2.9

In the entourage of the High King, the most absurd of solutions was found for Imre’s fears.

Jewel’s abhorrence and apparent refusal to even entertain the idea of saffron being near a dish she ate had stirred some youthful idiocy.

But at least he was now content to merely carry a talisman containing the spice hanging from his neck.

Despite the smell reminding Jewel of the terrible visits with the Countess, Jewel could handle that and if she was honest, having the boy confidently, if not brashly engage with her now that he had ‘proven protection’ was a boon.

Especially compared to his first attempt to use his newfound wisdom.

Originally the heir had ended up sniffling and coughing, near-blind with his entire head and shoulders dusted bright yellow-red.

This was because the very night of their departure he had attempted to dump a box of the precious spice worth more than his weight in a silver over his head.

Thankfully, Jewel’s nose had been able to catch onto what he was doing before he ruined the entirety of the High King’s supplies.

The waste of it was astounding and if there had not been such humor in why Imre had done it for the man, Jewel was sure he could have beggered several villages with the recompense for the loss already.

But now that they had talked the prince down to the fact that Jewel’s sense of smell and taste was so acute that even a pinch of saffron in a locket around his neck provided ample protection from her ever possibly devouring him?

Well on the road to Kaeketteh, Jewel finally was starting to see the vibrant youth that Thurzó praised with every other letter.

Their caravan was a curious one.

It tinged Jewel with memories of the campaign. Not anything close to the thousands upon thousands that had marched.

But with the attendants of both Arva and the High King, the entourage easily numbered near onto five hundred!

They moved as a pair of caravans.

A smaller party made up of the households of Arva, Rochford and the forward supply with its bearers moving ahead as vanguard. The High King followed a solid day later with his main party. All of it was to best make ready either their places of lodging or ensure a camp was provisioned and usable by the time the main party arrived.

The entire arrangement was absolutely burning through the vigor of the horse they used to keep ferrying supply from the main contingent.

Jewel could smell a deadening exhaustion building in the beasts even though they cycled through three groups on the march.

“Lady Jewel! Can I play with Lady Gem today?”

Which brought the new complication Jewel felt when traveling.

The very thought of leaving her smaller self alone and bereft of her Wyrmflame for the near half season this whole endeavor was going to involve could not be borne.

Which meant that much like her Brother, Mother and the Wet Nurse Jewel had a sling for carrying a child.

It was mostly for the road in Gem and Gwenn’s cases. They could both mostly manage to stand and walk unsteadily now.

But not at the speed required to make good time on the road.

“Hmm? Oh, certainly Lord Imre, but no taking her out. We can’t tarry lest the High King’s party catch up with his heralds.”

He nodded vigorously, so changed for the simple assurance of a bit of seasoning locked tight in a bit of silver hanging by a leather thong round his neck.

Imre was bundled in winter-ready travel clothes instead of feasting finery, but the heavy coat and cloaks hardly seemed to impede the boy at all in his bounding exuberance.

And via Gem, Jewel finally appreciated how painful the cold could be. Who she now kept prodigiously swaddled in as many layers and blankets as would physically fit in the sling! After the brief respite of the divinely blessed valley, they were once more walking in the pre-autumn chill of early Debt’s Season.

Given permission and emboldened by his amulet, Imre was soon once more fussing into the little hammock on Jewel’s side.

“Here little Gem! This is a Pfennig. It’s silver”

Jewel nodded and obligingly chirped and gurgled at Imre, although most of her attention was elsewhere.

A good portion of it was trying to keep as much of her smaller self as warm as possible as they traveled.

The rest was trying to distract herself from where she failed in that.

Father was now Liege Lord of the Temple of the Silver Lady and her divinely gifted Demesne. It had been within his right to make rooms within the temple’s tiny cells for the arrival.

But after consul with Thurzó, it had been decided making use of the tent would be better for actual sleeping arrangements. Bizarrely, not even the abbot had a larger chamber then any other of the ‘brothers’ that tended to the temple.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Jewel shifted a bit to adjust the weight of her spawn’s sling hanging on her left side just ahead of her wing shoulder.

Its opposite holding the currently sleeping bundle of Gwenn.

It made some sense, Jewel thought, they were both about the same size and weight, Jewel needed to balance the load of her harness or it started to twist something awful. And what bearer could be better trusted then her own family?

But it had still stirred quickly shushed murmurs among Thurzó’s Daughters anyway.

“It’s not right having such a brute carry a babe.”

Again not because Jewel was a Dragon.

“Does she even know how to properly hold one? It’s a child, not a spear or sword.”

But because she had the audacity to serve in the army as a martial lady.

“Well she is a dragon, I suppose she was able to learn something since she doesn't need to swing a blade all day like some half-man. But did you hear that their matron was one too?!”

Honestly the gossip of those girls and the outrageous concerns they had that the blood of war would somehow harm her sister just from being carried in a leather and cloth sling against Jewel’s side!

“Father speaks well of her, she’s honorable. But still there is the honor of a man and a warrior and the duty of a woman.”

They were not much kinder to Imre for his interest in Jewel’s own offspring.

“Poor Imre, he was so craven at the welcoming feast, embarrassing father like that. The little goblin! He almost ruined everything.”

Although apparently being the immaculate git of her brutish nature softened the shame of their brother being overly soft.

“At least he mostly is interested in the wyrmchild, the craven twit. I bet it’s a soldier’s bastard from one of the times she went off to war. Have you heard what they get up to in those camps?”

Imre was not even six winters aged!

“No, no, weren’t you listening when Father found out? Poor thing had it Immaculate, Star sent it was. It prolly bewitched Imre something, only reason he’d be so infatuated.”

Jewel distinctly remembered that her brazenly fearless fool of a brother had been equally intrigued by babes at that age and he was now well on his way to being a Gryphon Lord (after a scathing scolding and being shipped back to the Eyrie with proper guard).

“Oooh! I heard it’s a girl-child! Do you think he’ll wed it when it's grown? Serves the craven little fool right to be ensorceled by a beastly bride.”

One of the younger ones murmured curiously.

“Well the mother is a good and dear friend of Father's, it could be an alliance.”

The oldest one after Marta added her own opinion.

“Oh but then that handsome brother of hers would be out of reach, only needs one marriage for an alliance.”

The foolishness of girls that were ostensibly her peers in nobility left Jewel in a tumult. No one in Rochford ever excluded her from their circles for this, but then again they were all either free women in her family’s demesne or serviles bound to their lands.

Jewel had never met other noble girls.

Were all of them going to exile her for being Martial?

Did all of them gossip with such pettiness?

The Wyrm’s repertoire of examples in this was on consideration quite sparse.

Among peasants and commoners, she had either the usual apprehension of her presence as a Lady, Dragon or both. A few friendly and very welcome exceptions besides.

But for Nobility?

There was Mother of course, and the Countess Bathory, but the less said about that fiend the better.

And then the random attending courtiers who she heard murmuring about in Kaeketeh?

That...

Was not many examples of noble womanhood to consider and on balance, nearly none that Jewel felt deserving of her respect.

Eventually they were coming upon the next town, it was larger than any in Rochford. Set with proper walls around all of it and fed with the grain and labor of a half dozen surrounding hamlets from among the hills and valleys.

But still barely a smudge of buildings against the bustling overgrowth of Kaeketeh.

Jewel turned her focus inward, narrowing it to just the simple sights of Imre and his fussing and awkward endeavors to engage Gem’s attention.

Something Jewel was happy to oblige.

The Heir of Arva seemed to have a rough way of it with his other siblings.