Page 58 of Aryn

“Political climate?” Thulga asks as she drops into her chair, nodding at our bowls in invitation to eat.

Ronan obediently takes a bite, his eyes briefly rolling back at the hot, fresh meal after days on the road. Once he swallows, he continues. “We’ve been rather… removed from the rest of the world for a long time now.”

“Ah, I can understand that, sure,” she says as she glances out the window.

Ronan nods, his smile drifting into something more relaxed. “Are there any dangers we should know about? Open hostilities toward the Vaelor, or areas where our human companions might not be welcome?”

Thulga hums thoughtfully before taking a loud slurp of her soup. “Among civilized folk, she is well loved. There are some who oppose her. But that’s our history, I suppose. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. Happens with all rulers.”

Ronan and I exchange a glance, and I clear my throat. “People opposed her rule?”

Her eyes narrow slightly as she examines me. “Don’t you remember how it was at the beginning?”

I give her my most winning smile. “As Ronan said, we’ve been quite removed for some time now.”

“You’d have to be in another world to miss all that drama,” Thulga snorts. I fight to keep my face under control, but Lillith chokes on her soup, telling me she understood at least part of the conversation.

Thulga doesn’t seem to even notice. “Well, Grimhild here always says I like to tell a story. When the Vaelor first accepted the title, most were happy. Couldn’t have gotten any worse for us than it already was, sure. But some are never satisfied. They make it their purpose in life to be miserable, if you ask me. There was a group who thought she had destroyed the crown and its history. They claimed she brought on this eternal winter, and spread their hate to anyone who’d listen. Called her a rebel queen with a fractured crown.”

A smile tilts her lips as she huffs a quiet laugh. “Rather than fight their words, she embraced them. The fractured crown became her seal, and boy, they didn’t like that. It’s a symbol of peace now, though. If you see a purple flag with a cracked crown, you can count on that place being safe to stop.”

“And if we don’t see it?” Ronan asks.

The humor fades from Thulga’s eyes. “Best not to tempt the Fates then.”

“What of raiders and rebel bands?” I ask.

She nods absently toward the windows. “That group I mentioned… they’re still around. Call themselves the Viskari. They think overthrowing the Vaelor is the only way to make this place like it used to be. Rubbish, in my opinion.”

“They attack?” I ask, glancing sideways at Cato.

“Sure. Robbers, the lot of them.”

“Thieves,” Grimhild mutters from her side, and I remember the way he accused us of the same when they found us on their lands.

Thulga nods solemnly. “They go after travelers, mostly. Loot wagons and steal wares. It’s why merchants don’t venture this far down anymore… why we can’t take much to market. Too dangerous.”

“Do they have a settlement?” Ronan asks.

“No,” Thulga says with a shake of her head. “They live in camps in the woods all over Elyra. If you ask me, they can’t behave long enough to form any sort of community.” Her gaze moves over us and the weapons strapped to our waists. “You lot look like you can handle yourselves, but they’re ruthless. Be careful.”

“We will be,” Ronan and I say at the same time.

He glances at me with a nod before turning back to her. “The cities, though? The capital is safe?”

“It is, and friendly to all. Grimhild and I haven’t visited in decades. The noise is too much, sure. But Mezie rides up with a group of friends once a year for the music festival.”

My spoon halts halfway to my mouth. “Music festival?”

“Oh yes. They call it something artistic. Veilfire or Starfall or something like that. It’s been a tradition for twenty… maybe thirty turns now. An entire week of it. I’m positive my ears would give out by the end.”

Ronan and I meet eyes across the table, both of us unable to hide our surprise. Neither of us were alive before Zadeus’s reign, but even from the old stories I’ve read, there was never time for such frivolities. It’s a good sign, though neither of us is willing to risk jinxing it by saying so out loud.

Small talk continues as we eat, and we learn that the village we were told about is friendly to travelers—including humans. We don’t have coin, but we have things we could trade. Thulga lights up at the mention and declares that tomorrow, after we’ve rested, she’d love to look through what we’re willing to part with.

After dinner, we carry our packs down a long hallway and into a different wing. “Worker’s quarters,” Thulga explains. “Back when the farm was more productive, we had a house full of farmhands and seasonal help. Now it’s mostly just Mezie full time, though his friends come to help during the harvest. The beds might be a little dusty, but I’d wager they’re more comfortable than the ground.”

“We are grateful for your hospitality,” I tell her sincerely. “If there’s anything we can do to repay it, please ask.”