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A waiter in a dark blue suit arrived with a menu and a small drink of a gold liquid that she didn’t recognize. Her unfamiliarity must have shown on her face.
“It’s a customary aperitif in Zehvrd. It’s from a root that grows on the roof of caves. Spellak.”
Hope took a sip.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s good. Tangy.”
“The older it is, the milder it gets.”
“Thanks. Could I have a glass of punch, as well?”
“Absolutely.”
She was grateful for the exchange to end so she could listen.
Hope could make out some words from Tura’s table. Someone across from him with shoulder-length brown hair spoke. “… from the older days of the clutch, under earlier leadership.”
“Yes, before we opened trade channels and migration with earth. Nova Aurora for Nova Aurorans, and Zehvrd for Zehvrdis.”
There was no mistaking the speaker. Tura said it, and it sounded like something he would say. She was more certain than before that he was the one behind the cows’ illness.
“But the preferences of those who are here …”
“If they prefer outside customs and products, they don’t belong. There’s a fine line between collaboration and sedition. We need to assert our uncontested supremacy over the region. And if force is necessary, so be it.”
Hope shuddered at the thought of a war, picturing bolts of flame from dragon shifters scorching the cobblestone streets outside. She put down three times the amount of the punch and hurried out. She needed to tell Deimos what she overheard and how much higher the stakes were than she could have imagined.
“I left the cost of the bill and a very generous tip. The service was excellent, and the drinks were phenomenal. Thank you,” she told the waiter with a slight bow.
She was gone before he had time to say thank you.
She focused on getting back to Deimos’s house as quickly as possible, but she didn’t quite remember which routes she had taken to get there. She remembered a large circle with a monument to the city’s founders and the street leading to Deimos’s house, spoking off from that hub. She must have looked as lost as she felt. She was relieved to hear footsteps nearby. People in Zehvrd had been so kind to her. She felt optimistic that they could help her find Deimos’s home.
“Hello … thank goodness, I found someone. I’m a bit lo…”
Everything happened in an instant. The world went dark. She was hooded, grabbed, thrown into a transport vehicle, then restrained at the wrists and ankles. Men’s voices shouted tactical maneuvers to each other, getting occasional confirmation from the voice of a man who was clearly the leader.
Tura.
“Take off the girl’s hood,” he barked.
“But, sir, she might …”
“Do as I say,” Tura said. “Do not question. Or you will have the same accessory as our captive.”
Hope shielded her eyes from the light and found her entire perception altered. The small amount she could see around her looked as though it had waves running through it, and the voices sounded like they were spoken through a conch shell.
Was the golden free drink really a show of hospitality, or had the beverage been meant to accomplish more sinister ends?
“Welcome to Zehvrd. You’re the one they call Hope. Fitting when your mission here is bound to end in dashed hopes,” Tura said.
She reevaluated all of the events of the morning. Had they been following her this whole time? Did they see her in the square? Or did they only see her once she was at the window of the social club? And why didn’t she ask more questions about the free drink? Why had she been so naive to set out on her own, not knowing the dynamics and players?
“My mission …”
“Don’t pretend to be stupid. I know why you’re here. I know who you’re here for. I know much more than you.”
