10 years later
"Waiter, menu," I say as I enter an inn, sitting at a random table as if it doesn't matter. Crossing the distance from the door to the table, I already checked all the windows, doors and customers. Apart from a bevy of merchants, there's a group of tradesmen sharing a drink, a pair of restless warriors, and one assassin. Her expression is too deliberately casual and her appearance painfully young. It's probably her first or second assignment.
"A beer and a meat pie," I order. This late in summer I would expect a fire, but the weather has been unseasonably warm. I wouldn't touch it anyway--no need to remind the people or the emperor that I am still here, heaven's chosen.
What a joke.
The beer is warm and the meat pie is cold, and I am too used to decent fare to appreciate either. The warrior across from me looks similarly uninterested in his food, but he manages to eat it. I pretend to drink and to not watch the assassin.
Two weeks since I faked my death and escaped the tower my uncle kept me in. Two weeks of avoiding his guards and making wild trails in all directions, and he found me within the day I stopped in a real city. Ridiculous.
But then, it's the longest escape I’ve had, and the first time I made it to the border, so that should count for something. If she uses poison, I could be dramatically ill and still try to cross it in the morning before the guards drag me back.
I am not so lucky. She stands and throws a silver coin onto her table, her right hand concealed in her sleeve–a sure sign of a blade-thrower. It feels wrong to strike first, but in case she has good aim I should not wait.
Still, I stay seated, my feet becoming heavy in my boots. She twists as she passes my table, arm extending. I kick her foot out as I stand, for all viewers looking apologetic and oblivious as her knife slips wide and sticks into one of the wooden support beams. The angle of her throw and the way the two warriors rise with their weapons already out makes me say thoughtlessly, "Oh, she was yours?" Really, she does not look like someone Uncle Ben would hire. I should have noticed that.
She curses at all of us as one of them steps forward to touch his sword to her throat. She has no chance to fight, but she has poison ready for herself and chokes quietly.
The second warrior sits at my table, and the only natural thing to do seems to be to sit and pretend I want to eat average inn food with a dead body next to me.
"Thank you for that."
"Purely an accident," I assure him. "I was thinking I might find better food-" I make eye-contact with the innkeeper and hope I don’t blush. "Elsewhere."
She is more worried about a safety hazard than my opinion of her inn, so she doesn't hold her glare long before apologizing to everyone and offering nothing for the inconvenience, calling some servants to remove the body. The other warrior assists with a glance at his companion.
At my table, his companion chuckles. "The chicken stew is edible."
I doubt it. "But is it chicken?" At least meat pie doesn't lie.
"I'm Ash." He holds out a hand, but my uncle's training didn't include a course for making friends.
"Like the tree?" I draw a typical northern evergreen in the air.
"Like what's left of the ancient Dragon Palace."
I nod as if I didn't burn it to the ground. "Ah." I should thank my uncle for all his mockery on that front. "Your parents must have low expectations."
He's not offended, so it's probably a name he gave himself. "You?"
"I have neither parents nor expectations." Some days it feels like yesterday and I could burn the new palace and not be satisfied. Today it feels like it was someone else's life, and I was born trapped in a tower.
He looks uncomfortable, his eyes unable to meet mine as he offers his condolences. Not one of my uncle's men, then. They are as immune to feeling sorry for me as I am about the palace.
I shrug and raise my glass to my lips. I regret it more than the lost gardens. I let the liquid drain back into the cup and wipe my lips with the tablecloth.
"I do know a place that has better drinks."
I straighten my face and take a breath to refuse. Then I remember: the assassin wasn't here for me. Uncle Ben would never send a suicide warrior, and neither would the emperor. "Where?" Celebration calls for better alcohol.
His better bar is on the other side of the main street, and it feels strange to walk with someone until I realize it's my first time. From my mother's palace to my uncle's castle, I have never freely walked through a town. Certainly not with a stranger.
The bar is all outside tables, and the late afternoon air is warm and still. No torches are lit yet.
He orders wine for us both, and I find it is drinkable. I can hear my uncle lecturing sensibility in some corner of my brain, and force myself to sip slowly and be distracted by passersby instead of minding the stranger's attentive gaze. This area is part of the trade district, respectability obvious in the neat clothing and sober faces around me.
"You don't get out much," the warrior guesses. He seems a few years older than me, but it could be the armor and the look in his eyes. He's dressed as a local, but his accent is foreign.
Uncle Ben would advise that I avoid this man, but the border town is plentiful with foreign traders and settlers. "I'm not from here." Though with my hair braided and my outfit purchased in town--a comfortable combination of loose pants and a thick tunic--I look local.
His glance over my clothing and face is curious rather than accepting. "Traveling alone?" He asks, and then winces slightly.
The question could be innocent or suggestive, but the warrior’s tone was somewhere in between, like he lost confidence in which it should be. In a flattering outfit with the right hairstyle, for the right pair of eyes, I am attractive. If we were sitting in full sun, he would probably boldly flirt or be easily friendly. But my voice is naturally low--too much fire and not enough air--and I was trained as a warrior, so I am built like the tree he's not named for. And I have my father's face. In this twilight setting with loose-cut clothing, it’s probably hard to guess whether I am an unusually short man or an unusually solid woman.
I take his uncertainty as a compliment and drink with a smile.
"What brought you here?" The words echo. He asked twice, since I wasn't listening.
"My feet." It isn't clever, or true. I rode a horse most of the way. "As for why.." I can't call myself a runaway when I was practically thrown out. But I'm not running to anything, either. What did bring me here?
A need to do something, even if it was nothing.
My parents' murderers are already dead. Their son sits on the throne like they intended, but I cannot hate him for that. He was raised for it, and he’s doing fine. The empire prospers, even in border towns like this one.
I didn’t want to go near the imperial city, with his advisors divided between thinking he should marry me for the sake of the bloodline and wanting to send me far away, preferably six feet deep. If I cross the border I become just another traveler.
The warrior's silence could be patience or indifference, but for me it is discomforting. "I wanted to see something different."
He is amused. "If you want to see something truly different, you should travel east."
"That was an option." The emperor's advisors have been suggesting marrying me off to some plains' prince, ever since the plains’ tribes united as a nation and became a formidable force. The emperor must be considering it, or he would be planning his own wedding already.
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Not that he hasn't tried, but according to Uncle Ben I have six contagious diseases and the plague to overcome before I can think about weddings.
"Not interested?"
"I’ve heard the river cities are beautiful." Do I sound as uncaring as I feel? "But there are so many obstacles between me and them." Multiple unwanted husbands separate west from east.
"The river cities are pretty in autumn." He smiles as he takes a drink, an oddly sarcastic expression contrasting with his mild tone.
Honestly, I still don’t expect to leave the empire. Planning anything past this town feels like a waste of time and emotion. But if I have a goal, it would be to see the ice empire. After illness took my little brother's fire, whether there was really an ice dragon was the only interest I still held on to. It doesn't mean anything, and yet I feel like if I know the answer, it will matter.
I finish my wine and thank the warrior for buying it.
------
The warrior flips a coin, watching the stranger leave. It lands on its edge. "Interesting." In the first moment, he noticed the stranger's delicate expressions and thought 'she', but then the carelessness of breaking the assassin's ankle and low-voiced question seemed more masculine. In the plains he can glance at a person's hair and never need to think about it again, but here it is harder. Men have little facial hair and women are accustomed to farm and fieldwork. They all look the same.
Ash leaves the coin and returns to the inn to meet his brothers-in-arms. They are five, all dressed like local mercenaries or western caravaners. "What news?" he asks, noticing that they all look unhappy.
Usem gives his report first, because he is the oldest. "Amastan’s siege goes well. The fortress will fall by the week's end."
"And here we are, and I haven't even started?" Ash shakes his head. "Do you not trust my methods, after all these years?"
In the awkward silence, they trade glances and remember that they do trust his methods, after they succeed. They murmur that he is right, that he generally does win, that his battles are often fought in favorable conditions as a result of his extensive planning.
"But, Ash," Kaci catches his arm. "This battle doesn't matter. It's not like the plains, where winning people's hearts was important."
Aksel nods his agreement. "Chief just wants you to intimidate the northern emperor before they meet to discuss an alliance."
"War wouldn't go well for either side," Kaci adds. "The northern empire doesn't dare attack us through the desert."
Their arguments are sound, but Ash still shakes his head. "Chief wants more than a casual advantage. He wants the princess," he admits.
"Well," Idir's low voice vibrates through the wooden floor, "they do say the imperial family has the blood of dragons in their veins."
"They also say my mother had the blood of a viper in hers. Do you believe it?" He turns to others. "Do you?"
"Well, but we know your mother." Idir looks up at the ceiling, his face innocent of hidden meanings.
"I believe it." Kaci earns himself a smacked head for admitting, and judgmental looks from the three who are smart enough to keep quiet. "She did poison the chief," he grumbles.
The other three distance themselves slowly, but Ash only shrugs. "He cheated on her first." (The exchange actually improved their relationship.) "In any case, kings and emperors always claim divine importance. Why should the northern emperor be any different?"
"I suppose that's true, but Chief..."
"He sees an advantage, that’s all. Dragon blood," Ash scoffs. "By all accounts, Princess Adelaide is gentle and delicate. I cannot imagine such a woman surviving life on the plains." He shakes his head. "What about the assassin?"
"No markings, no unique traits, no interesting possessions." Kaci sighs.
"Not many use suicide warriors," Usem observes.
Ash nods. "Did you get all the supplies we need?"
They did, and the five men make plans to head south in the morning.
---
I gently leap from the roof of the stable to the inn and delicately climb through a window into an unoccupied room. Rough laughter echoes through the wall from the next room, and I feel my face pouting at it.
After two weeks, being constantly alone adds a layer of boredom to my adventure that I do not care for. But making a friend would require trusting a stranger and spending time on them, and with them. I shake my head and pull a roll of parchment from a pocket hidden inside my tunic.
Using the moon for light, I unroll my stolen map. Uncle Ben's handwriting is both comforting and annoying to see.
From here to the southern forest, I have to pass through five fortified cities. They are part of three distinct kingdoms, so there will be a greater presence of guards at the borders. If I request passage and stay no more than a night in each, they should permit it. It is about a week's journey by horse or carriage, but on foot..
A commotion draws me to the window. Captain Romauld is suave in plain clothes, ordering two men to split up and keep searching with his beautiful voice. He walks towards the inn entrance.
I rub the smile out of my cheeks as his broad shoulders disappear. I can still remember when he was a dorky little boy, chasing after Adison and tripping over his own shoes. That, and the image of him carrying me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, telling me his loyalty is to my safety not my interests, kills any temptation of walking downstairs to meet him. My only advantage against him in a fair fight is that he would put most of his effort into not hurting me.
Tucking the map into my tunic, I count to ten and then climb out onto the roof. I miss the jump to the stable roof, but it doesn't matter since I land in hay. With the dim help of a single wall torch, I find Romauld's horse. I whisper to her as I open the door and lead her out. She knows me well enough to not complain, but I hear the inn door and know there's no time for a saddle.
"This will hurt me more than you," I reassure her, using the stall door to climb onto her back. "Go!"
She won't gallop out of the stable, but she does once we hit the open street. There are too many witnesses out, so though Romauld whistles once for his horse, he cannot yell for my capture. It's a shame I am moving too fast to see his beautiful annoyed face. Being an inconvenience in his life has been my main source of entertainment for the last three years.
I ride to the north gate and slide off the horse. "Good girl. Go back to our handsome captain, there's a good girl." She trots off after sniffing to see if I'm hiding treats from her. Romauld would have kept her saddled if he didn't plan to stay the night, so they will easily find each other.
I hope that I will not be so easy to find as I look for a way back onto the roofs. The buildings are stacked close together, so it should be possible to travel to the south gate without touching the ground. Then I can try to leave the empire with the first morning light, and with any luck Romauld will assume I am returning north.
----
"What was it?" Ash asks.
"A man came looking for a friend of his, and his horse got stolen. He doesn't seem upset, though. He's downstairs having dinner, and told his companion to wait outside for it." Kaci's eyes are lively with the untold.
"And?"
"Get this: remember the guy from earlier, who kicked that assassin? She’s the one they're looking for."
Ash chuckles, and then frowns. "Did they seem like assassins?"
"No. They were dressed like common tradesmen, but they sat like soldiers."
"Local?"
"Seemed to be."
"Interesting...There are not many compelling reasons for soldiers to disguise themselves on their own soil."
"Does it affect your plan?"
"It shouldn't. The woman is probably a wanted criminal." Though, what crime warranted the attention of both assassins and disguised guards, he could not have said.
-----
In a riverside teahouse, the atmosphere is lively and colorful, customers coming and going, waiters serving, dancers dancing, as one beautiful man sits on a central stage and plays a zither.
The tune is one of war, but the listeners seem not to notice its dramatic tension. They lift their glasses and cheer, chat about their lives, and generally enjoy a fine afternoon. Only one man hears it with a somber expression. When the song ends, the musician is replaced by another. The first moves to a private room.
The serious man follows, joining him at his table. "Have you played enough yet?"
The musician motions for the waiter to leave before replying. "General."
"It's my honor to be remembered."
The general's heavy sarcasm puts the young musician in good humor. "How could I forget you, Miska?" He gracefully produces a flute. "Shall I play you a tune of fancy or tragedy?"
"Play a traveling song." General Matthias is unamused. "And go home."
"Why, has something happened?" The musician sets the flute aside to pour tea for them both. His easy manner matches their surroundings.
The general looks at the decorative tea set with mild disgust. "Widespread unrest."
"Yes, but not in my empire." The musician sweeps his hair back, his cheeky smile unchanged in ten years. His eyes flash blue as he holds one cup across the table, his posture suddenly regal. "Cool, just for you."
General Matthias, for all his dislike of warm drinks, refuses to be charmed. "That's because the people think their dragon-blessed emperor will protect them, never dreaming he's off amusing himself in a teahouse a thousand miles away."
Kiurral sets the cup on the table to better gesture around the finely furnished room. "Do you like it? There are 32 dancers and 12 musicians employed here, as well as 20 waiters and 10 bodyguards. The thread in those tapestries is real gold." The tapestries hang on the walls of the main room, depicting scenes from legends and ancient myths of dragons and elves. The gold threads reflect the lights, making the whole room seem to glitter with a beautiful promise of something magical.
"It eases my heart to know that if the mountains should crash down upon us, you have these foreign businesses to support your expensive preferences. You will not suffer poverty or difficulty." The general picks up the tiny teacup and sighs deeply.
"This teahouse is not about money," the emperor holds a hand to his heart, aggrieved in expression if not fact. The teahouse is incredibly profitable. "It took five years to turn this into a place of respectability." Along the way, he also won several substantial bets against local nobles, which added generously to his private wealth. "Not only that, the dancers, musicians, and waiters are all decently trained fighters. This is the most protected place in all of the eastern kingdom, apart from the military garrison." He smiles with real pride. None of his own lords would wager on his truest motivation.
"Your safety is assured." The general holds out his cup for a refill.
"It's impressive," Kiurral tells him, filling the cup. "This place was full of crime, dirt and negative energy when I bought it."
"Do you seek congratulations?"
"I want admiration! I want praise! I spent a small fortune on this project, and now there are five such teahouses across the river cities." His eyes glitter as brightly as the gold in his treasure room.
"And not one spy." General Matthias is not a gambling man, but discernment would make him a skilled one.
"Well of course not, all the employees are locals. Who would they spy on, themselves? To report back to themselves? That would be ridiculous."
"Not more than you being the primary source of foreign intelligence in your own empire."
"It's ingenious, and you know it." Kiurral picks up his flute again, the action softening his features into a harmless musician once more. "If there's nothing else, I must return to work." He touches the flute to his lips.
"There are two things. The northern emperor and the chieftain of the plains’ tribes will meet to discuss an alliance this summer. And your ministers have unanimously voted in favor of your marriage being within the next 12-month." General Matthias sets a letter as thick as a book on the table. "Please give attention to the list of candidates."
The musician plays a mournful tune as a waiter enters to escort the general out.
