“Inakara returned today under the cover of darkness. She swears me to silence and entrusts me with her most precious treasure – the crown of her former partner, Queen Estreleya, my great grandmother. A cursed crown that was said to mark the end of our empire. May the gods have mercy on us all.”
- Excerpt of Queen Evanya’s diary.
Chapter 13
In a flash Wren was on her feet, looking at Lorca with shock. Her mind clung to his words, tearing them apart, searching for a lie, something to dismiss them on. She found nothing.
“Magic! I’m just a bloody climber!”
Lorca was on his feet. “And there is magic in your blood, stronger than any I have seen in my life – do you understand that?”
“You must be mistaken. How can I have magic? I was born to a common family in a remote common village. There is nothing special about me, except that I’m stuck with you!” She snapped, tearing herself from his presence.
She stalked to the door, her hand on the handle, when Lorca grabbed her arm. With a snarl she spun around and shoved him back angrily. How was she meant to believe she not only had magic but that she was a Dragonair, like him? It was a trick, a complicated lie, though she didn’t see to what end. She didn’t understand why he was saying it, what he really wanted from her.
“There is dragon magic in your blood. It’s what draws you to the mountains, why you’re stronger and faster than any other Climber. There is magic in your blood, an ancient power. Why else do you think I’m here?”
There it was. She ripped her arm free. Somehow, in her mind, she’d believed that she’d tricked him into helping her. That she’d succeeded somehow. It was a lie, though. It was him manipulating her, using her desire to save her village to get her, though to what exact end she didn’t know. Clearly, he wanted her magic, that he saw something useful in her.
She looked at him. “I need some air. I’ll…I’ll be back though and we will get the information we need. The sooner we save my village the better.”
As she yanked open the door he put a hand to the wall next to her. “Even then, we have a deal.”
She exhaled slowly, pinning him with an icy glare. “Yes, I haven’t forgotten our deal, demon.”
With a deep breath she shut the door behind her and hurried downstairs before she said anything else. Her mind was reeling from Lorca’s words, from what he did. All she saw in her mind was her hands encased in dragon fire, how frightfully normal and warm it felt. What terrified her more than anything was what it meant. Dragonair. It also meant her family wasn’t actually her family, that she’d been lied to her whole life. A dagger had been driven into her chest and was twisting tighter.
She took a seat at the bar, ordering the strongest of whatever they had, and she slid over a coin from the pouch. The man returned a moment later, sliding over the frothy mug, and taking the coin away with a nod of his head. She didn’t even wait as she downed the drink in one go, the warm burn of the liquid filling her chest, lightening her mind, if only for a moment.
“Hell of a day, ey?” A girl asks, sliding onto the chair next to her with a wink and a smile. “It’s the first day of the Equinox Festival, the only good thing in this shit hole, and you look like you’re wanting someone dead.”
“Maybe I do,” she said, ordering another drink. “It’s been a hell of a week. Travelling has been long.”
“Where you from stranger?” Before Wren could say anything the girl slapped her neck, shy. “Oh, look at me being noisy! I’m Sorcha! You?”
Wren took the outstretched hand. “Wren and I’m from the north. Came south looking for the main slave markets.”
Sorcha frowned at her, then shrugged. “Wrong city, then. Keep heading south to the city of Adara, right on the coast and big as anything. You on your own?”
Wren smiled and gestured to the drinks. “Nope, hence the ale.”
“Oh! Husband?”
She was halfway through another drink and nearly spat it out in shock. With a wry smile she wiped the mess from her mouth.
“Uh, no. Partner is all. He’s just maddening. Anyway, why you being so helpful to a stranger?” Wren asked sceptically.
Sorcha leant in close with a conspiratorial smile, with an air that Wren was the only one she wanted to hear, and that there was a gamble worth taking. Her eyes glittered daringly.
“I’m a Landless, you see. One of the travelling folk, always on the move cause folk don’t like us for our gifts you see. Mine I can see snatches of the future and I saw something I liked. So, I came over and introduced myself.”
Landless, the gypsy folk the merchant of her village briefly spoke of. Excellent traders for supply but slippery to deal with and often treated with suspicion. Wren had never met one before, so she couldn’t be sure if the girl in front of her was telling the truth, or spinning a lie to get something. Regardless, she had a name of a city to head to, which was more than she had before.
“Well, I guess I’m heading south now. Any advice?”
Sorcha wagged her finger. “Oh no, you may be fascinating but the first bit of information was for free. The next bit will cost you.”
Wren dug out her pouch and slid over two copper coins. Sorcha snatched them up, then smiled languidly, the exchange complete.
“With Empress Helena looking getting very obsessed with ancient magic she’s building all these temples, you see. There’s a big one east of Adara, just a little inland. Hence the increase in slaver activity. Remote villages are being swept up, even prisoners taken from the neighbouring kingdom of Ozan and Nikora, to which we’re apparently fighting. No one really knows anything and it’s all kind of a big mess. She wants a weapon to win the war, so slaving ain’t nothing big,” she said with a shrug. “Most people have slaves. This empire is built on the back of them. Doesn’t hurt she’s carefully selective about whom she takes.”
“She chooses?” Wren blurts out, feeling her own anger rising.
Her people hadn’t been randomly chosen. They were selected. Why? Why? Her mind grasped for answers where she had none, understanding where she had nothing to go on. Had the merchant sold them out or had the empress always known, that she picked them due to a lower yield?
“Otherwise she’d be dealing with a civil war on her own land and she doesn’t want that. I mean, I’ve heard of rebels – everyone has – but they’ve been quiet, so we don’t think much of them. Everyone thinks the Landless are the rebels – ha! Like we’d fight! We do anything like that and we’d be enslaved like that. We’ve got a little peace going with the empress, so we’re not going to ruin that.”
She felt a sliver of disgust curl within herself. There were people being enslaved and everyone knew about it. They simply didn’t care because if they did, if they fought, they’d become slaves too. They were afraid of ruining their own little worlds that they’d happily sit by as others burned for it. Was this the land her sister wanted to become a part of? Thinking about her sister she wondered if she was safe, what she thought of the people that she’d wanted to join, only to be enslaved by them.
As she fell into an uneasy silence, her mind grinding over several thoughts, the door to the inn slammed open. A cool gust of stale air rushed in. She blinked, looked up. A man stood in the doorway for a moment, then strode in, two others in tow. The door was swiftly shut behind them.
Beside her, Sorcha stiffened but didn’t look at the men. A frightened look flashed in her eyes, then swiftly buried behind an indifferent, almost bored expression. She sensed Wren looking and it was as though she briefly begged in that split second for Wren to do nothing to surrender her.
Wren turned slowly in her chair. She, too, had a reason to avoid trouble and hoped it had nothing to do with the two men they’d left tied up outside the city. Her heart hammed nervously in her chest.
The first man, tall as a tree, with thick limbs and a ruddy face, swept his dark, coal-black eyes across the room. They lingered briefly on Wren, then flickered to Sorcha.
“You!” He barked, pointing at her.
Wren thought fast and leant in, placing a tender hand on Sorcha’s arm. “Darling, they’re looking at you.”
Sorcha’s eyes snapped to her, wondering what the hell Wren was doing, let alone thinking. She turned on her chair and looked at the man.
“Is something wrong?”
The man glanced to Wren. “You know this girl?”
“Aye, she’s my cousin-“
“She’s darker than you.”
It was true, with Sorcha’s darker colouring, being mistaken for family was hard.
“My aunt was free with her love, the silly woman. She recently died, you see. Rea is in the care of my husband and myself, as we’re taking her south to visit my husband’s family.”
“In Hidara,” added Sorcha, then glanced waspishly at Wren. “I won’t marry him.”
“Yes, you will,” lied Wren, then sighed. “I’m sorry, sir, she’s a wild thing. I hope a good husband will ensure she’s obedient. With a firm hand I shall believe it, though if she’s too wilful, there is always Adara. I won’t have no silly chit taking up all the food if she’s not going to earn her keep. She has to, if she’s ever going to make up for her fool of a mother whom couldn’t keep her legs shut to a foreigner!”
The man looked restless, and even a little awkward. When Lorca appeared, moving to Wren’s side, she forced a scowl as he leant down and kissed her cheek, as a husband might. She glanced at him but he beat her to it.
“I told you to keep her in her room.”
“I thought some ale might shut her up. She’s too wild! I told you Adara but-“
“Silence, my wife. Your cousin will marry my brother, Evrick, and she’ll become biddable. Only then if that fails will I consider Adara. Honestly, my wife, how can you think of selling your own cousin?”
Wren glanced scornfully at Sorcha, whom adopted a sullen scowl at the ground. “When I got saddled with a useless girl whom can’t even cook! Let alone do anything useful!”
The man turned to the other two. “She’s not the one we’re after. Keep looking!”
No one moved in the bar until the men were gone. Only then did Lorca sit down beside Wren, too close for comfort but she didn’t argue. The men, whoever they were, rattled her. Sorcha raised her hand, ordered a drink and paid using the coins Wren gave her. She didn’t say anything until she finished the drink, then leant over it, staring at the bench.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she muttered.
“You gave me good information and I’m hoping a little more, if you please,” said Wren.
Sorcha laughed softly. “Damn, you’re good.”
“Opportunistic, I’m told,” replied Wren.
It was true. On the mountains you had to be adaptable, think fast to things that came your way. You could mostly predict storms but sometimes that wasn’t always the case. Sometimes you came under attack by wyverns or gear broke. You had to improvise, take a chance on whatever thin bit of hope the gods decided to grant you.
“Well, better get a drink for us all and get comfortable. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
ns 15.158.61.46da2
