Ryuu no Hikou, 5/?

[Goldilocks]

Sorry for taking so long to post this. Don't really have an excuse, so...eh.

The previous chapters, for those interested, are in my forum (Sara).

~~

Chapter 5

The pause that followed Dorothy's announcement seemed to stretch out for an obscene amount of time, though it only lasted a few heartbeats. Relena fought the urge to gape at the slightly older girl, before finally finding her voice.

"I...I beg your pardon, Miss Dorothy, but...did you say, 'emissary'?"

Dorothy all but peered down her nose at the princess. "Why yes, Your Highness," she purred, "I did say 'emissary'. For that is the official title that my cousin assigned to me, before sending me at once to meet with you, here."

"I don't...I don't understand..."

"It's quite simple, really." Dorothy casually examined the nails of one hand, studiously avoiding Relena's eyes. "My cousin felt that today's little...'escapade', so to speak, could be potentially detrimental to the good faith between our two nations, and he knew that this simply would not do." She turned her attention away from her fingernails, fixing Relena with a cool stare. "After all, Your Highness, isn't it in all of our best interests to work together?

"Not to mention..." her gaze flickered slightly, and she turned to regard the assembled dragon-riders, "...making sure that there are no...'threats', shall we say, looming on the horizon from Sanq." Her voice turned smooth, like liquid honey. "But my cousin believes that there is no real threat of such an occurrence, and I'm sure that you feel the same, Your Highness."

Duo was muttering something under his breath, but the other dragon-riders remained silent. Relena was silent, as though flabbergasted by the entire situation. It was Weyridge who finally spoke up.

"Of course, Lady Dorothy, your presence here is most welcome and well-received. I shall send notice to His Majesty at once that you have arrived safely, and see to it that you are given the proper accommodations."

Dorothy inclined her head slightly, and her eyes roved across those assembled, once more settling on the dragon-riders. "That will be..." she murmured, taking on an almost hungry, feral expression, "...just fine."

For the most part, the dragon-riders met her gaze with stoic, silent expressions, refusing to back down in the face of such an onslaught. Their eyes betrayed their indifference, however, and Dorothy duly noted this, her own eyes narrowing shrewdly before breaking contact. She bit back a small smirk. This would prove to be most amusing, indeed....

Weyridge nodded, more to himself than anything. "Right. Very good. We will see to getting you settled in to your accommodations at once. If you please." He clapped his hands briskly, and servants moved silently yet swiftly, gathering the Lady's luggage and leading her and her entourage away from the courtyard. In a whisk of long, blonde hair and perfume, she was gone.

A spell seemed to stretch over the people who remained gathered in the courtyard, and the air all but vibrated, like a plucked harpstring. The spell was broken by Duo, who had turned to watch the emissary until her form disappeared into one of the buildings, heading in the direction of the guest quarters. He expelled a breath he had not realized he'd been holding explosively, and ran a hand through his bangs. "Well hell...I don't know about everyone else, but I sure wasn't expecting that to happen!"

"This is an interesting turn of events. We will have to remain vigilant." Trowa nodded absently, his arms folded across his chest. The other dragon-riders murmured quietly to one another as they filed out of the courtyard, heading for their respective rooms, each one trying to process and make sense of this turn of events as best they could. Weyridge had left the courtyard as well; as soon as he knew that the emissary would be taken care of, he had gone to the aviary to send notice by messenger-hawk to Es'rilshan that the Lady Dorothy had arrived safely.

Soon, Relena was completely alone in the courtyard. But if she was aware of this, she gave no outward notice of it. She stared off into space, her hands clenched tightly in front of her, mouth pressed into a thin line. She was not quite sure what had just happened, but one thing that she knew as certain was that she was most definitely not pleased with the turn of events.

~*~

Heero lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were unfocused, and one would almost be lulled into thinking that he was calm and relaxed. However, his form was rigid and tense, and bespoke of anything but tranquillity.

"This mission was a failure. We should have been able to handle it easily, yet we failed. We failed miserably."

"I would not be so quick to judge that the mission was a total failure," Kyarn's voice rumbled deeply. "Our actions were regrettably hasty. We acted without the blessing of the council. We were predestined to fail. You should recognize that."

"But it was a simple mission!" Heero retorted explosively. "We are dragon-riders. We have been given means to be almost completely invincible. We should not have failed!"

"And we are flesh and blood, and quite mortal, you forget. We are not indestructible. We should have bided our time and waited until the moment for attack was ripe." Kyarn drew his talons through the sand in his nest contemplatively. "But despite the fact that the initial reason for our mission ended in failure, we did manage to salvage some important information. That does not make the mission a complete failure. We now have a very good picture of our enemy. I would not want to go horn-to-horn with either an amethyst OR a sapphire unprepared. ESPECIALLY a sapphire."

Heero grumbled something unintelligible, and rolled over to sit up. "Yes. We do have that much at our disposal. Yet Weyridge seems to think that they are not our enemy. They met us with such a show of force. That makes them an enemy. Sapphire or not, we should have been able to defeat them soundly."

"I have told you about sapphire dragons, what I know of them since the stories my mother whispered to me while I was still in the egg. You know how they love armies and games of war. Do not be so quick to dismiss them. They are powerful beasts and formidable foes." Kyarn regarded his rider. "You give in to defeat too easily, and both overestimate and underestimate our abilities. There are other ways to fight this battle. We would be matched for strength against those two dragons. We may not win, were we to fight them. Far better for us to bide our time and find another way to attack."

"And if they attack first?" Heero's eyes shifted to look at his dragon, and his lips curved upward into a sardonic smirk. "One of their number has already infiltrated our territory."

Kyarn shook his head irritably. "You tease me," he said, his voice sounding almost sulky. "You know I cannot attack a human who names herself an emissary of peace."

Heero snorted derisively. "That girl is no emissary of peace. She has her own agenda." He stood up and walked over to the washbasin, splashing a bit of cold water on his face. "I don't know _what_ that agenda might be, but I do know that she does not come with peaceful intent."

"Mm," grunted Kyarn noncommittally. "Perhaps you judge too quickly in this matter. It would not be the first time. Perhaps she is harmless. There are few so bold as to march into enemy territory with peace on their lips and treachery in their heart, especially if they are outnumbered."

"Now look at who is being quick to judge," Heero snorted, shaking his head and sending water droplets flying. "I have known you since the hatching, and you have never been so tolerant of an invader in our lands. What is so different about this situation?"

Kyarn rolled his shoulders in a draconian imitation of a shrug. "I feel it," he said simply. "Es'rilshan may be our enemy, but I do not sense that the emissary plans to pull down the country from within." He frowned, reaching up to idly scratch behind his head-frills. "Now. Are you going to finally explain to me why you acted like a fox caught in the henhouse around that Es'rilshan dragon-rider? If I didn't know better, I would think that you held some sort of grudge against him."

Heero only grunted in response, and Kyarn arched his neck to regard his rider with something very akin to disbelief. "You are holding animosity toward him. Why? We have never met him, either on the battlefield or in more polite company. What reason have you to hate him so, aside from the obvious?"

"He is the Princess's brother," Heero replied simply.

"Duly noted," the topaz remarked sarcastically. "That story is well-known, even though the former prince thought to hide who he was by changing his name. But that in and of itself should not spark such a strong reaction as it did. What is really going on?" Kyarn arched his brow ridges sardonically and stared at his rider. The youth's back was turned to him, and the dragon watched the boy's shoulders rise and fall in defeat.

Heero stalked back over to the bed and flopped down upon it, casting one arm over his eyes. "You really want to know," he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled.

"I would not have asked if I was not interested in hearing the truth."

Heero snorted again. "Dragons," he muttered under his breath. "If you must know," he started hesitantly, "it was...her."

"Her?"

"The princess." Kyarn had only very rarely heard his rider sound so miserable.

"What about the princess?" he persisted.

Heero rolled over, his blue eyes boring into those of his dragon. "She was so...sad," he said, as if uncertain how to classify how he felt. "When she thought that Es'rilshan might have been behind the assassination attempt. You should have seen her. It was as though I was watching her entire world crumbling down around her. And it was all because of him, her brother. She was not even concerned that this might lead to a war with Es'rilshan. She was just torn apart, thinking that her brother might have had something to do with this."

"You told me this before, and even if you hadn't, it was not difficult to see. The princess was wandering around in a daze, up until she was convinced that it could not have been Es'rilshan who sent that assassin. That is your reason?"

"She was hurting. I could almost feel it. She's so..." Heero scowled, trying to find the right words. "She reminds me of my sisters," he finally muttered, as though unwilling to admit it. "and all I could think of is what I would do, were something like that to happen to one of them. It would tear them apart, and it was tearing her apart, too. All I could think about was how that cursed dog could do something like that to his _little sister_. How could he desert his country and leave everything in her hands? She's so young. Much too young to have such a heavy responsibility on her shoulders. For that, for doing that to one who should have fewer cares than she does...I can never forgive him."

"So that's what it was," murmured Kyarn, studiously avoiding his rider's eyes. Heero's eyes narrowed.

"You're laughing."

"Now what," the dragon ducked his head, snorting softly as sand tickled his nose, "would give you that idea?"

"You're digging your nose in the sand. You only do that when you're trying to keep from laughing. I did not think that my reasons were amusing."

"They're not," chuckled Kyarn, not trying to hide it any longer. "but I think that you will understand, in time, why I find it so amusing." Heero opened his mouth to protest, but the topaz dragon stood up quickly, stretching his legs and arching his neck. "I might tell you, later. Maybe. But for now, I want to take a swim and bathe." He stared at his rider expectantly.

Heero stared back impassively, then shrugged fluidly and stood up. "If you wish," he said, and stalked out of the room silently. Kyarn regarded the doorway for a moment, then turned, still chuckling, and walked to the cave entrance, taking to wing to soar to the entrance to the bathing room.

~*~

"It's just so suspicious, Parth...I don't understand."

Parth shook his head good-naturedly before stretching his neck so that his chin rested on the stone floor. "Don't understand what?"

Quatre opened one of his traveling trunks and pulled out a long, cloth-wrapped object. "The emissary," he said, walking over to where Parth lay. "There's just something about her that I don't trust."

Parth quirked a brow. "Her intentions seem honorable to me." One blue-green eye rolled to orient on Quatre. "Besides, is she not working under the orders of the king of Es'rilshan?"

"Perhaps." Quatre began unraveling the fabric, slowly and deliberately as he considered his words. "It is not that unusual that an emissary would be sent. But that girl...the look in her eyes...." His voice trailed off as he finished with the last of the bindings, removing the cloth to reveal a long, flexible metal file.

Dragons must sharpen their horns regularly, both to keep them sharp and to help trim them, since the horns never stop growing throughout their life. In the wild, a dragon would have to use rough rocks to do this. It can be dangerous, as rocks are often too rough for that purpose, resulting in broken horns, chips, and long, painful splits that go all the way down to the new, live growth. But it must be done.

A rider-dragon, however, has the benefit of his or her rider's assistance in such matters. Riders use special files, called flanges, to serve this purpose. A flange is long and flexible, and can be curved around a horn for easier filing. Flanges have evenly-hatched surfaces, making the necessary task much easier and a lot less painful.

Quatre walked back over to the trunk and pulled out a small, stout jar and an oil-stained cloth. It certainly wasn't necessary to oil Parth's horns, but the dragon enjoyed it, and it helped to protect and stimulate the new growth.

Parth's eyes followed his rider's movements with amusement. "The look in her eyes, hmm? Well, perhaps you are seeing gryphons in dove feathers. She could be harmless."

"Maybe she is harmless. Maybe she is not. I could not tell." Quatre set the jar on the floor next to Parth's head and stripped off his tunic, donning an older, well-worn one that would not suffer from the task, which tended to get rather messy. "All I know is, I've seen that look before. I've seen sand panthers wear that expression just before they pounce on their prey."

At this, the bronze dragon threw back his head and laughed. "Sand panthers, indeed!" he chortled. He leveled a smirk at the boy. "She could be dangerous, yes yes," he conceded, "but perhaps you fear this girl because you think that she might fancy you?"

"Parth!" Quatre nearly dropped the flange in surprise, and blushed furiously. "Stop that! It's bad enough that I have to suffer such teasing from my sisters! Don't you start, too!"

Parth chuckled. "I thought it was a sibling's responsibility to torture their younger siblings whenever they could."

"Perhaps, but you are not one of my sisters, thank the gods. I have more than enough of those already. Now, put your head down. I can't do this with you flailing around like that," Quatre replied crossly.

"As you wish," replied the dragon patiently, still chuckling. He rested his chin on the stone once more. Quatre straddled Parth's neck, just behind his ear frills, flexing the flange experimentally. Satisfied, he curved the tool around one of Parth's brow horns and began filing with smooth, practiced strokes.

For a time, the only sound in the room was the rasp of the flange against Parth's horns. Finally, the dragon spoke again, breaking the silence.

"I was there when the emissary arrived, just as you were," he said, almost contemplatively. "yet I felt no apprehension about her arrival. Why does she make you so nervous?"

Quatre paused for a moment. "It is just a faint feeling...a fluttering impression. Really, it is probably nothing...but I feel that she is not what she seems."

"Hmm." Parth tilted his head slightly, and Quatre leaned forward to file at the next horn. "Could it be possible that she is connected somehow to the assassination attempt?"

"I don't know," admitted Quatre. "but I don't think so. I truly believe that Es'rilshan had nothing to do with the attack. I also don't think that she would cross the King. He seems to generate a great deal of respect, particularly from her."

"The King of Es'rilshan is a very charismatic man," agreed the dragon. "That much is apparent at first glance." He held his head still patiently as his rider moved to sharpen the last horn gracing his brow.

"I agree. I also think it would suit us much better to keep him and his kingdom as allies, and not as enemies. I am glad that we didn't dash our chances. That was foolhardy." He set down the flange and leaned back to view his handiwork. "There, that ought to do it." He reached for the oil jar and cloth when he heard a quiet knock at the door.

He paused, his hand hovering over the jar. For some reason, he felt an irrational flash of fear--perhaps it was that girl? But he gave no further pause, and spoke up instead.

"Come in."

Much to his relief, it was Trowa. The youth arched his eyebrows as he saw the activity taking place. "Have I interrupted? I can come back later, if this is an inconvenient time."

"Oh, no! Not at all. We're just finishing up." Quatre smiled brightly, and picked up the jar. "I should be done in a few minutes."

Trowa settled into a chair near the bronze dragon and his rider, and watched silently. "I file Heavyarms' horns quite frequently. She likes them kept sharp. But I've never seen a rider use oil on horns before."

Quatre smiled. "It's an old Maguanac trick, actually. You know how vain brass dragons are." He opened the jar carefully and dipped the cloth inside. Leaning forward, he began rubbing it into Parth's horns vigorously. "Mostly babassu oil, with a little bit of almond oil, too. And sandalwood oil, because Sandrock likes the scent."

"I can smell it from here. Does it help?"

"It strengthens the horn material, makes it less susceptible to breaking and splitting. It helps it grow faster, too, and generally keeps the horns healthy and strong." He rubbed a bit of oil into the skin at the base of each horn. "It helps keep their skin soft and supple, too." He grinned. "Though I don't have the patience to oil his entire body. That's too much work."

Parth snorted in derision, and Quatre flicked his dragon's forehead with the oil cloth. "All done!" he said cheerfully, standing up and sliding off of Parth's neck. The dragon raised his head up off of the floor and shook it to ease the kinks out of his muscles. "Much better. Thank you, Quatre."

"You're welcome," Quatre replied, and walked over to the washbasin to rinse off the flange. As he was drying the file carefully, lest it rust, he turned and leaned against the counter where the basin rested and regarded his guest. "So...what brings you here?"

"Heavyarms went on a hunt, and I did not want to go with her. I was bored, and decided to see if you wanted some company."

Quatre smiled at this, but did not know what to say, and once again, silence stretched between the two dragon-riders like a thick, heavy cloak. Quatre nearly felt himself choking on the silence. Even Parth had grown silent watching the two young men, his eyes glittering with barely-suppressed curiosity. Quatre struggled to think of something to speak of, but his mind failed him, and instead he concentrated on the bindings as he re-wrapped the flange and prepared to put it away.

He placed the wrapped flange in the traveling trunk with shaking hands, trying to hide his frustration that he couldn't think of anything suitable to say to this person, when he felt a presence at his shoulder. He half-turned and found Trowa standing there, the jar of oil cradled carefully in his hands.

Quatre took the jar with a grateful smile, and allowed contentment to ease away the discomfort, instead reveling in the now-comfortable silence that permeated the room.

~*~

The good people of Calon Gaer had grown accustomed to a peaceful world, one where wars were known only in the ballads of old, and were given to fond thoughts as Something That Happened in Years Past. They had found prosperity; their crops brought forth heavy yields, and their flocks of herdbeasts prospered such that many of the castle's inhabitants had never known need.

As is to be expected with a land grown accustomed to plenty, the people of Sanq had also grown fond of celebrating, and it took little persuasion for them to plan a feast or carnival. The emissary's arrival, while wholly unexpected, would not go unnoticed as just such an excuse. Not only that, while the dragon-riders had been plied with feast and festivities already, the castle had not seen the need nor reason to throw a ball since Relena was still a very young girl, and her father still lived.

The emissary's arrival, coupled with their presence, however, was reason enough.

As soon as word had been sent to Es'rilshan that Lady Dorothy had arrived safely and had been made comfortable, the plans were made for a ball to be held to celebrate both the arrival of the Es'rilshanian emissary and the good faith between the two nations, as well as celebrating the dragon-riders' arrival and acknowledging the five riders as dukes' sons. One never could have too many celebrations, after all.

Once word had begun to spread of the approaching celebration, the castle's inhabitants threw themselves into a frenzy of activity and excitement. Tailors were called, ballgowns commissioned and soft leather dancing slippers oiled and brushed. The dragon-riders, to their credit, pulled their finest livery out from the bottoms of traveling trunks, though their actions may not have carried near the same level of excitement as those of their female counterparts at the prospect of a ball.

As for Relena, she was both excited and nervous. She pondered the situation thoughtfully as she returned to her rooms after a late-evening session with the tailor for fitting the gown being designed for her.

She did not want to admit it, but she had been studiously avoiding Lady Dorothy since the emissary's arrival. She knew that she would have to face the other girl sooner or later, but for now, Relena was quite content to pretend to be so immersed in the daily routine of ruling a kingdom--not to mention the attendant preparations for the ball--that she simply did not have time for anything else, and that it was the perfect excuse to learn of Dorothy's favorite haunts so that she knew to avoid them.

She couldn't explain why she was investing so much energy into avoiding the other girl, either. There was certainly no reason for her to be afraid, was there? As a lady, Dorothy couldn't possibly pose a physical threat to anyone, like the assassin had. So far, she had shown only perfect manners and behavior, although her words did seem to carry a barb occasionally, especially when she spoke to the dragon-riders. The dragon-riders....

This thought caused Relena to wrinkle her nose in a fit of unladylike pique, and she was relieved that she had reached her rooms and was safely away from prying eyes. Dorothy acted almost shameless around the dragon-riders, flirting and acting obviously coquettish. Perhaps she was nervous around Dorothy because of jealousy? That had a possibility of truth to it. Dorothy was very bold, and she exuded self-confidence. Not only that, but the emissary was very pretty. With her long, flaxen hair, fair complexion, and limpid blue eyes, she made Relena feel like a frightful old hag, in comparison.

This is silly, she thought severely to herself. This certainly isn't a contest over who is prettier! There was certainly no reason why she couldn't pursue the dragon-riders, after all. Dorothy was a refined young lady of marriageable age, just like Relena. She will be expected to marry nobility, too, and I certainly can't marry them all!

The thought of herself with several husbands made Relena giggle at the sheer silliness of the thought, and broke her out of her anxiety. There was certainly no reason to fear the emissary, and it was pointless to worry over things that might or might not happen.

But the thought of marriage made her think of her own life. She, too, was nearly at the proper marriageable age; in fact, she should already have begun to receive callers, courting for her hand.

She had already dismissed her personal maid for the evening after the woman had finished helping her prepare for bed, and Relena was alone in her suite. She pulled her dressing gown more tightly around herself, and walked over to the window. The last faint tinges of daylight spread lazy violet fingers along the edge of the horizon, and she could already see the first twinklings of stars.

Relena hoisted herself up to perch on the wide stone windowsill. It had been her favorite place to sit and think for as long as she could remember. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her cheek upon one knee.

I'm very nearly seventeen, she thought. Father should already be entertaining the offers of princes and royal families, to decide which ones are suitable to court me. She sighed ruefully. But Father isn't here any more. Father didn't even get to see me reach the age of thirteen.

In spite of herself, Relena felt tears prick at the insides of her eyelids. It's been over three years, she thought, scrubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her gown angrily. Shouldn't I be over this by now?

To get her mind off of these thoughts, Relena thought again of her eventual husband. She would have to marry, of course; she was expected to produce an heir, though she was not quite sure what she thought of that. Her own mother, the queen, had died giving birth to Relena. She considered her old Nurse as her mother. Nurse had been the one to raise her and teach her to act like a proper princess should, after all.

Relena humphed slightly. No sense in putting the cart before the horse, as they said. She would have to have a husband before an heir. But what of that husband? Who would be the one to choose worthy candidates to be her suitors, since her father obviously couldn't do it? Would it be Weyridge? She supposed so; she was his ward as much as he was her regent. It only made sense that he would be the one to deal with such matters. Yet she had heard nothing of any search, nor had she been brought to meet any princes or young men determined to woo her. Perhaps he was waiting for something. But what?

Perhaps she would be introduced to several prospective husbands at the ball. After all, it made perfect sense for things to be arranged in that fashion. It was the perfect social gathering; a time to meet many people all at once, and ideal for the sort of interaction that would lead to her choosing a husband. She wondered what he would be like....

Unbidden, her memory recalled the image of dark, stormy eyes, partially hidden behind unkempt hair the color of trees dampened by a hard summer rain. A blush crept along her cheekbones. Why did she suddenly think of Heero? Would Weyridge allow her to consider him? He was a prince, after all, and came from an affluent family with a proud, prosperous background. He would certainly be able to care for her, financially, even though as the future Queen of Sanq, money was not an issue. However, there was that dragon issue...what would happen? Would their laws prevent him from ruling? Or perhaps she could....

She frowned angrily, mentally chastising herself for such thoughts. She could not just ask him to get rid of his dragon, just to serve her own happiness. Relena did not fully understand the bond between dragon and rider, but she did know that the dragon wasn't disposable or dispensable, like a lap-dog or even a pony. Besides that, he was a protector of the kingdom. Asking him to get rid of the dragon was out of the question, on many different levels. She could not reason to do that, no matter what the situation.

Relena heaved a gusty sigh and turned her head so that she was staring out over the landscape of her kingdom, her cheek still resting on one knee. Then again, did she even have a choice, really? She might be able to have some small say, when it came to choosing a husband, but it would more depend on Weyridge's final decision, based on her suitor's family. When it came down to the very bones of the issue, the choice was not hers at all, and no manner of person, or his dragon, could change that fact.

~*~

In another castle, quite far removed from the shining parapets of Calon Gaer, a regal-borne figure strode purposefully down a long, well-lit corridor. He looked neither right nor left; nor did he even barely pause to acknowledge the many scurrying figures of castle servantry that went about their daily business around him. He had a mission to complete, and nothing would sway him from his task.

As he neared his destination, the hallway seemed to grow darker, though it was not because there were fewer light fixtures. The servants also seemed loath to approach this end of the hallway, and when they did, they cowered and babbled with a nameless fear.

Yet, the figure knew the fear well, and knew that it did indeed have a name.

He stopped before a large, rather plain door. The hallway was so dark here that it seemed to be bathed in night, even though the man knew it was barely past midafternoon. He drew a breath for strength, raised his fist, and knocked at the door.

Nothing happened at first; but then, the door swung inward, and he stepped inside.

Inside, the room was completely pitch black. The door swung shut behind him with a loud clang, completely blocking out any source of light. The figure quailed at this, and at the stench of the room: rot and decay, and a deeper, more malevolent scent of pure evil. He fell to his knees, partly in a deep bow of servitude, and partly from being overwhelmed by the sensation of being so close to such concentrated evil. But he forced himself to regain his feet and maintain his outward sense of arrogant calm, for he knew that though he could not see anything in the room, it could see him.

And it did not take too kindly to any shows of fear or feeblemindedness in its followers.

Silence permeated the room for a time; then a loud, grumbling voice called out lazily.

"You have something to report to me, d'Urmeil?"

The man called d'Urmeil straightened. "Yes, my Lord. But I fear it is not fortuitous news."

The darkness grumbled ominously. "'Not fortuitous'?"

d'Urmeil shivered unconsciously. "The assassination attempt against Calon Gaer and the Watcher was unsuccessful. The assassin was captured, and forced to eliminate himself to prevent any information from leaking." The darkness seemed to ponder this for a moment. d'Urmeil continued. "Not only that, but my information reports that the Princess and her regent did not fall for the placed crest upon the assassin's tunic. They do not believe Es'rilshan to be responsible for the attack."

"I...see..." said the darkness.

"However, my Lord, it seems that the dragon-riders did confront Es'rilshan about their involvement in the attack."

The darkness pondered this. "Very good," it finally replied. "very good indeed."

"But...my Lord..." began d'Urmeil hesitantly, "our mission has been met with failure...."

"You doubt my means, d'Urmeil? I somehow expected more of you."

"N-no, my Lord," the man replied hastily. "I do not doubt that you will soon be triumphant. But we have been met with failure in our first attempt. Does that not bode poorly for our future success in our plans?"

The darkness shifted somewhat. "It is of no great concern," it drawled coolly. "They have merely rebuffed one attack, and one battle does not make a war. The boy we sent was a tool, a puppet. He was expendable. I knew he would fail. That does not hinder our plans greatly. We shall still succeed. Even now, plans are being set into motion that will cause repercussions that shall be felt within the stoutest of hearts that claims the name of guardian for that nation."

d'Urmeil shivered again. "Plans, my Lord?"

"Indeed," rumbled the voice, and it took all of d'Urmeil's strength not to turn and run from the room as the darkness swelled around him in mirthful gloating. The man paled and swallowed hard, as he felt the darkness smile in a wide, malevolent grin.

~*~

Wufei was seated in the palace gardens, a book held carefully in his hands, when he was approached by two guardsmen. The dragon-rider looked up, trying to mask his irritation at being interrupted, and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Lady Sally requests your presence in the laboratory. She says it has something to do with the assassination attempt." The guard's mouth twisted at the word 'assassination', as if it tasted sour on his tongue.

That grabbed Wufei's attention immediately. He stood up, closing his book, and followed the guards silently out of the garden.

When the small party arrived in the laboratory, Wufei noted that the other dragon-riders had already been assembled, as well as the Princess and her regent. Sally was shuffling through leaves of parchment absently, her faerie dragon companion perched on her shoulder, reading over Sally's shoulder and trilling contentedly. Fikriyya noticed his approach first. She jerked her head up and squeaked a greeting, at which Wufei scowled but said nothing. Sally looked up from her work, and smiled.

"Welcome, Wufei. I think we might have narrowed down the possibilities of where the assassin got the poison he used--or tried to use, as it were. Though I must admit, it asks more questions than it answers." She walked around the table where she had been seated, and showed him the sheet of parchment that was on top of the stack that she held in her hands. The parchment was covered with tight, neat script and symbols.

Wufei peered at it quizzically. "What is this supposed to mean?"

"This is a very rare poison. It comes from a flower called the malstasia, or night-bell, and it is only found in one part of the world that we know of." She pulled another sheet of parchment free, tucking it on top of the first. This one held a picture of a flowering plant, as well as notes in a tight, crabbed script surrounding the plant on the page like a halo. "The flower itself is very beautiful, only blooms at night, and is exceedingly delicate and rare. For this, it is prized by nobility in a certain part of our nation, and by law may only be grown by those of noble or royal blood.

"However, the night-bell does have a dark side. Left to its own devices it is harmless. Simply cultivating the plant or inhaling its fragrance causes no harm, but if the blooms are plucked at just the right time and distilled by a very ancient and secretive process, they can be used to make an extremely lethal poison. This is also why it was decreed that only those of royal blood may grow the plant. The plant is rare, the distillation process archaic and mostly lost to time and age, but it can be done. And, apparently, it has. The poison that was contained in that dart was malstasia poison, I've no doubt."

Wufei's eyes narrowed. "What does this have to do with me?"

Sally smiled indulgently. "I drew all of the dragon-riders together so that I could ask them all to be certain, but it was mainly for formality's sake. Although they have all denied ever seeing this plant before, I still had to ask them. The night-bell can't grow in arid regions, or regions where it is too cool or too damp, so that effectively negates most of the duchies--except for yours."

"Let me see the picture." Wufei folded his arms across his chest and stroked his chin thoughtfully as Sally shuffled through the parchment sheets once more. She handed the sheet to him, and he studied it carefully.

"Yes...yes, I know this flower," he nodded slowly. "It is grown on my family's estate, in the women's garden. I remember seeing it, as a very small child, when I was still allowed and my mother would bring me into the women's garden to sit with her and her ladies. My mother used to love it for its delicate scent, and my sister, too, seems to be fond of it, for she has spoken of it, occasionally." He frowned. "Wait. Are you saying--"

"I do not know who did this, Wufei, but I do know that the poison contained within that dart was from a night-bell. It could have been no other." She peered keenly at him. "What remains to question is--whoever sent that assassin--how did they come across a patch of night-bell in the proper stages of growth? It is difficult to force-grow, and nearly impossible to grow under artificial conditions. The plant is very, very delicate."

Wufei frowned, puzzled and more than a little distressed. "I...do not know," he admitted. "My father--he is far too bound by tradition to even consider treachery. He is beyond suspicion. My mother...she has been...gone...for many years now. The house staff, they are all sworn to fealty in my father's name, and would never betray us. Besides, no men are allowed in the women's garden; only women and girls are allowed there. The only males that ever set foot in that garden are the very young boy-children of the ladies, and even they are forbidden to set foot in the garden after they have reached a certain age. Even the garden staff is comprised solely of women."

"Can you be sure of that?"

"The male servants and residents of my father's estate know better than to tempt the ancient gods and our forefathers by breaking the very old law of the women's garden. Even if their hearts were not loyal to my father, they would not seek to anger the gods in such a fashion. Besides, even if that were not the case," the dragon-rider puffed out his chest proudly. "We of the royal house of Ri Shin inspire loyalty in those who swear allegiance to us. There is none in that household who has any reason to--" He cut off abruptly, his mouth snapping shut with an audible click of teeth.

Sally raised her eyebrows silently, and Fikriyya trilled in query. "Yes?" the woman asked, urging him gently to continue.

A wide variety of emotions were scrolling past Wufei's face, and his mouth worked silently for several long moments. When he finally was able to speak, it was to utter but a single word.

"Meiran...."

The dragon-rider's face was a rictus of realization and fury. Without another word, he spun silently on his heel and stalked out of the room.

~*~

C&C is, as always, loved and appreciated. ^_^ I'll post the next chapter soon.

--Sara

[wicked]

*quits looking at watch impatiently* Yay! Chapter 5! I've been waiting rather expectantly and you delivered! WOOT!

Excellent work on this chapter. Man, do I have a lot of practice to do in order to match up to you and so many others. But I shall! I swear it! I hope.

Enough about me though. I can't wait until the next chapter. What is Ms. Catalonia's purpose? *raises eyebrow* Hmmm.... And just what is it that Heero's dragon seems to understand that the boy doesn't I wonder? *lowers eyebrow and raises the other* Hmmm....

~Wicked

[Naoko]

YAY!!! I've been waiting for sooo long!!!! Amazing, as always. I'm glad Heero is finally softening up to the thought of Relena. I was wondering when you were ever going to put in some fluffy HYxRP moments. Heero's refection was incredibly sweet.

Love
Naoko

[kmf]

Delighted to see more of this story. Its all getting complicated now; Relena avoiding Dorothy, Quatre suspecting Dorothy of something, Wufei suspecting Meiran to be responsible for the poisen, Heero telling his dragon about his feelings for Relena (loved that bit), Relena worrying about who she is to marry. *rubs hands together* Very much looking forward to more of this story and Im wondering just who the mysterious person was who expected the assasination attempt to go wrong......

kmf *completely hooked*

[Morrighan]

More!!! This series has become addictive!!

Obviously, Heero's dragon is wiser than his rider.

[RDP]

Very interesting! What does Meiran have to do with the malstasia poison? Would she have anything to gain from the death of the Watcher? And who is this evil darkness guy? Please continue, Sara!

[Primus2021]

220% agree with KMF , As for RDP who said "Mr. DARKNESS" is a dude, lady, or either gender, IT could be a monster with no gender or both

Great fic going to go & read the next chapter now.