But he had. He was out the door and out of sight. “Leave the traitor.”
She hesitated, wondering whether she ought to stand her ground. But Annandale was sobbing now, and he’d returned to swaying like a grotesque rocking horse. His eyes were a watery red mess from lid to lid and they stared blankly upwards, as though no one were in the room with him. Her hand was shaking, half from what she’d heard and half from fury at Balack. Of the two, anger rose to the top and she stormed out after him.
Momentarily lost in the darkness of the hall, she didn’t see him. The door slammed shut and locks crunched as several keys turned.
“Come on,” Balack said. He picked the torch back off the sconce and his face became a dance of orange and black. Cassandra followed him, keeping her rage in check long enough for them to make it up to the black carpeted halls of the palace where she grabbed him roughly by the arm and yanked him to a stop. Balack gasped as she hauled him back, dropping her satchel and items to the floor, whereupon the inkwell shattered.
“What was that about,” she said, breathing hard
“He’s half mad, Cass.”
“He’s been penned down there like an animal for months. You’d go mad too.”
“Probably,” Balack said. “But I’m not planning to start a war in order to scrape back a little power.”
“It didn’t sound like that’s why he did it,” Cassandra said. “Weren’t you listening?”
“Yeh, and d’you know what I heard? I heard the man who is responsible for thousands of deaths – tens of thousands, as you said so yourself. All I heard was him looking for some sympathy.”
“He broke down thinking of his family.” She stepped away from Balack in disgust, looking at him in a new light. All the pomp and pampering made him look false now, a gloss that hid the man he’d been. “Why are you so ready to defend Arkus?”
Balack puffed his chest, opened his mouth, closed it. That minor hesitation sent her mind racing.
“What’s he promised you?”
He averted his eyes.
“Tell me.”
“Arkus has mentioned I could become the next Lord of the Boreac Mountains.”
Cassandra’s stomach entered a feeling of free fall. “He’s bribing you.” It was a statement, not a question.
“It makes sense,” Balack said fiercely. “All the mountain folk that Kasselle was sheltering in Val’tarra have been sent on their way. The people from the Golden Crescent at least had homes to return to, but not those from the Boreacs. They came here, desperate. I’m from the region, Arkus needs a new Lord and my standing is enough that it won’t seem bizarre. I’ll do a good job for them. I want to. This isn’t amoral. Arkus is our King, and he’s your damned father. Why are you so keen to find any story, however wild, however discreditable a source, to use a – I don’t know exactly – evidence against him in some wild vendetta.”
“Arkus is a murderer,” she whispered. He didn’t know the full story of what had happened with Boreac but she was certain he knew enough. Her words cut through Balack’s anger all the same.
He stared at her in disbelief. “Arkus has killed. So, what? Annandale has killed, even if indirectly. Boreac too. I’ve killed, Cass, and so have you.”
“That’s diff—”
“Why? Because it was self-defence? Because it was war? Annandale thought he was defending himself. Arkus was defending himself. It was war, Cass; people die. Every day they die. I know as well as anyone. I lost people back in the mountains, friends and loved ones – I’ve lost Grace and Cosmo and Ev—” He stopped mid flow, balling his hands into fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Darnuir too. I don’t know which one hurts more.”
“I think you’re getting wound up because you know I have a point.”
“I’m wound up because I’m worried you’re creating something out of nothing. There are bigger issues, more pressing ones. The dragon camps for a start; when was the last time you walked those mud fields?”
She shook with anger but couldn’t answer him. She’d only been once, and it had been harrowing enough.
“Arkus has me out there every week,” Balack went on. “They’re starving, they’re freezing. That’s the real problem. Whatever your issues with Arkus are, that’s for you to sort out. Don’t dump your shit on me, Princess.”
Cassandra had half a mind to punch him and rattle that perfect hair of his when a whistle cut across the hallway.
Gellick Esselmont was strolling towards them in full harness with a pistol at his side, despite the lateness of the hour. He grinned like a fat cat with a bowl of cream.
“What have we here? The Hero of the Bastion and Princess Cassandra out late at night? Perhaps a lover’s quarrel?”
“Hold your tongue Gellick or I’ll rip it out myself,” Cassandra said. Remnants of her feigned engagement to Balack still cropped up at the worst moments. The Chevalier raised his hands in mock surrender. “Haven’t you got something better to do?” she snarled.
“I am tasked with overseeing the movement of our equipment out of the Rotting Hill compound,” Gellick said. “The King has requested that I be there at his side,” he added pointedly to Balack.
Balack’s face had reddened. “Well, it is late, as you say. And I’m tired,” he added through gritted teeth. “Good night.”
Gellick didn’t bother to step aside for him. “Perhaps you should retire as well, Princess.”
Cassandra gave him a strained, twisted smile. She stepped delicately towards him, using every fibre of control to contain her fuming, seething mood. Her heart hammered, and blood pounded behind her eyes. She glared at Gellick, desperate to just hit him; oh, she wanted to hit something. His otherwise marble skin was marred by the broken nose that Arkus had given him; that was satisfying.
“One day,” she said, “I’m going to take that pistol and smash it across your smug face.”
Gellick sniffed lightly but didn’t rise to her threat. “Sleep well, Cassandra.”
He left her standing there, alone in the quiet and empty hallway.
Chapter 8
TIPPING POINT
“So long as humans have the west and dragons the east, I see no reason for further conflict. The world can be shared.”
— From Tiviar’s Histories
Lira – Harbour of Aurisha
DUSK SETTLED OVER the city. The world was still and the sky dimmed to a burnt orange as it met the ocean. At the waterfront, Lira drank in the beauty of the night, glad to be away from that arduous meeting.
“It’s nice to know not everything is so bleak,” Raymond said.
“We did our best,” she said. “They may yet come around.”
Raymond hung his head. “I failed.”
“It was always going to be difficult. Perhaps we shouldn’t have invited the fairies too; there were too many voices.”
“I shouldn’t have expected to do better,” Raymond continued, as though he had not heard her. “The officers of noble birth look down on me, while those of lesser station see only the gold and the privilege. The rest narrow their eyes seeing me serving dragons. I can’t help you to convince them, because they do not trust me. I don’t belong to any group.”
“You belong with us,” Lira said.
“You’re a dragon. This is where you belong. And you deserve better.”
He stared down into the sea as though he was contemplating descending into its darkest depths. Lira wanted to ask what he meant by such talk, but noticed Grigayne Imar breaking away from the milling crowds.
She nudged Raymond. “Grigayne is coming.”
At once Raymond rolled his shoulders back and stood tall. The Praetorians parted ranks, and the heir apparent to the Splintering Isles joined them. Grigayne’s red hair had grown wilder during his time in Aurisha, with the knot he used to secure it growing ever more elabor
ate.
“Don’t look so miserable,” Grigayne said to Raymond. “It could have gone far worse.” It always amazed Lira at how levelled and neutral his accent was compared to the other islanders.
Raymond inclined his head. “I must offer my thanks, Lord Imar. You at least behaved as a friend and spoke with decency.”
“I’m not the Lord of the Isles yet,” Grigayne said. “And there is no need to thank me. I could see the merit in your scheme, but I also understand why the others weren’t in favour. Something has to give though. This city is a boiling pot with the lid welded on.”
Lira wondered how much he knew. She glanced to Raymond and he met her gaze with an equally concerned expression.
“Lots of rumours down here in the Lower City,” Grigayne said. “I’d ask you which ones are true, if I thought you’d give honest answers.”
“We’re trying to diffuse things,” Lira said. “Not inflame them.”
“Understandable,” said Grigayne. “But perhaps a little more…” He searched for the word. “Conviction is required. Before things get out of hand.”
“What are you suggesting,” said Raymond.
“Look, I’m on your side. But this unrest is reaching even my people. I’ve ordered that the islanders be off the streets after dark but a few are still slipping away to listen to this jumped up Brevian inciting all sorts of things. Not the least of which involves stealing our long ships and sailing home.” Grigayne looked between them, searching for some sign of recognition. “You haven’t heard of this man?”
“No. We haven’t,” Lira said. The pounding returned behind her eyes. “Does he have a name?”
“My people are calling him The Preacher. His true name I am yet to discover.”
Preacher? Was it some assault on the Light Bearers? Lira’s pulsed quickened as thoughts of Blaine’s reaction beat through her mind.
“Why are you only coming to us with this now?” she asked.
“Because it only recently came to my attention as well,” Grigayne said. “I can’t say how long it’s been happening for. The Preacher might be the cause of these street fights for all I know.” He glanced behind to the dispersing mob of legates and officers. “Without Darnuir there are too many hands on the oar. Either we find a solution to this or I will withdraw my islanders for their own safety. I won’t have them being stirred up into foolish action and getting themselves killed.”
“No one is talking about violence,” Lira said.
“Small comfort to the man already dead,” Grigayne said. Lira couldn’t help but look alarmed. “So, it’s true,” Grigayne said sombrely.
“I hope we can count on your discretion,” Raymond said.
“You can, but any more human deaths and—”
“It was a dragon,” Lira said. “A dragon was killed. By humans.”
Grigayne’s sighed hard. “I’m not sure what to believe anymore. Look,” he dropped his voice, “My people who brought this Preacher to my attention are going to take me to him tonight. Why don’t you come too? See for yourselves.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Raymond said.
“We may have to,” Lira said.
Raymond ran a hand through his hair. “If you’re caught there—” But he stopped, the answer apparently too awful to say aloud.
Grigayne looked her up and down. “Change of clothes, a helmet, and no one will know.”
Lira knew she didn’t have a choice. She’d have to investigate the depths of this and frankly didn’t trust the Brevian officers to cooperate on the matter. At best they’d fear telling her of the true extent of the issue, at worst they’d actively cover it up.
“We’ll come with you.”
An hour later, Lira, Raymond, Damien, and some select Praetorians were still at the water’s edge, only now they were dressed as islanders. Hard-boiled leather over mail, round shields upon their backs, and axes rather than swords. Lira had also donned a simple bowl helmet with a nose guard to further hide her features. Night had fallen, which would further help with their disguises.
“This is… ill-fitting,” Raymond said
“I’m sure you’ll live without a tailored shirt for a few hours,” Grigayne said. Stepping back, he examined his work.
“It’s the lack of beards that could be a problem.” He scratched his own fuzzy cheeks thoughtfully. “I’ll bring some of my warriors along to help balance things out.”
“You’re being very helpful,” Lira said, a sense of suspicion rising in her.
Grigayne shrugged. “Despite Blaine’s blunderings, I owe your kind. Far more islanders would have died if Darnuir hadn’t landed at Dalridia to break the siege when he did. While he’s out, I figure you need all the help you can get. Besides, we’re all on the same side, are we not?”
Lira nodded. “We are. There is just one thing left to do. Harra, Camen, take our gear and return to the Royal Tower.”
“We should stay with you,” Camen said. “What if something goes wrong?”
Let’s hope not, Lira thought. “Grigayne will be with me. The Brevians aren’t going to attack us with the heir to the Splintering Isles among our number.”
“Damien isn’t even a Praetorian,” Camen protested. The outrunner had said little, looking more brooding than ever. He was disappointed in their failure to convince the humans about the peninsula scheme, and the boots made his feet ache worse than ever.
“It’s standard procedure to have an outrunner at all times,” Lira said.
Harra stepped up next, hands on hips. “If it comes to a fight, we’d be more useful.”
Raymond shuffled awkwardly; not agreeing, but not protesting either.
“He stays,” Lira said, sharper than she’d intended. “He’ll have insight into the humans.”
Harra raised an eyebrow. “More than you? More than Grigayne? I really think—”
“Harra, please,” Lira snapped. “I don’t want to bring more of you than I have to, and I’ve got enough on my mind. I’ve made my decision.” Deflated, Harra silently nodded in agreement. Lira felt worse for her brusqueness. “I’m sorry. I know you’re only telling me what you think is best; it’s no more than I tried to do with Darnuir. I’m just… under a lot of strain.” She looked to Raymond then, hoping to see a reassuring smile of thanks and support; he was smiling but weakly and a light flush coloured his cheeks.
“We know,” Harra said. “Come on then.” She whacked Camen on the arm and the pair of them returned to the dock buildings where they had changed.
“Let’s get moving,” Lira said.
Grigayne rounded up some of his men to flesh out their party, and they began their journey north, following the western cliff face of the plateau away from the harbour and towards the city gates. Grigayne led their company, while Lira, Raymond and Damien followed at the rear. There was a silence she found uncomfortable. She drifted to Raymond’s side and saw that he was more preoccupied with his feet than looking ahead to where they were going.
“Is everything alright?” she asked quietly.
He appeared to wake as though from sleep walking.
“Yes, of course.” He smiled more warmly this time, but Lira wasn’t fooled.
“What’s troubling you? You aren’t letting what Harra said bother you?”
“Not what Harra said. No.”
“Something I said?”
“Of course not,” he said, a bit hastily. He glanced over to Damien, perhaps checking whether the outrunner could hear him or not. “I’m finding it hard to express what I’m feeling,” he said in an undertone. “It might just be the fatigue. We’re all worn, you most of all. And that meeting – the legates may as well not have been there. How is it that all of them together cannot make decisions? It’s intolerable. Dragons seem like lost children without their king.” His cheeks turned scarlet this time. “Sorry. I di
dn’t mean to—”
“Don’t be,” Lira said. “You’re not wrong. It reminds me of back before Darnuir returned. Mother knew where many other dragons were; a network of sorts existed, ready to mobilise quickly, as they did when news of Darnuir spread. Yet none of them thought to take charge while he was gone. They look at what I’m trying to do now and are confused by it. My whole race shuts down like bees in winter if their king isn’t in perfect health.”
Raymond laughed, a low and throaty chuckle. She hadn’t been expecting that.
“I’m glad it seems as alien to you as it does to me.”
Lira shrugged. “A consequence of growing up among humans. Though I’d also call it common sense.”
Ahead, Grigayne took a right turn off the main thoroughfare and led them into a series of smaller alleyways running east along the northern base of the plateau.
“Your mother must be a sensible woman, to allow you to grow up without poisoning your mind against humans.”
“She’s tough,” Lira said. “It wasn’t easy for her as a dragon, but she managed. I think she took heart from seeing huntresses sticking up for themselves.”
“With any luck, she’ll be able to return from the west soon, along with all the dragons stuck outside of Brevia.”
“With more luck than I dare dream of.”
She could have used a hug from her mother right then.
Grigayne paused at a seven-way crossroads in the narrowing streets and consulted with his guides. They were entering deep into the Lower City’s most crammed and labyrinthine streets. Despite the late hour, many humans were still milling about. Perhaps boredom due to a lack of activity had made sleep elusive. Was this Preacher turning their restlessness into action?
“The Preacher doesn’t use the same spot every night,” Grigayne said. “But if we’re right on tonight’s location we should be getting close – ah, in fact, I might be hearing it now.”
Lira heard it too, a guttural cheering and laughing. After a final turning, they discovered a wider street which cut between two tall and teetering housing blocks. Here, the wooden frames towered to six storeys, with a great mass of soldiers gathered between them. The crowd stretched right down to meet the base of the eastern segment of the city’s wall.
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