Black Reign

Astryd

Dawn light trickles through barred windows, casting faint rays of gold into the congested wagon. Gilded dust particles dance and twirl like the little faeries from southern Allyran folktale, jumping and jerking in harmony with the transport.

My eyes move to the window where I glimpse flashes of green. A sudden surge courses through my veins. I want to run out; to embrace nature's beauty as it awakens. Dawn has always been captivating to me. I cannot imagine a day it will not.

Instead, I imagine letting myself go free. I release the leash I have around my heart in the depths of my thoughts and watch as I run, run, run, winding through trees and overgrown plants; bushes and ives. I imagine myself stumbling into a clearing and dropping to my knees to let Maldara's light bathe the entirety of my body. I imagine myself being me. Not "Lady" Astryd: Heiress to the Sayaadi, but just Astryd: the six-year-old girl that once lived before her mother was snatched away.

The thought does not sadden me and I sit there, content in my silence and fantasies—that is until I feel one of the four bodies around me shift and irritation fills my veins. What I want to do now more than anything is to scream at whoever it is to go back to sleep. Something deep inside of me prays it is not Citali. To my delight, it is not.

I am greeted with the faint outline of Veradis' muscled form, the long hair that stretches unevenly just past his sharp jawline. I give him a nod of acknowledgement, one which is returned.

"No sleep for you, my lady?"

I shake my head. "Sleeping will only makes things worse. I become drowsy while travelling and harbour no desire of unexpected action. And we both know that is unbecoming of an assassin."

"Especially an Heiress." There is humour to his tone. A small smile curls my lips as I shift, bring my knees closer to my chest and rest my head against them. My eyes shut and although sleep tugs at me, I refuse to let it win. I will stay awake and be as alert as possible, or I will drift off and never want to awaken.

Suddenly, copper hair and unseeing eyes flash behind my eyelids. I do not tear up for my dear Vanadey though my heart aches dearly. I miss her, there is no denying it The Dracaeon surely miss her, too.

"Did you know her—Vanadey, I mean." I can't stop the question.

"I would have liked to, my lady, but alas no. But I have heard of her."

"What do you know?"

"I know she was a beautiful girl," I roll my eyes at that. Wonderful, isn't it, how he starts off complimenting her physically? "And that she was loyal to the Dracaeon to the core. I know she was skilled, a terrifying force to be reckoned with but not much else." Caution laces his words now, "Could you tell me about her? If it is not too hard on you. I will not force such information from you. I have lost a number of dear friends over the years. I know the weight it carries."

I cannot help but wonder of his adventures, the tales he has to tell. I want to ask, I want to speak, but his question hangs in the air and I cannot bring myself to answer. Everything inside me goes numb, my thoughts settle and my mouth drops. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth and although my throat does not constrict, it hurts. Thinking hurts. Everything hurts. But...distantly.

Sensing my mood he changes the subject. "What about you, then? Can I know your story?"

"Only if I can know yours."

He shifts, rests his back against a wooden wall, brings his knees up and props his forearms on them. "You first."

"Fine." I lift my chin if only to feel a little less like absolute crap. It does not work. "I'm a bastard child. My mother was a whore and father some rich man. They were not married and he refused to save my mother when he learned of her pregnancy. The brothel she worked in we're going to chuck her out if she didn't kill me. In the end she hadn't the heart to and so, had me. I never met my father and my mother died at a festival. She was trampled by an escaping crowd.