One Cannot Deny a Blood Oath with a Dragon by T P Sheehan

Author:T P Sheehan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780648092810
Publisher: Querencia Books
Published: 2017-07-18T04:00:00+00:00

On the fifth day following her cleansing, Catanya woke to the attractive smell of soup. She turned over in her bed and saw steam rising from a bowl set beside a cup of herbal water on her table. It was the first time she had taken food in her room. She sat at the side of her bed and scratched her temples in a vain attempt to alleviate the confusion. Then she spotted a small wooden box sat upon the table.

Catanya sampled the soup. It was a delicate flavour of celery, carrot and fennel with more of the mysterious herb and spice she was becoming accustomed to. She finished the soup and wrapped her hands around the warm cup of herbal water, sipping lightly from it as she considered the box. Almost immediately she became distracted by something else. Hanging on the inside of the door to her room was a new robe. It was strikingly beautiful. Forgetting the box for a moment, Catanya walked to the door and ran her fingertips down the delicate fabric. She removed it from its hanger and laid it upon her bed.

The robe was pure silk of black, burgundy and white. Gold stitching separated the colours and matching gold embroidery weaved through the sleeves in patterns depicting vines climbing a tree. It seemed to Catanya to be a formal piece of attire and feeling the fabric, she believed it to be newly made.

“Hardly practical for training,” she said to herself. She put the robe on and felt its unexpected weight rest on her shoulders and flow to the ground, covering her boots. The robe had a matching hood that fell behind her back. Its gold embroidery followed the hood’s rim and continued over her shoulders and down the length of the robe.

There was a knock at the door. Catanya pulled on the steel latch and opened it. It was Joffren. He too was dressed in a formal robe similar to her own. His was predominantly black with ruby-coloured embroidery flowing throughout its silken threads.

“Are you ready, Semsarian?” he inquired in his usual formal demeanour.

“Ready for what, Semsdi?”

“Today is your inauguration.” Joffren nodded toward the box upon the table.

Catanya sat at the table and reached for the wooden box, turned the circular brass catch and lifted its lid. Within, were three items—a small steel blade, a palm-sized stone dish and a vial containing an amber liquid of some sort. Catanya considered the items for a moment. Then it came to her. Every hair on her neck and arms stood up at once and her breath was caught.

“This is to shave my head,” she declared.

Joffren walked over to her without saying anything and took the vial of fluid, removed its cork and poured it into the dish that he placed before Catanya on the table. Catanya could smell the scent of lavender. He took the blade from the box and ran his index finger gently across the blade, testing its sharpness. He looked at Catanya.

“Really? Why did you not tell me of this earlier?” Catanya asked, dropping her usual, formal politeness.

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