. "Dorsull, stop smoking now!" she commanded.
"It's for authenticity," he grumbled, but withdrew the pipe anyway. "What is it?"
She waved the smoke away to look more closely, and pointed down at the illustration. "Look!"
"That guy doesn't look anything like Marianis. Just because she's slender doesn't mean she has to be a Sun City gentleman recently reunited with his family…"
Pyrrah jabbed at the other picture, a small amount of Ruby's Flame flaking off her nail. "No, look. It's an artist's impression, but aside from the hair colour it's almost exactly like Marianis."
Dorsull's blackened and curled eyebrows drew together. "Don't you think that's just an easily mistaken matter of opinion?"
--
Two days gazing up at the Triton Citadel with binoculars.
"Maybe you were right about Word's Citadel," Dorsull said, dourly eating a Draconee-Yum bar.
"Be quiet," Pyrrah said. "Actually I think I've figured it out. Does Marianis want to marry the Talis Heir?"
Dorsull was quiet.
"Stop sulking, I'm guessing she doesn't," Pyrrah said. "The highest window in the tallest tower of that Citadel just happens to be barred. Though the giant white tablecloths, giant white culinary creations and giant white Talis and Triton banners—is there a theme here?—are being carried in, it doesn't appear she's bothering to go out to organise her own wedding. Even Nyptune Triton goes out in the direction of the Solar Della Rosa every so often. I think I've formed a distinct hypothesis."
"I don't see why; I'd marry him," Dorsull observed grumpily. "Guido Talis is one of the richest men in Dragon City, or will be once his parents are singing Dragon's Lament with the rest of the choir invisible."
Pyrrah patted him absently on the back. "You have a mercenary soul, dear. Then again, I've done one or two things I regret for money."
"What did you do?" he asked curiously.
"Never you mind. Now, we're going to need rappel gear tonight, and I'm in just enough of a charitable mood to bring some rather nifty shield gear I've been saving. No, don't thank me; I'll give you a notarised list of suggestions to show your gratitude later." Pyrrah glanced at the walls of the Triton Citadel, and smiled. "I've always thought coral blue would rather suit me, were the colour not anathema to our Crew."
--
Dorsull's still-bushy eyebrows did not suit coral blue in the least; the shield gear over their suits, however, covered them quite adequately as they slowly climbed the tower. Pyrrah's hair had been slicked back under a hood; the bun itched against her neck as she drove the claw attachments in, again and again.
"Are we almost there?" Dorsull asked her.
"Yes," she answered without looking; depression was the primary cause of chapped lips. They could have moved more quickly if they had clipped the lines to the windowsills, but this floor level still appeared to be active.
"Are we nearly there?" she asked Dorsull, after what felt like hours later. Rappel gear was more to her preference than to Dorsull's, but as with all things there came a time when enough was the final rotting sardine bounced off the nose of the dragon of legend causing him to start and then stop another war.
That must have been bungled somewhere in the past three thousand years of completely reliable oral tradition, Pyrrah thought, regretting the metaphor. Enough was the cherry on the whipped clawcream sundae of doom, the final hung-upside-down-over-a-cliff-with-underwear-visible following yet another win by the forces of Truth, Justice and Draconian Pie, the…
"I think we're almost there!"
The obsessive and vaguely disturbing look was back in Dorsull's eyes as he pointed to the window above them. "Let's commence Operation Rapunzel!"
He shot out the rappel cord from his wrist, and Pyrrah followed suit. They rose quickly up to the windowsill, and looked in through the bars.
--
The inhabitant paced inside her chamber, wearing a silken blue nightgown with Triton insignia stencilled on the unbared shoulder. Her hair swirled loosely around her; white roots showed at the crown of her scalp, but the remainder was a bleached-pale yellow.
She turned to the window, letting out a small cry of surprise, and Pyrrah did the same.
"Dorsull, Pyrrah! I'm glad you came. Any chance of breaking me out of here?"
"We'll save you from their cruel scheme," Pyrrah assured her. "Who was the bastard who massacred that dye job?"
"At least it's close to my natural colour," Marianis responded, and Pyrrah tried to avoid recollecting that shower incident during the previous Elemental Race. "But enough of that. Can you break the window?"
"We brought fire grenades," Dorsull said. "But I'd like to hear the truth about you first! Are you really Merinna Triton?"
"Yes, I am, or was," Marianis said. "My brother was Heir, and I wanted a life outside Sun City. I disguised myself and ran away so I could be accepted into a Crew through my own merits."
"You lied to us all these years!" Dorsull said.
"Yes," Marianis hissed, half-turning to look back at her door. "Please don't be so loud; someone might hear you. I'm sorry I lied. I was worried that they might find out and fetch me back for a business deal, like this. But I'm glad you found me, and I'd really appreciate it if you got on with rescuing me."
"All right," Pyrrah said, placing three explosive charges next to the bars. "Get under the bed."
Marianis quickly obeyed, and Dorsull and Pyrrah ducked below the windowsill just before the explosion sent red sparks and fragments of iron bars flying into the sky and the bedroom.
"Come on!" Pyrrah held out a hand to her, but ducked to the side as a beam fired from the top of the tower lanced between her and Dorsull.
"They upgraded the security system since I was last here! We've got to run." Marianis leaned over the window and pulled Pyrrah up from her one-handed grip on the windowsill as someone banged on the door. "What's your brilliant plan for getting down?"
"I thought we'd jump." Pyrrah pulled Marianis towards her. "Don't look down!"
The guards rushing in grabbed Marianis from her; Pyrrah jumped into the room to join her in the fight. The Dragon-Fish-cum-heiress was quite talented at hand-to-hand combat, though her nightdress suffered for it, Pyrrah noted. Still, there were five of them to fight, and they were well-armed at that.
Throwing a punch at one of the guards, Pyrrah reached for her spare explosives, activating the timer on one; Marianis was enmeshed with three guards, but when there was an opportunity she would…
One of the guards she fought threw something small and blue in her direction; she ducked, instinctively, seeing Marianis emerge from her battle as the three collided with each other, and noticed Marianis' mouth open as she looked at her.
And then the tower exploded twice in quick succession as Marianis yelled something, and she was colliding with Dorsul as she fell outside, seeing Marianis' pale face and bare collarbones fade into the distance.
"We need to go back!" Dorsull cried.
Pyrrah looked down at the rapidly approaching ground and gulped.
Dorsull followed suit. "Er. I mean. We need to try Plan B? Please?"
She reached behind herself, straining and swearing as she realised her backpack had been dislodged during the fight, and finally activated her Aero Gear. Their fall slowed, and they watched the bottom of the Sun City towers fly past them as they glided into Mid-City, finally coming to rest atop a convenient roof.
"Nice plan," Dorsull said eventually. "So what's your other Plan B?"
--
With a new pair of binoculars each, they stared at the Triton Citadel yet again, Pyrrah observing the endless processions in and out.
"What's the Solar Della Rosa, anyway?" Dorsull asked, desultorily observing the Triton patriarch heading in the direction of the small and gaudily-painted building yet again.
"Sun City brothel," Pyrrah replied absently, gazing at the stream of grey-and-white-clad servants escorting a Dragon Bishop and entourage inside the house. "Luxurious, but boring. The actress Belleza Liberrdad used to work there."
Dorsull was silent, his jaw briefly dropping as he contemplated the statement. "How'd you know?" he asked eventually.
"Word on the streets gets around." Pyrrah shrugged. "I've decided on my second plan to infiltrate, by the way. I wish I didn't have to return to it, but I guess it's the only option."
"You're going to go…there?" Dorsull swallowed.
"Yeah, though I told you I regretted it." Pyrrah frowned. "How did you figure it out?"
Dorsull shrugged. "I guess because you said…but I wouldn't ever have guessed you used to be…um…"
"I've definitely changed careers now." She sighed, and looked down at her reporter's clothing. "I guess I'd better change into something even less fashionable."
Dorsull cocked an eyebrow. "Less fashionable? I'd have thought it was the other way around…"
Pyrrah stared at him, puzzled. "What do you think your average maid is supposed to wear?"
"Wait. You're going to be a servant in the house? As in, you weren't a—" He stopped speaking as Pyrrah raised sharpened nails to his face.
"I was a lady's maid," she hissed. "It was a bad time for racing, all right? And if you ever repeat it, or finish the sentence you started, I'll rip out your windpipe, shove it into your left ear, and pull it out of your eyeball."
She stepped back from him, and smiled cheerfully. "I'll get in touch once I've made contact, shall I?"
--
Her reference from Amaryllis Aristassia had served her well; desperate for extra help, the butler had been more than willing to take on the new maid with the mousy brown hair—at a reasonable wage at that.
Still, the only lady she'd been helping out this time was Sylacia Triton, to whom she'd considered offering a full account of her husband's movements until she had discovered Sylacia's torrid affair with one of the stableboys.
She was chatting about their Academy sponsorship students living in the Triton House dormitories while Pyrrah brushed her hair, Kitt Wann, her stableboy friend, Moordryd Paynn and Cain; Pyrrah listened absently, mildly surprised that Kitt's and Cain's results seemed to have outstripped those of the two rivals, though of course the girl had been extremely talented.
"Two tied for top of the class, and two more in third and fourth place," Sylacia said complacently, reading from the results dispatch. "Never let it be said that inferior students gain the opportunity for Triton House. How does that sound, Skyvvi?"
"It sounds wonderful, madam. Kitt Wann was quite a well-known racer some time ago."
"She was a talented young woman when and before she arrived," Sylacia said sharply, "as was the young Eye."
Cain? Never that good on his own, Pyrrah thought; he lacked nerve, and his skills had never been particularly refined. She said nothing.
"Fetch me the ivory barrettes," Sylacia commanded. "I'll have no more chatter."
Pyrrah hurried to find the ornaments, and pinned them neatly in the woman's hair before she was rather peremptorily dismissed.
--
"…And, yes, the sheets in the Tower." Mrs Middlock, the housekeeper, frowned in the midst of the bustle around her. "Skyvvi, you'll have to go up. The young lady's suffering from a slight illness; you don't need to gossip about it. North Corridor, second left, then all the way to the top."
Pyrrah obeyed, carrying the silken blue-green bedding with her on the long way up. The security guards ignored her as she passed, the uniform (and, she hated to consider, the less-than-glamorous hair colour) rendering her invisible. Even her nails were chipped from the work.
Still, the job had its compensations, as she reflected three hundred and fifty-two stairs and one rather passionate liplock later.
"Marianis?" She drew back from her, slightly bemused, and pushed the door shut behind them with her foot.
"Little flamebird," Marianis said. She sat down quietly, drawing Pyrrah with her into the folds of her soft dress. She gently ran her hands through Pyrrah's hair, gently as she rested her head in her lap. "My little flamebird…"
It was a nickname Marianis had used for her before, but this was…strange. In spite of the fact Marianis appeared to be a talented kisser, this just wasn't the way she ought to behave.
"I came to get you out of here," Pyrrah said.
"I know." Marianis looked sadly down at her, though her fingers continued their light, soothing movements. "I can't come with you. I am sorry."
Pyrrah stood up suddenly, gathering her resolve before she had become too used to resting here. "Then at least help me make the bed," she said.
Marianis obeyed mechanically, helping strip the old sheets and stretch out the new; when it was done to both their satisfaction, she pulled Pyrrah down with her atop the crisp newness.
"Thank you," she said again, kissing Pyrrah almost chastely on the cheek. She put her arms around her and sighed, bending her head into the crook of Pyrrah's shoulder.
"I should go," Pyrrah said eventually. "You probably know what Middlock's like."
"I do." Marianis sighed, teasing part of Pyrrah's hair as though to reforge it in her characteristic style. "Please come back to me. And give Dorsull my love."
--
She returned to the tower room, whenever she could get away; something was wrong with Marianis, but she seemed to be aware of Pyrrah at least as they spent time together, lying quietly across the bed and occasionally shutting themselves in the closet as a servant came in, nestled around each other amidst satin-smooth garments.
"Do you want to marry Guido Talis?" Pyrrah asked, tracing the line of Marianis' chin with her hand.
"You shouldn't ask that, Firebird," Marianis said. "I will, I think. And then I will not be able to ask that you help me any more."
"Is it drugs?" Pyrrah asked point-blank. Silver-smooth fabric ran over the back of her hand like water as she stroked Marianis' head.
She felt Marianis shake her head. "No. I don't think so."
She ran her hand past the hairline, touching the crown of the skull, and then withdrew suddenly as she felt something small and metallic, positioned at the nape of Marianis' neck.
"What's that?" she asked.
"It's…" Marianis paused, and shook her head. "It is…I should not…"
"Come into the light." Pyrrah dragged her out of the closet, not caring about the bright dresses that fell around them in their wake. "What is that thing?"
"I don't know." Marianis submitted to her ministrations, allowing Pyrrah to draw her hair out of the way and examine the grey device. "It feels…"
A sudden sharp knock on the door, and Pyrrah sprung away from Marianis, reaching down to the carpet to feign cleaning up.
"Skyvvi!" Nestra, the senior maid, glared at her. "I'm sorry, my lady. She's not meant to be here."
"I…commanded her," Marianis said, softly and deliberately, her hair falling in soft waves to its normal position. "She has cleaned the closet."
"Go to Mrs Middlock in the South Drawing Room, Skyvvi," Nestra commanded, and then turned to Marianis. "I've brought the latest version of the dress. Let's try it on."
She spoke to Marianis as though she was a child, and Marianis obeyed her, passively allowing the fabric to be draped over her form; Pyrrah fled.
--
The sun was burning brightly, a good omen; Triton Citadel was packed with guests, and Pyrrah was all but run off her feet in performing the numerous tasks required of her.
Dorsull was crossing the room opposite her, dressed in footman's uniform and carrying a large crate of drinks; she had been able to pass him off as a temporary hire for the day. He looked exhausted already, and she shared the feeling.
"Skyvvi!" Nestra called. "Lady Sylacia wants you to fetch her goldscale combs from her tower. She's in the west solarium!"
She shot Dorsull an apologetic glance as she hurried from the room, noticing that his legs had started to buckle beneath the weight he carried.
--
"My dear, the greatest business deal in the history of our Family is about to commence," Nyptune Triton complained to his wife. "Couldn't you have fixed your hair before?"
Sylacia scowled at her reflection in the mirror. "Put that one a little further right, Skyvvi. I should have told Nestra to do it herself!"
Nyptune ostentatiously consulted his silver pocketwatch. "Just over two hours until Triton and Talis merge," he said.
"You harp on about it constantly," Sylacia said peevishly. "I'll be glad when it's over. Is that the periwinkle or the cornflower ribbon?"
"Cornflower, madam," Pyrrah said. She would have sympathised with Syldacia over Nyptune—she had had to listen to his self-congratulations over the deal too many times since her arrival—but Sylacia's flaws also got on her nerves as much as blood-flies crawling up inside her repair gear.
"Use periwinkle," Sylacia commanded.
"When I first became the head of the Family," Nyptune commented as Pyrrah began to twist the periwinkle ribbon through his wife's hair, "I made it firm practice to complete all tasks as efficiently as I could."
"When I take on a new lady's maid," Sylacia retorted haughtily, "I prefer her talent and care above her speed. Skyvvi, get on with it."
Nyptune paced in a small circle. "I welcome you to this auspicious celebration," he recited, "welcoming the honoured Talis Family to our House, together with you our other esteemed friends, you auspicious—no, that's two auspiciouses. You fortunate guests, you…"
"I reminded you to practice your speech before," Sylacia said. "You will remember it when you stand up there."
"Of course!" Nyptune protested. "I orchestrated virtually every detail of this!"
"And of course you're sure Merinna will behave herself?" Sylacia pursed her lips. "I am the hostess, Nyptune. You reflect on me."
"I gave you the article," Nyptune retorted. "You know as well as I do it will go through!"
"Of course." Sylacia tilted her head to the side, examining the final product. "Acceptable, girl. Go to Middlock for further orders."
Pyrrah all but ran.
What had they done to their daughter?
--
Marianis stood in her dressingroom, fully attired in her wedding gown. She looked like nothing so much as a beautiful doll; sky-blue lace wove an intricate pattern over panels of cerulean and silvery white, and her pale hair was folded beneath an azure net that almost resembled her adopted colour from afar.
Pyrrah walked up behind her, looking over Marianis' shoulder to see both of them reflected in the mirror. She did not move, staring expressionlessly into the air.
"I guess this is our last chance before divorce court," Pyrrah said. She reached beneath the fine mesh to the grey device. "So I figure, if I can just get this out…"
She pulled on it; Marianis seemed to glance at her with surprise at first, jerking her head forward to help her remove it. And then blue lightning seemed to split the air, and Pyrrah fell back with her fingers burning as Marianis screamed.
She flung herself under the dressing-table's frilly cover just before Nestra burst into the room.
"What's happening? Are you all right?"
Marianis lurched forward, muttering something that sounded as though it came through a gag.
"I can't hear you with your hand over your mouth, my lady. Please behave yourself?"
"I was… You may tidy my hair," Marianis said. She tottered on her feet, standing blocking Pyrrah's hiding place. "I thought I saw…something burning."
She was silent and still as Pyrrah heard the soft sounds of Nestra working around her.
"Come on, lady," Nestra said. "You need to be on time for the ceremony."
Marianis followed her, graceful and half-crippled in jewelled high heels.
--
The four voices were quite loud over the hum of the crowd.
"Guido Talis is not handsome!"
"Have you even seen him, Artha?"
"I have heard him compared reasonably favourably to his bank account in terms of physical attraction, yes…"
"See! Even the Professor agrees with me!"
"Children, will you stop acting like a pack of colt-dragons at feeding time in public?"
"Shut up, Cain."
Kitt Wann had been invited or gatecrashed for some reason, Pyrrah noted in the back of her mind as she pushed through the crowd with a tray of favours, seeing her racing acquaintance seated next to two of her Penn Racing friends and Cain of the Dragon Eyes.
"Guys, we were invited by our sponsor, and if you don't behave we'll…"
Sponsored at the Academy, she remembered; she would regret it if they saw her here like this, but at the moment it was a secondary concern. She looked up to see Word Paynn across the room, and quickly ducked her head.
"Cain is somewhat correct, and I move that we cease this trivial dispute…"
"Cain's just bitter because Moordryd's sitting with his daddy, not him…"
"No, I'm bitter because I'm stuck with you for the next two hours…"
"So join the club!"
Pyrrah handed out the favours as the guests seated themselves.
"Hey!" A voice she recognized; she tried to ignore it, trying to push against the crowd to escape. "Excuse me!"
She turned on Artha Penn. "No, I'm not the talented and famous racer Pyrrah of the Dragon Flares," she said. "She's my second cousin. I get that a lot, but I'm definitely not her, no way!"
He looked bemused. "It's just you missed me and my friends, there are four of us. Actually I might go with three, Cain doesn't count." He reached onto her tray to grab the favours. "And are you serving drinks yet?"
"Not until after the ceremony," she told him, turning her back with dignity and continuing her labours, insinuating herself closer and closer towards the front so that when the ceremony started she'd be trapped up there with a good view.
At last, the Dragon Bishop appeared on a dais in typical green garb, gesturing for silence; Guido Talis, resplendent in white with the brown Talis logo embroidered across his right shoulder, stood quietly below him.
Not so handsome, Pyrrah thought, although he at least had reasonable cheekbones.
Nyptune Triton stood next to the bishop to deliver his welcoming speech; Pyrrah felt her eyelids drooping despite herself. Had the man utilized Soporific Gear? Even the ceremonial decanter of water at his feet seemed still as a result of his tedium.
Guilliaume Talis—if his son had inherited half his father's chivalry he would be all but irresistible despite his lack of looks—was the one to stop the speech, halting Nyptune between "effulgent" and "auspicious" with a well-timed bout of applause, enthusiastically echoed by the crowd. Guilliaume then gave his few lines, and the ceremony at last started.
Dorsull, trapped at the back of the hall with the other footmen, met Pyrrah's eyes in a helpless stare.
We are gathered here under sunlight today, in the name of the Magna Draconis…
The words of the ceremony dragged on. The crowd and the sun had rendered the temperature uncomfortably warm.
…on the account of two of Sun City's First Families, to enter into a honourable and solemn joining of estates…
A fly buzzed by Pyrrah's nose; she swatted at it in irritation.
…for such a covenant is neither entered into nor broken lightly...
At last, he was nearing the end of it. Or not at last, for the doors had opened and Marianis stood before the crowd on her brother's arm, her dress radiant as a beam of sunlight caught her.
She walked slowly across the blue carpet, it was though the crowd took a collective intake of breath as they watched, the moment perfectly suspended like an ocean trapped in amber.
Triton, called the Water House, and Talis, ancient House of earth and mining. Today by the order of each Family we join the trueborn daughter of one with the other's Heir, in lawful matrimony. If any can show just cause why their Houses shall not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace. Now, who gives…
"I object!" Dorsull stood on a table at the back of the hall to speak. "She was kidnapped!"
Pyrrah stared at him. She'd never have thought of such an...obvious solution.
"I object too!" she called out. "She's under some kind of control gear!"
There was a gasp from the crowd; Word Paynn in particular looked shocked.
Moordryd, shoved to his feet by his father, looked around slightly bemusedly. "I'm really against kidnapping," he proclaimed. "If that's the case, add me to the list!"
"And I'm against kidnapping and mind control too!" Artha Penn called out, not to be outdone by his rival.
Four on Marianis' side. Pyrrah stood defiantly, waiting for her to be freed. The Fire Lance she'd tied to her hip under her dress seemed to pulse, as though the beating of her heart had created a sudden mag-jolt.
Nyptune Triton's face had turned an unappealing shade of puce after Dorsull's protest, and he had sputtered trying to speak.
"Not true!" he finally yelled, and looked down with malevolence at Marianis. "Merinna! Do you promise to honour the covenant here today?"
There was a long silence as she looked up at him.
"What do you want, Marianis?" Pyrrah called. "Break this thing!"
Marianis turned her head to glance at her, her ice-cold eyes like amethyst flame, and the word no began to form on her lips.
Nyptune raised his left hand, and twisted it in the air; Marianis lurched forward, her head bowed.
"Yes," she said, and Pyrrah felt as though her blood had been suddenly drained from her body, leaving her with nothing.
Moordryd hurriedly sat down despite his father's glare.
"The laws of Sun City prove this valid! Guido, do you promise the same?"
"Um, I guess," the Talis Heir said, and that was when all hell broke loose.
--
The vast brown figure strode into the hall amidst gasps and screams. He wore thick, misshapen armour over his vast body; it was stained with mudlike tendrils, reaching from his shape as though to strangle all in his path.
"Did you invite him?"
"No, of course I didn't!" Sylacia called from her seat.
"Who the hellfire did?"
The voices were silenced by the invader.
"The Prophecy is fulfilled!" he cried.
Pyrrah, staring at him, noted that the mud-streaked emblem on his chest resembled the Talis symbol.
He recited in a deep voice:
"When Talis marries water under sun, when fire and golden shadow fight as one, the Dread Booster's will shall be done!"
She hadn't heard that particular one before. Marianis was water and she fire, of course, and the Penn Crew's symbol was gold, and everyone knew Moordryd Paynn was friends with the Shadow Booster…
"What about me?" Dorsull had evidently arrived at the same conclusion. "I'm fighting too!"
The Dread Booster ignored him, marching towards a frozen Guido and Marianis.
"Father, you told me the prophecy was a myth!" Guido cried.
"I thought it was!" Guilliaume answered helplessly.
"As the Talis, I declare this wedding void!" the Dread Booster yelled. He reached out with one vast hand, and swiped at Guido.
Pyrrah saw his body brush the ceiling and then fall down again, on top of the still-standing Dorsull.
"I instead claim Triton's daugher!"
Mud dripped down Marianis' sleeve as he gripped her arm, but she seemed to remain calm.
Nyptune had drawn a grey oblong from his pocket, and was frantically dialling something into it as his son stared around blankly. Two figures then erupted from the audience, Kitt Wann and Cain, leaping at the Dread Booster with mag-staffs drawn.
Artha Penn had apparently deserted his companions, Pyrrah briefly noted, but the skill in their coordinated leap was undeniably impressive. They nimbly avoided the Dread Booster's mag-strikes as they dodged around him, while he still held Marianis pressed to him with one hand…
She ripped open the side of her dress, grasped her Fire Lance, and leaped into the action.
Mud shot from his left leg, covering her lance; to her horror, it fizzled, inactive. Then he lashed out more quickly than her eyes could follow, knocking Cain several metres into the dais in a powerful mag-burst.
Kitt Wann seemed to falter without her partner, though some of her moves were unlike any Pyrrah had ever seen from her before; she was thrown to lie against Cain, trapped in the wreckage of the dais.
"Let that be a lesson to you!"
The Dread Booster raised his hands, and mud crawled along the force-lines of the hall. The doors were blocked by a sudden rockfall, and debris rained down from the roof as ancient mud and rust spread. His arm enveloped Marianis, and tendrils of mud started to reach down her dress.
"Leave her alone!" Pyrrah called. She flicked the switch on her Fire Lance, several times, squeezing the last bit of power she could from it in her final rush.
He swatted her aside as though she was no more than the fly she'd shooed earlier.
"I won't let you take her!"
The lance gave a final sigh, and was silent.
The Dread Booster materialised a long mag-sword. "You will die," he said.
She saw the look in Marianis' eyes as the sword swept down towards her, where she'd been thrown awkwardly on the ground. She was the only one left; she couldn't—had to help Marianis…
It felt as though a thousand dragons had just bestowed their mag-energy on her, fire in her blood and in her rage. She ducked under the swinging blade, and without plan or technique ran into the left side of his chest, pushing in the Fire Lance as far as she could…
…and heard him scream as Marianis fell into her arms.
"Care to take up your problem with me, Dread Booster?" a new voice called from atop the rockfall.
"Dragon Booster!" The Dread Booster laughed. "Come and fight me, upstart—if you dare to learn my power!"
He turned, bashed a hole in the back wall with his fists, and departed from it as the Dragon Booster followed.
Kitt Wann sat up, her head between her hands. "Ugh, my head. What'd I do? Anyway, I guess I'd better go help the Dragon Booster."
Moordryd Paynn strode from his position in the audience. "Wann has a point. He's probably very powerful."
They hastened off, leaving Marianis and Pyrrah still entwined as the Shadow Booster joined the Dragon Booster and company in the distance.
"And again you come to save me, Flamebird," Marianis said, touching Pyrrah's collarbone with light fingertips, examining the curves of her body. "I think…I think near-death experiences help one concentrate a good deal. I apologise to you."
"Take your hands off my daughter. Take your person off my daughter's hands." Nyptune Triton stood above them, his face the colour of a grapefruit now. "Immediately, damn you, insolent baggage, I will have this accomplished, I will not allow this to happen…"
Marianis reached for the ceremonial decanter, and threw the water at him. Sparks shone around a grey bracelet on his wrist and the controller he had held, and when it was over he stared at them both malevolently.
"This isn't over."
"Ah, but I think it is." Word Paynn approached, clicking his claws together and smiling. "You tested control gear on the two of your Academy students less likely to have concerned families so you could turn them into your personal bodyguards. You then used it on your daughter."
"None of that happens to be a crime," Nyptune answered sharply. "I checked. However, sir Paynn, I have in fact admired may of your accomplishments, and I feel that you and I may experience many more improved profit margins in the future."
"I'm sure we will," Word Paynn said. "Without your Talis alliance, you will be forced to depend on my products. Such as certain of my new inventions."
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"I created and patented that control gear," Word said. "I'll see you in court, Triton."
He swept away with a faint smile, and Nyptune collapsed to his knees.
Marianis pulled Pyrrah to her feet. "So odd!" she said, shaking her head. "As though I've just woken up after too long a rest!"
She waved to Dorsull, who was in the process of reviving Guido Talis with a convenient bottle of wine. "I'm back now!" she called to him, and pulled Pyrrah into a deep kiss.
--
"I suppose I took advantage of your quasi-drunken state?" Pyrrah asked, later, reclining across Marianis' blue sheets.
"I knew I wanted you," Marianis said absently, curving her back so that her ponytail brushed her extended feet. "Believe it or not, you were more than a way out to me."
"Flexible," Pyrrah observed, watching her. She curved a leg outwards, lifting her ankle almost to shoulder height. "And you are sure about this? Because it was fun, but if you…"
"We'll see where it goes." Marianis recovered from her stretch, and insinuated herself into the negative space left by Pyrrah's pose. "You will take me to the Flares' steam baths, won't you? I think I've gained a taste for warmth."
Pyrrah smiled. "If you'll take me to the sea someday," she said, and abandoned all attempts of coherent thought in favour of a rapid increase in bodily heat.
fin
--
A/N: The mercenary Hazel d'Ark in Simon R. Green's Deathstalker was also a former lady's maid.