My heart constricts as I stare helplessly at the words Varic formed with such care shrivel up and burn to ash, crumbling over the edge of every freshly stacked log under them.
I try to commit as many of his sentiments as I can to memory as my breath expels from me, hot and angry with the need to dispose of such things for our relative safety. Then I glower at the door creaking open to allow Drusilla’s entrance.
I can sense my Guards’ apprehension as we stroll along the stone path leading to the most pristine stables. Its gleaming white panels and Annovian blue trim appear to be new, and as we draw near, I cannot so much as make out a speck of dirt or dust on its exterior.
Bushes and flowers rise in meticulous rows alongside the entrance—and my heart practically jumps out of my chest at the sight of a flower which should not exist outside of our Empire. Pressure crowds in on my vision as I rush forward and crouch to inspect what looks identical to my sigil.
“Is that?” I point at what has to be the lighter variety of Dragon’s Fury.
I turn to the side and try to catch my breath as I stare at the row of the same, all rising from the ground on either side of the stable entrance.
Cirrin steps to my side. “I thought Dragon’s Fury was only found in Ampara Deicra.”
“It is, which is why we have claimed it as our Empire’s flower,” Fray says, leaning down to inspect the lighter version of my signet. “You know we only ever laud that which is exclusive to our region.”
“Could it be a different flower altogether? Maybe it just looks like the white version of Dragon’s Fury,” Lars suggests, as each of my Guards turns and stares off to the side.
I follow their line of sight to a tall stable hand with medium brown skin and long black braids tied behind his head with a blue leather cord. He waves in greeting before pausing to bow the moment I rise from the ground.
“Imperial Grand Witch Tasch, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Jan, the Annovian Royal Stable Master, and I will be assisting in your riding lessons today.”
“Thank you.” I nod in acknowledgement, then gesture to the flower bed. “I was wondering if you could tell us about this variety of flower?”
He glances down, and his expression shifts to one of recognition. “Ah yes, the Fawn’s Distress—a terrible name given by the sorcerer who discovered the species.”
I tilt my head and try to understand what the horticulturist might have observed to assign this name. Though I’ve always thought of the top petals as resembling a Dragon’s skull, and the purple stems flowing from its center as its fire breath—hence its name in Ampara Deicra.
“They’re quite common,” the Stable Master claims.
“Is the effect of their essence known by your herbalists?” Varic asks, stepping closer.
“We are aware of its influential properties, if that is your meaning.”
Blood rushes from my upper body with the ramifications of being within a land which possesses this power, especially if they do not also have laws against its usage.
“And just as your Empire has outlawed so much as touching one, we also have laws prohibiting their use,” Jan says. “As far as I am aware, our apothecaries have gone so far as to develop a tincture which can detect its inclusion in anything which might be ingested.” My brows rise as he continues, “I assure you; these are purely decorative, as the Queen is rather fond of their appearance.”
“Any idea if the influence works through the skin, or must it be ingested?” Varic asks.
“That would be a question for our apothecaries or herbalists.” His eyes shift to each of us. “Why? Have one of you come into contact with it?”
“No, nothing of the sort,” Lars says, clapping Varic on the shoulder. “He’s just endlessly curious. Always expect to receive inane questions from this one.”
“Ah, I have a nephew who is similar. Always getting himself into trouble.” Jan gives Varic a knowing look, to which he nods before gesturing to the stables.
The Stable Master clears his throat before escorting us along the path where a pair of giant marble horse statues rear up on their hind legs, intimidating in their presence, flanking either side of the most impossibly immaculate horse stables. Not one piece of straw seems to be out of place, while the extravagance of the interior is skin-crawlingly perfect. The coin required to create such unnecessary opulence in a building meant for function sours my stomach, trying to reconcile how the Queen can seem so understanding and wise while requiring her staff to have such impossible standards.
Yet it doesn’t take much to shift my mood as I near our substantial black geldings who are being kept here during our stay. They whinny and chomp at the hay they’ve been served, and I can’t help but smile at how happy they seem to be here. I pull Lars’ anxiety into myself so he might more easily perform his duty while so close to these majestic beasts. My vision swims with the amount I take in, and I pull in a breath before following Varic.
“I will return with the horse we are to practice with,” Jan says, and bows to me before turning to leave.
Varic stares up at a wall filled with tack while Malin and Fray survey the area on either side of us. Lars and Cirrin stand by both points of egress with their arms crossed, observing us with a bit more glee than I’d prefer to see. Though if Lars feels less panic around the horses simply by observing Varic and me pretend as if nothing life-changing has transpired between us, who am I to deny him this form of entertainment?
“Never step behind a horse,” Varic warns. “Just one kick can grievously injure you.”
“Understood.” I hold my hands up in mock defense. “I will not stand behind a horse.”
“Tasch.” His voice is scolding, and I raise my brows more playfully than intended once his fingers course their way through his hair and he lets out a breath of exasperation.
