‘Good evening, Commander,’ said a warm voice from the doorway.
King Roswall and Prince Nazuri strode in, each looking suitably formal.
Swinton bowed low. ‘Your Grace, Your Highness, you honour me with this invitation.’
‘Nonsense, nonsense,’ King Roswall said, beckoning Swinton to his seat at the table. ‘My son tells me you made quite the impression during today’s training session.’
‘His Highness exaggerates my talent, I am sure.’
‘Zuri is not inclined to pointless flattery,’ King Roswall said, leaning back to allow a servant to drape a serviette across his lap.
Heat flushed up Swinton’s neck. ‘Of course not, Your Majesty.’
Prince Nazuri laughed. ‘Rest easy, Commander. I merely told my father how refreshing it was to duel an equal opponent for once.’
‘Your Highness is too kind.’
Swinton could have sworn the prince rolled his eyes at this, but King Roswall was beaming.
Swinton dared to raise his goblet of wine. ‘A toast, to Your Majesty’s generosity.’
King Roswall smiled and clinked his goblet against Swinton’s. ‘Thank you, Commander.’
What followed was an eight-course feast, punctuated with polite conversation about Ellest’s traditional military training, how Swinton was surviving the Battalonian heat, and the preparations for the upcoming Festival of Lamaka. Unfortunately, the chatter veered onto a topic that Swinton felt uneasy discussing: Princess Olena.
‘I must admit,’ said King Roswall, his cheeks and nose flushed from the wine. ‘I didn’t know what to expect from her. I’m sure you won’t mind me saying that a blind princess isn’t a king’s first choice companion for his heir. But I’m quite taken with her, as is my son.’
Swinton bit his tongue to quash the urge to defend Princess Olena, and noted that the tips of Prince Nazuri’s ears had turned pink.
King Roswall continued. ‘The late Queen Nadia and I were subject to an arranged marriage, but were lucky enough to find love as well.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, Your Majesty,’ Swinton said. ‘I’m sorry for the loss of Her Majesty. I hear she was much loved by her family, and by the people.’
The king’s eyes stared blankly for a moment. ‘Yes, she was much loved. A wonderful queen, and a wonderful mother to Nazuri. He feels her loss keenly, I’m afraid. As do I.’
‘I am sorry.’
King Roswall smiled sadly. ‘Thus is the nature of life, is it not? Love and loss so intricately entwined. You cannot have one without the other, unfortunately.’
‘Well said, Your Majesty.’
‘A rarity for me, Commander. Usually poetics are Nazuri’s strength.’ King Roswall spooned the rest of his double-chocolate flan into his mouth.
Swinton could feel his own face growing warm from the wine, and covered his goblet when the servant next tried to refill it.
The king leaned back in his chair, hands on his bloated belly. ‘I think I’m going to have to retire for the evening, Commander. Before I fall asleep.’
‘Of course.’ Swinton pushed his chair back and got to his feet.
‘What’s that?’ Prince Nazuri asked, standing and taking a step towards Swinton.
‘Your Highness?’
King Roswall noted his son’s gaze and pointed to Swinton’s chest, where to his dismay, the chain bearing Yacinda’s coin had escaped his shirtfront.
‘What pretty little trinket is that?’ King Roswall said.
Swinton held the coin out from his chest for the king and prince to see.
‘May I?’ the king asked, palm outstretched.
Swinton swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He hadn’t taken off the coin in ten years. But there was nothing for it. He unfastened the chain and placed the necklace in King Roswall’s outstretched hand.
Swinton gripped the back of his chair as his magic slammed into him. It had been so long since he’d felt it that it came pummelling back into him all at once. It took everything he had to keep his face neutral and his stance relaxed.
‘It’s an interesting design,’ said King Roswall, examining the markings on the coin. ‘What’s it for?’
‘Good luck, Your Majesty,’ Swinton managed.
The king rolled the coin between his thumb and forefinger, just as Swinton so often did. But now, Swinton was dying to have it back. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his discomfort at bay.
‘Does it work?’ Prince Nazuri asked, examining the coin in his father’s hands.
‘Some days more than others, Highness.’
The king laughed. ‘Right you are, Commander. Right you are.’ He tossed the coin back to Swinton.
It was too late – the premonition had already hit.
The streets of Heathton were deserted but for a swarm of tiny white butterflies spiralling gracefully in and out of the alleys. Shops, windows and doors were all boarded up; there were two with thick red crosses painted on them, the paint dried in drips down to the ground. The air was stale, with a faint lingering sourness. Further in, the smell was stronger – decay, death. The town square had been abandoned, though a rotting corpse was still chained to the platform in the centre. Plague. The plague had swept through Heathton.
Now, in its desertion, the capital seemed vast. Its archways higher and more formidable than before, its passageways narrower and more claustrophobic … A yellowed copy of the town gazette skidded across the dirt in the cool breeze. Plague Targets Ashai read the headline. The wind picked up and sent the paper tumbling down a cobblestoned alley, the cloud of white-winged insects gliding through the infected air after it.
King Roswall was bidding them goodnight, already halfway out of the dining hall. But Prince Nazuri was gazing at Swinton, a crease of concern between his brows.
‘Are you quite well, Commander?’
Holding his hands behind his back to hide their shaking, Swinton thanked the prince profusely for his hospitality. When Prince Nazuri had finally left, Swinton near collapsed onto the dining table, steadying himself once more against the back of his chair, his legs weak and his heart hammering. He clamped the coin and chain back around his neck.
Gods, what did I just see? His heart sank. A plague to target the Ashai, as it had last time, leaving his kind near extinction. A plague in Heathton where … Where it would infect —
Swinton sprinted through the network of hallways, sweat beading at his hairline. He had to find Fiore. The desperation felt as though it would burst through his chest. He cursed the disorientating corridors, and the unhelpful guards and servants.
Fi, where in this gods-forsaken place are you?
After what felt like forever, Swinton found him at a bar in the soldiers’ barracks, surrounded by a group of entranced Belbarrow guards.
‘Fi,’ he rasped, ‘I need to speak with you.’
The guards glared at him. He was no doubt interrupting another of Fi’s infamous tales.
‘What is it?’ his friend said.
‘Come, you must come with me.’
Frowning, and sliding some silver across the table to his companions, Fiore stood and followed Swinton from the room.
‘What is it? Are you —’
‘Not here. Somewhere safe.’
Noting the desperate plea in Swinton’s eyes, Fi nodded. ‘This way.’
With his hand on the hilt of his sword, Swinton powered after Fiore. They left the shiprock palace behind and hurried down a narrow path into the hot night.
‘Where are we going?’ Swinton said, trying to catch his breath.
‘Somewhere we can’t be overheard.’
Without another word, Fiore led him through various side streets, past numerous raucous taverns and brothels. After a time, the noise faded as they delved deeper into quieter alleys and the terrain began to incline. It wasn’t long before Swinton’s calves were burning, and sweat dripped between his shoulderblades.
‘Not far now,’ Fiore said, eyeing Swinton’s dam
p brow.
They came to a series of white stone buildings with rounded domes atop, and stopped outside a thick wooden door. Fiore fumbled with a set of keys, and matched one to the lock. ‘In here.’ Fiore beckoned Swinton to follow.
They entered a stairwell and climbed up.
‘What is this place?’ Swinton breathed, as they reached the top and Fi unlocked another door. Inside were lavish apartments.
‘The Murphadias family home,’ Fi replied, closing the door behind them. The Battalonian leaned against the wall, crooking a leg and resting it up underneath him. ‘What the hell is going on, Dimitri?’ he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Swinton exhaled heavily and began to pace, running his fingers through his hair and toying with the coin around his neck.
‘Dimitri.’
Swinton stopped. ‘I need to know if there’s a way to get a message to Ellest, a confidential message, without fear of having it intercepted.’
‘To the king?’
Swinton shook his head, and finally met Fiore’s eyes. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘To the stable master.’
Fiore pushed himself off the wall. ‘What?’
‘There’s going to be an outbreak of plague.’
Fiore stared at him. ‘How do you know? Is there plague here?’
Swinton pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes against the headache that was coming on. ‘No.’
‘Then how do you know?’
Swinton opened his eyes and reached to the back of his neck, unclasping the chain for the second time that night. He held out the necklace to Fiore, the coin dangling between them, while Swinton’s magic slammed into him once again.
‘Because … I saw it …’ He braced himself against the wall with his forearm. ‘I’m one of them, Fi,’ he said. ‘I’m an Ashai – a magic wielder.’
‘What?’
Swinton allowed himself to sink into the feeling he was so unaccustomed to. He pointed to the necklace Fiore was now studying. ‘That, that has helped me control it – suppress it, even.’
‘You … You of all people, have magic … are a seer?’
Swinton nodded.
‘And you saw a plague hitting Ellest?’
‘Heathton. It hit Heathton – infecting magic wielders.’
‘And you want to tell the stable master? What the hell is going on?’
With his back against the wall, Swinton slid down to the white floor, and rested his head in his hands.
‘Is Carlington a magic wielder?’ Fiore asked. ‘Dimi?’
‘No,’ Swinton said, and loosed a breath. He took his chain back from Fi and clasped it back around his neck. ‘Carlington is no Ashai. But his son is … My son is.’
Chapter 9
Dash’s hands were dry and cracked from scrubbing pans and grating Pa’s shirts against the washboard. For days he’d been helping Mama around the house with the cooking and cleaning. He’d never known just how much mess and work three people created. Mama had even made him pour boiling water over a dead chicken and pluck its feathers.
Today was the first day Pa had insisted he needed the extra set of hands in the stables, and even though Dash was only mucking out the horses’ stalls, he was happy to be out of the cottage.
When he was done with the stalls, Dash helped Pa with warming up the horses for the morning. He was good with horses, even Pa said so. And knights had to be good with horses, so it made Dash happy. Although Pa had forbidden him to train with the squires, whenever he could steal away from his chores, Dash practised his footwork and strikes behind the stables. He needed to stay strong.
Olena liked horses, too, and was an excellent rider, though she had rarely been allowed out before she’d been shipped off. Dash didn’t understand all the rules the king had enforced on his daughter. With the right horse and skill, it didn’t matter whether or not you could see …
‘Dash?’ Pa called from the stable entrance.
‘Coming!’
Pa stood in the archway, holding a scroll of parchment out to Dash.
‘Another letter from Princess Olena,’ his father said slowly.
Dash made to take the parchment, but Pa held it just out of reach.
‘Son …’ Pa started. ‘Has anyone told you to be careful of what you write in these letters?’
Dash frowned. ‘No?’
Pa nodded and knelt so they were eye to eye. ‘Listen carefully, as I’ll only say this once. Princess Olena’s mail is not private, not secret, Dash. I have no doubt that her letters and yours get opened by half a dozen people at least before they reach you. You must be wary of what you put down in written words, for anything you write here,’ he waved the parchment, ‘can be used against you later. You’re a good lad, son, and I know the princess is your friend. But she leads a life of risk, of danger that I cannot protect you from. Your mama and I … We don’t want you to get caught up in anything.’
‘But, Pa, why —’
‘Gods, Zachary.’ Pa gripped his shoulders tightly. ‘No questions now. Just heed my warning, you hear?’
Dash made to take the parchment from Pa.
‘Do you hear me, Zachary?’ Pa raised his voice and made Dash jump.
‘Yes, sir,’ he replied.
‘Good. Here you go, then.’
Dash hesitated. It felt like the outstretched letter would somehow burn him now, but Pa shoved it into his hand and returned to the stalls. Dash climbed up into the rafters of the stables, one of his favourite hiding spots, and took Olena’s alphabet from his pocket. He took it everywhere with him, so he could study in any spare moment. He spread the letter out before him, and closed his eyes. He always closed his eyes when he explored the perforated markings with his fingertips; he felt comforted by the fact that Olena probably did the same. Just as he was about to begin deciphering the letter, he heard Pa curse from the workshop. Dash froze, startled.
‘Pa?’ he called out, tucking Olena’s letter into his shirt pocket and climbing down from the rafters.
‘You need to run down to the blacksmith for me.’
‘Ma said —’
‘I know what Ma said. But I’ve got no one else to help me. Go to the blacksmith on Kemp Lane, not Blackmore. Say Carlington sent you, and that you need this,’ he passed Dash a broken bit, ‘soldered back together. Ask them to put it on the account. Wait there until he does it. Understand?’
Dash took the broken pieces. ‘Why —’
‘For the gods’ sake, Dash!’ Pa threw his hands in the air. ‘Can you just do as you’re told for once?’
‘Yes, Pa.’
‘Put some of that speed to good use, will you?’
Dash took off from the stables and through the courtyard. It wasn’t long before he was flying down the streets towards the markets. The cobblestone laneways were less crowded than they had been when he and Mama had gone into town, and he found he could run freely between people without barrelling into anyone. There were less merchants selling their wares as well.
Kemp Lane. Dash’s eyes searched the street signs, and he spotted it just past the podium in the town square. Just as he plunged into another sprint, Dash skidded to a stop.
There were no crowds to hide the man from Dash’s line of sight this time. The man who had cried out and begged for mercy only days earlier was still chained to the post. Dash stepped closer to him, only to reel back in horror. The man was covered in bloody gashes and filth, his knees pulled up to his bare chest and his head hanging limply.
‘Away with you, boy,’ the man croaked, unmoving. ‘Lest they brand you a sympathiser.’
‘For what?’
‘Whatever they please.’
‘Who … Who did this to you?’
‘Leave me to die in peace,’ the man said.
‘What did you do?’
His wasted body heaved with the effort of breathing, and he lifted his face to Dash. The man’s eyes were so swollen he couldn’t open them, and his nose was broken and bloody. Dash s
wallowed. Who had done this?
‘Get out of here. Don’t draw any more attention.’
Dash paused for a moment more, and then backed away, hurrying along to Kemp Lane.
His hands shook as he handed over the bit to the blacksmith and repeated his father’s request.
‘Relax, lad,’ said the man behind the counter. ‘I won’t bite.’
But Dash just stared at him. He needed air. Fresh air. Dash stepped out of the shop into the damp breeze and studied the grey cobblestones beneath his boots. So that was why Mama hadn’t wanted him to go back into town, and why she had been so upset that day. Was that man going to die now? How could everyone just walk past him like that? And what did he mean by being branded a sympathiser?
There were dark clouds rolling in above, and it smelled like rain. Dash was hit anew with the need to see Olena. She would know what to do, she always knew what to do.
Suddenly, something white fluttered before his face and Dash leaped back, waving it away. A tiny butterfly, its wings as delicate as a flower. He breathed a sigh of relief. And then noticed a whole swarm of them, no bigger than thimbles, dancing to an inaudible rhythm, and tickling his skin. They were pretty little things.
The sound of a bell toll filled the air, echoing from the castle temple across the sprawling town. It sounded again, and again, deep and insistent. It didn’t stop.
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