Heir of Vaashaa: The Lost Child of the Crown (The Lost Child of the Crown Series Book 2)

by Celine Simpson

  No one spoke much for the rest of the trip. I was too taken by the Kingdom we were moving through and the forest we had entered that hugged around us in a protective shield as we continued on in the fading light. I couldn’t take my eyes off the forest.

  In all of this I noted that Silas’s birthday had been left out of my mind. He had turned twenty-two and I didn’t utter the words to him. I knew we had been apart, he had been across the sea on the Tour of the Kingdoms on another continent, but even afterwards, even up until now I had forgotten. It was nothing like any year we had celebrated before, and so I wished, my gift for him, that he was as far from this as possible no matter what I’d been told, no matter what I yearned for selfishly, I hoped with every fibre of my being that he was safe. And still, there was a pang of emptiness that moved from my chest and through my body, for in all our years of friendship I had never forgotten, not once.

  Absorbed in my thoughts I hissed through the pain as the carriage came to an abrupt halt, sending us all crashing into one another. General Simeera, who had been sitting at the reigns jumped off the front of the cart, her boots making a dragging sound against the dusty road.

  “We will stay here for the night, and ride through the next. You best take advantage of the food and bed.” She smirked as she turned swiftly on her heals and walked directly to an Inn that stood across from us – barely; dilapidated as it was. The sign hung crookedly like a nail had been removed from one corner, I believe at one point there had been an addition of a name that sat before the word ‘Inn’, though it had faded to the point of no return. The rest of the soldiers piled out of the cart, all but one. Tucked in the shadow of the front of the cart, it seemed the soldier didn’t wake from the violent stop we came to. I would have been inclined to nudge them back to consciousness, but that would have involved some kind of speech and at this point, it wasn’t an option I was willing to entertain. Even as my thoughts seemed sane, I didn’t yet trust my voice. Then again, who was I to be a sound judge of that. I didn’t know if it would even work. I didn’t want to hear the raspiness that I knew it still held. I had heard my voice plenty.

  I got out of the cart and started towards the Inn, trying my best to walk with purpose and assurance, like I was where I belonged and felt proud to be there.

  “I’ve not seen you before.” Her voice was crystal clear. Not etched with the grogginess that came with waking from your sleep, but the sort that rang true to watchful eyes and pointed concentration. She had been watching me.

  I knew that if I were to speak, if I even could, I would sound foreign. Though my blood belonged to the soil on which I stood, my accent would share my upbringing. A sound that, until now, I did not know disagreed with my complexion. Brown hair, brown eyes, olive skin. It did not mix with the people of Lygot who, though their skin bore similarities to mine, their features were fair. I looked over my shoulder to see that the shadowed woman had made her way off the cart and now stood a few feet behind me. I hadn’t even heard her move and that made me wary instantaneously. Uneasy. I looked her over as thoroughly as I could without turning to see her fully, I knew who my face resembled and if anyone saw me, I’m sure they would know too. It wouldn’t take a genius to make assumptions and spread the word.

  So, I turned from her and walked into the Inn, the doors so rotten on their hinges I thought they would break off as they swung shut behind me. The rest of the soldiers who entered before me had scattered in various directions. The downstairs of the Inn was laid out in a mediocre dining room set up with a bar that spanned the entire back wall. Far off to the right was a set of stairs that inclined and disappeared behind the back wall of the bar. The building stood only three stories high and it looked to be the only way up and down, save for jumping out one of the windows. Not ideal. Some of the soldiers had moved quietly off to bed, or so I assumed, as only two remained seated at one of the filthy tables that littered the wooden floor. I didn’t care. I moved to the back of the room making sure to keep my face turned downward and hidden. Keeping my voice to a bare whisper and adopted as much of a Vyterran accent as I could before requesting a meal to my room. The sound was strained even with little force or effort put behind the words. The deep rasp sounded nothing like my own voice and for that I was both thankful and horrified. Perhaps I really had come out of this a different person. The uniform seemed to have scared the people of this place into unquestioned obedience because my request was met with a stiff nod of the head and a scurry to the far-left side of the bar where another set of swinging doors hung, though they were in far better condition, and a whispered request for a bowl of soup.

  Before I made the assent up to whatever room I would stay in, I moved back to the front of the Inn to brave a look out the grossly unclean window, the curtains ripped and stained with something I preferred not to identify. The cart sat alone. The horses had been long ago led off to the stables to be fed and brushed down. The door didn’t open after me to show the shadowed woman had entered. She had simply vanished.

  I made my way back to the bar, intending on heading straight to the stairs and land in the first room with an unlocked door when the barmaid rushed out of the kitchen’s swinging doors with a full bowl of soup in her hands. She looked terrified.

  I walked over to her and watched as she shrunk back. I was grateful for the low lighting of this place – the windows so unclean that even if it had been day light I wouldn’t have been able to see well at all. The candles that dotted the walls around us were burnt down so much that even lit, they offered little help. I took the bowl of soup gently from her hands and drank it down before asking for my room. She directed me to the very last door on the left on the second floor and pointed to a key that was left on the counter near the front of the Inn, a rusted thing with a number attached to it that had seen better days.

  My knees quivered, they sent quakes through my whole body as the motivation that had been pushing me since the moment Ainsley had dropped the keys into my cell began to falter. It seemed that the wind that had pulled me to my feet and ushered me up the stairs had brought me as far as it would dare.

  Both floors had their own bathing room, there had been a sign stating it at the bottom of the stairs – a selling point to those passing by. An incentive to stay.

  Room. Singular. It was one stand-alone tub, or at least it was supposed to be a tub. The room door was open as I all but hobbled past. No one was watching me now and so I didn’t bother to hide the struggle, the effort it took to place one foot in front of the other. A maid much like the woman behind the bar downstairs was finishing up with filling the tub. Hovering in the door way she didn’t notice me until she turned around and let out a frightened yelp, a hand flying to her chest over her heart. I held up a hand out of instinct as an apology but made sure to keep within the shadows of the hallway.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the tub. I could feel the warmth of the room from where I stood, the steam drifting off the water.

  “Ma’am, I apologise. I didn’t see you there.” She stammered, still recovering from her fright but probably wondering how to speak to a soldier in the Vyterran military uniform. It was clear that the last soldiers that this ramshackle Inn had encountered had not been good people, though I can’t say I was surprised considering who they bowed down to.

  “This bath is for another guest ma’am.” I wanted to tell her that it certainly wasn’t. Had I had any money I would have offered it, but still I stood. Daring another step into the room, the maid took a step back, keeping her eyes on me her hands formed into fists as she moved around to the other side of the tub.

  “I…I – actually I have just remembered, they was going to be busy for the next short while. I will just draw them another in the room above. Please, please you have this one.” Her eyes moved from my face to the floor, fists still clenched she hurried out of the room and ran to the stairs at the end of the hall that took her to the level above. The fast patter of her feet didn’t stop until a door slammed closed right
above me.

  I hadn’t wanted to scare her, in fact I didn’t say a word. The guilt of allowing her, both her and the woman downstairs, to believe I was anything like the other soldiers they had come across – but I was selfish enough in this moment not to care. I would care later, I would fix it later.

  I moved into the room and closed the door behind me. A sliding lock was fashioned on the inside and I moved it into place. Clean linen towels were placed beside the tub – stained but clean – with a bar of soap.

  Removing my uniform took an agonisingly long amount of time. Both for the difficulty of the task moving my body, though admittedly it seemed to have gotten better than this morning at least, and the knowledge that the longer I took, the colder the water in the bath got.

  Stepping into the tub was the single best feeling I had ever had. The heat of the water stung but I savoured it. Soaked it up.

  Moving the rest of my body into the tub until the end of my chin was touching the surface and I was encompassed by a cloud of citrus smelling steam – something the maid must have put in the bath. I couldn’t even groan in pleasure, I just let the heat sink into my bones, into my muscles.

  By the time I had made my mind up to move, my body had gone pruny and the steam from the bath had thinned considerably. I reached over the side of the tub, relieved to find the motion not as difficult or painful as it should have been, and grabbed the soap. Working the silky lather into my hair I smoothed the mats as best I could. I was left with an unsightly amount of hair left over but I didn’t care. I had never known how good it felt to be clean. I cleaned the rest of my body next and when I stepped out of the cooled water it was the colour of a muddy puddle. Using the linen, I patted myself dry, grateful for my loosened muscles and the diminished pain.

  I stepped back into my uniform only for the trip back to my room. Unlocking the door gently I walked to the end of the hall. I still kept a weapon in reach, a knife strapped to my thigh. I had pinched it from another soldier on the cart during our trip after she half nodded off beside me. If she had noticed, nothing was said.

  I was grateful that the door I was about to enter was tucked away at the end of the hallway. It made me feel more secure, as if I didn’t need to be checking every direction around me. Almost like I had my back to a wall, and I was sure no one was on the other side.

  The key slid into the lock effortlessly and didn’t jar when I turned it – a blessing. The door swung open on silent hinges, another blessing, and opened up to a shoebox room. Still, it was definitely better than my expectations. A bed for one was shoved against the far wall, and a desk placed under the small window at the foot of the bed. The curtains – refashioned old bed linen – shut tight with only a small candle placed on the desk casting a soft glow. The room felt almost comfortable. Next to the bed was a small chair, comfortable enough for the meagre task of lacing your boots.

  Sitting in the chair was the shadowed woman. Her face was clear to be seen, her dark brown-black hair was pulled back off her face, hands clasped on her lap.

  I knew she would be there, I wasn’t stupid to miss the clip to her tone that assured me she required answers. I placed my key on the desk. I knew what it would mean to turn and face the woman, I only hoped that my body would be up for it.

  I turned to face her, lifting my chin high and meeting her directly in the eyes. She was older that I thought, like she was someone’s mother. Someone who had grown up and gone. Her face didn’t seem to change with any sort of recognition, only did her gaze make its way over my own features like it was exactly what she had been waiting a very long time for. I held her gaze unflinchingly. She stood and made her way over to me in a single stride, not too close but a respectful distance before her face softened and she seemed to loosen a breath.

  “Terraleise Aslow. What in the name of the Gods are you doing here?”

  Six

  I cursed myself at the loudness of my swallow.

  I didn’t think it was fear that made me tremble, more so the fatigue of my body that had been used too soon after falling apart. Whatever magic tore my muscles apart and then put them back together, that magic didn’t think of the pain that would follow. Or perhaps it knew precisely what would come and so that is why nothing was done to help it.

  There were a number of things that could have led to this nameless woman in my room, some I could cross off immediately, for if she was a subject loyal to the cause of my uncle, I do not believe I would still be standing where I was alive.

  I looked over her features closely. Hey dark skin glowed with a golden caramel luminescence, the tone made deeper from years of greeting the sun with her attention. Her features were soft but looked sort of bored and without much emotion as if many masks had been adorned over her face during her life and now she was unsure which to wear, if any at all.

  My voice sounded less than dignified. Low and rusted much like it had downstairs. Healing.

  “Who are you?” I did not want to come across rude or scared, but my voice shook even ravaged as it was, and unlike my body, I did not know what the cause was. The woman’s eyes did not harden or darken, the radiant brown remained warm if not a little tired.

  She raised her hand as if she wanted to comfort me. As soon as she made movement my eyes could do nothing but track it. My heart rate spiked as my body tensed against the shakes, trying its best to prepare in case the intentions of her actions were not in the way of kindness, any improvement made by my soak in the bath was dwindling away. It was clear my body language changed, she dropped her hand immediately and took a step back. Though my room was small, I knew she was trying to earn my trust, to prove her intentions were in fact not to harm, but to help.

  Once, it might have been enough. I would have relaxed my shoulders and offered her a smile that promised open ears and an understanding mind. I didn’t believe that would ever be the case again. I didn’t know how I would ever offer those things so easily again.

  “Did Silas send you?” I hated the hope in my voice, but how was I to truly know that the fate of the people from the scouting mission - or those on the armada – was not a fate of tragedy no matter how desperately I hoped for them all to be far away from all of this. How was I to know they had been left unharmed?

  “Your Prince lives, he and your army sail north, to the coastline of Move.” Her voice was reassuring I suppose. Though I dare say it wasn’t enough to unwind the knots from my shoulders or release the stiffness in my limbs. My blank expression seemed to urge her to share more, having realised it was in fact not enough information. “The Lygot army remained until the day before last, but the city has been sealed off for months. I do not know more than what I have shared already. I swear it to the Gods that watch over us.”

  I regarded her for a moment longer. Listening to her words in my head over and over, trying to detect anything in her voice, a slight ‘off-ness’ that would lead me to believe she was a fraud, but there was nothing. I wanted to find something to convince myself she meant me harm, because it would be easier to face it now than allow myself to bring down my defences, even slightly, and then be killed in my sleep. I suppose I had only one choice now, so I cleared my throat as best I could and repeated again, pleased to find the sound less strained this time around.

  “Who are you?” I didn’t shift my gaze from her face. I’m sure my eyes cast a heavy weight on her, I’m sure they looked haunted and rotten, but still she did not look away.

  “My name is Drasmoré Sentadear.”

  Her name sounded unfamiliar, like none that were native to any kingdom of Vaashaa.

  “I am from a land that you had once known but now forgotten, through the waters your people call The Undiscovered Sea. My home is called Rydon, it is one of the many cities on a land that is not drawn on your maps. A place where many things are the same, and many are different.” A glint in her eyes hit me with a sudden longing to learn her knowledge, riddles be damned. It caught me off guard, to want something like that after so long of
wanting only one thing.

  My mind was spinning. It wasn’t as if I had no idea that it was a possibility that there were other kingdoms outside of those in Vaashaa, but even with my limited education and crammed knowledge from the time spent at the palace in Lex before we left for Vyterra, no one ever spoke of civilisation through The Undiscovered Sea. Whether it was named as such because we thought there was nothing else past our world, or because it was in fact not us that had actually discovered it. Not even once in our histories was it mentioned, but I had always wondered.

  The information she shared was plentiful and to be honest, it was too much. Far too much to take in. Even still with all she divulged, she did not seem to answer my question in full. I tried again but was more specific.

  “Drasmoré, who are you to me?”

  “Ah,” she seemed to shift in her demeanour. Replacing the pride that had swelled so clearly during her mention of home, etched as it was with sadness from the obvious fact that it had been some time since she had been there, another emotion overcame her features. There was still pride there, but now it was mixed with what I could only imagine was heartbreak.