Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Two days later, I’m tucked within the soft cushions of my mother’s carriage, a team of two glossy bay horses drawing me closer to my doom with every tap of their hooves. After my mother spent most of her waking hours fretting and reminding me to take my daily dose of magic suppressant, I found myself almost eager to trade tearful goodbyes and embark on my journey.
Now that I’m alone, though, my anxieties flood through me like a swollen river. First and foremost, I worry about Leesa.
I bite my lip. She must be alive. I feel it in my bones. No matter what, I’ll find her and learn what took her away before the king excuses me from service.
The ruthless fist gripping my body relaxes, and I breathe easier.
Although I hate to admit it, leaving the castle is akin to removing an anvil from my throat.
The countryside—that I rarely had permission to see—is vaster than I imagined, the vegetation thick, fragrant, and unlike what grows around the castle.
The stretches of green plant life give way to barren sections where the vegetation thins and everything is dying. Shriveled, dead bushes. Rotting fruit. Naked trees. When we pass these areas, the air sneaking into the carriage carries a faint, unpleasant odor.
My heart sinks. Now that I’m venturing outside of my insulated bubble, the gravity of the situation Royce described hits me. Mother and her friends talked about our crop failures in Aclaris, but the excess food gracing the castle’s tables during her parties certainly gives no indication that production is dire.
I hope the land stretching along this road isn’t indicative of the state of the rest of Aclaris. If so, our kingdom appears to be in a lot of trouble. No wonder the families in our village struggle more these days. Dead crops mean inflated prices, and the poorest among us have no extra resources to spare.
I wonder if King Xenon understands how much these changes in crop production impact Aclaris’s less fortunate citizens or if his luxurious palace in the capital city insulates him from such pedestrian concerns.
A moment later, I chide myself. Our king must juggle so many responsibilities and urgent needs, a difficult task made even more challenging by the unrest between Aclaris, Tirene, and Kamor. Ridiculous of me to assume he doesn’t care about the hungry simply because assistance hasn’t reached our village yet.
All told, King Xenon is a million times more caring than whatever poses as royalty in Tirene. A kingdom that sanctions unprovoked attacks on civilians and children—like the one that stole my father from me—is a kingdom that deserves to die out.
My mother never told me or anyone else that I was riding with him on that fateful day. The only reason I know the truth is because I discovered her in her bedchamber on his birthday when I was around ten years old. She was clinging to his jacket and talking to his ghost about how she almost lost me too that day, but the gods decided to give her another chance.
The carriage slows to a stop. Weird, since it’s too soon for us to have reached Flighthaven.
Someone raps on the door. “Come in.”
Otis, one of the two guards Mother insisted accompany me, opens the door and ducks inside. “Pardon me, milady, but the driver says we’re nearing the last town before Flighthaven and it’s best you pull your shades down.”
I frown. With all the shades down, the carriage interior reminds me of a tomb. “Is there a reason the driver suggested this?”
Otis settles into the seat opposite me. “He also recommended I ride with you. Claims there are hard people in town and thinks it’s better if you don’t see ’em.”
The reply makes me bristle. Better because I’m of noble birth, which means I have delicate sensibilities? Or better for me in particular?
I know what people think. Poor, sheltered Lark. She’s much too weak to survive the sight of impoverished people. Keep them hidden from view, and they’ll cease to exist.
Gross. While part of me can appreciate the undoubtedly earnest attempt to protect me, my mother’s coddled me enough to last an entire lifetime.
“By hard, does he mean poor?”
Otis clears his throat and fidgets with a loose thread on his tunic. “I’m sure I couldn’t say.”
I snort. Funny. I never knew Otis could be so tactful. “Well, whatever he meant, I feel confident that I won’t fall to pieces or faint either way.”
Otis nods. “As you wish.”
The window shades remain up as the carriage resumes rolling. The pace is much slower due to the growing congestion in town, allowing me to drink in the worn buildings and rows of small, ramshackle homes constructed from flimsy wood. Passing the residences, we enter a large marketplace. Cramped stalls stretch as far as the eye can see, and hawkers shout their wares to the threadbare shoppers milling about, boasting of everything from delicious sweetbreads and fine leather gloves to weaponry and hats. The aroma of roasting meat mingles with the stench of rotting garbage. I wrinkle my nose, but the people in the marketplace appear immune. Many of their cheeks are sunken and gaunt, their clothing torn and mended.
This, when the women who attend Mother’s parties drip with jewels…each gem precious enough to buy everyone here clothing for years.
I make a mental note to talk to Royce about donating clothing upon my return. In the meantime, barring emergencies, the food stores already gathered and the coin I handed Luke before leaving should be enough to provide for the needy.
“Hey, you!” A bellow from outside the carriage rips me from my internal planning. “Come back here!”
Startled by the shout, I lean out the window.
A small, thin boy dressed in ragged, homespun clothes bolts from between the stalls, a plucked chicken in his hand. He races toward the carriage.
“Hey, stop!” The yelling comes from a burly, red-faced man wearing a blood-stained apron. Wielding a meat cleaver, he chases after the boy. “Thief!”
Without even considering my actions, I wrench open the door and leap out.
“Milady!”
Otis’s curse trails after me, but I don’t pause to wait. If he catches me, he’ll kindly but firmly guide me back to the carriage. And given how quickly the boy’s legs pump and the fear etched on his small face, him getting caught could result in something dire.
I hurry toward the boy rushing in my direction. He sneaks another glance over his shoulder and plows right into me.
“Oof.” With my breath knocked out and pain shooting from my stomach to my throat, I can’t say much else.
The collision knocks the boy off his feet. He sprawls across the dirt, his shirt torn open from the fall. The plucked chicken remains clenched in his fist.
Panting, the butcher reaches us.
When I help the boy to his feet, he tries to wiggle away, so I wrap my arm around his bony shoulders and hold tight.
“Much obliged to you for stopping that beggar and thief .” The butcher shakes his meat cleaver at the child. “Once I lop off all your fingers, boy, you won’t be stealing none of my other?—”
“He didn’t steal the one he’s holding.” I shield the boy from the man and improvise on the spot. “He would have paid for your chicken…because I asked him to get me one…except I forgot to give him the money.”
The boy stops wiggling and raises his dirt-streaked face to meet mine, his round eyes bulging with astonishment.
The stunned butcher regards my too-fancy style of dress, threaded with royal blue, gold, and silver. Mother insisted I wear this, claiming others outside our castle would respect me because I’m dressed like a lady. Too stressed, I refrained from arguing.
I would have preferred breeches. Around the castle, I wore the pair I bought off the stable hand whenever Mother wasn’t around. I wish had them on today in lieu of this hot, heavy, uncomfortable dress. Some of the people here gawk at me as if I’m a phoenix risen from extinction. My cheeks warm from all the attention. My pulse throbs in my throat.
So many people. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many at the same time before. Along with the banquet of competing scents and noises, the scene is a far cry from Castle Axton and a lot to take in.
Skepticism crosses the butcher’s face. “Yer saying you know this thief?”
The boy’s back to squirming. I tighten my grip to keep him still.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’ll pay for the chicken. Then we can all be on our way.”
Before the man can comment, I reach into the pocket within my dress and pull out a silver coin. Prior to me leaving for Flighthaven, Mother insisted I take the silver and a few gold coins to pay off highwaymen who might rob my carriage.
The butcher’s rheumy eyes sparkle. He licks his rotting teeth.
A constable dressed in a dark blue uniform approaches, his features hard. “What’s going on here?”
The butcher speaks before I can. “She’s buying me chicken.” After snatching the coin from my hand, the butcher bites down on the metal to test its authenticity.
A faint crack sounds. One of his rotted teeth? Hopefully not.
With the coin safe in his blood-soaked fist, he spins on his heel. The constable follows, leaving me and the boy in peace.
I loosen my grip on the child and offer him three more coins. “You have to be more careful when you’re around someone carrying any kind of weap?—”
Snatching the coins, the boy smacks my hand off his shoulder and darts into the crowd, still clinging to the plucked chicken.
Though it must be killing them, Otis and Belton hold their tongues. With the guards flanking me on each side, we head back to the carriage.
Otis helps me inside, easing back into the seat across from me before breaking his silence. “Any regrets?”
“Just one. I wish I’d had a chance to give him more money before he took off like that.”
The guard snorts but says nothing, and we resume our journey in silence. I spend much of my remaining time pushing aside personal fears, but as we turn onto the road leading to the sprawling academy, they come rushing back with a vengeance. My magic’s unstable, my body’s weak, and I’m terrified of alicorns and flying, but sure, surviving the king’s flight program will be as simple as rumbleberry pie.
I thump my head against the window. Ugh. What in the hells was I thinking?
My breaths quicken, one on top of the other. To calm my nerves, I force myself to focus on a happy memory of stealing little honey cakes from Cook with Leesa, the two of us giggling as we raced away to Leesa’s room and gobbled them down from our hiding spot beneath her bed. Slowly, the iron vice gripping my chest eases. I’m not saying the program will be easy, but I can push through. Especially since joining the King’s Flyers is my best chance of finding answers about Leesa.
Also, terrifying or not, Flighthaven provides me with the opportunity to escape my mother’s gilded cage.
I adjust the cumbersome folds of my gown and settle back into the cushioned seat. Whatever I’m picturing at Flighthaven, I’m sure the reality is a lot less scary.