“Of course not, My King. I would never presume to know more than you.” Rhia took a step backwards. “My apologies for intruding.”
She glided back out of the office noiselessly, a ghost in deep blue robes.
Rayghast drilled his blackened fingers on his desk. Slender threads of dark magic leached from his hands, igniting the blank sheets of paper beneath them. He watched as the black flames consumed the parchment in an almost hypnotic dance.
He could no longer wait for the capture of the Nevandian prince. He’d take the country now. Perhaps that might finally bring the missing prince out of the woodwork. Perhaps then, Rayghast could finally be rid of him.
Chapter 8
Marai
Marai stepped into a forest. It had recently rained; a damp, earthy scent overcame her, cleansing away the desert dust. Water droplets glistened on green leaves and buds, but the sun peeked through the canopy above, and blossoms began to unfurl their petals. Marai’s elemental magic fluttered in response to all the life brewing around her. It always did in the spring.
The portal sealed shut behind her, disappearing in a wave of effervescent light.
Marai crouched low to the ground, hand on Dimtoir’s pommel. Where am I?
Many footsteps scuffed and shuffled on dirt close by. Wooden carts rolled and crunched. Horse hooves plodded in rhythm indicating a busy, central road.
What if the portal had sent Marai into Tacornian territory? Could that be Rayghast’s soldiers on patrol, searching for Ruenen?
Marai crept towards the sounds, anxiety knotting her stomach. She came to the edge of the forest, and hovered behind the branches of a bush, watching, waiting to get her bearings.
Peasants and tradesmen roamed, but many people were also well-dressed in the height of current fashion: flashy, rich colors, fabrics of silk and velvet, in bold and elaborate patterns. These wealthier women plaited their long hair with ribbons, flowers, and jade pins; dressed themselves in robe-like attire with bell sleeves. The men wore tight fitted trousers and embroidered vests, ebony hair slicked back into tight buns at the nape of their necks.
Marai released her held breath. No black-armored soldiers. Between the forest, the amount and leisurely ease of people on the road, and their fashions, she guessed the portal had brought her East.
Not Tacorn, at least.
There were two kingdoms in the eastern part of the continent of Astye: Varana and Syoto. Varana, allied with Tacorn, was as unsafe as it was in the Middle Kingdoms themselves. Would Ruenen have traveled all the way back to the Northeast? Marai didn’t think he could have made it that far on foot from the south in a month. No, this had to be the realm of Syoto.
Marai slid out from the forest and joined the throng of people on the road.
Color was everywhere: lavenders and ruby reds, pinks and royal blues. No one dressed in all black in the East these days. Marai was more conspicuous here than she’d been in the North weeks ago. Marai no longer had her cloak and scarf; her white blonde hair and light eyes stood out amongst the dark-haired inhabitants of Syoto. She no longer cared about hiding her face. Whoever Marai was now, she was no longer a mercenary.
However, people only casually glanced her way, as Syotons were used to fair Northerners visiting their kingdom. The Empire of Syoto was the home to the Nine Kingdoms Library. Scholars from across the continent traveled here, as did merchants and tradesmen. Marai needn’t worry about being discovered here.
Across the road stood the entrance to a bustling metropolis. A large stone wall encompassed the city, but the tiers of a castle shot up from the center. Not far away, and just as tall, was the miraculous Nine Kingdoms Library, towering into the sky in the pagoda style.
Keshel would give his left arm to go in there, Marai thought wryly.
The gates to the city were open and inviting. Hundreds of people came in and out, busy with their days, oblivious to the growing threat of Tacorn to their west. Few Syoton soldiers milled about. The country had no conflict with anyone since they’d remained neutral in most matters.
Marai had been here several times. The capital city of Kaishiki was the central hub and power of Syoto. No wonder everyone is dressed in such fine clothes. Syoto was the wealthiest kingdom of the nine, and Kaishiki, the cultural epicenter. Most of the powerful lords had homes here, but also grand pagodas in the countryside.
The portal had placed her here for a reason. Ruenen must be inside the city.
Marai trudged through the gate, jostled by the throng of people. Kaishiki was the largest city in all of Astye. If Ruenen was indeed here, it could take days for Marai to find him.
First, however, she needed something.
She passed underneath rows of paper lanterns to a street lined with market stalls. Kaishiki was divided into districts. She wandered into the Merchant District, passing vendors of silks, pottery, porcelain, and jewelry. She came across a stall selling cloaks, all hanging from the canopy. Most were luxurious items Nosficio would treasure, lined with furs and sparkling jewels. Marai spotted a simple onyx cloak shoved in the back. It was much too mundane for regular Syotons. Marai knew the merchant would never miss it.
She snatched the cloak from its hanger and disappeared amongst the crowd, latching the cloak around her neck with the silver clasp and drew up the hood. Now she felt more comfortable, more herself.
It was time to find Ruenen.
There were several different options for his location. One, the smartest route, was that he stuck to the shadows and alleys, hiding from everyone. There were many dark, secretive locations in Kaishiki. She could start there.
But Ruenen was reckless.
“Excuse me, where’s the nearest tavern?” she asked a merchant selling ornate, painted fans and umbrellas. Marai knew Ruenen well enough to guess that he was most likely performing. His lute had been smashed on the docks of Cleaving Tides, but the prince was resourceful. He’d probably procured a new instrument from somewhere.
The merchant looked her over quickly, deducing she wasn’t there to make a purchase. “Two blocks up and make a right.” He moved on to the next customer, giving Marai a scowl that suggested she was no more than a mosquito buzzing around his stall.
She followed the man’s directions into the Theatre District, and came to the doors of an enormous tiered stone building. This tavern was nothing at all like the ones Ruenen and Marai had been to together. It had two floors: on the first was a long bar and possibly a hundred tables. On the second was a grand balcony where patrons leaned over the edge with their drinks. There was a stage with gauzy curtains, upon which three beautiful women were currently singing and dancing. Attractive young men and women wandered between the tables, serving food and drink.
Despite it being the middle of the day, it was completely packed inside. Marai had to squeeze around people to get to the bar. Three overworked, sweaty men hustled to get beverages to their patrons.
“Are there any performers going by the name Ard the Bard playing here soon?” she shouted to one of the men above the din.
“Ard the Bard?” he asked, his face twisted into a judgmental frown. “Not with a name that terrible. We only book the best musicians here.”
Marai scowled. “What about a young male bard with brown hair and eyes? Tall, smiles a lot, good voice . . .” Her lips twitched when she thought of that dimpled grin. But that description fit so many people. Marai knew there was one thing that set Ruenen apart.
“He wrote the song called ‘The Lady Butcher,’” she continued.
The barkeep shook his head and returned to pouring ale from a large barrel.
