“I think Magick doesn’t make mistakes.” Akadian glanced at Ambrose with a thoughtful expression.
Could she be a mistake? Magnus seemed to think she had more potential now, training her in anything he could think of. It seemed like she’d gotten stronger but what if she wasn’t supposed to get this much? What if the more she used her magick, the closer she was to her own blackout and she didn’t even know it?
Casimir certainly seemed to know something and was watching her. Was that why he’d taken such an interest in her? Why else would he get so invested in nothing more than a guard killer? Her crime was one of the highest, but it was hardly worth the attention of a First King. And why had no one mentioned the garden she was found in aside from Casimir at her trial? He’d brought it up, so it had to be important or why ask for her confession? Her official charge was guard killer, but she knew that wasn’t her biggest crime, or what Casimir found interesting about her the most.
Danthan tore her from her thoughts as he squeezed her shoulder. “I think there’s no way we’re going to figure it out tonight. We’re all exhausted, and you’re doing a great job keeping the storm at bay so however you’re doing it, I’m grateful.” He nudged her with his shoulder and gave her a dimpledsmile. “Let’s save the mystery for another day.”
They ate their fill on the last of the bread and meat, adding honey to both for a feast, as tomorrow they’d be in Cidaer and have plenty of opportunity to restock. So tonight, they shared food and stories. Oryon and Danthan took turns telling tales of the various fights they’d been in, doing their best to outdo one another, while Eurus rolled his eyes at what he deemed a ridiculous display.
Felius told tales of his home in Sepikara where they mined for the precious gems and metals that supplied the kingdoms with the funds they needed as well as ore that’s used to forge their magickal steel. Podara silently listened with the occasional complaint that they didn’t grab any wine in the last village. She acted as though she didn’t care but she clearly enjoyed the stories as much as the rest of them. Akadian didn’t say another word but to excuse himself to his tent for the night.
Coward.
The six of them stayed up until late into the night when it could almost be considered morning, and Ambrose found herself wishing they could do this all the time. She enjoyed their laughs and tales from foreign lands and the people in them that she’d never meet. They were all so different in birth yet they spoke with each other as though they’d known one another for years. She was going to miss these nights around the fire. She’d learned that Felius was a master in magickal weaponry, having made his own axe as his very first weapon at just ten years old. Danthan had been born in Nazuria, but lived most of his life in the palace to prepare himself to govern one day—which he worked tirelessly to be worthy for, all in hopes of pleasing his father. Oryon and Eurus had been picked up by Akadian when they were just juveniles pickpocketing crowns for food from unsuspecting travelers. They’d been training to become knights ever since, quick with a draw and sharp with their wit. Podara never spoke of her home, but she cared for her daggers like they were her children and Ambrose knew there was a story there waiting to be told as Podara silently listened to their stories with a hint of a sad smile tugging at her lips.
The clouds finally cleared and the rain stopped pattering against herbarrier, their fire reduced to nothing but embers and a whisper of smoke. Ambrose released her hold on her wall and exhaustion came crashing down with it. Every muscle in her body ached and she knew it would only be worse when she woke in the morning. She excused herself from the circle that had quickly become the resting place for most of the party and deemed she had enough energy to carry herself to bed. Oryon and Danthan preferred the warmth of the coals to cramming themselves in together, and Podara announced watch while the rest of them slept. Felius joined Ambrose in finding a suitable tent to lay his head. The sun would be up in only a few hours and they needed to rest.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Akadian whispered as she passed his tent, eager to get to her own and rest her head.
Has he been awake this whole time?She paused.
Ambrose wondered if she should bother responding to him at all. She thought for a long moment before she simply said, “You always have a choice.”
Chapter 21
Ambrose wasn’t sure what to expect when they reached Cidaer, but the barred gate and fortified town walls that rose high above their heads weren’t it. Two guard keeps towered above the walls and trees, one to the east and one to the west, housing guards in each who eyed anyone that approached. Travelers from all over were arriving and formed a line as they waited for their turn to enter the town. Two of the Imperial Guard stood at attention, one on either side of the entrance as beings filed in one at a time.
“Stay alert,” Felius warned, his broad, stocky shoulders tense.
It took a moment to see the draconians that lined the inner walls of the city. So dense, it was difficult to see the wall through their scaled bodies as they watched the crowd through yellow eyes. Their presence only seemed to slightly disturb the people of the town, though, the number of them highly disturbed Ambrose. Not even the palace had this many.
She took comfort in the fact that while life in the village continued on with only some sideways glances at the draconians, Felius was just as unsettled as she was. His eyes darting from each half-dragon while his dominant hand flexed on the handle of his battle axe. There had to be a story there and she couldn’t help wondering what it was. Everyday citizens, as far as she knew, had nothing to worry about from the draconians. They were lap dogs of the kingdoms and yet, seeing this many congregated at post, was highly unusual.
As they passed through the gates and could get a good look at the town and its people, it became quickly apparent that Felius and Ambrose weren’tthe only ones on edge. Townspeople shuffled through the streets, eyes turned down without speaking much to each other. Shops had very little people in them and some were even boarded up as though someone had left in a rush. Broken pieces of pottery and glass littered the street as people mindlessly stomped them into smaller pieces.
“What happened here?” Podara asked as a crimson-cloaked figure brushed past her.
Ambrose stepped into the crowd that moved around her like mindless animals being herded along. “I don’t know.”
Maybe this was normal. She’d never been outside the Capital, not really. Maybe this was what the larger towns and cities in the kingdom were like. She wondered, but she didn’t believe it.
Sounds of a commotion came from the center of the courtyard and the crowd hurried towards the noise to see what was going on. Ambrose pushed her way through, her own curiosity getting the better of her.
“Raia!” A boy who couldn’t have been older than sixteen—still just a juvenile—was being restrained by two crimson-cloaked men as he kicked and thrashed against them.
In the center of the courtyard, another robed figure stood on a raised platform over a bound girl with red hair. Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the crowd, pleading for help. Draconians stepped forward, encasing them as the townspeople watched the display in horror.
The robed figure raised a hand, tattoos wound their way from the back of it, up his arm, and into his sleeve. “Ladies and gentlemen. Citizens of Eltoria. Before you is a criminal of the worst breed…”
The robed mage stepped aside as more crimson-cloaked figures climbed onto the platform and stacked a large wooden post standing upright onto it. They started to place dried grass and straw around the base in a large pile as a pit sank into the depths of Ambrose, her heart racing. She looked around at each terrified face as they watched in stone silence. She turned to Akadian and the rest of her party who shared either her confusion or fear.
“Raia Greymouth, third of her name, citizen of Eltoria, turned sixteentoday.” The mage glared down at her with disgust. “And she has failed to receive her calling.”
People in the crowd shifted uncomfortably, one woman even sobbed hysterically, but no one moved otherwise.
Was this a trial? Where was the Magistrate? Who were these men and why wasn’t this trial being overseen by the Enforcers? Servants lined the edges of the stage, heads bowed, wrists and ankles cuffed.
The figure continued, his pale face and tattooed forehead shining against the red contrast of his hood. “For this crime…”—Wait, since when is being an Unclassified a crime?—“Is death.”
