“What do you expect? They rely on Vitalas for energy. It’s not as if they have any other resources, like us.”
“Doesn’t mean they have to use it likethis.”
“Well, what else are they going to use? They didn’t bother investing in other renewable energies, the arrogant bastards, not when they have their infinite source of energy that they think they’ll never lose,” Jessa murmurs. “Come on, you know the ambient magic we need is not the same as this.” She waves a hand about.
“I know it’s not the same,” Astrid hisses. The Heart’s ambient magic brings balance to the natural world and is by its very nature available to everyone—or should be, until it just stopped—and Vitalas is what the continents fight for: the access to convert the Heart’s magic into energy, into electricity. “Doesn’t it piss you off, though? The blatant use of the Heart this way, when we’re in desperate need? Like they’re rubbing in our faces that the Heart is fine—they’re just making sure we no longer feel the benefit of it.”
“I agree, but let’s not talk about it here. We’re surrounded.”
Astrid attempts to relax her jaw and takes in the cavernous entrance hall—a hive of activity as servants go about their duties, and courtiers accidentally on purpose find themselves there to get a look at the witches. Astrid ignores them, her eyes landing instead on the man standing directly in front of her, mere inches away. She flinches back.
Prince Zryan. How in all Hel did he get here? He must have flown back, but she didn’t see the dragon. And why is he standing so close?
The entire hall falls quiet. Courtiers find somewhere else to be, servants, too; and the Dreki all stand straighter, angling toward him, as if wanting to attract his notice. But he only has eyes for Astrid; and this close she can see the silver in them, bright as a knife.
“Princess.” His voice is full-bodied; the kind of voice you can feel as well as hear. “Welcome to my home.”
He delivers the words without a hint of sincerity. He may as well be welcoming her to a tomb. Which it is, really, isn’t it? This castle is a glorified tomb. Because his home is the last place she’ll ever see. The prince will make sure of that when he kills her.
8Skylar
Skylar moves toward the flickering light of the tavern, clinging to pockets of darkness. Aldric was pissed as Vaar when she got back to camp, covered in dirt, a bruise on the side of her head with no idea how it got there. But still, he told her where to go tonight—told her that a woman in a blue cloak, dark-haired, tall, with a funny accent, is meeting someone about the conscripts this evening. Said woman is posing as an ally of the royals, apparently, but trying to get information for the rebels. So either Skylar has to find a way to get her to talk—or she’ll follow and see exactly what this meeting is about.
She knew Aldric could find something if he put his mind to it. He’s good at pulling things out of people—probably because he can make them see exactly what they want to. Or exactly what they don’t.
She moves closer to the tavern, laughter spilling into the moonslight as the door swings open, bringing with it the smell of fumca smoke. She passes a woman with an orange cape, designed to look like fire, a hood pulled over her head. The woman raises her arms as people pass, commanding attention.
“The signs are everywhere, my children, don’t you see? The forests are wilting in the south, there are floods at the border. The cracks are showing in this city itself!” Skylar very much thinks the cracks are due to the dragons landing earlier today, rather than some God smiting them all—but each to their own. “Arach is getting ready to end this world and send us to the next,” the woman continues. “His kingdom is waiting for the true believers. Join me, my children—and be saved.”
Skylar snorts, though she keeps her head down. She knows these maniacs—they will not let her go easily if she makes even the briefesteye contact. They seem to be growing in numbers. She supposes as more people struggle to afford the Vitalas that used to be plentiful, they become desperate to believe there is something better out there. But only idiots would believe in another world waiting to welcome them.
She slips into the tavern and is greeted by the smell of hops, sweat, and fumca. Her boot creaks on the floor and she looks down, experiencing a jolt as she sees what it is. Wooden floorboards, something you rarely see in the outermost corners of Vatra, let alone the Stone City. It feels like a subtle rebellion, like it’s going against the power of the dragons and the legend of the fire-breathing ones. She likes it.
Beautiful music is playing, the type that flows right to your soul. She glances to the corner to see an Acoustic standing there with his eyes closed as he breathes sound into the air. She can’t help staring. He’s using his Blooded power in front of everyone. Is that why the woman in the blue cloak is coming here? Is she going to report him?
Skylar scans the bar. And there she is. The woman is alone and currently seems to be paying no attention to the Acoustic. Skylar edges toward her—close enough to hear if she speaks. She glances at the list of drinks behind the bar. She has coins with her; maybe she could have an akavit while she waits for whatever meeting is about to take place.
She moves to the end of the bar, resting her arms against it and adopting a casual pose as she absentmindedly twists her ring. There’s a group of three men on the stools nearest to her: a boy, can’t be older than fifteen, and two older men—one gray-haired, one with dark coal eyes.
“Did you hear, though?” the youngest one says. “The dragon has been seen again.”
Despite telling herself she wants absolutely nothing to do with dragons after today, she can’t help listening in. Seenagain—since earlier today? And is seeing the royals on their dragons a rare occurrence around here? She’d have thought they’d be flying around all the time, showing off their power.
“The lunar dragon?” Gray Hair asks, taking a sip of his clear drink, which reeks of the strongest alcohol.
Skylar frowns. Lunar. He’s referring to one of the two CelestialDynasties. A lunar dragon commands shadows along with some dark, deadly power she doesn’t quite understand. None of the royals have a lunar dragon, unless she’s missed something. She wonders if the second prince—what’s his name? Zeb?—has claimed his dragon.
“Yes,” the young one says, his voice tripping with excitement. His clothes are tatty, and his hair has that greasy look of someone who doesn’t have easy access to baths. She should know—there have been plenty of times when it’s been her looking like that. There was this one town they’d stayed in that had a cave system on its outskirts, bright blue, cool water available whenever they wanted it. She and Cam spent hours there, swimming, chatting about Arach knows what. She was about fifteen, and they stayed there long enough to make her a little sad when they moved on. Cam put the town on the shortlist of places to move to, once they broke from Aldric.
“It’s nonsense,” Coal Eyes is saying. “A rumor, nothing more.”
The young man bites his lip, and Skylar can’t resist sidling closer. All three men look at her, and she does her best impression of a pleasant smile. From the blank looks on their faces, she doesn’t quite pull it off.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” she says, trying to imitate the way Amara might purr. She gets a mutter of “I bet you could” from Coal Eyes and does her best not to snarl at him. “And I wondered, what dragon are you talking about?”
She aims her smile at the young boy, who blushes.
Way to go, Lar.
