Emere bowed again.
“I beseech you to forgive my brother once more, and on behalf of my brother and the Kingdom of Kamori, beg Your Highness when she ascends to the Arlander throne to fight alongside your brother nation of Kamori.”
Loran appreciated Emere’s kind words, but couldn’t help feeling that Emere was too generous to her, when she had nothing to her name.
“His Majesty said nothing wrong,” Loran assured him. “Kings must have the right to rule. For someone like me who is not of royal blood to call herself a princess, it would be strange not to think she is acting above her station.”
Emere sighed.
“But Your Highness, you have made a pact with the dragonand received the dragon’s sword. I have heard this is exactly how the first king of Arland ascended to her reign.”
“Only when the Arlanders accepted this. I have no such support. If anyone with an extraordinary sword may become king, wouldn’t that mean the Empire with their Powered legions have more legitimacy to rule over all of us than anyone else?”
Emere vigorously shook his head.
“The people choose their own king, and if the king is found unfit to rule, the king is banished by the very same people. This has been the way all over the world, since time immemorial, ages before the arrival of the Empire. But what presents a king to be chosen is not the people; it is destiny. The dragon has been imprisoned in the volcano for two decades, yet you were the only one in all those years who dared to go there and came out with its fang in hand. This is why I do not hesitate in calling Your Highness the Princess Loran of Arland.”
She didn’t know where this conviction sprang from. The very word “destiny” made Loran squirm in discomfort.
“All right.”
Emere bowed once more, and as if suddenly remembering, carefully presented the cloth-wrapped thing to Loran.
“This is a gift from me. It is not fine enough to befit you, or your sword, but I took the liberty of picking one from our armory. Please consider it a token of my gratitude, for your bravery at the forest.”
Loran took it with both hands and, glancing at Emere for his permission, unwrapped the cloth. It was a scabbard, blue fabric with subtle patterns covering its wooden structure. It reminded Loran of the blue flame of Wurmath. As she was admiring thecraftsmanship, Emere added, “A sword needs a scabbard, as fury needs restraint.”
Loran repeated the words under her breath, then smiled. “Thank you.” She carefully sheathed Wurmath. It was as if the scabbard was made for it.
“I shall be waiting by the door. Please let me know when you are ready to go to the banquet.”
As she changed into the set of unfamiliar clothes, Loran kept thinking about her conversations with Gwaharad and with Emere. The Kamori king had told her, even through his masked contempt at her lineage, that she could be king through her people’s recognition. Emere believed she had a destiny to be king. Maybe they were both right, but she did not have the conviction of either. What had the dragon seen in her, in that dark gray cavern lit by blue dragonfire?
Loran drew Wurmath from the scabbard and stood. If she could not believe in herself, she had to believe in the ones who did. She whispered to Wurmath, the dragon’s promise, and to the scabbard, Emere’s gift, the same words that she had said in the volcanic cave.
“I am a princess of Arland. And I shall become king.”
10CAIN
Cain left Arienne under the care of Lucretia, madam of a local pleasure house. Lucretia owed Cain—he had solved the murder of one of Lucretia’s women last year. The patrollers dismissed the death as no great loss to society, but locals had suspected the death was part of a series of prostitute killings all over the Capital. Lucretia had called upon Cain to find the one responsible.
It had taken Cain almost a fortnight to deliver the culprit to her. He made no special mention of the pains he went through, including a rooftop confrontation where he was stabbed with the knife that had presumably been used to mutilate the victims’ faces. Lucretia had not asked after his wound either, only telling him softly that she owed him a great favor as her bouncers took the whimpering man away. To this day, Cain did not know what kind of end the murderer had met. He remembered only admiring the look on the madam’s face, of something that reminded him of relief.
Cain had known from a young age that it was advantageous tohave people around the market square indebted to him, and that even small favors could create large debts over time. He also understood that the effect was greatest when he wasn’t keeping track of who owed him what.
Helping a fugitive sorcerer escape was quite a large ask, though, and even with what she owed him, Cain had been uncertain if Lucretia would be willing to help. But the madam took in Arienne without a word.
Cain did ask himself what he hoped to gain from helping Arienne, but came up empty. Still, Fienna hadn’t taken in a twelve-year-old boy and fed him and taught him to read and write because she had some grand design in mind.
There was a wide array of shops near the pleasure house, which wasn’t far from the market square. Cain liked coming to this square, one of the larger marketplaces of the Capital, because there were so many kinds of people buying and selling. Each shop and stall reflected its proprietor’s origins, making the whole area more vibrant and chaotic than the drab, austere stone buildings native to the city.
Cain loitered in the bustling winter market under the overcast sky, exchanging wordless greetings with the shopkeepers and street vendors. Although many of them had received Cain’s help over the years, he understood that any one of them would have no choice but to inform on his movements if pressed by the likes of Septima.
Cain knew one of the new hires at the travel and outdoor goods supplier had recently moved here—a man who didn’t know him and spoke little Imperial. That was the best he could do if he wanted to make a discreet purchase. When the owner left for his midday meal, he stepped into the shop.
A cheerful man not much older than Cain greeted him with a smile. “Welcome, buyer!” Cain did not recognize the clerk’s accent, but judging from the worn fur coat he was wearing while right next to a stove, he must have come from a warmer province.
Cain chose two sets of dark blue travel clothes that looked like they would fit Arienne, a pair of leather boots, bedding, and some food. He asked the worker to recommend a sack for travel, and was presented with a leather rucksack, the clerk singing its praises in a broken yet confident Imperial that only the people of this market and the merchants by the docks would bother to decipher.
