Chapter 8 Skylar
Skylar moves toward the flickering light of the tavern, clinging to pockets of darkness.
Aldric was pissed as Vaar when she got back to camp, covered in dirt, a bruise on the side of her head with no idea how it got there.
But still, he told her where to go tonight—told her that a woman in a blue cloak, dark-haired, tall, with a funny accent, is meeting someone about the conscripts this evening.
Said woman is posing as an ally of the royals, apparently, but trying to get information for the rebels.
So either Skylar has to find a way to get her to talk—or she’ll follow and see exactly what this meeting is about.
She knew Aldric could find something if he put his mind to it. He’s good at pulling things out of people—probably because he can make them see exactly what they want to. Or exactly what they don’t.
She moves closer to the tavern, laughter spilling into the moonslight as the door swings open, bringing with it the smell of fumca smoke. She passes a woman with an orange cape, designed to look like fire, a hood pulled over her head. The woman raises her arms as people pass, commanding attention.
“The signs are everywhere, my children, don’t you see?
The forests are wilting in the south, there are floods at the border.
The cracks are showing in this city itself!
” Skylar very much thinks the cracks are due to the dragons landing earlier today, rather than some God smiting them all—but each to their own.
“Arach is getting ready to end this world and send us to the next,” the woman continues.
“His kingdom is waiting for the true believers. Join me, my children—and be saved.”
Skylar snorts, though she keeps her head down.
She knows these maniacs—they will not let her go easily if she makes even the briefest eye contact.
They seem to be growing in numbers. She supposes as more people struggle to afford the Vitalas that used to be plentiful, they become desperate to believe there is something better out there.
But only idiots would believe in another world waiting to welcome them.
She slips into the tavern and is greeted by the smell of hops, sweat, and fumca.
Her boot creaks on the floor and she looks down, experiencing a jolt as she sees what it is.
Wooden floorboards, something you rarely see in the outermost corners of Vatra, let alone the Stone City.
It feels like a subtle rebellion, like it’s going against the power of the dragons and the legend of the fire-breathing ones. She likes it.
Beautiful music is playing, the type that flows right to your soul.
She glances to the corner to see an Acoustic standing there with his eyes closed as he breathes sound into the air.
She can’t help staring. He’s using his Blooded power in front of everyone.
Is that why the woman in the blue cloak is coming here? Is she going to report him?
Skylar scans the bar. And there she is. The woman is alone and currently seems to be paying no attention to the Acoustic.
Skylar edges toward her—close enough to hear if she speaks.
She glances at the list of drinks behind the bar.
She has coins with her; maybe she could have an akavit while she waits for whatever meeting is about to take place.
She moves to the end of the bar, resting her arms against it and adopting a casual pose as she absentmindedly twists her ring. There’s a group of three men on the stools nearest to her: a boy, can’t be older than fifteen, and two older men—one gray-haired, one with dark coal eyes.
“Did you hear, though?” the youngest one says. “The dragon has been seen again.”
Despite telling herself she wants absolutely nothing to do with dragons after today, she can’t help listening in.
Seen again—since earlier today? And is seeing the royals on their dragons a rare occurrence around here?
She’d have thought they’d be flying around all the time, showing off their power.
“The lunar dragon?” Gray Hair asks, taking a sip of his clear drink, which reeks of the strongest alcohol.
Skylar frowns. Lunar. He’s referring to one of the two Celestial Dynasties.
A lunar dragon commands shadows along with some dark, deadly power she doesn’t quite understand.
None of the royals have a lunar dragon, unless she’s missed something.
She wonders if the second prince—what’s his name? Zeb?—has claimed his dragon.
“Yes,” the young one says, his voice tripping with excitement.
His clothes are tatty, and his hair has that greasy look of someone who doesn’t have easy access to baths.
She should know—there have been plenty of times when it’s been her looking like that.
There was this one town they’d stayed in that had a cave system on its outskirts, bright blue, cool water available whenever they wanted it.
She and Cam spent hours there, swimming, chatting about Arach knows what.
She was about fifteen, and they stayed there long enough to make her a little sad when they moved on.
Cam put the town on the shortlist of places to move to, once they broke from Aldric.
“It’s nonsense,” Coal Eyes is saying. “A rumor, nothing more.”
The young man bites his lip, and Skylar can’t resist sidling closer. All three men look at her, and she does her best impression of a pleasant smile. From the blank looks on their faces, she doesn’t quite pull it off.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” she says, trying to imitate the way Amara might purr. She gets a mutter of “I bet you could” from Coal Eyes and does her best not to snarl at him. “And I wondered, what dragon are you talking about?”
She aims her smile at the young boy, who blushes.
Way to go, Lar.
“They’ve spotted a shadow dragon in southern Vatra,” he says, clearly desperate to talk about it. “And it’s not the first sighting. People have been talking about it for weeks.”
She frowns. She’s not heard anything. She supposes she misses this kind of gossip, being on the move all the time—though Cam would have had a field day.
She remembers lying next to him on a sandy beach, looking up at the Stars. Imagine the freedom of it, flying up there. He traced a path across the sky with his hand. No one could touch you. No one could hurt you.
She’s only gleaned a little of what brought Cam to the troupe, but she knows his parents had kicked him out, and worse, for not living up to what a Blooded child should be. She wants to find his parents one day. Wants to leave marks on them that cut deeper than what they’ve done to Cam’s soul.
She scoffed. Never going to happen. Only the royals get dragons.
You never know. Maybe there’s a version of reality where anyone Blooded gets the chance to stand their tests.
“So?” she asks out loud now, and the men stare at her. Right. She should be more charming.
“So?” repeats Gray Hair. “There is no lunar dragon with the royals.” He says it slowly, like she might be thick, and it takes all her willpower not to reach for her pin.
“So that means someone else has been to the island without them knowing,” continues the boy, excitement creeping back into his voice. “It means there is another rider out there.”
Coal Eyes shakes his head. “More likely that someone saw a dragon and imagined a rider. If there’s even a dragon. For all we know, it’s a rumor started by the rebels to get everyone’s hopes up.”
“No,” the boy says firmly. “It’s a sign.”
Gray Hair snorts. “A sign, hey? Of what? Careful, lad, or you’ll be sounding like our Arach-worshipping friend out there in no time.”
Skylar doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation—because the woman in the blue cloak has stood up to leave. What happened to the meeting? Her heart lurches—she didn’t miss it, did she? No, she can’t have. Maybe it got called off. Or maybe it’s now happening elsewhere.
She keeps her distance as she follows the woman away from the city center and down a dark street.
Light flickers from nearby buildings, but the buzzing of Vitalas is less obvious here—they must be in a poorer part of the city.
There’s a shrill kik-kik-kik of a bird of prey somewhere up above her.
Her nerves prickle as she follows down another alley, keeping her steps as silent as she can.
She tells herself she’s fine—she’s the one stalking in this scenario.
But still, she fingers the dagger strapped to her waist—the one she took from Aldric’s stock.
The blue-cloaked woman comes to a stop up ahead, and Skylar blinks into the darkness as another person steps out of the shadows. There is a moment of quiet. A moment where the woman jerks her head. Toward where Skylar is standing, hidden.
It takes less than a second for her to realize something is wrong. To realize that they are not waiting for someone important to arrive.
Which can only mean one thing.
Aldric. He set her up.
She is running before she even knows what she is running from.
But there is someone there to her left, someone who has been waiting to pounce.
Heart beating in her throat, she rolls under outstretched hands, springing up and kicking back.
She hears the satisfying sound of her foot making contact just as another person closes in behind her and she spins, slicing with her dagger.
She feels the blade make contact with flesh, hears the hiss of pain.
Move, Lar!
She doesn’t need his warning. She already knows she’s in deep shit here, can feel the pounding in her head, that sickening sensation in her gut she’s only felt once or twice in her life.
She is running, fast, as she hears a muttered oath behind her, then more murmuring, words she doesn’t understand.
She’s almost at the end of the alley when she freezes. And not of her own accord.
Shit. She can’t move. Something is trapping her, holding her in place mid-run.
Even her eyes are frozen, watering where they are unable to blink.
Her heart is still working, beating faster as panic rises.
And there is something deeper thrumming inside her, unable to get out, like it, too, is frozen by this magic.
She hears footsteps, then a voice. One she recognizes, because although he might be able to cast an illusion over the way he looks, he can’t change the way he sounds. “I told you she’d be fast.”
There is a tutting, then an unfamiliar accent, rough, scraping over her raw nerves. “This the one?”
“Yes.” Aldric’s voice again. Mild, unconcerned. “It’s her.”
A hand grabs her arm, fingers digging into muscle. But still she can’t move. She can’t look to see who the owner of the hand is, can’t put her dagger through those fingers to stop them ever being functional again.
Aldric’s face comes into view, peering down at her out of one of his many disguises. He shakes his head a little sadly. “Sorry, Sugarplum. But everyone has a price.”
Aldric. Aldric set her up, she thinks again. Is he the reason Cam went missing, too? Did he bring them to the Stone City to sell them off to the highest bidder?
She glares at what she can see of him. Something is boiling in her gut—heating her very blood. Beads of sweat prick her forehead as she struggles, every fiber of her being screaming at her. She cannot let this happen. She will not be taken. She will not fight for a country she’d rather see burn.
Aldric narrows his eyes, and for a second, Skylar swears she sees the illusion slip as he backs away half a step, swears she sees the gray in his hair, the wrinkles etched into his skin. A much older man than the one he always portrays.
“I wouldn’t trust that to hold her much longer,” he says sharply.
The fingers on her arm tighten their grip as another pair of hands forces her mouth open.
There is something sweet on her tongue, a sickly honey mixed with an herb she doesn’t recognize.
Whatever magic is holding her in place stops.
Skylar nearly face-plants at the sudden control over her body again.
She coughs and tries to spit out whatever it is they’ve shoved in her mouth, but it’s too late: she can feel the trickle of it down her throat.
Poison.
She wipes at her tongue, coughs again as she tries to make her feet move. But it’s too late.
She falls to the ground on all fours, her knees cracking against the baked clay. A blackness is closing in, her vision blurring. She lets out half a sob, though the sound feels far away, like the world is being ripped from her. She forces her lips to close, stemming it.
The muscles in her arms give way and her head smacks against the ground.
Maybe this poison is lethal. Maybe this is what they’re really doing—killing people so they don’t become a threat to the king and his prince.
She supposes dimly that it doesn’t matter either way—even if she’s not dead, she’s screwed.
But the last thought she clings to before she goes under completely is that if this is really happening, if she is being taken like the others, then that means she will see Cam again. So maybe that’s not so bad, after all.