Page 106 of Heartbreak Prince

Within minutes, we’re off again, gliding over the frigid landscape, through villages of clay huts with domed roofs. Ominous cracks branch through streets and walls, and some of the hamlets have spilled into sinkholes. It’s heartbreaking to see homes and belongings tilted and tumbled into the maw of the earth.

The few people we see are walking bundles of fur, moving carefully across the surface of their crumbling world.

“How do they live like this?” I ask. “I couldn’t handle it.”

“They have nowhere else to go,” Vawn replies. “Their own government keeps them from leaving the kingdom, and those who do manage to get past the Tularesk border wall are stopped by my father’s guards. Tularesk merchants are allowed into Belavrin, but families transporting their belongings are stopped and sent back.”

“That’s heartless.”

“I suppose it is,” he muses. “I feel the cruelty of it now. I couldn’t before.”

“Because of your other glyph set.”

“Yes.”

“Have you been to Tularesk previously? You seem very knowledgeable about it.”

“I came here for a few days as a child, with Lord and Lady Kaenan and my siblings,” he replies. “I haven’t been here for years. But with all the talk of a new treaty, my brother made me study the history and culture of this place.”

“Were you closely involved with the treaty negotiations? I thought you didn’t get involved in politics.”

“In this case, I didn’t have a choice.”

We both fall abruptly silent as our carpet convoy sails past an immense sinkhole. Judging by the debris around its edges, I would guess that the hole swallowed a large settlement. The Tularesk soldiers with us, swathed as they are in furs, betray no emotion, but I know they must be devastated by the sight. Or perhaps these catastrophes have become so commonplace that they are numb to the loss.

A little past noon, the domes and peaks of the Celestial Seat decorate the horizon. The land is so flat that the capital city appears closer than it is, so I’m surprised when it takes us another two hours to reach it.

As we draw nearer to the capital, the carpets have to navigate around some pedestrians and a few covered carts. The people on foot walk swiftly and lightly, sometimes going off the road to avoid a sunken area or a crack. The carts follow the same pattern, avoiding ground that appears more fragile.

We’re not far from the gates when one of our escorts lets out an alarmed cry and points off to the right. A man is driving a herd of fat, shaggy cows across the fields toward the city.

“He should not have so many of them running together!” shouts the soldier. “Two or three at most! Helik, Marsta, go and warn him. Fucking idiot!”

Two of the soldiers guide their carpets off the road and streak toward the herdsmen and his cows. But before they reach him, a shelf of earth folds down into the ground, tipping the herd into a dark hole. Even after the panicked animals have disappeared, the edges of the ground continue to break off and fall into the vast tunnel below.

Vawn grabs the lead rope of our carpet and tugs it upward. As we gain altitude, he points, wordless, and I gasp against the collar of my coat.

Something huge, dark, and furry moves in the hole, disturbed by the collapse. It heads deeper into its tunnel, trying to get away from the light and the noise of the injured animals. Within seconds, it’s gone.

This sinkhole is shallower than some of the ones we’ve seen, but it’s still maybe two stories deep. Most of the cows seem to be mortally injured, and their herdsman is nowhere to be seen.

The carpet we’re riding sinks slowly, unable to maintain the altitude Vawn coaxed out of it. The two soldiers who tried to warn the herdsman return to our group.

“Too late,” one of them says.

“Shit,” mutters the man who first spotted the herd. “We’ll send someone for the animals. We need the meat.”

“I guarantee you someone on the wall has already seen what happened,” replies the other soldier. “Soon there will be citizens swarming this area. They’ll make the hole worse, and some of them will probably die trying to get a chunk of the meat.”

“Let them,” says the first man bitterly. “Fewer mouths to feed.”

I don’t say a word, because it isn’t my place to comment on the catastrophe ravaging this nation. Vawn doesn’t speak either, but I know he is storing up information for use in his negotiations with the Twin Lieges.

Normally, as a visiting king, he would have a retinue with him—other dignitaries and nobles to assist him with crafting such an important agreement. As it is, he’ll have to do this alone. I’m not trained in political negotiations, nor am I familiar with all the economic and social factors that would be involved with moving the survivors of a dying country into our kingdom. But I can imagine the complications.

I don’t envy Vawn the challenge, and truth be told, I’m not sure he’s up to the task. He’s smarter than I gave him credit for when I first met him. When he’s not tempering his emotions to combat his darkness, he can be compassionate. But designing this treaty requires more than intelligence and compassion; it also demands knowledge and experience. I’m not sure he has enough of either. And yet, neither Vawn nor the Tularesk rulers have a choice. Both sides need this treaty desperately.

I shake myself out of the contemplation, trying to stay alert like a bodyguard should as we enter the capital city. Even though I caught a few hours of sleep last night, it wasn’t enough. I’m tired, and the skin along my side twinges painfully.