There is nothing exciting about where we’re going, nothing to rejoice over in the streets of Yregar.
I lead them to the stables, watching as Sari smiles at each of the soldiers and tilts her head in regal greeting to those she recognizes. Some of the newer soldiers duck their heads and turn from her as we approach, as though they're ashamed to be seen, or maybe they’ve met her and know of the capricious temper her smiles hide.
A stable hand brings out Nightspark and Sari’s small pony, which was bred to be sweet and well-behaved, not to carry her swiftly and safely to wherever she needs to be. Even the saddle is ornate, with ribbons and fine embroidery on it, every inch adding to the spectacle of a spoilt girl. She's only a few decades younger than I am, and yet everyone around her treats her like a child, one to be protected and worshiped and loved, never to be exposed to anything that might upset her or endanger her.
Coddling to the point of stupidity.
Whatever fate the Seer revealed to her, I’ve never heard so much as a whisper about it. No speculation, no snide comments, nothing. Airlie once told me she thinks the regent stopped Sari from traveling to find out her fate, but I can’t imagine him doing that. It might be only guidance for her, but it would be valuable information for him, a peek into the future for him to manipulate and prepare for to ensure it works out in his favor.
There’s no questioning her about it without the guard reporting the conversation, an endeavor too risky simply to satisfy my curiosity.
Malia gets Sari into the saddle and fusses with her until she's satisfied that the princess can't look any better where she's sitting, her skirts plumped out and draping over the flank of the pony. The guard collects a horse and mounts as well, but there isn't one for Malia, so the handmaiden walks behind the rest of us.
The horses are more for show and a quick getaway should Sari need it. Nightspark is also far more useful in a fight than I have any hopes the guard will be, the large force of the horse’s body like a barricade between us and the townsfolk.
Those families who have been here for centuries are compliant and grateful, but the refugees have come from great trauma and they don't know who I am as a ruler. They look at me and see the Savage Prince, a monster incarnate, the high-fae prince who went feral after his parents’ deaths and now craves nothing but blood and war. The heir who rules over his castle and soldiers with an iron sword and unquenchable bloodlust. The rumors that my uncle has been so careful to spread have reached even the ears of the lower fae folk who live simple lives in faraway fields that no longer bear crops.
They may see Yregar as their only option, but they’ll find safety here and provisions, no matter what lengths I have to go to. I’ll make sure they don’t regret the journey here or the life they build.
Sari makes a happy noise and wriggles in her saddle as we cross through the gate. Her joy falters only when the sounds and smells get closer, when she sees the desperation and the state of the people living in squalor while we do what we can to find them shelter and food.
This is the real reason I let her come with me—the reality check that things in the kingdom are far worse than her father would ever let her believe.
Her stay at Yregar Castle is not one she’ll soon forget.
* * *
“How can you stand the smell, Cousin? Can no one come down here and clean the village up a bit?” Sari murmurs.
If her voice were any louder, the villagers would hear as well, and I’d rather not shame them in such a cruel way. They were attacked by witches, hundreds murdered in a single night, and they lost everything when they were forced to flee here. They're not so concerned about finding a bath as they are food and shelter.
My thoughts filter back to the witch in the dungeon and the state that she’s been living in, and my gut clenches. She’s not a victim of anything, and she deserves every inch of derision and discomfort that’s thrown at her.
These people do not.
“Can't you send the maids down here to tidy them up a bit? This is a Celestial holding, one of the royal family’s most sacred covenants. You can't have people standing around stinking at the bottom of the castle. I mean, it smells no better than a goblin mud hut! The court will talk if you're not careful.”
Her disgust is directed not only at the refugees but goblins as well, so whateveradditionalloyalties she has picked up from her father, they do not extend to the Goblin King. I’m also certain she’s never seen a mud hut in person, let alone smelled one.
Many goblins journeyed to the Northern Lands to answer the Sol King’s call. Once exiled from the Goblin Lands, a goblin would find no place of safety and acceptance within the Southern Lands. Part-bloods might blend into the villages and cities, but a full-blood goblin is met only with scorn from the high fae, the contention within the royal families running deep, and villagers often feared what might happen to them if they accepted goblins willingly.
I glance back with the ruse of offering her a reassuring sort of grimace, but I'm more interested in what’s happening on her guard's face than in the turn our conversation has taken.
There’s a smirk on his mouth and contempt in his eyes as he looks around at the masses of folk squeezed into the village grounds.
The maids and servants have already brought the food to the temple, and the line of villagers reaches all the way to the gate. Females and children huddle together as the line creeps forward, worry in their faces as they try to look ahead. They all fear missing the meal, or their children missing out, and only the strong presence of soldiers monitoring the line keeps the peace.
I spoke with Firna again early this morning, and she’s sure that we have enough to feed everyone at least one meal a day and still make it to the end of the summer.
It’s up to me to solve the food shortage and keep us fed after that.
“Are there really no shops down here, Soren? What do you and Airlie do for fun? No wonder she’s so grumpy all the time. Do only the seamstresses in the castle make her dresses? What about ribbons and jewels, does Airlie just…never purchase new ones?” Sari sounds baffled by the prospect, her eyes sharp as she watches the long line of villagers and refugees.
Her hands are tight on her reins, the only sign that she’s deeply uncomfortable, and the pony nickers in protest, yanking his head down as he walks alongside Nightspark. I wait for her to get him back under control, slowing further when Malia stumbles on the cobblestones. The roads are worse for wear with so much traffic on them, as old as the castle itself, and I take note of the worst spots, intending to send workers down to make repairs.
As we continue the tour, I lead Sari past a small bakehouse that was once popular. The baker was forced to shut her doors at the end of the last summer, after they could no longer have any supplies brought in.
The family has lived at Yregar for longer than I have, and with a plentiful bounty of children to feed, they were forced to find work in different areas. One of the daughters works in the castle as a maid and chooses to be paid in food rather than gold.
