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As she drew closer, she squinted at the wall. It was taller than she had imagined, pierced by windows and even balconies at the highest levels, as if there were perhaps dwellings within it. Watchtowers rose even farther, spaced by crenelations matching the castle’s, as if the wall and the towers were a crown surrounding the city. She could see little inside the walls, only what rose above her, which was a tangle of buildings and roofs.
Now that she could see Tournai before her, the current of nerves and excitement in her belly churned together. Harper bounced on the balls of her feet as she increased her pace, her aching, stiff joints and empty belly forgotten. Aedon, his companions, and their mission were discarded for the moment, pushed to the back of her mind as it filled with grand thoughts of dragons, kings, and adventure. She was almost there. It was every bit as grand as she had imagined. A grin split her face. Soon, she would be inside exploring, and with any luck, able to see dragons and the Winged Kingsguard up close.
Harper’s gaze slowly rose, drinking in every detail and straining to see more, despite being a distance away. Far above the palace, she saw more construction in the same white stone, great openings in the side of the mountain itself. Her heart constricted when she saw great, winged shapes, far too large to be birds, wheeling in the sky above it. Were they dragons?
She joined the throng of people flooding toward the city, marveling at the variety of beings she saw. Humans of all skin colours. Elves, some on foot and others on horseback. Men, women, and children of all ages surrounded her. Carts drawn by draught horses or donkeys carrying all kinds of loads bumped, rolled, and groaned around her, some covered and some open. The smell of their wares mingled with that of the crowd—sweat, smoke, and dirt, the faint fragrance of perfume and soap threading throughout. The clamouring of voices overwhelmed her. Shouting, chattering, and calling all around her, layered with a cacophony of clopping of animals, and the creak and racket of carts.
The rising sun was warm, and Harper soon started sweating under her cloak. The heat did not help the smell, either. The faint whiff of excrement from all the animals rose too, so Harper breathed through her mouth, carefully stepping over the steaming piles of manure so as not to trail her cloak in them.
Harper gawked, unable to stop staring. As they drew closer to the city and the imposing white walls, she had to crane her neck more and more to look at them. This close, she could no longer see over them. They towered over the rush of people climbing the incline from the wide valley. She could clearly see the windows and balconies now. Drying clothes hung from the highest, the coloured garments flying in the breeze. Flags whipped back and forth high above them, too far away for her to see the crest. Occasional faces, which were just pale blobs from such a distance, peered over battlements or flashed past windows.
The crowd bunched together as people waited to pass through the gate, arms holding papers or tokens in the air. From the middle of the pack, Harper shuffled along with the rest of them. Soldiers lined the way, scanning those papers with every passing sweep of their attention. Their gleaming armour shone in the sun, blinding her momentarily as she moved. It felt overwhelming. The crowd pressed closer, and with every step, people bumped against her body, feet kicked her legs. Harper could do nothing but grit her teeth and edge forward. She glanced up at the gates looming over her. The crowd passed through in a constant stream.
Anxiety tempered the rush. Where was she supposed to go? The city looked huge. Where was she to start? Who should she seek? Should she try to go to the palace first? Surely that was where the king would be, and he was the one who would give her the means to go home. The moment of misgiving niggled at her. She had been so concerned about getting to Tournai, she had not once stopped to think about what she ought to do when she finally reached the royal city.
“Oy!” The shout cut through her thoughts. She turned her head. She was about to pass under the gate, which was only a few people and one cart wide. Its shadow engulfed them all. Ahead, mounted guards scanned the crowd. One stood tall in the stirrups as he called again, a word she did not understand, and pointed toward her.
She looked around, but the rest of the crowd had their heads down. As they all passed through the gate, they showed papers or tokens to the various guards, who nodded them through, before they peeled away into the maze of streets on their own business. She had nothing, she realised with a cold rush. Did she need a token of some kind to enter?
Me? she mouthed, pointing to herself. The guard met her gaze and nodded, beckoning. She forged through the crowd. Perfect. She would ask him—this was fine. Quicker, even, she reassured herself. As she approached, he dismounted, his scowl deepening.
“Where are your papers?” he asked in accented Common Tongue, placing a hand upon the pommel of his sword as he strode forward.
“Papers?” Harper replied, scrunching her face in confusion. She stumbled as a group of men passed, knocking into her. They hurried away as the guard stepped toward them with menace. He then called to her in another tongue she did not understand. At her look of confusion, he switched back to the Common Tongue.
“Do not move. What is your name and purpose?”
Harper froze. The man looked even more wary now, as though he expected her to pull forth some giant and fearsome weapon from beneath her cloak. “I… My name’s Harper. I need to see the king,” she said desperately, all rational thoughts leaving in her panic. The crowd surged around her once more, pushing her closer to the guard, his sword, and his comrades, whose dark looks fell on her one by one, and overwhelm threatened. For the first time, a surge of true fear, laced with crushing doubt, shot through her as she realised how ridiculous and far-fetched her naïve idea was. She ought to have practised this—what she would say, and how.
His feet inched forward, and her pulse shot up as her body flooded with white-hot fear. This was going wrong. She felt her chance slipping away. “I’m coming to see the king. I have something for him,” she said desperately. On an impulse, she brandished the Dragonheart before her.
At her movement, he pulled his sword free and raised it to strike, but he halted at the sight of the small stone she held. His comrades surrounded her, their own hands lowering to their weapons.
“That is a Dragonheart,” he said darkly, eyes narrowed. “Where did you take it from?”
“I didn’t take it. I found it.” In the din of the crowd, no one heard her. Panic rose from the pit of her stomach.
“It belongs to the king, by law of Pelenor. Lay it upon the ground and step back.”
But Harper clutched it tighter, sure it was her only way out of the mess she had willingly and inadvertently walked into. “I didn’t steal it. I swear. I must see the king!”
“The king does not bandy with thieves,” the man snarled. He looked at one of his men. “Does it match the description?”
He nodded. “Aye, Captain. Looks like the one that was stolen from the vaults.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she said. She gripped the folds of her cloak as if it could somehow steady her, because it felt like a rug had been pulled out from under her. But he stepped forward, pushing Harper back. This close, with his plumed helm and broad, muscled shoulders, he loomed as tall and wide as the wall.
“Please! I must speak with the king! I will not let that out of my sight until I speak to the king!” Her voice rose in volume and pitch as panic set in. She knew nothing she said would change their minds. She had made a terrible mistake. She tried to back away, but they had surrounded her, so she was met with a wall of silent, cloaked, muscled men, each readying to draw his weapon.
“You will make no demands of us,” he snapped. “Our king will like to deal with you personally, thief. Seize her!”
48
DIMITRI
Anerve twitched in Dimitri’s temple as he stood, rigid as iron, before the court. It ought to have been an unremarkable night. The usual banquet after the day’s work, the relaxed hall filled with the tinkle of cutlery and glasses, as well as the muted laughter of lords and ladies. In reality, they were silent, circled like carrion crow around him—their prey. The bright lights stung his eyes and making him feel especially naked before them, despite his sweeping, dark robes. Before him, Rosella’s laughing eyes teased him, but with none of the mirth and lust they usually held. She taunted him today, publicly humiliated him, took glee in his suffering.
“Are you not going to kneel before your princess?” she said with mock astonishment at his supposed insubordination.
