18. Melanterite
The spy that Ayla had promised me is a middle-aged, weathered man with the fear of the gods written plainly across his face. They’ve sat him in a chair that was conjured by Farryn.
“There’s a slave, a short one, with curly brown hair and brown skin,” Ayla says, leaning over him and pointing a knife at his throat.
He trembles, and I would protest the cruelty of it all if I hadn’t already won him the chance to live.
“There are many slaves that fit that description,” he says, with a slight tremor in his voice.
I roll my eyes. None looked like my Estela.
“She will have been guarded, maybe even paraded around by Rholker,” I say, not deigning to use a title for him.
The man’s eyes widen with recognition.
“Oh. Her,” he whispers. “Is she really your queen?”
The anger bubbling under the surface of my skin boils over.
“Yes, her,” I grit out and he shrinks back. “And she’s your queen, too.”
“She was taken to the palace this morning. They are preparing her for the mid-winter feast. High King Rholker’s using it for his coronation.”
The words start to blend into each other from his fear. Even I am surprised at the speed with which the words tumble out of his mouth.
“A feast?” Ayla says, almost appearing more intrigued by that than our actual task.
The man nods rapidly. “Yes, it will begin in an hour or so, as soon as the sun dips behind the mountains. Everyone is here—the elves, the Cursed Six, even some of the swamp ogres.”
Ayla purses her lips. “He has quite the horde, doesn’t he?”
The slave just stares at her with his wide, terrified eyes.
“Do you know exactly where she was taken inside of the palace?” I demand.
The man shakes his head, and I let out a disappointed breath. It is difficult not to let every piece of bad news bring down my spirit like an avalanche.
“We will wait until the feast begins,” Ayla says with finality. “We have glamour; we can easily dress up as lower-level guests. We’ll have to go after everything is settled, and the alcohol is flowing freely.” She must sense my doubtful look because she says without turning, “Yes, we can change even you large abominations.”
“What of our tails?” Niht asks.
Taenya crosses her arms. “You could… I don’t know, tuck it into your pants?”
Niht’s tail curls around her arm.
“Believe me, there isn’t enough room,” he purrs.
She gives him a heated look, but I walk away, exasperated.
I know that we cannot charge yet, but every cell in my body is lit on fire as I walk back over to the spot that overlooks the city. The bustle of preparations for the feast flits and buzzes before. I see the carts drawn by cattle, and the lights already set on the palace.
When something stirs to my left, I see Ra”Salore. His mouth is pressed in a line.
“I know I’m not Lord Vann, but I hope to bring you a bit of comfort all the same.”
I sigh.
“Thank you.” Then, after a moment, I continue, “It’s the waiting, no matter how short a time, that makes my skin feel like it’s peeling off.”
“I promise you, all will be well.”
I look at him. His face is thoughtful, and not as hard as usual. It strikes me how little I truly know about his life, especially since his brother Tirin sacrificed himself.
“Thank you. It will. Let us prepare to ride.”
I look back at the camp, where my armor is, and catch a glimpse of the man they are attempting to set free.
“No, I want to go to the mountain,” the slave insists.
For someone who has spent most of the time sick with fear, he seems awfully excited to come to a place his people once considered hell on earth.
I push forward, and Ra”Salore follows close behind.
“What did you just say?” I ask.
He looks at me.
“Your Highness,” he says. “News of Enduvida has been spreading through the slaves. We all know the stories that your queen tells. It started with one of the comfort women, but now a promise of a better life is whispered around every nighttime fire. I do not wish to go run into the woods—I want to come with you.”
My mouth drops open, and I’m just about to respond when he continues.
“It is a place where slavery doesn’t exist. Where you are given a choice over your life—where everyone is kind and I can write my freedom on my heart for all to see. For me to choose.”
The words echo Vidalena’s parting song. But knowing Estela said those words, to spread my home—our home—as a place of peace, makes a lump form in my throat.
“Then you shall come with us,” I say.
Ayla looks at me, confused.
“Hmm, perhaps I would like to come to this mountain, too,” she says through slitted eyes.
I nod.
“You all may come to my home.”