“We should keep going,” Eloise says. “We haven’t eaten, and we’ve been riding all day.”
I nod. She’s right. We have to keep up our strength. I can see our journey has weighed heavily on Warbill, who seems to sag in his saddle. I cluck my tongue, and we set off for the city. We reach the port as the moon sets. All three of us dismount, leading our rabble beasts through the congested marketplace. A fist-sized lump forms in my throat at the state of things.
At one time, this marketplace was the envy of every territory, with ships docked at long wooden ports and a central market brimming with the freshest fruits and vegetables, the most beautiful jewels from our world and others, and any spice or root one could dream of. Textiles that begged to be touched billowed in the sea breeze. The colors and textures brought the region alive. One could obtain anything here.
Now, the docks have all been burned, as has the large open-air building with its many tables used for trade. Exchanges are still happening, but the goods arrive bydinghy, and the traders are operating directly out of the cargo boxes. The entire beach smells of char.
“Goddess, it’s worse than I ever expected,” Warbill murmurs. “Do we even know if Tempest is still alive?”
His fears are well justified. “I don’t. My last message to her was not returned, but of course, she would have sent it to the mountain dwellers using Dimhollow’s ravens.”
“It’s like walking through a funeral,” Eloise mumbles.
“I have to agree, little bird.”
“Let’s hope no one we know is in the coffin,” Warbill adds.
We exchange glances and hasten our steps. It’s full dark by the time we reach the Palace of Dawn. Aendor’s castle isn’t quite as large as Stygarde’s but is just as beautiful, constructed of slabs of pink quartz from the mines of Perilon. It gleams in the moonlight as if it’s made of glass. But although my memory recalls candlelit windows and acres of blooming gardens, the windows are dark now. The front torches are extinguished. The garden is noticeably overgrown. Although, a spark of hope ignites in my heart that it hasn’t been completely untended. A few blooms are still in place, and weeds grow sporadically around the base of the plants but haven’t outgrown them altogether. The gardener’s duties have been neglected for a matter of weeks rather than months.
I lead Borus around back but find no one in the stables, no guards, no signs of life. All the doors are locked.
“What now?” Eloise asks.
Warbill answers for me. “Now, we take our disguised selves to the local pub and inquire about the happeningsof the last several weeks. Mark my words, if you want to know something, you ask at the tavern.”
“The best plan I’ve heard all day is the one where we sit down and drink a beer,” Eloise says.
We all journey to the center of the territory, encouraged by an increase in activity there, and find a pub called the Maiden’s Voyage, where a somber man in a filthy shirt serves us ale.
“Sir, if you don’t mind my asking, what happened here?” I try my best to sound simple, like a man who grew up on a farm in the Borderlands.
The bartender looks over his shoulder then steps in close to the table. “Same as what’s happened everywhere. That blond harlot on the throne come burn everything down looking for Prince Damien and his mate, assuming we’re hiding them here. If he were here, you bet your ass we’d be helping him, but he’s not. Fucking Banias ruined half the territory looking for him, though. We were blessed by the goddess that the fire didn’t reach the Maiden.”
“What happened to the lord and lady?” Eloise asks. She clears her throat and adds, “We passed the palace on the way here, and it looks abandoned.”
“They’re not dead, if that’s what you’re asking.”
The man takes notice when we all breathe a sigh of relief.
“What brings you three to the territory anyway?” the man asks.
“If someone would like an audience with the lord and lady, where would they go to find them?”
The man’s face grows impassive. “I’m just a barkeep. Wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“We’re spice traders,” I say. “Thanesia’s own. A spice fit for a king.”
The man rubs his stubbled chin. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. But…if you need a place for the night, I have a few rooms upstairs. Best view of the harbor.”
“We’ll take two.” I toss a gold quill on the bar.
He picks two brass keys off the rack behind him and slides them across the bar to us. “Upstairs. This one—” he twirls the slightly larger of the two between his fingers “—is to the door at the end of the hall. Make sure you visit that one first.” He hands it to me with a wink.
We abandon our unfinished beers on the bar and climb the steps to the second floor. Eloise’s still-disguised hand slips into mine as we walk down a long, narrow hall to a heavy wood and metal door that looks as if it belongs in a dungeon rather than an inn. I slip the key into the lock.
“Nothing foreboding about this situation at all,” Warbill mutters.
I press a finger to my lip and slowly swing open the heavy door. We all step into the dark chamber beyond, where it takes my night vision a few seconds to adjust.
