Marie Brennan - A Natural History of Dragons

I cultivated that connection with every wile I possessed, for I had awoken the morning after Renwick’s utterly possessed by a single notion: that Jacob should join the expedition. By now I had every confidence that we would hear all the details, not merely those digested for lectures and articles; but it was not enough. Jacob must go, and I could live the experience vicariously through him.

Or so I thought at the time.

Over a quiet dinner one night, I found I had achieved my goal. “Isabella,” Jacob said during the main course, “would you object if I went abroad?”

I did not drop my fork, though my hand forgot to mind it for a moment. “Abroad?”

“Lord Hilford’s planning an expedition—” Jacob stopped himself mid-sentence and eyed me across the tureen of stewed carrots. “But I don’t need to remind you of that, do I? You’ve orchestrated it very well, I must say.”

“Orchestrated?” I made a valiant attempt at an innocent expression. “Lord Hilford had that expedition in mind long before I met him.”

“But not that I should be a part of it. Admit it, Isabella; you’ve been nudging me toward him and his Vystrani escapade, since—when? Certainly since the beginning of summer. As far back as Renwick’s?”

“Not that early,” I said, avoiding a lie by the narrowest of margins. The hour of sleeplessness after Renwick’s did not count as at Renwick’s.

“It can’t have been long after that. I can’t say I object, precisely; Hilford’s fast become a good friend. You could have been more open about it, though.”

I studied my husband at the other end of the table and replied with more honesty than I’d intended. “Would you have listened, had I been blunt? Had I told you from the start what I had in mind—that you should deliberately seek out and befriend a peer of the realm, for the purposes of worming your way into his foreign expedition?”

Jacob frowned. “When you put it like that, it sounds dreadfully presumptuous.”

“Precisely. And it would have been presumptuous, had you had any such intention—which means you probably wouldn’t have done it at all. Therefore, I approached it more subtly.”

The twitch of his eyebrow said he was not persuaded by my logic. “Meaning you had that intention on my behalf.”

“Isn’t that a wife’s duty?” I offered him an innocent smile.

My husband put down his fork and leaned back in his chair, gazing at me in bemusement. “You’re outrageous, Isabella.”

“Outrageous? Me? Do you see me wearing scandalously low-cut gowns to the opera, like the Marchioness of Priscin? Do you see me publishing books of poetry and pretending they aren’t mine, like Lady Hannah Spring? Do you—”

“Enough!” Jacob laughed and cut me off. “I’m afraid to hear what other pieces of Society gossip you may have picked up. Since you have admitted to your meddling, I imagine you would not object to me going abroad with Hilford.” He looked rueful and picked his fork up again. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you booted me out the door.”

“And risk damage to my shoe?” I imitated the tone of the most vapid beauty in Society. Jacob smiled, and ate in silence for a few minutes. The footman came in and cleared away the plates, then brought in the pudding.

For once, I had little appetite for it, and the heavy bread sat like a raisin-studded lump in my stomach. I picked at it for a little while, not really eating much, while across from me Jacob dug into his own.

When I realized the source of my suddenly dismal mood, it escaped my lips before I could stop it.

“I want to go with you.”

Jacob paused, a forkful of pudding already in his mouth, staring across at me. Slowly, he drew the fork out, and laid it on his plate while he chewed and swallowed. “To Vystrana.”

“Yes.” I wished I had kept silent. If there were any chance of success, it would not come this way, with my desire stated so bluntly.

Jacob’s expression showed me I was not wrong. “Isabella… it’s out of the question, and you know it.”

So I did, and yet…

“Please,” I said. The word came out softly, and heartfelt. “I’ve been fascinated by them since I was a girl. You know that, Jacob. To sit idly at home, while others go and see them in person—”

“Isabella—”

“To see real ones, I mean; adults instead of runts. Adult dragons, living in the wild, not chained in a pit for the king’s favourites to gawk at. I’ve read about them—you of all people know how much—but words are nothing. Engravings give the illusion of reality, but how many of the engravers have even seen the subjects they depict? This might be my only chance, Jacob.”

I stopped and swallowed. The pudding I had eaten felt like it might come back up again, did I relax my guard against it.

“Isabella.” His voice was also soft, but intense. I could not look up at him, staring fixedly at my plate instead. “I know your interest, and I have sympathy for it—believe me, I do! But you cannot ask me to take my wife abroad in this manner. A tour, certainly, going to civilized places, but the mountains of Vystrana are not civilized.

“You’ve read about it, I know. Try to imagine what you’ve read made real. The peasants there eke out their existence; do you think they will have a comfortable hotel for us to stay in? Servants who are more than local girls hired on for our stay, who—who actually understand how to care for people rather than for sheep? It will not be a pleasant existence, Isabella.”

“Do you think I care?” I slammed my fork down, heedless of the scene I was making. “I don’t need luxury, Jacob; I don’t need pampering. I’m not afraid of dirt and drafts and—and washing my own clothing. Or yours, for that matter. I could be useful; would it not be advantageous to have someone to make accurate drawings? Think of me as a secretary. I can keep your notes, organize your papers, make certain that you and Lord Hilford have what you need when you go out to observe.”

Jacob shook his head. “While you sit in the rented cottage, content to be left behind?”

“I didn’t say I would be content.”

“And you wouldn’t be. I’d find you out there in boy’s clothes, masquerading as a shepherd, before a fortnight was done.”

Heat stained my cheeks. It might have been anger, embarrassment, or a little of both. “That is not fair.”

“I’m just being pragmatic, Isabella. You’ve made headstrong decisions before, and they got you hurt. Don’t ask me to stand by and let you be hurt again.”

I took a deep, slow breath, hoping it would calm me down. The air caught in my throat, raggedly. I would not cry. Why was I crying?

“Please,” I repeated, knowing I had said it already, but unable to avoid repeating it. “Please… don’t leave me behind.”

Silence followed my words. My gaze had drifted downward again, and I could not bear to lift it, to look at him while I said this. “Don’t leave me here alone. You’ll be gone for months, a year perhaps—and what will I do with myself?”

His answer was gentle. “You have friends. Invite one of them to come stay with you for a time. Or go visit your family; I am sure they would be glad to have you.” A soft sound that might have been a laugh. “Continue your work with sparklings, if it makes you happy.”

“But it doesn’t ! It isn’t enough. Jacob, please. I don’t blame you for going away so much when I was in my depression, but if you go away for so long, I’ll feel—”

The words stuck in my mouth. No matter how hard I tried, I could not bring myself to enunciate it, to tell him the depth of fear and inadequacy the prospect of his absence created in my heart.