Chapter 30 #2
People stopped to say hello to the princess or to offer her a smile, and though it was kind, she could see it was a nicety.
Not one person here believed the gentle princess sitting across from her was capable of leading them once her mother passed – Arla could see it in their eyes.
It was tolerance, not respect. The princess would likely have her throat cut before she ever made it to sit upon the throne – Kase had said Malarye’s people were violent, after all.
‘It is quiet this afternoon as most of the men are out catching fish,’ Hyacinth said, sipping from the glass of pink wine.
Arla couldn’t help the wave of irritation that washed over her. ‘Why not the women too? They are just as capable.’
Hyacinth beamed at her, and it took Arla a moment to replay the words she’d spoken and decipher that she hadn’t said anything that was amusing.
‘Do not think I am joking, Your Highness. Why should the women not have the same opportunities as men?’
‘No, no, I don’t find it funny at all,’ the princess said.
‘But I have waited a long time for someone to think the way I do. I too find it backward that we send the men out up to their waists in the sea every day when the women are to stay at home with the children. It is wrong, and I have pushed the issue with my mother so often that she will not hear me speak of the sea any longer.’
Gods, if Hyacinth could just harden up that meek shell of hers, she would make a good queen.
‘I am pushing for it in Flambriar too,’ Arla sighed, twisting the brooch on her uniform.
‘But people are stuck in their ways – especially those who have come from Kastonia’s rule.
I try to introduce the women to helping with the cutting of firewood because their magic is just as adept as the men but many are too afraid of what others will think of them.
’ It was ridiculous when Arla herself had never cared one jot about what people thought of her.
‘Then maybe together we can start to change the way our people think.’
In another life in which she wasn’t some pawn for the fates, she might have come to know the Princess of Malarye sooner, might have befriended her.
Now it just felt that getting too friendly with someone was a cause for the fates to intervene.
She still couldn’t believe they hadn’t tried to separate her from Hark.
Hyacinth paid the man at the restaurant but there was a tightness in both their smiles that suggested Malarye’s funds were dwindling. This queendom was succumbing to the gods’ wrath just as Hadalyn and Kastonia had.
The princess hummed softly as they made their way back through the town and then the forest, the looming thought of training with Malarye’s soldiers enough to keep Arla from snapping that she stop with the mindless noise.
Eventually though, as the training rings came back into view, Arla couldn’t help but ask the question that had been bothering her since yesterday.
‘Tell me of the last dragonhart. You mentioned him yesterday. Will you tell me why he died?’
Hyacinth stopped her humming immediately, her fingers playing with weeds and the spindly branches of trees as they walked closer to the edge of the forest.
‘Damon was said to be magnificent,’ Hyacinth began, her voice wary. Strained. ‘He loved the mages with every part of his soul. He took their queries to the gods and delivered answers with a devotion only found in the blood of dragonharts. But…’
Arla’s jaw ached with the strain of clenching it. ‘But what?’
‘But he … he began to change the older he got. He grew hungry for power, wanted greater magic. In the end, it turned him wicked, and the gods became concerned. It is said that the obsession with power drove him to madness, and he impaled himself on his own sword. You have heard the stories of what happened next – how mages were hunted for their magic and the old religion began to die out. The other dragonharts were already dead by then, and the dragons disappeared not long after that.’
Her heart fluttered in her chest. There was so much she didn’t know – too much. Jaz had mentioned something before … that he thought the dragonharts had once possessed magic.
‘Enough talk of death and wicked things,’ Hyacinth exclaimed, her cheerfulness a tonic to the wrongness Arla felt in her blood. ‘We have training – well, you do, at least. But I would like to watch.’
Arla didn’t think she had a choice about being watched. Not when there was a crowd big enough to be a small army clustered around the training rings. Thara was there too, her enormous spiked tail shifting slowly from side to side in the sand. None of the soldiers dared take their eyes off her.
‘Who can blame them?’
Arla snorted. ‘And you say I’m vain.’
Someone must have noticed Arla’s approach because suddenly there were dozens of eyes focused solely on her as she marched closer to the rings. It was like stepping back into the courtyard at Castle Grey ready for training with the royal guard. It was like meeting an old friend.
‘I don’t know about you,’ she called, ‘but standing around gawping at a creature that could break your necks doesn’t constitute warming up, does it?’
There was a breath of silence, and then a murmur spread through the crowd, a nervous energy charging the air that had Thara huffing hot air in the direction of the soldiers.
Arla was sure someone screamed.
In the next breath, the soldiers began warming up – lunging, jogging, stretching, lest the dragon and the sharp-tongued assassin have their heads.
It was easy to spot which of the men and women before her would have the skill to keep up with the exercises she would put them through, and all too easy to see which ones wouldn’t. Those she could use to her advantage and get them to teach her how to handle a bow and arrow effectively.
Arla edged closer to Thara, her entire body relaxing as the dragon’s snout nudged her shoulder. She wondered if Thara found the same level of calmness when Arla was near.
‘I have told you before that the bond ties your soul to mine. To be apart is to ache for the other half of you.’
She didn’t know why the dragon’s words made her eyes sting, but she blinked the tears away quickly. She focused on the soldiers and assessed their fitness. They were sweating far too soon, but it was nothing she couldn’t fix in a week or so.
Arla raised a hand for them to stop, delighting in the feel of command as every set of eyes focused on her – even Crea who, still dressed in those ridiculous robes, watched from the side of the ring with morbid curiosity. Good. Arla hadn’t decided yet whether she would kill someone or not.
‘Always so violent, Dragonhart.’
‘It makes a point.’
Thara nudged her almost playfully and Arla couldn’t help the grin that lifted her mouth.
‘We are not here to make points. Leave them alive.’
Arla looked out at the dozens of faces watching her. This wasn’t the entirety of Malarye’s army, she was sure of it. But if they wanted to keep troops hidden and do themselves a disservice by not allowing all members to attend these sessions, so be it.
That flame still burned brightly in the centre of her chest, a calling that this was something she could do, something she was good at.
She grinned again.
‘Let’s begin.’