“His possessions were raided by his kidnappers. I understand how ludicrous this all sounds. Trust me, I do. I have grown up hearing this story, and if I’m honest, I’m pretty sick of it. All I can offer you are stories he told me growing up and hope that from there, you get nuggets of information that might be useful.” He taps his hands on the table. “I put it on my great-grandfather’s life, on the legend being true. The Ivian Flower is real.”
Setting my pen down, I lean away from the table and eye Rolley before giving him a grin. “Betting the odds on an immortal man? I’m not too sure that counts. But while I don’t have enough evidence to prove you’re lying, I also don’t have enough to prove you’re not. My father may have ordered you here, but like all the people in my crew, you will earn your keep. Get better acquainted with Benny and Deean. You will workclosely with them.” Deean shoots me a sly side eye. “If you find anything, remember helpful accounts from your childhood, or have any concerns, you are to run them by Deean.”
“In Haymel, we shall query about your great-grandfather. From there, Deean will be the one to decide if you continue on with us or return with Marcel back to Saden. After all, we don’t really need you to continue on to Farella.” Rolley cranes his neck to the right and then to the left, releasing a pop with each movement. His lips thin out and his nose twitches slightly. “Is that a problem?”
“No, Your Highness. I have no doubt that together we shall find the flower. Whatever help I can conjure up, I’m willing to give you freely.”
The scent of roast and potatoes enters the rooms, along with a few more bodies. Out of fear of being heard, we end our conversation and join the others in our party for supper.
15
ARIAH
The road from Foxhead to the castle is an easy one and doesn’t cause an ounce of trouble. The Queen must have ensured it this way so she could travel across Haymel comfortably. Hell, if I had her power and financial resources, I would do the same.
Accompanying me on the trip are Yanz, the driver, and Haya, one of the Queen’s ladies. Yanz is a quiet man who is clearly only here to do as he’s instructed. Every attempt I make at starting a conversation with him is shut down, and he walks away without a care for any of my questions. Haya, on the other hand, is a chattering beast and gossips nonstop. My mind tries to keep up with all the names she throws at me, while the information isn’t useful now it may prove to be so once I’m at court.
When Haya isn’t talking, sometimes even when she is, my focus sinks into the newness outside the carriage windows. For the first time, I get to witness scenery beyond my village.
All of nature’s colors bleed with a new vibrancy. Forests hold glorious canopies, each with pockets of iridescent light, and I’mcertain magic runs through the streams. The water is far too turquoise and refreshing for it to be ordinary.
The number of times the thought of running off to find out exactly how far the mountains in the distance are, or to know the feeling of a sea breeze coating my being, are alluring dreams I’ve had many times. But the deal I made with the Queen is set, and she doesn’t seem like the type to care about my desires, so running away seems like a death sentence.
On the second day of traveling, Haya is in the middle of telling a story about her sister who is ill, when the road beneath us changes. It goes from smooth dirt to bumpy terrain, as if rolling over an unending number of cracks. Looking out the window I realize the forest disappears, and we are now traveling through busy city streets.
Growing up, I thought the council building was the largest building in Haymel, but the castle perched on the hill up ahead is nearly ten times its size. No singular person should be allowed to own something of such unnecessary stature.
“Gorgeous, ain’t it?” Haya stops her story when she catches me suddenly hypnotized by what we’re casually passing through. “Wait until you see the inside.”
Lush reds and oranges cover the city, accenting the white castle.
Once we stop, Haya leads me inside where I discover she isn’t exaggerating. The outside is nothing compared to the grandness of the interior. She takes me through several corridors before showing me into a room with tall, wide windows.
“You can wait here, in the study. I’ll go see what the Queen would like to do with ya.”
She leaves through one door as another door to the right of me opens, and three people make their way in.
“Who the hell are you?” asks one who wears a venomous-red lipstick and pearls in her long, voluminous curls.
She circles the room of the study, holding on to the sight of her prey, and I don’t dare look away. She moves in a manner that sways her hips, drawing attention to her shapely frame; and if that hadn’t captured my gaze, her use of bright colors that complement perfectly brown skin surely would’ve. Confidence seeps out in the way she moves, the way she speaks, even in what she wears.
“Play nice, Vera.” A man wanders to the desk, cracking open a book, never giving me the time of day. Occasionally, I catch his lake-blue eyes glancing up at Vera, landing on her chest or hips, but he never stares for too long.
“Did you know about this, Skyleen?” Vera folds her arms over her chest. The man, who I assume is Skyleen, gives her a simple shake of his head. Vera’s attention then turns to the woman, off to the right side of the room. “Did you, Chana?”
Chana leans against a wall playing with a string between her hands and intertwining it between all her fingers. She wears mostly black, her deep purple lipstick almost just as dark. Her skin is swarthy and rich, and I assume she isn’t originally from Haymel. A fringe swoops over her forehead and her hair is chopped right below the ears, barely grazing her shoulders. I catch sight of a dagger in her boot and when she follows my gaze, all she gives me in return is a smirk.
“She’s the newest recruit,” Chana finally gives Vera a reply. “The fifth Fox.”
“She’s no Fox,” Vera spits, seemingly disgusted by the thought of new blood in her precious group.
Chana also said fifth, given there are currently four of us in this room, I wonder where the other is.
The doors suddenly swing open, and it is my first time seeing the Queen since Luna’s wedding.
Everyone stands up straight, even Skyleen, who slams the book shut and tucks it into his coat, before offering a bow.
The Queen’s dress is cerise, like it has been immersed in blood, with gold beads trailing over the swirling patterns on the corset and over the hemlines. The sleeves are long and puff out at the shoulders. Her red hair is pinned up tight, and she enters carrying what looks like a kit, asleep in her arms.
