by Effie Calvin
“It’s all right,” said Esofi. “It’s… Can I ask how he died?”
Adale looked a little surprised. “You haven’t heard?”
“I’ve been told a few versions of the story,” said Esofi. “But I’d like to hear it from someone who was there.”
For a moment, Esofi thought she would refuse to answer the question, but Adale spoke at last.
“We were…it was on father’s estate at Eandra. We were riding. It was only the two of us… We’d never encountered anything dangerous before.” Adale looked down at her hands. “The estate is vast. We go there—we went there every summer since we were old enough to ride and explore the grounds. Every year, we discovered something new. And that year…that year, it was the ravine.”
Adale risked a glance back up at Esofi, as if expecting… Esofi wasn’t certain what. But whatever Adale saw in her face, it was enough to make her continue.
“It was a stupid way for a prince to die,” said Adale. “It was a stupid way for anyone to die. I wish I could say I told him not to do it, but I didn’t. He had a mare, Wildflower. She was killed with him.”
“I am sorry,” said Esofi.
“About the horse?” Adale managed a weak smile.
“I’m sure she was a fine horse,” Esofi replied seriously.
Rapid footsteps approached, and one of Adale’s ladies appeared on the balcony.
“Adale! There you are!” cried the lady. “I’m so bored! Let’s get out of here.”
Esofi looked at the Ieflarian woman in surprise.
“Esofi, this is Lady Brigit,” explained Adale. “Brigit—”
“We’re all waiting on you, Adale,” Brigit proclaimed. “Come on, let’s go find a real party.”
“What?” asked Esofi, finding her voice at last.
“We’re going to sneak out and celebrate properly,” explained Brigit. “You could come, if you want, except I suppose you don’t want, so—”
“You’re going to leave?” Esofi asked.
“Believe me, nobody will even notice,” said Adale. “Especially with Svana and Brandt showing off.”
“Still,” began Esofi, but Brigit groaned as though she’d been stabbed.
“There’s nothing to do. There’s no proper music. I’m going to die of boredom, and it will be on your soul, Adale.”
“All right!” snapped Adale. “Gods. Give me an hour.”
“You’re leaving?” asked Esofi, genuinely disappointed despite the small blasphemy.
“Oh! Brigit’s right,” said Adale. “You could come along. You might like it. You’ve never seen the city—not really, I mean. I’m sure the best parties are down by the river…”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not going to agree,” said Brigit in a voice that reminded Esofi of her sisters back home, and perhaps that was why Esofi suddenly rose to her feet.
“Of course I’ll come,” she said.
SOMEONE MANAGED TO find Esofi an Ieflarian dress that fit well enough. The foreign style was strange on her body, though not uncomfortably so. The dress was in the usual Ieflarian fashion—simple with a short fitted bodice and a long, loose skirt that fell from immediately below the underbust. There were none of the voluminous petticoats that Esofi had become so accustomed to, and she felt oddly naked without them. Still, she thought the style was not without its merits. Movement was free and natural, and it would probably be comfortable during the summer months.
This particular dress looked not unlike the ones worn by the common Birsgener women she had seen. It was pale gray with a white scallop pattern bordering the hem and bodice and a mauve-colored sash around the waist. Someone else found her a short overcoat with long sleeves to wear over it, as the night air was rapidly becoming colder.
Brigit and the other ladies unpinned Esofi’s carefully styled hair and rubbed off the majority of her makeup. Finally, after draping a scarf over her head, they declared she was ready.
Esofi owned nightgowns more elaborate than the dress she was wearing now, but at least she would not stand out. Still, she had to fight down feelings of unease as they slipped out of the castle, even at the heart of Adale’s group of friends and with the crown princess just beside her, their hands occasionally brushing.
Apparently, there was no shortage of parties to attend that night. The streets were packed with joyous people, laughing and drinking and singing. Someone actually stumbled into Esofi, laughed, and patted her cheek before staggering off again.
“We haven’t had a proper sign from the gods in ages,” explained Lethea. “They’re going to be celebrating for days!”
“Oh,” said Esofi. She supposed it was preferable to mass hysteria.
The group made their way through the more expensive districts, passing by stone buildings and large, beautifully constructed homes guarded by fences of iron. As they moved through the streets, Esofi noticed that the homes gradually became smaller and less impressive, made of wood rather than stone. The streets were uneven, some dirt rather than paved with stone, and it seemed these areas employed nobody to sweep the streets. In contrast, the celebrating was more boisterous there. Esofi quietly hoped that they were only passing through, but when someone pointed out a tavern, they went inside.
The tavern was warm, uncomfortably so, but Esofi didn’t take off her coat. She allowed herself to be pushed onto a long bench at a low table. One of Adale’s ladies yelled to the bartenders—she had to yell, considering how loud the music was—and heavy metal tankards were placed in front of them, filled with something frothy.
Esofi glanced around, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to her. She leaned forward a little and decided that the drink had a distinctly unpleasant scent. It wasn’t as if she’d never consumed ale before, though it was admittedly rare that she didn’t have wine or juice or even water purified by priestesses of Merla or priests of Eyvindr. She was certain she’d never had ale of this…caliber…before.
She took a bit of foam on the tip of her finger and contemplated it. Not too far away, some of the other patrons of the tavern were bellowing out the words to a song that had a lovely tune but shocking lyrics. People were even dancing, or at least trying to. Esofi watched, oddly entranced by it all. It took her a moment to realize Brigit had been chattering in her ear the entire time.
“—glad we came here instead of staying in that stuffy ballroom?” she was saying. “This is the real Ieflaria, you know. If you want to know what the people really—”
“Brigit,” interrupted Adale from Esofi’s other side. “I think that man over there wants to dance with you.”
Brigit sprang to her feet and hurried toward the man Adale had indicated on the other side of the room. But before Adale could say anything else, another woman took Brigit’s place at the bench. Like many of the revelers, her face had been painted with silver stars.
“I love your hair!” the woman shouted, pushing Esofi’s scarf aside and putting her hands over Esofi’s head. “You did it to look like the princess, didn’t you? It’s perfect!”
“Um,” said Esofi, finding herself suddenly paralyzed.
“Did you have it done just today? I’m going to do the same tomorrow!” The woman released Esofi’s head and grabbed at her own ebony tresses instead. “Oh I can’t wait! You’ve even got the color right. Who did you get to do that? Was it the alchemists?”
“Ah,” said Esofi. “Yes?”
“I’d love to have one of those big Rhodian dresses, too,” rambled the woman. “Don’t laugh! I mean it! I know they’re silly, but I’ve already seen seamstresses trying to copy the style. You could make three dresses with the amount of fabric that goes into them! But I don’t mind.” The woman fell silent, musing. “Though I’m not sure how they get any work done without knocking everything over.”
“Nobody works in Rhodia!” shouted Daphene happily, leaning over the table so that she could be part of things. “They just do everything by magic!”
Esofi opened her mouth to object, only
to remember that she was supposed to be a native Ieflarian—though only a blind man or the staggeringly intoxicated would actually believe that. Fortunately, there was an abundance of the latter tonight. She fell silent and simply listened to the joyful shouting that floated around her head.
Beside her, Adale very gently put her own hand over Esofi’s.
A strange noise filled the air, like a single enormous horn being blown by some herald of the gods. Esofi glanced around, expecting to see someone with a ridiculously oversized musical instrument looking very pleased with themselves.
Instead, what she saw was a room filled with frozen faces. The tavern had gone utterly silent, all the joy and liveliness evaporating like water spilled on a hot road.
“What was that?” Esofi asked.
“The sirens,” whispered Lethea.
Adale ran to the door, and Esofi followed her. Just as they reached it, a few terrified people from the street darted inside the tavern. Adale looked upward, scanning the sapphire skyline.
“Do you see—?” began Esofi, just as the sound of leathery wingbeats filled the air. She caught a glimpse of something large and airborne circling the skies before Adale shrieked and slammed the door shut, pressing her body against it like she could possibly hope to hold it shut if the dragon came knocking.
“IolarTalciaPemeleAdranusEyvindrMerlaInthiDayluueReygmadraEran!” she cried, naming every major deity on the continent in a single breath. Her face had gone milk white.
“What are we going to do?” screamed Brigit.
“Esofi can kill it!” said Lethea. “She’s killed lots of dragons! Haven’t you? That’s what you said to Theodoar!”
“I—” Esofi looked at Adale helplessly, aware that all eyes were now on her. “Yes, but—but—”
“You don’t have to do it!” cried Adale. “The battlemages are right here in the city. They’ll get here soon enough! You’re not even wearing any armor!”
“Armor?” repeated Esofi blankly.
“And if it burns down the whole street in the meantime?” shouted Brigit. “Or maybe even the whole district?”
Esofi’s stomach felt as though it had turned to ice, and was slowly crystalizing outward to her limbs. “I’ve never fought one alone.” But even as she said the words, she knew it wasn’t an adequate excuse. There was no adequate excuse, and never would be, because she was going to be the queen of Ieflaria and now she had a responsibility to the city.
All the patrons of the tavern were staring at her.
“I need to get closer,” said Esofi. “How can I get onto the wall?”
“There’s guard towers every quarter mile,” said Brigit.
Esofi reached around the back of her neck and unclasped the necklace she’d been wearing. She removed her earrings next, and then her bracelets, letting them fall to the wooden slats of the tavern’s floor. Instinctively, she touched her bodice for any gems that might have been woven into the fabric of her dress, but fortunately this one was plain. Once she was clean of anything that might entice the dragon to tear her limbs off, she went to the door. Adale was still pressed up against it, horror etched in her face.
“I-I’ll come with you,” declared the crown princess. “Just let me find a sword.”
“No,” said Esofi. “You would only get in my way.”
“Either we’re both going or neither of us are,” said Adale, but Esofi just shook her head.
“Your parents can’t lose you too,” she said.
The streets were eerily empty, with only the remains of hastily dropped celebration to prove that the entire population of Birsgen hadn’t been wiped out by some plague months ago. The puddles of spilled ale seeped into the hem of her skirt, but she ignored that as she tried to spot the nearest guard tower. Fortunately, they were tall enough that she could see one easily, and the fact that she didn’t have the faintest idea of how to navigate the city didn’t put her at too much of a disadvantage. As she hurried through the streets, she occasionally caught a glimpse of something small and black hovering just outside her field of vision.
When she finally reached the closest tower, she pulled the heavy wooden door open. There were no guards inside, though the roaring fire and half-eaten meals on the table suggested there had been until very recently. Suddenly thankful for her light Ieflarian dress, Esofi charged up three flights of stairs until she felt the cool night air on her face again.
Gasping heavily, Esofi looked out over the city. In the distance, farther along the wall, she could see the city guards readying a cannon. The dragon swept past them, the gusts of wind from its wingbeats powerful enough to knock the archers’ arrows from midair.
Esofi called her magic to her hands, and it came more readily than it had at any point since they’d crossed the border into Ieflaria. Meanwhile, the dragon flared its neck in the way that all dragons did before they flamed. Esofi gritted her teeth and flung her arm out, letting the magic fly like an arrow loosed from a bow. The bolt of light only narrowly avoided hitting the dragon, but it got the creature’s attention nevertheless. A massive head swung around to stare in her direction, enormous eyes glittering in the torchlight.
Esofi called more magic up as the dragon launched itself back into the air. She let it flow over her skin, forming a barrier that would protect her from flames and brute-force damage. The dragon was upon her in a moment, and its heavy claws smashed through the stone wall as it landed.
Somehow, Esofi managed to remain on her feet, despite the force of the impact. She forged herself a pair of blades, one for each hand, and lunged for it. The dragon clearly hadn’t been expecting to be charged by a creature so tiny, its chest open and undefended. Esofi could practically see the massive heart beating beneath layers of black scales and coiled muscle, and that was where she aimed her blades.
She felt and heard the roar in equal measure and knew she had succeeded. Wasting no time, Esofi turned to run, but she felt something hard and cold snag the nape of her dress. It was one of the dragon’s long, curved claws.
I wonder who they’ll be sending from home to replace me.
After a moment of resistance, the fabric of the dress tore, sending Esofi sprawling. Her outstretched hands hit the stone, sending pain through her arms up to her shoulders. She lashed out blindly, her magic flailing like a whip, and spun to face the dragon, expecting it to attack—but it did not.
Instead, the dragon gazed at her for a long moment, as if appraising her. Esofi knew she had no excuse for not attacking, but there was something compelling about the way it stared.
It was not the closest she’d ever been to a dragon, but it was the first time she’d been able to truly examine one while it was still alive—though she wasn’t sure how much longer it would remain that way. Blood was dripping from the center of its chest, but it continued to simply stare at her.
“Well,” said Esofi, unnerved. “Have I got something on my face?”
“Dro vaq Sibari na?” rumbled the dragon.
Esofi’s mouth fell open. Those had been words—genuine words! And she knew their meaning, more or less. It was the major language of Siabaeld, the continent north of the Silver Isles, where the dragons dwelt.
And this one could speak.
“Evva—evva vai Sibari,” said Esofi haltingly. Compared to her mastery of the languages of Thiyra and Ioshora, she had only a rudimentary grasp on it and doubted she’d be able to say anything of worth.
“I did not wish to die,” said the dragon. It looked down at the wound Esofi had inflicted. “I am not ready to see Dia Astera.”
Esofi had so many questions, but not enough words. “Then…why?” she asked, hoping he understood her meaning.
“Orders,” said the dragon.
“Who orders?”
“Rvadron.”
Esofi shook her head blankly at the unfamiliar word.
“Mother has warned us, but he will not listen,” continued the dragon mournfully. “I hope that when he arrives, you pay him the same favor.�
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“Why do you only speak to me now?” asked Esofi.
“You wear Mother’s marks,” said the dragon. “There, on your back.”
“Oh,” said Esofi, wondering how in the world she could have forgotten. The phases of the moon, ornately decorated and stylized, had been tattooed down her spine in sapphire ink. She had received them as part of her full initiation into the Silence of the Moon. With her dress torn as it was, the marks were now visible. “Wait! I will call a healer!”
“I will not betray my Rvadron, even if I could,” said the dragon. “A quick death at your hands is preferable to what he will do if…” The immense body suddenly shuddered. The blood was coming more quickly now, streaming across the stones. The dragon lowered its head to rest against the ruined wall.
“I am sorry,” whispered Esofi. “I’m so sorry.”
“You could not know what was never spoken,” said the dragon. Its eyes—his eyes—were growing dull. “Perhaps Dia Astera will be an improvement. I leave this in your hands.”
By the time the guards arrived in a cacophony of iron and shouting, he was already dead.
Esofi was aware they were asking her questions but could do no more than stare blankly. Someone finally grabbed her by the wrists—Captain Lehmann.
“Princess, are you injured?” he demanded. “Can you hear me?”
Esofi shook her head. Then she nodded.
“All right, that’s enough,” snapped a familiar voice. Esofi turned, as Lisette emerged from the shadow of the tower. She was dressed in hooded leather armor. “The princess needs to return to the castle.”
Captain Lehmann released her arms, and Esofi went to Lisette.