Chapter 16
The moment we entered Ellan’s periphery city of Botton, I knew I’d hate every moment of the remaining day.
Trumpets—real, live trumpets—welcomed us into the city’s streets with their obnoxious, regal tones, and we were bombarded by food offerings and praise from the townspeople as we followed Edmund to the central hall.
Harthon simply looked ahead, enduring the onslaught with grim stoicism, while I struggled to stifle the grimace that pulled at my lips.
I lost the fight when we entered the hall, Edmund trailing behind us.
It was a single, cavernous room, a tall ceiling arching high above us and thin windows spread amongst the walls.
Tables formed neat rows across the space, and at the front of the room, separated by a wide gap and raised by a stone platform, lay a single table surrounded by cushioned chairs.
But the furniture wasn’t what created the bitter taste in my mouth.
It was the overflowing vases of flowers placed atop each table. Vibrant green and soft pink erupted from each vessel, not a single indication of wilting or rot visible in any display.
I didn’t dislike flowers. They were beautiful.
More than that, they were extremely rare.
So much so that I’d only ever seen a few because, like most plants, they no longer grew in nature.
These stunning flowers had to have come from special farms or gardens that cared specifically for their growth—spaces that could instead be growing food for starving people.
But Ellan prioritized useless, frivolous flowers that served no purpose other than overindulgent decoration.
“Harthon!” a rich voice boomed across the space.
The speaker waddled across the room toward us.
His belly strained against the velvety, orange tunic that was tucked into gold-colored pants, the shiny hue matching the heavy chains on his neck and the crown on his short brown hair.
A frizzy beard wrapped across his chin, and his cheeks were red with alcohol, heat, or a combination of the two.
“Ellan,” Harthon greeted with far less excitement.
“My friend,” Ellan exclaimed, wrapping Harthon in an enthusiastic hug as if they were old friends. Harthon stiffly patted him on the back. Ellan pulled back, squeezing Harthon’s shoulders as he grinned, revealing a gold-painted tooth. “It is so wonderful to see you. How kind of you to visit me.”
“Thank you for having us.” Harthon’s polite words lacked any sort of sincerity.
Without a speck of gray hair, Ellan couldn’t be much older than Harthon, but I’d never seen such greater contrast between two men in my life. I would bet my next five meals that Ellan had never wielded a weapon, much less fought to protect his Territory.
Ellan’s brown eyes landed on me, and he dropped his hands, a look of awe overcoming his ruddy features.
“And…you…the magvis.” A hand lifted to his heart. “I am absolutely honored to make your acquaintance.”
As the noxious scent of his sweet perfume attacked my nose, I knew I should respond with something polite as Harthon had. Thank you would suffice. Two easy words that were an appropriate response to the Territory leader in front of me.
Thank you.
My eyes drifted to the flowers that adorned the raised table behind him.
I couldn’t say the words. And I was the magvis, so I didn’t have to.
“The people in this Territory. Are any of them starving?” I asked instead.
His awe turned to confusion. Still, he flashed a cordial smile. “What do you mean?”
“You’re clearly growing flowers. Is that because you have farming space to spare? Is there an overabundance of food in this Territory?”
Harthon’s gaze was a visceral weight. I ignored it. I was to convince the world that I was the magvis, and while it wasn’t wise to make Princepes hate me, it was probably okay to be somewhat abrasive.
I doubted powerful, unearthly beings were particularly kind and sweet.
And, besides, if Harthon didn’t like it, what would he do? Kick me out? Banish me from meeting other Princepes? Yes, please.
Ellan blinked several times. “I…well, not exactly, but flowers are a necessity, just like food,” he said matter-of-factly.
A necessity. My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Righteous anger began to stir, pricking at my chest and heating my lungs.
I wanted to challenge him. To ask him to explain, take his reasoning, and shove it so far down his throat that he choked.
But a short conversation wasn’t going to convince this pathetic excuse for a leader that his priorities were wrong.
And even if it could, I wouldn’t be able to make it through that conversation without launching myself at his face.
That was something a magvis couldn’t do.
As if spectating the battle within my mind, Harthon shifted toward me, his hand coming to rest on my lower back. A warning.
I swallowed the bite in my words and asked Ellan, “What do you do with the flowers after they’re used for decoration?”
More confusion twisted his face. “What do we do with the flowers?”
“Yes. When the party is done, what do you do with the flowers? Domus knows the time, effort, and resources that go into producing them. Food is hard enough to produce these days.”
Ellan chuckled, turning to Harthon as if searching for comradery.
Harthon’s flat expression offered none. “Why, we throw them away. No one likes dead flowers.” His eyes suddenly widened as if realizing a mistake.
“Unless, of course, you like dead flowers. You can have them if you want. I don’t know what your…
type…prefers,” he fumbled, wincing at his own words.
I took a breath to calm the roiling emotions bubbling beneath my skin. “Dead flowers can be used to fertilize food plants, helping them to grow faster and feed more people. Perhaps you can consider doing that in the future.”
Recovering quickly, Ellan opened his arms wide.
“Leave it to the magvis to bestow new knowledge upon me.” He turned to Harthon and nudged his arm.
I wasn’t sure if Ellan was aware just how easily Harthon could break his fingers if he wanted to.
“You’re a lucky man, Harthon. What a well to draw from, huh? ”
The casual quip struck a chord deep within me. Something to drain. That’s all the magvis ever was to the kings. An incredible being stripped down into an object.
Ana had said I’d want to stab Ellan. I didn’t think it would be so soon.
“I’m fortunate to have found Etarla,” Harthon said, meeting my eyes briefly.
“Etarla! What a lovely name. Did you come up with it?”
The ignorant comment sent my fingers curling into fists. I wasn’t a horse to be named.
Harthon regarded him coolly. “We don’t name the magvis. She’s no pet.”
Completely oblivious to the effect his words had, Ellan chortled.
“Of course, of course. Well, Etarla, my good friend and I have a few things to discuss before the party starts. Those two can lead you to a room to rest and, you know, make yourself up for later.” He indicated to the two women standing nervously by the door.
I blinked. Make myself up? We’d been through a fight with the looters, but surely I didn’t look that bad.
Before I could ask what he meant, Harthon leaned close to my ear. “He’s giving you an escape. Take it and run so at least one of us isn’t miserable,” he whispered, and I cracked a wry smile.
Ellan watched the exchange with a faltering grin. “What’d you tell her?”
“I reminded her not to burn your hall to ashes before the party,” Harthon answered casually.
The grin vanished, replaced by wariness. “She wouldn’t…there’s no…there’s no need to do that. She wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t do that, right?”
But I was already walking away, not caring that the two women by the door could see the silent laughter escaping my lips.
They led me to a sitting room tucked behind the hall, where I was met with a steaming bath, a decadent spread of bread and cheese, and chairs upholstered in a loud orange velvet.
Orange was apparently Ellan’s color.
Without meeting my eyes, one of the women told me I’d have a few hours to bathe, relax, and prepare myself. When she offered to return to style my hair and help me dress, I refused. I didn’t need strangers tugging on my hair and smearing colors onto my face.
The moment they left, I stripped off my cloak and began one hundred repetitions of each jab and kick just as Harthon had instructed.
I needed the practice, and it was the only way I could release the vexation Ellan had awoken with startling efficiency.
When I finished, I ran through a series of evasions, combining spins, ducks, and step-backs in an effort to familiarize my muscles with the foreign movements.
The bath was cool by the time I got in, but the fireplace kept the water from freezing, and I indulged in a long soak after going so long without a rinse.
Afterward, I braided my hair and pulled on the same clothes I’d come in, realizing that my clean garments were left with the horse.
Nothing was keeping me from leaving the room and getting them myself, but I didn’t want to traipse around Fifth on my own.
My aversion was silly. I was with Harthon as the Princeps’ guest. There was also the fact that I was a terrifying, mysterious being, at least in the eyes of the people. It was unlikely that anyone would try to harm me.
As I worked through the logic, I realized that it wasn’t fear of danger that kept me from opening the door. It was the knowledge that I was an imposter in an unknown world, and I didn’t want to navigate it alone.
You need Harthon.
I audibly groaned, collapsing onto the couch.
I did need him, more than I should.
At some point, I’d started relying on him for more than physical protection. He…he was the one to ground me when I was so far outside of my element. He opened my eyes to new knowledge, invited na?ve questions with patience, and held me upright when every new experience knocked me off-kilter.
I hated it.