Chapter 5 Astrid
The cloudless sky is tinged blossom pink, a few stars beginning their nighttime vigil along with Maja, the larger of the two moons that guard the night.
Astrid’s breath catches at the sight before her.
A golden city punctuated by pointed spires glitters on the horizon, the hazy air creating the illusion it’s floating.
The castle—The Rok as it’s named—is set high upon cliffs of sandstone overlooking the city below, and surrounding it are huge watchtowers with flat tops that remind Astrid of perches you might find in a bird’s cage.
So this is Talrok—the Stone City. It is one of the most beautiful places she’s ever seen. Her dad told her as much, during one of their nightly hot chocolate sessions, but his descriptions did it little justice. Goddess, she misses him, today more than ever.
A bell tower sits on either side of the river, the bells ringing in welcome, or warning, that the northern royals are approaching.
They crossed into Vatra yesterday evening, after sailing across the Asur Sea.
It took longer than it should have; her mother was being overcautious and didn’t want to risk straying too far east into the Mists—a place where sailors venture and never return.
The crossing barely registered with Astrid, not when Jessa kept her busy with training, the thought of the Blight spurring Astrid on almost as much as the idea of the dragon that awaits her.
The deck vibrates under her feet as her mother’s familiar comes to sit beside her, warm brown eyes focused on the horizon.
“It looks like it’s made from pure gold,” she murmurs.
Bjorn is quiet for a moment. HOW ARE YOU FEELING?
Astrid considers the question. How is she feeling?
Not quite herself, but not in a bad way.
She feels almost like a spectator of her own life.
Seeing the Stone City, being in Vatra at last, it’s not fully sinking in why she’s here.
Her mother would call it denial. Astrid thinks it’s self-preservation.
“I’m okay,” she says, and it’s the truth. “What’s Mum doing?”
WITH JESSA EATING SUPPER, IF YOU WANT TO JOIN THEM.
The last thing Astrid wants to do is eat, but she should try at least.
“Sure. Are you coming?”
IT IS TOO CRAMPED AND TOO HOT FOR ME INSIDE.
As much as Gwen could cast a cooling charm in the cabin, Astrid knows she is focusing her energy on the protections around the boat for when they enter Talrok.
Bjorn huffs down onto the deck, stretching out like an oversize cat, and she smiles at the familiarity of it before heading inside.
Her mum looks up from the rye roll she’s buttering and gives her a sympathetic smile that puts Astrid on edge.
“My miracle girl, how are you—”
“I’m good,” Astrid interrupts, taking a seat by Jessa. “Trying to keep a clear head and prepare myself.”
She can’t allow her emotions to get the better of her this evening, not when she’s finally going to come face-to-face with Prince Zryan.
“In which case, let’s talk about what you’re going to wear,” says Jessa, no-nonsense, just like Astrid needs her to be.
She notices Jessa’s hair is freshly dyed, blond roots no longer visible, and she’s wearing a slim-fitting blue tunic and leggings to match Astrid’s outfit. She’s in full decoy mode.
Astrid grins at her. “How feminist of you.”
Jessa clips her around the head. “I’m not talking about some weird presentation-of-a-princess thing, I’m talking about the presents I got you.
” Jessa smirks. Oh Gods, what has she done?
Some of Jessa’s gifts in the past haven’t been suitable for polite company, and definitely not suitable for her mother to see.
“First, your new armor.” Jessa grabs a burlap bag from the floor and hands it to Astrid.
“For the meeting with the dragons later. They’ll be at the harbor to ‘officially’ ”—she air quotes—“greet us before we’re taken to the castle, and that’ll be out in the open.
I don’t trust them or their people, so you’re wearing that. ”
Quincy grunts in agreement. Astrid pulls the tan leather jerkin from the bag, admiring it.
“I picked it up yesterday at the docks. Vatran armor is lighter and cooler, more supple. I actually prefer it.”
“Careful, I could have you for treason,” Gwen says.
“What are you wearing right now, Your Majesty?” Jessa nods at the jerkin the queen has on.
“I take your point.” She laughs.
“Who’s going to be meeting us?” Astrid asks.
“Definitely the king and the prince. I’m not sure about the queen,” her mum says.
“And the brother?”
“Prince Zeb is currently training at one of the army camps. They’re keeping him out of the city for this.”
“Why do you think that is?” Jessa asks, curling her golden whip absently through her fingers.
“Nothing untoward. He’s seventeen. Zryan also went to train with the army around that age. Zeb doesn’t have a dragon yet, so they probably think he’s safer there, too.”
“Well, that’s one less person who might try to kill you before you’re blood bound,” Jessa says, sliding a paper package over the table. “I got you something else, too. This I know you’re really going to love.”
Astrid eyes the package, then the smirk still on Jessa’s face, before ripping it open.
Inside is a belt of midnight-blue leather with odd tubular compartments attached.
Her mum’s leaning over, brow furrowed. Astrid fiddles with one of the tubes until Jessa tuts and stands up, snatching it off her and slinging it around her own hips.
“I call it the Brewer’s Belt.” She puts her arms out and twirls. “These tubes you see are custom-made to fit your spicy little vials, my friend, so never again will you have to rifle through a bag of crap to find your potions to save your own Hel-damned life.” Astrid laughs but her mum scowls.
“Too soon, Jessa.”
“Sorry, My Queen,” Jessa says, not sounding sorry at all.
“Anyway, I think it’s pretty genius myself.
” She unfastens the belt and passes it back to Astrid.
“The pockets are magically reinforced so if you fall, or if anyone attacks you, the vials won’t break on impact, nor can anyone cut them from the belt. ”
Astrid stares at it, turning it over and admiring the buckle. It’s burnished silver and decorated with a winged panther. The sigil of their house.
“Artemia,” Jessa murmurs. “For luck.”
Artemia, the mighty winged black panther, familiar to the first witch king, Nyx, who fought in the Heart Wars half a millennium ago. And the reason she’s in this mess, given it was Nyx who established the duel.
Astrid strokes the buckle once more. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Good. Now if you’re done fondling it, go and stock the thing—we’ll be at the city walls soon.”
Mood lighter, Astrid rises from the table, tucking a couple of venison sausages inside a napkin to take back to her room. The boat rolls beneath her as she zig-zags down the corridor to her cabin. She’s about to unlock the door when Jessa sidles up beside her.
“What are you doing?”
Jessa pulls a face. “I’m coming to your room, obviously. Are you going to open the door or what?”
Astrid blinks stupidly at her, then loudly clears her throat.
“Yes, okay.” She knocks on the door, rattles the key in the lock, then says “Avask,” the unlocking spell that is her forte.
“Did you just knock on your own door?”
“Erm, yes.” Shit. “No idea why I did that.” She hopes he heard her.
She peers in—there’s no sign of him—then gestures Jessa inside.
Jessa stares at her a moment before finally stepping over the threshold, apparently deciding the level of unhinged Astrid is displaying is the right side of acceptable.
Astrid makes straight for the walnut desk below the porthole.
On one side is her Gram’s grimoire, her clay crucible, her ceramic stirrer—which she really needs to clean—and her burner.
Strewn across the rest of the desk are various ingredients—aconite, moondust, ginseng, and giant-squid ink, to name a few—as well as some glass vials and a rack.
She begins loading up her belt with various concoctions: a potent healing remedy; an antidote for most known poisons; and an elixir she dubbed “The Trip,” which causes its victim to hallucinate temporarily.
Jessa insisted she be the guinea pig for that one, and afterward told Astrid she could make a fortune on the black market if being heir to the throne didn’t work out.
She slots the final potion in—her trusty Masking Mist, a handy solution that causes anyone looking her way to glance right past her, pretty much rendering her invisible. Astrid pulls the belt tight around her hips.
Jessa chucks her new Vatran armor at her. “Put it on. It’ll give you a little more protection until we get to the castle.” The armor would be more useful in the castle than out of it, but Astrid doesn’t say that.
“You’ve also got another witch on personal guard duty alongside me, as I can’t watch you night and day.
You know Fionn?” She does, but not well.
Fionn’s Gift is a useful one; they can read if someone has bad intentions.
It’s limited in that the bad intentions may not be aimed toward them or anyone they’re protecting, but they can pinpoint the person who’s feeling that way and be more diligent.
Astrid’s not sure how practical it’s going to be in a city where everyone is rooting for her to die.
“Good. Pendant?” Jessa asks, touching her own.
Astrid grabs it from the bedside table and slips it over her head.
She turns to Jessa: they could pass for sisters, only Astrid’s skin is paler and covered in freckles, her eyes marble-berry blue to Jessa’s rich green, and Jessa is taller.
But to the untrained eye, it will be hard to tell the princess from the bodyguard.