Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  Dash was hit with a wave of gratitude. Someone was finally acknowledging what he’d been through. He wanted to talk about it. Wanted to tell Eydis, Luka or even Tailor how confused and unsettled he felt.

  ‘Let us talk tonight, after supper, my friend,’ Queen Eydis said, catching her general’s eye. She peeled away from Dash and left him there alone.

  ‘I know you, don’t I?’ the girl they called Bleak said, approaching him at the dining table. ‘I recognised you when they brought you in, before you changed.’

  Dash lowered his knife and fork and took in her odd-coloured eyes, her messy ash-blonde hair. He nodded. ‘In Heathton. In the castle. You – you were a prisoner.’

  She swung a leg over the bench he was sitting on and faced him. ‘That’s it! You’re how I found out about Oremere. I saw a map, in your —’ she cut herself off.

  But Dash knew; the Valians had talked about her over dinner numerous times now. She was a mind whisperer. If she’d seen a map, the map, the one from Olena’s books, it meant she’d seen inside his head.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, her face flushed. ‘I can’t – I can’t always help it.’

  Dash shrugged. ‘I saw you once before.’ The words were out of his mouth before he could think. ‘In a vision. I watched you sail into the mist … I was there. For a moment.’

  Bleak went still, and the colour drained from her face. ‘Oh.’

  ‘I can’t always help it either …’

  She nodded, glancing back to the group of prisoners. ‘I’m Bleak.’

  He offered his hand. ‘Dash.’

  She gripped it firmly and nodded to his plate. ‘You’re taking your time with dinner.’

  Much of the dining hall had emptied.

  ‘I eat a lot more than I used to.’

  Bleak nodded absent-mindedly.

  ‘Have you had anything to eat?’ he asked, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes.

  She hesitated. ‘No … I don’t think I have. I can’t remember …’ She trailed off.

  Dash took the bread roll from his plate and placed it in front of her.

  Bleak smiled. ‘A friend of mine has this rule.’

  ‘A rule?’

  ‘She says, when there’s a hot meal, eat.’

  Dash leaned across the table and dragged a steaming pot of broth towards Bleak. ‘Now, you have a hot meal.’

  Bleak looked from the broth back to Dash. ‘I suppose I do.’

  They ate in comfortable silence, and while Dash didn’t know Bleak, he felt relieved to be in the company of someone from Heathton. Somehow, it made home feel less far away. She loudly slurped the dregs of her broth straight from the bowl. Dash grinned. He picked up the leftover chicken from his plate and gnawed at the bone.

  ‘You needn’t worry about table manners with me,’ Bleak said, placing her bowl back on the table. ‘I grew up with a bunch of fishermen. Be surprised if they knew what cutlery was.’

  Dash laughed, and the sound startled him. He hadn’t heard himself laugh in a long while, and now, it was different. A stranger’s laugh.

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Bleak said, getting to her feet. ‘It’s a nice laugh.’

  It was only after she left that Dash realised she had read his mind again.

  Chapter 39

  Amidst the chaos of the Belbarrow moon markets, Swinton and Fiore were easily two ragged vagabonds, taking in the striking surroundings. They wandered at a forced leisurely pace. Swinton felt vulnerable without his battleaxes and with his newly shaven head, but Fi led the way, chatting with merchants and pointing out unusual wares.

  Fruit and vegetables spilled onto the dirt path in front of the stalls, fire torches stuck out from the ground and lanterns hung overhead, casting shadows and lighting the way. Sacks of colourful spices lined much of the thoroughfare, their peppery aromas tickling Swinton’s nostrils. He nearly tripped over a woman sitting in the dirt weaving baskets, a great pile of them stacked behind her. She glared at Swinton and sized him up. Beside her, another woman was selling intricately patterned fabric. A thickly muscled trader flagged them down, but Swinton shook his head and continued after Fi. They stopped at numerous stalls, taking up jars of pickled goods and diligently studying their labels.

  ‘Where is this so-called contact?’ Swinton hissed, placing a jar back, having stared at the instructions until they were a blur. His Battalonian reading was rusty at the best of times.

  ‘He’ll be here,’ Fi said quietly, smiling at the young shopkeep.

  Even in the shadows, Swinton saw her blush furiously.

  Swinton shook his head. Unbelievable. When all this was over, he and Fi were going to have a very long talk about what exactly in the former captain’s past life had made him so casual in the face of grave danger.

  He reached to toy with the coin of Yacinda, but Fi’s hand shot out to grip his wrist.

  ‘You are well known for that tic, old friend,’ he said. ‘Don’t draw attention to it. If I were you, I’d get rid of the blasted thing altogether.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Swinton whispered. ‘The visions come on all the time. And I told you – there’s something wrong with them. They’re not right.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Swinton glanced around, wary of being overheard. ‘I was shown something that never was, and never could be. Myself, younger – a teenager, sparring with that redheaded Valian, Athene. I’m not getting any younger, Fi, and I’d never met the woman until they came upon us in the Hawthornes.’

  Fi massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘Old friend,’ he said with a sad smile. ‘I’m guessing that wasn’t you …’

  ‘What?’

  Fi nodded. ‘That’ll be young Dash now. And I’ll wager that it wasn’t Athene, but rather her daughter, Luka.’

  ‘He … That’s not possible.’

  ‘He looks just like you, Dimi. I told you.’

  ‘Psst,’ someone hissed.

  Swinton whirled around, seeing no one.

  ‘Psst!’

  Swinton spotted the source of the noise standing by the next stall.

  ‘Kamath?’ His official Battalonian squire pressed a silver coin into a vendor’s palm. Fiore was already by his side.

  ‘Sir.’ Kamath bowed in Swinton’s direction.

  Incredulous, Swinton’s gaze flicked between his squire and his friend. ‘What … How do you …?’

  ‘No time, Dimitri. Kamath has a way in. We have to go, now.’

  He had no choice but to follow them through the swelling crowds. They wove their way through merchants, street artists and even a troupe of fire eaters. All the while Swinton’s heart hammered against his sternum. But no one glanced their way. They were simply commoners, shoving their way through the throng like everyone else, trying to find the best bargains the moon markets had to offer.

  Kamath led them the long way around the outskirts of the shiprock, to one of the nearby service entrances to the palace. Swinton stopped at the sight of two Battalonian guards, but Fiore nodded to them. The guards acknowledged him by raising two fingers to their brows in salute. Not for the first time, Swinton turned to Fi.

  Who are you?

  ‘Here,’ said Kamath, gesturing to a large laundry trolley filled with sheets.

  ‘What?’ Swinton started, but Fi was already swinging himself inside.

  Swinton swore and did the same, trying not to inhale the musty scent of the old linens as Kamath rearranged the laundry on top of them.

  They began to move. Swinton winced as the wheels of the trolley squeaked loudly beneath them. The entire thing rattled as they jolted down a step from the rough dirt road to the smooth marble floor of the palace.

  Swinton swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to quell the churning in his stomach. There was no going back now.

  The conversations between Kamath and the internal palace guards were muffled by the layers of sheets, and Swinton’s doubts began to fester. Sooner or later, someone was bound to ask Kamath why he wasn’t hea
ding in the direction of the royal laundry.

  Swinton was thrown against the side of the trolley as they rounded a sharp corner. He heard Fi curse under his breath, and Swinton spared a thought for his friend’s newly stitched wounds. They came to a sudden stop, and the creak of a door opening and closing sounded.

  ‘Commander, Captain,’ Kamath said quietly. ‘It’s safe.’

  Swinton threw back the sheets and struggled out of the tangle of linens. Once he was out of the trolley, he helped Fi do the same. Fresh blood seeped from Fi’s stitches, but the Battalonian didn’t complain. They’d suffer worse if things didn’t go to plan.

  The small shed was illuminated by a single torch secured in a nearby sconce. An array of tools – rakes, hoes, shovels – lined the walls, and the air smelled like damp dirt.

  ‘Where are we?’ Swinton demanded.

  ‘This is where we store the garden equipment. It is a shed on the outskirts of the royal conservatory.’

  For the first time, Swinton anticipated betrayal. ‘How did you get us here? Why would you bring linens here?’

  ‘We often use old sheets to protect the more fragile plants from the heat,’ Kamath replied, gesturing to an old pile of linens in the corner of the room.

  Fiore gave him a reassuring nod and Swinton fell quiet.

  ‘The princess is close,’ Kamath continued. ‘She sits on the stone bench by the tulips. The prince is with her.’

  Swinton grimaced. ‘The prince?’

  ‘We knock him out,’ Fi said. ‘By the time he wakes, we’ll be gone.’

  Despite their current traitor status, Swinton didn’t like the idea of striking the prince. And from what he’d seen on the training ground, the prince wouldn’t go quietly. But they were here now. What had to be done would be done, one way or another.

  ‘What of the guards?’ Swinton turned back to Kamath.

  ‘Six, from what I saw. I’ll create a distraction. Protocol states that at least two will stay with the royals.’

  ‘I’ll take care of them,’ Swinton muttered.

  ‘Dimitri,’ Fi said. ‘We do not kill. The Battalonian guards are good men, ignorant perhaps, but good.’

  Swinton nodded. ‘Fine. Disarm only.’

  Kamath made for the door. ‘On my signal, then?’

  ‘What’s the signal?’ Fi asked, hand at the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Fire,’ said Kamath, the door closing behind him.

  Swinton and Fi waited in the stuffy shed, each second feeling longer than the last. What if Kamath was caught? What if gardeners happened upon them while they waited? The doubts and fears plagued Swinton’s mind like a swarm of insects. As did King Arden’s threats.

  Were the consequences of inaction not made plain enough for you, Commander?

  Now, Swinton didn’t know if it had been a dream or some kind of magical illusion from the monarch. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he would no longer bend to the king’s will, would no longer do his bidding. Word of his betrayal would have reached the ears of everyone in Belbarrow now, perhaps even Heathton. He was no longer Commander Swinton, no longer the noble son of Sir Caleb Swinton. Now he was just Dimitri, but he was his own man.

  They heard a commotion.

  Swinton and Fi burst from the shed, weapons at the ready, and raced towards the heart of the garden. Fi led them through the narrow pathways and manicured hedges and flowers at breakneck pace, all the while clutching the wound in his side. He halted suddenly, nearly sending Swinton crashing into his back.

  There, the prince and three guards had their swords drawn, backs to the princess, ready to defend.

  Heart pounding, his own sword in his hand, Swinton looked to Princess Olena.

  ‘Your Highness,’ he said, not taking his eyes off the guards before them, the pleading clear in his tone.

  ‘Is that my long-lost commander?’ the princess said, her clouded gaze following his voice.

  ‘It is, Your Highness.’

  ‘Stand down, Commander.’ Prince Nazuri held his blade at the ready, taking in Swinton’s shaved head and lack of uniform. ‘You have forsaken your duty and betrayed your princess. I order you to stand down.’

  ‘I cannot,’ Swinton said, forcing himself to speak calmly. ‘It is my duty to protect her, and this is the only way I can.’

  The prince took a step forward. ‘By threatening her guards? By drawing your weapon in the presence of her betrothed?’

  ‘By any means necessary, Your Highness. It’s no longer safe here.’

  ‘Zuri,’ Princess Olena said, reaching out to the prince. ‘I want to hear what he has to say.’

  ‘Olena, we can’t —’

  ‘I want to hear him.’

  Swinton risked a glance to Fi beside him, his friend’s features a pained mix of desperation and regret.

  The prince didn’t lower his blade.

  ‘Are we not equals?’ Olena challenged, somehow sensing the continuing impasse between both sides. ‘Have our dreams of the future not been genuine? Or am I subject to your orders?’

  The anger in Nazuri’s dark eyes softened. He turned to the princess. ‘Never,’ he said softly.

  ‘Then we will hear what my commander, and his captain, if I’m not mistaken, have to say. And we will hear it quickly.’

  ‘You’re not mistaken,’ Fiore spoke up. ‘We have … We need …’ His usually confident voice faltered, and he looked to Swinton.

  ‘Your Highness,’ Swinton said. ‘War is coming. You’re not safe here.’

  ‘What?’ Prince Nazuri exclaimed. ‘If that’s true, this is the safest place for her.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Your Highness. This war has started from within. King Arden is responsible for the death of Queen Vera. I fear the princess is next.’

  The prince reached once again for his sword, but Princess Olena held up a hand.

  ‘You have said all you need to say, Commander?’ she asked.

  ‘Not by half, Highness, but we have no time.’

  ‘Olena,’ Prince Nazuri implored. ‘Even if what he says is true – we will find no safety or peace with two outlaws.’

  Princess Olena nodded slowly. ‘That is true …’

  ‘Your Highness.’ Desperation laced Swinton’s voice. ‘Your friend, the stable master’s son?’

  The princess froze, her pale complexion becoming paler still. ‘What of him?’

  Swinton took a deep breath. ‘He’s not the stable master’s son,’ he told her. ‘He’s my son. So you see, I must save you, I must. Or he’d never forgive me.’

  The princess’ expression was unreadable, and by her side, the prince stared at him as though he was seeing him for the first time. Princess Olena took a step towards Swinton.

  ‘For the longest time,’ she said, ‘he wanted to be like you.’

  ‘Olena,’ Prince Nazuri warned. ‘We don’t know —’

  ‘But we do.’

  ‘Olena —’

  ‘I have told you of the fifth continent,’ she said. ‘I have told you what I have learned.’

  The princess knows? How could she?

  ‘The books, Commander,’ Princess Olena said, as though sensing his confusion. ‘The history books in quaveer were the only ones not altered or destroyed. Either people didn’t know what they contained, or thought they were just the deranged ramblings of the blind. Either way, I know the truth.’

  ‘Olena, it’s not safe with them. How can two known traitors protect us out there?’ Prince Nazuri argued.

  ‘We won’t be safe,’ she said, turning back to her prince. ‘Not out there, but not in here either. We have to go with them, Zuri. If this realm has a chance at a future, we go with them.’

  Swinton held his breath. We? It was one thing to steal a princess, but another to kidnap the heir of an entire continent. The look on Fi’s face told him he thought the same.

  Prince Nazuri addressed his guards. ‘Stand down, men. Do not raise the alarm.’

  ‘Your Highness —’ one prot
ested.

  Swinton drew himself up to full height. ‘That was a direct order from your future king.’

  The guard fell silent, though Swinton knew the moment they were gone, the guard would follow protocol.

  ‘Ten paces back, guards,’ Olena said, her voice cool and authoritative.

  Reluctantly, the men did as she bid.

  Seeing his opportunity, Swinton leaned closer to the two royals. ‘We need to get to the outer city stables. We leave on horseback, tonight.’

  ‘We shall meet you there,’ Prince Nazuri said, linking his arm through the princess’. ‘If we leave the palace with you, it’s over before it begins.’

  Swinton hesitated. He didn’t know enough about the foreign prince, but there was no time.

  ‘Your Highness?’ He turned to Princess Olena. ‘Do you trust him?’

  For the first time, Olena smiled. ‘With my life, Commander.’

  That had to be enough. He had to trust her. ‘Then we shall meet you in the stables in three hours. Do not burden yourself with possessions.’

  Prince Nazuri gripped Swinton’s arm. ‘Commander?’

  ‘Yes, Your Highness?’

  ‘The guards,’ the prince said. ‘Get rid of them. They will kill you before they let you leave.’

  Swinton turned to Fi and gave a single nod.

  Swinton and Fiore managed to escape the shiprock the way they had entered, having locked the three unconscious guards in the shed. Kamath pushed them through the palace corridors undetected, and Swinton thanked the gods for the realm’s most loyal, unflinching squire. In the slums of Belbarrow, they bid him farewell.

  Swinton grasped both of Kamath’s hands in his. ‘I truly hope to see you again,’ he said.

  ‘And I you, sir,’ he replied, before disappearing into the night.

  Fiore’s hand clapped Swinton’s shoulder. ‘He’ll be alright, old friend. He knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Swinton said, following Fi into the shadows.

  The city was still buzzing with life, even as the hour grew late. The men passed many a drunken reveller, and pushed away the insistent hands of the capital’s harlots. The merriment from the moon markets carried across the city, providing them with excellent cover as they navigated the dark, twisting alleys.