9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Astrid
Back on the road, Papa and I aren’t wasting another minute as we head to the next gate. I never thought I would get to see this much of Demendia. I wish it was under better circumstances, but I’m getting to know parts of my home I didn’t even know existed. Papa has never been allowed to bring a guest on his trips. Not even his second, Bjorn. I wonder if the rumors of the gilded palace at the center of the city are true. I’ve never set eyes on it. I can’t imagine something so opulent hiding within these walls. The road has emptied of people. Rubble litters the streets. Skyscrapers lay in ruins from the last war, housing the homeless now. The weight of a hundred gazes follows me as shadowed forms huddle in the deepest recesses of the ruins that are still standing. I nudge Nymia to walk a little faster; Papa is a few paces ahead, leading the way.
Silver ivy creeps up the black stone wall. It's shorter than the ones before. A large RD is emblazoned in silver across the large double swing gate. A fist-sized padlock holds the gate closed gleaming in the light of the mossterns.
“Who goes there?” a voice calls from the guard shack, its tin roof shimmering along with the vines of the wall.
“Lumin of the Farm District looking for safe passage to the palace!” Papa announces and a man steps out of the guardhouse and approaches. His helmet bears short purple plumes.
“Papers,” his voice is a growl as if us being here is an interruption to his shift and not the reason he is stationed here. Papa pulls the papers from his pocket, laying them in the guard’s hand. When they are returned, they bear a new purple seal. I can’t see more than that before Papa is tucking them away. The guard unlocks the gate with a large key, the padlock popping off and landing in his hand. The gates swing in with a shove, and he’s waving us through.
Off in the distance, the silhouette of houses cast the valley before me in shadow. A valley filled with hand crafted shacks and tents squeezed together as tightly as possible, cobbled together by whatever materials the owner could afford.
“I thought this was where the nobles lived,” I whisper as we continue down the main street, heading for the towering homes in the distance. There’s a clang as the gate closes, metal scraping on metal that ends in a silence that is somehow louder.
“There are many who wanted to live among the wealthy, and they bought land in this district. They used all their money on the land and were left with little to work with while building the houses. A lot of them took matters into their own hands.” Leif motions to the handmade homes.
“So, there aren’t any homeless in this district?” I glance around looking for eyes peering behind structures. Are they hidden like those from the market?
“If someone were to get stuck in the residential district, they would be removed by the Shadow Guard.” Anger coats his words as his hands clench around his reigns as he tries to keep his temper in check.
“Why doesn’t the King or the Lumin’s council do something?” We pass shacks and they give way to luscious green grass leading to larger, opulent homes that become more outrageous the deeper we travel into the district.
“They don’t think they need to. They believe that hard work is all anyone needs to make it in Demendia.” His gaze roves over each house as we pass, they grow more exquisite, and luxurious the deeper into the district we get. Some are modern with hard lines and block colors. Others are rounder, like something that should be hidden out in the woods. There are shrubs cut into different shapes that line the yards: sheep, horses, and woolly cows. Each shrub's branches are perfectly curated. They do all of this, their grand houses with pools and shaped shrubbery while our people are neglected and forgotten. Anger smolders deep inside of my chest, and I do my best to tamp it down. I try to focus on the whole point of our trip; to ask for help. It is not a place for my temper.
A fence is draped in gold leaves that melt together into three roses at the center of the gate. Two guards stand out in front. One accepts the travel pass from Papa after a muttered greeting. The Shadow Guard's ceremonial armor is black metal rather than leather, gold plumes sprout from their helmets matching the gilded roses on the breast plate.
"Welcome to the palace," the second guard says, sweeping the gate open to the most elaborate courtyard garden. There's a stone path that leads through the flowing vegetation into a breezeway. "King Daemon likes everyone who attends his court to dress appropriately in the latest fashion. He has made these fitting rooms available to those…" He hesitates a second too long. "…less fortunate." He motions to the doors on either side of the path. One labeled with a drawing of a stick figure, the other of a stick figure wearing a dress.
I shove the one marked "women" open, stepping into a room filled with elegant clothing. The racks overflow with pastel dresses and corsets. Shoes line the floor. Most are flats and the few heels that are present are short and stumpy. King Daemon can’t stand the poor, and the Farm District is the poorest district in the city. So, the King chooses to clothe us for audiences, unwilling to look at the price of his reign, unwilling to let the dirty, moth-eaten clothes of our district step foot in his court. I choose a silvery-blue dress that hugs my waist and ties up my back along with flats to adorn my feet. Then, I stop in front of the full-length mirror that takes up most of one wall. Long black hair curls around my shoulders just enough to be considered wavy. Blue eyes, the same color as the sky on a clear spring day, stare back at me. I don't know how to tell people the reflection I see in the mirror doesn't match the person I have in my head. I don't know if I would be able to recognize the true me. I don't know if I know who that is, or who I truly am. I give my reflection a soft smile that couldn't look more fake before I step back out into the hall. My skirt settles around me, and at the smallest noise I'm looking up to find my father in a forest green suit that makes the red in his beard seem more vivid and present. The guard gives me a once over before turning to Papa. With a grunt of approval, he turns, leading us deeper into the palace grounds.
The breezeway opens to another elaborate, glowing garden, and beyond that, etched into the side of Mt. Egarl's remains, is the palace. Made of black stone with creeping vines that hold three golden roses growing from the palace walls; the rest of the stone is bare. My breath leaves me as I take in the sight as the golden glow of sunset illuminates the gilded flowers.
“Papa, I thought the palace was golden?” I whisper pausing to look up at the menacingly dark spires that reach the highest point of the remaining mountain.
"A long time ago, Golden roses covered the outside wall, they're dwindling with each season," Papa says, his eyes following mine.
“Keep moving,” the guard says gruffly, and I’m forced to tear my gaze away and stomp out my amazement as they lead the way.
Trumpet fanfare fills the air as we enter the palace. With each step, we are closer and closer to the throne room. Closer to saving Reyna.
Our original guard is joined by three others. Two leading us and two behind us to ensure there’s no wandering off. The stupid plumes of their helmets with their golden armor make the guards look like molting peanaria. Their purple feathers turn golden before they begin to fall off. I catch myself moments before slamming into their backs. Our party comes to a stop in front of large double doors that reach the top of the vaulted ceiling, made of gleaming gold, matching the runes on the outside of the palace. Un-fucking-believable. But standing inside the halls, the disbelief quickly sours and disgust curls deep in my stomach. Homeless line the walls of the city in temporary villages made of raggedy tents, and shelters made of what they could find. The Market district’s skyscrapers are crumbling in places, and the Farm—the reason we’re here—is being assaulted by a plague, the likes of which the healers have never seen before. All the while, King Daemon sits here, in his gilded palace, on a green velvet cushion, surrounded by servants.
Another round of fanfare and the large doors swing open. I snarl, my lip curling at each guard that looks my way. Fuck being the docile girl they want. The smoldering rage inside me warms to a blaze, rising in my chest, threatening to take control. Green velvet curtains complement the gilded walls. Sitting front and center, separated by a dais is King Daemon. Advisors and nobles stand at attention. Their eyes scan me before latching to Papa as we walk toward the throne and the awaiting King.
The Daughters of the Rose sit around his feet. My feet slow as I make eye contact with each one of the Oracle’s acolytes. I, along with the rest of the women of Demendia , am forced to wear heavy skirts that touch the tops of our feet while they’re flaunting their skin, covered in a too-thin, sheer material, nipples highlighted by the white fabric. The room falls silent as the trumpets die, and all that’s left are the sharp sounds of our feet against the green tile. I force my hands together, clasping them in a way I hope seems meek and docile because I am feeling anything but. I bow my head quickly, avoiding eye contact with the male nobles like I’m supposed to as we stop in front of the throne.
“Welcome to my court, Lumin Leif.” Wine flies from his glass as he flings his arm to greet them. He has significantly changed in the years since his portrait. I try to reconcile the twig thin King portrayed to me for years throughout the district with this very round man with inky black hair. A sort of shadowy oiliness follows his movements. His tunic is a grand green, matching the tile beneath my feet.
“Thank you for having us.” Papa kneels as he speaks, making sure to latch his fingers around my wrist and drag me down with him. This King doesn’t deserve our respect, he has done nothing for us. I make eye contact with Papa ready to say something, and he glares, slightly shaking his head in a we’re here to ask for help look. My grumbles die on my tongue as the King opens his mouth once again.
“You’ve brought a woman. A damaged one, but still whole where it matters.” He licks his lips as his eyes rove over my body making me feel dirty and naked beneath his gaze, as if it could penetrate my dress. I ignore the impulse to touch that scar that runs through my eyebrow and onto my cheek.
“This is my eldest daughter, Astrid. You were present on her name day.” The words hang in the air.
“It’s just surprising. Women should be at home minding the children or cleaning,” Daemon says, his eyes turning into suspicious slits. He leans forward, his round stomach drags him nearly out of his chair as he leans an elbow on his knee. His voice turns serious. “Did you know I single-handedly banished the fae from our walls?”
“I learned of it in school.” My fists clench at my sides. “You claimed victory over human and fae before Demendia sealed its gates.” I keep my tone pleasant and conversational. All the while I want to speak out, yell in his face about how wrong he is. If there’s a war going on, it’s the one on poverty. I want to be petty, unleash my anger and let it do the talking. But I promised Embla I’d behave. A promise I fully intend to keep, even if I have to wrestle with my temper to do it.
“Nasty beasts, fae are. We will forever be grateful for their banishment,” Papa chimes in when I have nothing more to add. King Daemon leans back on his throne, flippantly assessing.
“Go on then. State your grievance,” the King’s voice is thin and casual as it snakes through the air.
“The people of my district are falling ill,” Papa’s voice holds steady.
“The physicians in your district should know how to deal with it.” The King tries to blow him off, raising a hand as if to dismiss him from the room while looking down his nose. He doesn't care about his people at all and would rather dismiss us than help.
“They don’t,” I growl, unable to control myself any longer.
“Come again?” King Daemon turns his attention to me.
“The Physicians don’t know what the fuck they’re doing and kill just as many people with their treatments,” I say each word slowly, mocking.
“I’m sure you could spare a master healer—” Papa tries to salvage the situation, his eyes darting from me to the King, but my anger flares brightly within me. Who is he to deny help to our people?
“Don’t bother Papa, he won’t,” I say loudly , and the King sputters.
“They’re out—they’re out—” He stops thinking for a second, like he’s trying to decide which lie to tell. “They’re out collecting medicines from the farthest reaches of the world.”
“Send for one then,” I challenge. All eyes in the room are on me. The scantily clad acolytes rush to the King’s side, each fighting to whisper in his ear until he waves them off.
“And stop their quest?” King Daemon scoffs. “No chance.” He folds his arms over his chest.
“Selfish son of a b—” I take a step forward, and guards swarm. Hands circle my wrists, anchoring them to my back and holding me in place below the dais.
“May I remind you this is my court. My city. There are more people that benefit from the medicines the masters will bring home with them than there are people in the Farm District. Don’t confuse your selfishness with mine.” The nobles around the room whisper their agreement in a murmur that fills the space.
“You should really teach your daughter Malia’s womanly virtues before I do.” King Daemon’s gaze darkens on the last two words as they roam over my body. Fear prickles at the base of my spine at his thinly veiled threat. Papa shoots a glare in my direction before he clears his throat, claiming King Daemon’s attention. “Have you paid your tithe for the season?” The King is back to looking down his nose.
“It’s not due yet,” Papa responds and a cruel smile lifts Daemon’s lips.
“Your district usually pays early. We wouldn’t want to have to sacrifice young Embla’s life to Malia. She is the youngest of your line? Is she not?”
“You’ll not have her. We will pay the tithe before it is past due,” Leif growls.
“I could send my personal physician, but you haven’t paid your tithe. Until that happens, I don’t think I’m going to do anything.” Amusement dances in the King’s eyes at the anger that flares behind Papa’s.
“We’ll have the crops, and the Farm district appreciates any help you can send.” His fists are clenched, his face red. Even though his words are cordial, the muscle in his jaw ticks as he turns to leave. The King’s controlling arrogance follows us out of the palace. I can’t release the breath I’m holding until we’ve crossed into the residential district.
“What do you think you were doing?” Papa demands whirling on me. His face has been red since we left the palace.
“I was trying to help. You were rolling over,” I say, putting my foot down. I am tired of the way we are treated while the King and his nobles get to live in luxury.
“We have a plan B, we were going to help our people regardless of what he said, you didn’t have to go agitating the King,” Papa huffs, disappointment lacing each of his words. He always has a plan, I should’ve controlled myself.
“I’m sorry, Papa,” I whisper, unable to look him in the eyes.
“I just hope the King doesn’t watch us too closely and we can still get away during the festival,” Papa mutters more to himself.
“Why are they so tall?” I ask, my eyes never leaving the sky as Nymia picks her way down the street. I'm trying to take Papa's mind off how the Lumin's audience went by asking the questions I wanted to on our first journey through the district.
“They house the people, and the stores that make up the Market District. Do you want to go see?” Papa asks, calmer than I expected him to be. Pulling his sprite to a stop, a twinkle in his eye. I want to go and see, but then my conscience pipes up. Do we really have time for this? While I know we’re in a time crunch, I may never get the opportunity to see the other parts of Demendia, and I want to explore while I can.
“Yes, I’ll make it quick I promise,” I say, beaming.
“I’ll wait here, go look around and come back.” Papa points to the glass double doors of the nearest skyscraper. I dismount, handing him Nymia’s reins as I wander inside the building.
Inside is a large hallway. The white tile is chipped, and the gray-painted walls look like they have seen better days with bright graffiti splashed across them. In between the graffiti, rooms lacking doors line the space. Each one houses a store that specializes in something different. Some hold clothing, furniture, knickknacks, and I even spot a store dedicated to blankets as I roam the hall. Everything is handmade by those selling, and I watch the merchants from the windows as they sit in their stores piecing together wares. My mouth gapes at some of the things these people are selling, and I can only think about how different this district is from my home district.
I reach the last store in the hall, and something pulls me to it. I follow not wanting to miss out on all this skyscraper has to offer. I look through the windows of the storefront taking in the clothes that line the walls, and the overflowing garment racks.
Then my eyes meet green ones, like the color of a new leaf. The man is breathtaking with his long golden-brown hair looped into a bun, and muscles rippling under his shirt. His arms look like they could rip out of his sleeves in a moment. But it’s the hollow sparkle of loneliness behind his green eyes that speaks of a tortured history that draws me in. I walk into the store wondering what torment left him as a shell of himself. Could he be a kindred soul stuck on a path he’s not quite sure he’s destined for?
I slow myself to take my time, while reminding myself I need to hurry as I peruse his racks. I pull out cloaks, dresses, corset stays, skirts and put them back when they aren't quite what I thought they were. Too frilly and colorful for my taste.
“Can I help you find something?” his deep voice caresses my back, startling me from my exploration, awakening something inside of me.
“I’m just looking.” I blush as I finish hanging a petticoat with too many frills back on the rack where I found it.
I turn around, not realizing how close he is. My chest is flush with his and green eyes root me to my spot as I stare into them. His breath whispers against my cheek, and the smell of sandalwood and smoke fills my nose. My heart stirs at his nearness, trying to leap out of my chest as if it wishes to be closer to him. What is this familiarity? Confusion swirls through me at my body’s reaction to his proximity as warmth pools between my legs. My hands tremble as he slowly reaches behind me, bringing his face inches from mine as he pulls a few things from the rack. He straightens revealing blue jeans, leggings, and a pair of deep green cargo pants that he extends to me.
“Are you the one doing this?” he asks, his eyes searching my face for something.
“Doing what? I’m just shopping,” I say, offering him a weak smile as I pretend I’m not feeling something as well. I look over the clothes in my hands one more time.
“The fitting rooms are in the back,” he says with a smirk before turning back to the register. I weave through the store, reminding myself I need to hurry as I try on the pants he gave me. I don’t know how he knew I prefer trousers until I’m undressing and realize it must’ve been the way I’m dressed. I pull on the blue jeans expecting them to swallow me, and I’m pleasantly surprised they fit. Merchants don’t usually carry pants sized for women here, and elation fills me. I won’t have to alter them at all.
Giddy with excitement, I rush to the register prepared to give him all my money, when a gold and pink corset with roses printed across the fabric catches my eye, bringing me to a stop. It instantly reminds me of a sunset. A deep purple ribbon ties the front closed, and Embla comes to mind. She would love this, and she would love to have something from a different district. Without a second thought, I pick it up and add it to my bounty.
I drop all of it on the counter near the register. I flash the foreign man a smile, and he returns it revealing a single dimple on his left cheek.
“Ready to check out? Did you find everything okay?” he asks as he starts to ring up my items. I nod, my smile growing. I can’t wait to give Embla the corset.
“Yes, thank you.” I watch as he rings something up before dropping it into a paper shopping bag. “You must not be from around here,” I continue, observing him as he works.
“What makes you say that?” He doesn’t pause as he turns to the register, punching a couple of things in.
“Most merchants got rid of this technology years ago when Malia approved an upgrade. They imported as much as they could from outside the city. The god of prosperity doesn’t allow new technology into the city often. But this is old.” I gesture to the metal register, the buttons reminding me of a typewriter.
He smirks, placing the corset into the paper bag. “I’m from Erothea. It’s my first time working in the city of walls. Usually, it’s my brother. That’ll be six silver coins.”
I dig into my bag pulling out four.
“I’ll have to put something back.” A flush creeps up my neck as embarrassment breathes down the back of my neck.
“Don’t worry about it, just take it.” He shoves the paper shopping bag into my hands before gathering up the coins.
Gripping the bag to my chest, I’m lost for words. No one in Demendia gives things away for free.
“Thank you,” I say, then quickly I turn on my heels and hurry back to Papa before the merchant can change his mind. I hesitate at the door, throwing a glance behind my shoulder, and I almost miss the longing sadness that crosses the man’s face. I try not to read into it, hurrying out the door as disappointment floods my system when I leave the stranger behind, knowing I will never see him again. I can’t explain the flood of emotions that rushes through me, the longing, the want to be near him. But I shove it out of my mind. There is nothing more important than finding a cure and saving Reyna along with the rest of our people.