“It has been nearly a year since the dragons left, followed soon by the Dragonairs; a whole year since I have last taken human form. I know I should not keep so often in my dragon form, how I feel myself slipping with every day – I hold on, though, for I must guard Idris and Vaska’s precious egg, which remains cradled by the castle’s eternal flame. It should have hatched by now and I am running out options. I do not know what to do anymore…”
Excerpt from Prince Alfor-Lorcasi’s personal diary.
Chapter 30
The hooves clattered along the stone made roads, eerily distinct, echoing first amongst the low buildings that stretched from the outer wall, all along to the inner wall. Here, Wren learnt, lived the poorer merchants, the middle and lower class. Almost all owned at least one slave and for a strange few minutes Wren saw not one slave. It was not until they road past two blocks that she saw a woman sweeping the dirt from the steps of a shop front, wearing a plain brown dress and a collar around her neck. Her sleeves were short, exposing her upper arms, one of which bore a brand. Hers was a swirled pattern, half ruined from the healing process, a milky colour against her moon pale skin. She was thin, too, with dull hair cut so short it seemed as though it had been hacked off.
She hadn’t looked up, though she had stiffened as Wren passed, sensing that eyes were on her. After that, Wren saw more, though in shadows or laneways or in the corner of her gaze. They never looked up though, yet seemed remained poised, as if ready to react. There was an edge about them, a cautiousness that made Wren’s gut tighten. That voice, the one she’d been afraid of, grew louder within her mind. You won’t walk away from this, you can’t. she tightened her grip on her reins and tried to focus on the back of Helena.
It was all she could do until they finally stopped before another set of gates. Helena produced the paperwork again to several guards and the group passed through without interrogation. When the doors closed behind them Wren could barely contain her shock at seeing the size of the homes, some three or four levels high, with polished stone fronts and golden gleaming window panes. There were people about, too; men and women in fine clothes, walking the streets with their heads high. Some had slaves trail behind them, collared, their arms laden with the goods of their owners; baskets and boxes in bright colours and patterns.
A few men and women glanced up at Helena, bowed their heads, some murmuring a quiet greeting. Helena returned only a curt nod and continued to ride forward. It seemed that this woman held power and respect within this city, which was at odds with the idea of working with Inakara…and helping Wren and Lorca with their mission.
They came to a stop before the iron gates of an enormous home, some three stories high with a sprawling garden before it. A guard dragged the gate open without question as everyone approached, then locked it shut behind them with a resounding click. Helena dismounted first at the front door, which opened as her feet touched the ground and several slaves hurried out. Yet unlike the ones of before, these were dressed nicely and they wore no collars, with only their brands on display. Their gazes were up, too, first on their mistress whom gave a few quiet words, then on their assigned tasks. Jed climbed down, followed by his men, and led his horses off to the stables without so much as a backward glance. Wren had barely dismounted when a young man came over, gathered the reins of her horse, along with Lorca’s horse too, and led the horses away. Wren went to follow, her bags still on the horse but Helena turned to them.
“Your belongings will be taken to your rooms. Do come with me. There is much to discuss,” said Helena calmly and without waiting she strode inside, a young woman hurrying after.
Wren followed the group inside, shedding her cloak. They diverted through a large entry area, far more opulent than anything Wren had seen before, into a smaller room with several low lounges with cushions, portraits on the wall and a low burning fire. Helena moved to the fire and after tugging off her gloves, finger by finger, she waved her hand over the flames and they grew in response. She drew her hand back and turned to the woman in her wake.
“Sarah, you may tell the rest they can sleep once the bags are taken to the guests’ rooms. I shan’t need you further tonight,” said Helena softly. “Rest, for tomorrow shall be busy.”
Sarah bowed, then hurried out. The door clicked shut firm behind them. Lorca sat down, as if his body was too heavy for him. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. After a beat Helena finally shed her cloak too and draped it across the back of a nearby lounge.
“Inakara explained your mission to me but I was hoping you might clarify a few matters – half in my own curiosity, half in the aim of determining a place to begin my search tomorrow,” she said casually as she, too, took a seat, looking at Wren closely. “What is special about your village? Foreign slavers attack the coast, not inland remote villages, which leads me to believe it was by the Empress’s hand – it is not well known but it is her signature for those whom have so offended the crown.”
Wren frowned. Offended the crown? Her village barely communicated with anyone beyond their own lands. The merchant, perhaps, but why burn her village? To what end, when their very deal profited him more than the village? Beyond that, they occasionally bartered a few of the low land villages but only one or two people ever went. They never stayed long, just enough to barter what was needed and head off. Everyone was taught to limit what they said of the village, such had been the practise for years. She turned to the fire, looking at it, as if it might offer her insight into why her village had been betrayed.
“All we do is harvest a red flower that grows on the mountains, high above – that’s what I do, you see, climb the cliffs with the other Climbers and tend to our crops. After that, we would take the flowers down, dry them and grind into a red powder. A merchant would come every year at the same time, supply us with money, grains and furs – or whatever we asked for – then he would take the powder.”
It felt like a kind of betrayal to even talk about her village, to disclose the secrets her people had guarded so jealously for some time.
Helena nodded and followed Wren’s gaze to the fire. “That red powder – we call it Hellis powder. It’s rare, prized amongst the royal family. Did you know of its magical properties?”
Wren hesitated for a moment but for the sake of her village, she told herself, she went on, “We would all take the tiniest amount each and no one ever fell ill over winter. That is about all the properties we knew of it – you say there’s more?”
This time Wren turned to Helena, whom still gazed seriously at the fire, her eyes dark and brooding. Helena drew back and returned her attention to the Wren, dipping her head.
“I’ve yet to witness the full effects myself but members of Alexandria’s inner circle suddenly possessing bursts of magic? All due to a strange red powder which no one knows where it is from - that is, until now, it seems.” Helena clasped her fingers against her chin as she considered what she knew. “This flower cannot be grown in the lower lands, correct?”
“Certainly, in none of the grounds we have tried. The flower favours the colder weather and the rich soil of the mountains.” Wren sat down, the weight of Helena’s words bearing down on her. “We always delivered on time the powder – I mean, this year was to be a slightly smaller amount due to a poor harvest but we hadn’t sent word of that, so they could not possibly know of the issue.”
“Perhaps she no longer needed the powder,” interrupted Lorca.
He opened his eyes and sat up properly, looking steadily at Helena. In that moment he seemed so self-assured, his thoughts clear; how Wren burned with jealousy, given she was fraying at the seams.
Helena pressed her lips together for a moment, considering the statement made carefully. “It is possible. If she has found a new source magic, she would not want the powder falling into the hands of someone else. I would imagine if your merchant stopping coming you would seek another buyer. It would only be natural.”
Oh gods. Wren felt sick to her stomach. Her whole village had been enslaved because they were no longer valuable to someone they had never met. With a single command their lives had been ripped apart.
She jumped to her feet and strode out of the room. Out in the entrance area Lorca caught up to her, catching her wrist in his hands. She spun around and shoved him back. He staggered back two steps, then stopped, hands up in a peace offering.
“Wren.”
“That can’t be why they were taken!” She snapped. “How could someone do that, as though we were nothing more than a loose thread to be cut!”
He stepped forward but Wren stepped back. “It might not be that. There could be another reason why your village was enslaved and whatever it is, we will find out the truth. We will make them pay; I swear it. I’ll burn her whole bloody palace down if the Empress is behind it.”
Fire burned fiercely in Lorca’s eyes, kindling her own inferno within. Lorca was right. They’d figure out what happened and where her people were. She’d save them, even if it meant tearing down an Empress to do it.
He stepped to her again but this time she didn’t move away. Another step to her, his gaze never wavering from her own. She remained still as the mountains themselves; then his arms came around her, gingerly at first, as though ready for her to push him away again.
“Thank you for being here,” she murmured softly, pressing her cheek to his chest.
His heart beat firmly in his chest, comforting her with its sound. His hand came to her hair suddenly, stroking it idly.
“I will never abandon you, Wren.”
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