Fugitive of Death

1

In the city of Pyrgolis, due east of Lysidora's capital, I shoved a handful of belongings into a canvas sack. It wasn't much—several outfits, a book or two—but I packed it all before tidying up the rented room I had called mine for the last few months. It was one of the few things I was able to purchase since fleeing Byssia with nothing more than a pouch full of gaudy jewelry.

I laced up the black leather vest to my neck, the sleeveless design keeping my arms cool under the Lysidorian sun. Dressed in black fighting leathers from head to toe, I was setting myself up to die of heat exhaustion. But I didn't have a choice if I wanted to be taken seriously. The situation was already dire enough.

Pulling on my boots, I placed the key on the bed and shut the door behind me.

It was nearly two years ago to the day that war broke out and it was starting to show in Pyrgolis. Tired women swept their front stoops waiting for husbands and sons that would never return home. Shops were empty, boarded, and shuttered as all their customers had been conscripted.

All because the Grand Chancellor of Byssia's daughter was missing.

Grand Chancellor Nazir had always been skeptical of Lysidora's otherwise calm and peaceful appearance—a kingdom of highly-trained warriors was not known for being neighborly. And with a prince nearly the same age as his daughter, Nazir knew just who stole his only child away. Blinded by his paranoia and his rage, Byssia declared war on Lysidora, threatening total annihilation unless their heir was returned safely.

For two years, I hid in Lysidora, biding my time until I had acclimated myself enough to pass for a trueborn citizen. I trained as best as my weak, frail body could until the day finally arrived to join the Lysidorian Army.

Because the last place my father would ever look for me would be shoulder-to-shoulder with the enemy.

I can't say that starting a war was intentional. But I couldn't go back now. My freedom had to be worth something.

I tossed a satchel over my shoulder, taking in the details of the city one last time. Sharing a landmass, I had always expected Byssia and Lysidora to be somewhat similar. Even from what I read in the hours I spent cooped up in the Palace library, their language, social hierarchies, and societies seemed similar enough. But nothing about our neighbors to the south felt similar.

Their buildings were different, crafted from marble and stone instead of wood. The citizens were straightforward and honest, a trait I had come to respect over the last few years. I could use a little more honesty and a little less yes, Mistress Rianda, whatever you wish, Mistress Rianda.

I shivered in the damp morning air. My entire life was spent with someone else lacing up my clothing, combing my hair, and wiping my ass. There was no preparing me for how relieving it would all be when I left it behind. Freedom was priceless.

Which is why I needed to do everything I could to keep it that way.

In the morning light, Pyrgolis was gray and foreboding. The only sound was the birds that began to wake and my boots against the cobblestone path that led to the outer edge of the city.

As the sun rose overhead and the fog dissipated, others joined me. Most were men with dark hair and tan skin, the average look for most Lysidorians. I may have stood out but thankfully, I had been kept in the Palace of Ashanna my entire life; no one knew my face or even my name.

I had my darling father's overprotectiveness to thank for that.

A sprawling mass of tents came into view on the edge of the forest in a space that had been cleared for the training grounds. Tall walls of lumber had been erected around the area sharpened to points on the tops. A single gateway existed—one way in and one way out.