I don’t have long to suffer. As promised, someone comes. I maneuver enough to see up to their hips, but nothing beyond that. They bend down into view on my far right. A Nevoban. A woman. Her brown hair falls in wide, loose curls around her beautiful face, her skin a touch lighter than mine. The chainmail net jangles and there’s a click as the mechanism unlocks. A few moments later, the weight lifts from my head and shoulders, and after the chains are removed from my lower half, I’m gripped firmly but gentlyunder the arms and pulled up into a kneeling position. My body feels like it’s floating from the lack of restraints, and I press my fingertips into the ground. The woman kneels in front of me. Her soft amber brown eyes rove over my face, flitting to every point of pain marring my skin. Her lips press together firmly as she tucks my hair behind my ears. “Their true colors are not so beautiful, are they?”
I draw a sharp inhale through my nose. “They are what they are.”
“They are not all like that.Weare not all like that,” she assures.
“We?”
She only smiles. “I’m Atlanta.”
I wait for her to explain. When she doesn’t, I offer her my name. “Kaisa.”
Atlanta nods. “Your friend Ninon has spoken of you much since her arrival.”
The world tilts and I allow my hands to take more of my weight. “Is she well?”
“The transformation is an adjustment for all, but she’s handling the shifts well enough now. Even still, the mornings are needed for recovery in these early stages. Can you stand?”
I nod, but she braces me by the elbows all the same, ensuring I’m stable on my feet before guiding us out of the enclosure, a simple three walled square with no ceiling. We walk down a long, open-air corridor. The wall Ozias had been leaning against stretches long in either direction, its top thick with vines and leaves. A space wide enough for a dragon to pass separates that wall and running parallel to it is row after row of sectioned off enclosures butted up against another wall at the back. The rooms are open to the walkway, but at the center of each is the same chain net that held me down last night, affixed to the ground by iron rings that no doubt sink deep into the earth so that a dragon’s strength cannot break it. The enclosures count nearly a dozen, but most look unused: dried leaves and twigs collect in corners, the chain netting covered in fine layers of dust and grit. I have no doubt that Ninon didn’t know what wasin store for her. There’s no way she’d ever willfully chain herself—she’s too much like me in that way.
“Ozias said Ninon doesn’t want to see me.”
“She didn’t expect you here. At least not this soon. She will see you after you speak with Ozias, I’m sure.”
There’s a kindness to Atlanta that I choose to accept, at least for now. And, if she won’t bring me to Ninon after I speak with Ozias, I will find her myself. By any means necessary.
Once we’re out of the hall of stark chains and hollow walls, the full glory of the Realm of Rogues stretches out before me. Where Dyeus is all crisp white stone and carefully cultivated trees, the Realm is a wild aggregation of roots, trees, and foliage twisted into buildings and fortresses, like the earth grew a city from its soil and the sun gave it life. The morning light streams through the leaves of the canopy, birds singing from one branch to the other, their melodies sweet and peaceful. Tears spring to my eyes. Ninon has never been close to such greenery and I wonder how she felt seeing it for the first time. It’s incredible, how something like this could grow in the midst of our desert plains. Seeing this place and Dyeus are the only things that make me believe the gods truly exist. The mild, misty breeze lifts my sweat soaked hair. Some dragon here must have magic akin to that of the Sar Dyeus. That power calls to me and the desire to follow where it goes pains me.
More astonishing than the greenery is the people. So many people. Mostly younger looking, though I note a few of my mother’s age, even less a bit older than that. Children run and weave through the roots and pathways, both boys and girls shirtless in the warm sun. Not a single mark mars the girls’ chests. And there’s women, so many women. The people we pass don’t say a word to me, but their gazes linger. The hair along my body begins to rise, anticipation churning under my skin, though I sense no danger.
I’m led through well-manicured paths, up steps made from roots, and along wide swaying bridges trussed between the trees. Below, mounds made of earth and stone hunker down between trunks. People come and go fromthem, and when I look closer, I realize they have doors and windows. Among the trees, branches reach out long and hold aloft more structures that encircle the trees in part or in whole like mushrooms I’ve seen before on the trees in Dyeus, stacked upon one another and connected by platforms and twisting stairs. Dwellings, I guess, from the cooking workspaces and cozy seating I see as we pass the windows.
We walk onto a large bridge, arched and stationary, positioned above an open central square. The stonework and dragon glass inlaid into the square’s ground sparkle against the light of the sun sneaking in between the leaves. A faint, happy tune playing on a wind instrument reaches my ears, and my footsteps falter.
“Not quite what you envisioned?” Atlanta remarks.
“No,” I murmur, shutting my eyes, tamping down the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. I’ve killed these people. I’ve taken family members, ruined lives, all because of a lie. We were told savage creatures prowled these lands. That a fate worse than death awaited us if we dared enter this place. What fools we are. “Does everyone here transform?”
Atlanta studies me before answering. “Every one of us.” There’s a weight to her words. There’s more she wants to say. There’s more that I need to hear, and I’m not certain I’ll like it. “This way,” she says, leading us over the crest of the bridge and my eyes widen at what creeps into view before me. It’s the grandest tree I’ve ever seen, its breadth spanning the width of two dragons side-by-side with their wings spread. More of the same semi-circular structures climb the tree, deep into the boughs, and at the very top, a massive edifice exists between the branches, rising above the canopy. At the end of the bridge, we reach a set of stairs, steep and worn smooth. Atlanta begins the ascent, and I follow.
“This is the Alcazar, where some of us live and where we meet to discuss our…predicament.”
When she doesn’t continue, I prompt, “Which is?”
Atlanta inclines her head to all that’s around us. “Onceyou adjust to the shifts at night, you’ll see. We are not savage here inside the Realm. It’s only if we leave this place do we fall prey to the curse that makes us feral. All of us are trapped, and we’ve been trying, for many, many years, to free ourselves.”
My nostrils flare as I struggle to get air into my lungs. I’ve jumped headfirst out of one trap, straight into another. The question I have now is, who set this one?
“I’m not sure I understand what I see or what to believe anymore.” Did Ninon know it would be like this before she came? Is she even here? I thought I heard her last night, though now I’m not certain. Both Ozias and Atlanta said her name, but only after I revealed it. They could be manipulating me.
“You might not have sought out these questions you didn’t know existed, but you’ll get the answer to them all the same.”
With each step growing heavier than the last, we continue to climb, on and on. A thought swirls around in the back of my mind that I can’t comprehend or name. It comes to me as a broad question: How? How was anything here possible? Finally, we reach a landing where there’s a circular arched entrance. Atlanta leads me in, and it’s bigger inside than I thought possible. Open and grand and quiet, the inner atrium immediately makes me think of Ninon. Sunlight drives in from all angles, catching dust motes that shimmer like stars against the dark backdrop of bark and creeping vines. Tomes and trinkets line walls of shelves that appear grown from the limbs themselves. Halls divaricate from the round chamber at odd angles and levels, all of which are connected by more carved steps.
I’m led down one of the halls to a door and Atlanta opens it, revealing a bedroom. The wood floors are worn soft and smooth and even. To the right, another door leads to a small bathing chamber, and on the left hand wall there’s a dressing table with a wardrobe beside that. Against the far back wall is a bed covered in soft blankets and pillows in shades of green, amber, and gold.
“You can clean up.” She nods to the bathing room. “Achange of clothes is on the bed.”
“You’re not afraid I’ll run away?”
