Doravan turned to Amalla.
“This is a perfect opportunity,” he said. “Let us give them the gold and help them fight the Hoarder.”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Shen’al tossed his head, likely towards The Ganton. “You saw what the Hoarder did last night. I wasn’t even there, and I know better than to challenge him.”
“But we have a whole army behind us. The largest army on our continent right now,” Doravan said.
The tightening of bow strings caught their attention. Doravan, Amalla, and the dragon all looked up to see arrows pointed at them from the battlement.
“Get that gold out of here,” one of the soldiers said. “It will draw the Hoarder to us faster.”
“I demand to speak to your king!” Amalla yelled. “My brother Eremis, king of Mengor, has been killed by the Hoarder! We require supplies before we return to our home!”
The soldier tightened his bow. “I will command my men to fire!”
“Take us to your king!”
Doravan grabbed her arm. “Don’t stand against arrows. It might look brave, but it will just get you killed. Let’s go find someone else to take us in.”
Amalla did not move, but no one fired. Doravan looked back up at the battlement; an enormous man in a black tunic, only distinguishable as the king by the simple silver circlet on his head, spoke quietly with the lead soldier. The soldier nodded and ordered his men to lower their bows.
“Princess of Mengor, the king has invited you in!” The soldier beckoned them forward, and the iron gates of the castle swung outwards with a long, deafening creak.
Amalla marched right inside, and Shen’al followed. Somehow the sacs of gold he had been given at the beginning of the journey were still intact.
Doravan groaned quietly, but snuck in behind the princess before the iron gates slammed shut. The Hoarder was close, and Shyyda obviously didn’t want them here; he just wanted to find an inn, drop the gold in The Ganton somewhere, and return to Mengor.
He followed Amalla and Shen’al through the gate and into a massive courtyard, also carved from red granite. There was no decor, only stone and iron. In other circumstances, he might have found the sight breathtaking, but now it just looked like a prison.
A prison his own friends had marched him into.
The king of Shyyda met them at the door to the castle proper. His skin was black as obsidian, like the nobles of old that first tamed and made deals with dragons. They bowed. Doravan eyed the great silver crown on the king’s head, laden with massive rubies. That alone could draw the Hoarder to Shyyda instead of Mengor; it looked like it was worth more than every coin Doravan had seen in his life combined.
“You have ill timing, friends.” He gestured into the castle, and they entered ahead of him. Unlike in Mengor, there were no golden sconces or carpets. Everything was made of stone. “Most of our guests are believed to have been killed in The Ganton yesterday. We have not had reports from many of them.” The king got ahead of them and led them into a massive, austere banquet hall, where a metal block ran from one end of the hall to the other.
“I suppose that was meant to be your banquet table,” Doravan said.
“You are the only ones that refused to turn back when our soldiers denied passage. For that, we are grateful.” The king bowed to Shen’al. “And you have brought your dragon companion.”
Doravan hesitated. “Yes. He … is my companion, sire.”
Shen’al beamed at him, but Doravan’s stomach knotted. Now that he had said it out loud, he didn’t have anything to hold over Shen’al’s head if the dragon decided to make someone else his mage … or stick to his word and never make a mage of anyone.
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“Do not feel required to use titles, only Shyyda,” the king said. “We are named for our country when we accept the crown, and we are forbidden to refer to ourselves as one individual, for we are the whole kingdom.” The king led them to a black marble bench, carved in the shape of a dragon, and he sat down. “Join us tonight. There is much to discuss.”
“Do we have time to wait until tonight?” Amalla approached the throne. “As you have noted, The Ganton was completely destroyed. We crossed it yesterday. My soldier, his dragon, and I are the only survivors. Shyyda may not survive if we do not speak now.”
Shyyda waved her off. “What good will a mighty dragon do in combat if he is not allowed to rest? For today, our castle is made of stone. The Hoarder has not attacked our coffers because he cannot break our walls without tremendous effort and time. Take the hours that we have now before there are none left. The servants will show you to the suites we prepared for Mengor.”
The king snapped his fingers, and servants seemed to melt out of the stone. They bowed their heads, and then split into four groups. Some relieved Shen’al of his treasure and presented it to Shyyda.
“To their suites,” he said. “If they still wish to present it on behalf of their late king, they will do so later.”
The servants led them, wordlessly, out of the banquet hall and through a maze of corridors. Doravan almost got dizzy with how identical each passage looked. How did they keep them all straight?
Shen’al split off from Doravan and Amalla early on, and some servants led him towards a great iron door. Doravan kept his gaze on the door until it opened, noting that Shen’al was led outside. If any emergencies or disputes came up, he could get out of the castle and use Shen’al to escape.
The servants brought Doravan and Amalla down a winding flight of stairs to a set of grand, golden double doors. Doravan noted that they were the only doors not made of iron that he had seen so far. They opened the doors, revealing an elegant suite decorated in the crimson and silver of Mengor.
Doravan’s jaw dropped. “Do you think they made these just for the Conqueror’s Feast?”
Amalla nodded. She seemed rendered speechless as well.
The doors shut behind them. Doravan immediately collapsed on a fluffy couch, and Amalla began exploring the suite. She poked her head into more sets of doors within the space.
“This suite goes on forever,” she called. “There must be at least twenty bedrooms here.”
“We did have quite the entourage.” Doravan grew somber, thinking of all the nobles and soldiers that Ka’ran’ere’geth had killed. He went into the right door, opposite of where Amalla had gone, and lowered his meager provisions on the bed. Hopefully he could stock up before they returned home.
Assuming they had a home to return to.
Amalla knocked and entered. She sat down on one of the chairs in the vast bedroom.
“My brother is dead, isn’t he?”
Doravan looked at the floor. He didn’t have anything helpful to say. Everything he wanted to say was about how Mengor and Amalla were both better off without him. And as much as they both knew Eremis had been a fop, he was still her only sibling, and the only family she had left.
Amalla buried her face in her hands. “What if he ran away? What if he’s starving to death right now? Maybe he’s not dead.”
Doravan walked to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, trying to be hopeful.
“I don’t know if your brother survived. But if he did, what should we be doing now? He doesn’t know directions. He might be halfway to the ocean by now. Or he might have stayed put waiting for us until the Hoarder got him.”
Amalla moaned and curled up on the seat.
“I’m sorry,” Doravan tried. “I didn’t mean to make you feel worse.” If he were able to lie to her, he would have known what to say.
She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can feel better.” She stood. “It was foolish of me to try and ask for help.”
With nothing else to do and fearing she would run out of the room and cry, Doravan grabbed her and squeezed her close. She sobbed in his arms, and he just held her there while she let it all out.
“I’m not ready to rule,” she whispered finally.
He held her tighter. “You are ready, Amalla.” You have to be now.
The gilded door to the suite creaked open, and he let the princess go. She sniffled and wiped her eyes, then nodded politely to the servant who entered.
“The Hoarder has been sighted. The king of Shyyda requests your presence.”
