“For what, exactly?”
Alaric holds my gaze for a long tenuous moment. “For not making you ride to the top.”
I glare back without blinking. “Don’t pretend that was for me. You were covering your own backside. I heard what you actually said.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. The altitude must be affecting you. It’s known to addle the weak.”
“I know what I heard. And I’m not weak,” I say through my teeth.
“Then you should have no trouble keeping up.”
Alaric turns on his heel and starts up the trail. His guards fall in behind him, and I have to jog to keep up, even though they’re burdened with gear and I’m carrying nothing but my haversack. As the hours pass, the trail grows steadily steeper, and the cold air burns my lungs. My tired muscles ache before we’re even a third of the way up this endless trail. Alaric never looks back to check on me, but the guard I rode with does, giving me silent, encouraging smiles that feel like a mockery.
Just when I think I might keel over from exhaustion, a great walled city appears through the clouds, crowning the summit of the mountain with tall needlelike spires.
I grind to a halt, head tilted back and eyes blinking with terror and awe.
It isn’t any wonder the Vanzadorians call their city the Fortress. If someone asked me to picture the most imposing and impenetrable stronghold I could imagine, this would be it. Even from a distance, I count dozens of pointed towers, a maze of stone walls topped with wicked crenellations, and a massive black gate that looks like a gaping mouth. Rows of enormous steel spikes protrude outward like fangs, and the trail we’re on is the serpent’s long winding tongue.
Now do you see why I couldn’t visit on a whim?Rowenna grumbles.
“Seeds and soil,” I mutter aloud.
It looks like a prison.
It’sworsethan a prison, Ro affirms.
“Impressed?” Alaric throws his arms wide and pulls the chilly air deep into his lungs, clearly invigorated by the sight of his home—and my horror.
“The only thing thatimpressesme is the depth of your greed and lies,” I say, averting my gaze from the Fortress.
Alaric snorts. “How, pray tell, can a mountain be a symbol of greed? And what exactly are we lying about?”
Don’t take his bait, Rowenna warns, but I’m too wrung out and exhausted to censor myself.
“You led my people to believe the power required to maintain the mountain range surrounding Tashir is equal to the sacrifices we make to produce your bagrava tributes. Or thatweare somehow deficient, since you’re constantly demanding more and more bagrava. Then you took my sister andkilledher, all under the guise of fair trade, but you’ve clearly given us a fraction of the power you’re truly capable of!” I stab a finger at the imposing city that looks to be resting in the clouds. “Our protection is a rickety old fence in comparison.”
“Has your mountain kept the Marauders from invading?” Alaric asks with infuriating calm.
“Yes, but—”
“Then we’ve done our part.”
“Why should we be required to sacrifice so much when it clearly requires very little from you?” My roaring voice echoes off the stone edifices.
I expect Alaric to shrug or goad me with one of his infuriating grins, but he removes the flask from his breeches, takes a long swallow, and resumes walking. “You know nothing about the cost of our power.”
I charge after him, steam practically pouring from my ears despite the cold. “I knoweverythingabout the cost of your power! Namely that it’s of little cost to you since it’s enhanced byourbagrava. And I know it isn’t divinely appointed from Earth Mother. Your ancestors forciblytookpower from the earth, just as you take bagrava from Tashir. You’ve earned none of it.”
“Are you done ranting?” Alaric takes a sharp left at a fork in the trail, and the pitch grows even steeper.
“I’ll never be done until you treat us as equals,” I retort following so close behind the prince Iaccidentallyclip the heel of his boot. He stumbles but, unfortunately, doesn’t fall.
He shoots me a seething look. “Must you walk so close?”
“You’re teaching me to climb, remember?” I do my best imitation of his voice.
Rather than snipe back at me, Alaric picks up his pace and orders the guards to do the same. Thanks to their spike-soled boots, they easily vault from stone to stone like mountain goats. My worn, muddy gardening boots, on the other hand, might as well be slathered with butter. For every step I take forward, I slide at least two back, causing pebbles to cascade down the slope.
