The Witch and the Dragon - Beta

Chapter Twenty-One

The capitol was huge, a hulking mass of wooden houses and thatched roofs. It was ringed by a giant wall of stone, speared through with barricades and tiny, rabbit-warren taverns, and topped with archers. Dameon had been right. If he'd flown them here they would have been shot out of the sky.

Royal guards flanked each small entrance, hands on their broadswords. Alannah pulled on a simple glamour that dulled her presence and slipped through with a salt caravan. Inside the walls, the city seemed even bigger. A wide path, easily big enough to fit three waggons side by side, led up a hill to a glittering monument – the palace. The buildings that bordered the path were as tall as trees, at least two stories higher than the tallest buildings at home. They could fit her village inside this city ten times over.

Alannah stepped around a group of arguing traders and headed towards the palace. The buildings loomed over her, blocking out the sky in the way the tangled trees of the forest had never done. A confused mix of scents clung to the air; perfume, roasting meat and bodily waste. And old blood.

She paused at the mouth of an alley. Market stalls lined the street, some brimming with fresh food, others with silk or cotton, and still others with weaponry. But what made the air stink of death was not the produce. It was the severed pieces of dragon nailed to the wood.

Alannah pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to keep from gagging. The body parts scattered through the alley would've made up to a single small dragon - red, thank the Goddess, not black, it wasn't black - if it had been whole.

She turned away. That explained why Dameon wouldn't come here. And Goddess, she wouldn't have wanted him to.

She kept her head down and marched towards the palace, her heart beating so fiercely her body seemed to shake in response. That's what he had to face. And he still came with her.

The palace rose up in front of her, turreted and dotted with tiny shards of glass that reflected the sun like mirrors. She clenched her fists, relaxed them again. Chased the trembling away. She had a job to do.

The number of guards on the streets quadrupled, but they rushed past her like they were each on a mission to save the world. Alannah elbowed her way to the nearest door, a small service entrance currently propped open by a stout woman in leather boots.

"I'm here to see the King." She tried not to draw attention to the mud streaked all over her clothes.

A snort. "You and half the kingdom," the woman replied. "He's busy."

Alannah draws on all her Grandmother's authority. "Not for me." She crooked her fingers and her thread glowed. "Witch Tyrhaven, Emissary of Dorithia." She pulled on a fraction of her magic and pushed the glow into her eyes. The woman jerked away. "Like I said: I need to see the King."

"Th-that way." She pointed with a hand that shook.

"Thank you." Alannah marched inside, killing the glow and blinking the itch away.

The palace was in even more chaos than the city. A tall girl built like a stack of bricks strode past, a jagged pike strapped to her back. "Hey." Alannah grabbed her arm and jerked her to a halt. "Where's the king?"

"In the war room. Up the big shiny staircase and on the left," the girl said.

Alannah followed her directions, leaving smudges all over the banister and footprints on the stone. A jumble of voices floated down the passage from what had to be the war room (what a ridiculous name). She stopped on the threshold.

Huddled on one side of the room stood a group of warriors, each carrying a pike and a net, with swords or scimitars hanging from their belts. Dragonslayers.

She pressed her palm to her pocket, taking strength from the scales that bit into her skin. The King was on the other side, flanked by greying advisers. Alannah ignored everyone else in the room and strode up to him.

Conversation ceased. She felt the room's gaze on her like a brand. Well, it couldn't be much worse than the Fae. "Your Majesty," she started and added what was probably a terrible curtsy, "I'm Witch Tyrhaven, an emissary of the Princess, your betrothed. I'm here on her behalf."

"Get on with it, then," the King replied. His face was soft with fat, but layered over strong angles, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"I - The princess regrets not saying this in person, but she wishes to dissolve your agreement." That wasn't nearly flowery enough for an emissary, but it would have to do.

After a moment the King shrugged and made a sharp, cutting gesture. "Fine. The betrothal is done. Was there something else?"

She stared at him. "You're not - I mean, that's it? It's done?"

"I have more important things to concern myself with than errant brides." And he turned his back to her, turned towards the Dragonslayers.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Dameon. "What's going on?"

"A few days ago we received word that a dragon attacked one of our villages," an advisor said. "Then we found out he'd ambushed a caravan in the woods and burnt down swathes of the forest." He gestured to the warriors. "The King is offering a reward to the first man who can slay the dragon: fifty thousand gold pieces."

Ordinarily that number would have made her swoon, but she couldn't tear her gaze off the swords. "No."

"No?" The King faced her, one eyebrow arched. "You think to tell me how to run my kingdom, Emissary?"

"Witch," she corrected, matching his tone. "And I don't care how you run your kingdom - the dragon is not a concern."

"That beast is a concern when it terrorises my people," he replied. "I will not sit idly by while they flee their homes for fear of it."

She glanced at the slayers, at the distant, cold expressions of the advisers. "That's not what I meant." She pushed the words out through numb lips. "It's no longer a concern, because it's dead. I killed it." A pause and the warriors shifted uncomfortably, eyeing her. Thank the Goddess for the Fae; this conversation would be going very differently if she still wore that ridiculous dress.

"Prove it," said the King, soft and calculating.

Without hesitating, Alannah plucked the scales from her pocket and tossed them onto the table. They rolled to a stop, glinting blue-black in the sunlight. "I sold the rest," she replied. "These were going to be trophies."

He looked at her with a new cast to his expression. "You're a witch, you said?"

"Surprised it wasn't a man to get the job done?" She threw an acidic look at the adviser and he flushed.

The King picked up one of the scales and turned it over in his palm. "They're real," he murmured. "You're telling the truth."

"I'd have to be pretty foolish to lie about slaying a dragon. You'd find out quickly enough." She'd have to get word to Dameon, tell him not to come to this kingdom again. The thought was a knife.

"The reward." He looked at her, rubbing the scale with his thumb. Alannah suppressed the urge to snatch it from his fingers. "People would say many things for that much gold."

She gave into the desire and picked up the nearest scale, leaving the second on the table where it had landed. "This is my reward," she told him, brandishing it. "I don't want any gold."

His eyes widened a fraction and he chuckled. "Very well, Witch. You have my gratitude, should you ever require it."

She wanted to throw his gratitude back in his face, along with the blade at her hip, but instead she bowed, and said, "I thank you, Your Majesty." Before she could lose her grip on herself, she turned and strode out of the room. Kept walking until the cloistered walls of the palace were gone and she was back in the stinking air of the city. Only then did she breathe easily.

Alannah clutched the last scale and thought, as loudly as she could, swallowing her regret, Go. Get as far away from Fellmere as you can.

And don't come back.

~*~

One more chapter to go! :3