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I wonder what wyverns are as I carefully open the door a little wider and take the platter from him. The food looks delicious, but I hesitate before I close the door. “Captain, I’m sorry to ask you this, but can you please bring me a dress that a maid would wear?”
The soldier frowns. “Commander Zabriel arranged for there to be dresses in your room. Are they not to your liking?”
“They…aren’t the right size. Thank you, I appreciate it,” I say before he can argue, and I shut the door.
I set the platter on a table by the fire and immediately stuff three grapes into my mouth. I groan in pleasure as the sweet fruit bursts over my tongue.
A few minutes later, I’ve gobbled up half the fruit and Captain Ashton is back. He hands me two well-worn and patched dresses with simple bodices and skirts, though he’s frowning as he does it.
“Thank you, Captain,” I say, closing the door once more.
“You’re welcome, Lady Isavelle.”
“Just Isavelle, please. I’m not a lady,” I call through the wood as I turn the lock.
I lay the dresses on my bed for now and finish eating while standing before the fire. Soon I’m warm and my belly is so full that I’m falling asleep on my feet. I drink some of the wine that came with the food, and a long draft of cold water from a nearby ewer, before stumbling over to the bed.
I take off the ragged soldier’s clothes, get between the sheets, and pull the blankets up over my head. My bruised body sinks into the soft mattress, and I groan in pleasure. The hot springs dulled a lot of the pain, and food and a warm bed are finishing me off.
With my eyes closed, I think about where I am and wonder what’s going to happen tomorrow. The moment I was tithed, the Brethren began to beat me. Break me. Lock me up. Zabriel has given me the key to this room, but I didn’t want to come here, and I still feel like a prisoner. I will feel like a prisoner until I find my family and go home.
* * *
Flames.
Licking up my legs. Scorching my feet. Consuming my charred flesh and turning me to ash. No matter how much I struggle, I can’t move, can’t run, can’tescape—
I sit up with a frantic gasp, clawing at my hair until I realize that I’m not being suffocated by smoke, but by a blanket that was covering my face. I push my hair out of my face and take a few calming breaths, willing the nightmare to recede. Where am I?
The fire in the grate has died down, but there’s golden light edging a tapestry. I get out of bed and pull it back. There are still a few more hours of daylight. I haven’t slept the whole day away.
I look out, taking a moment to get my bearings. I’m in a room high in the keep from the looks of things, and I can see soldiers and other people below, and beyond the castle walls, the city. On the distant horizon, a dragon beats its majestic wings.
So, this is the capital.
I never imagined I’d be here or even see it. Who could ever have predicted that there would be dragons in the skies over Maledin?
I pour water from the ewer into the basin, give myself a wash with a handcloth, and pull on some underclothes and then one of the maid’s dresses. Captain Ashton chose a good size, but the dress still trails on the ground a little. I pull some soft shoes onto my feet and wrap a cloak around my shoulders.
Leaving my room, I head in the direction of the Great Hall. There are a number of people around, but in my homespun dress, no one pays me a lick of attention, and that’s exactly how I like it. I dodge around tall people in armor who look like they might be dragonriders, and others in black and silver uniforms, who could be wingrunners like Captain Ashton.
Then there are people who seem to find the dragonriders and wingrunners as strange as I do, but they are getting on with their work. I wonder if these people have always worked in the castle. It seems strange that whoever is in charge here trusts them to move around freely.
I take an apple and a slice of pie from a platter that has been set out, find a seat on a bench in a corner, and devour the food. All the while I watch people coming and going, tensing up every time someone armed goes near one of the servants. It was normal to see the Brethren strike their novices or the Veiled Virgins several times a day. Their robes weren’t neat enough. They raised their eyes. They were walking too fast. Too slow. Any excuse would do. If you cried out when someone else was beaten or tried to protect them, your beating was even worse.
I sit by the wall for some time, but nothing whatsoever happens except for people eating, fetching, carrying, talking. Even laughing.
At the far end of the hall, one of the huge double doors is ajar, and a thin shaft of weak winter sunlight is streaming inside. I wonder what will happen if I go that way. Zabriel warned me not to wander too far, but I should test how far is far.
I follow a man hauling a basket of pears as he heads out the main doors and into a huge, dusty courtyard.
And I stop dead.
There are dozens and dozens of people gathered there. No, not just people.
Villagers.
Tears fill my eyes as I recognize the simple clothes and hairstyles that belong to the people of Maledin, and among them, there’s not a single robed Brethren or an armored soldier. It’s been so long since I’ve seen so many of my people gathered in one place. There are children, too. Girls in smocks and boys in breeches and shirts. Everyone looks ragged and tired, their faces pinched with sleeplessness and worry, but they’re uninjured. They’re alive. Most of them are resting or eating, and some of the children are even playing games.
