Early one morning Ygrain received a knock at her chamber door.

  She pulled the vestibule open with a deep sigh.

  Ygrain felt her jaw fall nearly to the floor when she found not the palace handmaidens waiting for her, but the beaming face of Alane!

  Her lady-in-waiting’s long black hair, flecked with strands of gray, was pulled tightly back in a bun.

  Her skin was a shade or two darker than Ygrain’s by sheer hours spent in the warm rays of daylight, dappled by the sun in dark spots, and a scar split her face from the tip of her upper lip to just above her right eyebrow, leaving a permanently bald line.

  Alane smiled broadly and she launched herself forwards, taking Ygrain up in an embrace.

  Alane let out a pitiful sound as Ygrain returned the hug with a bear-like vice, the maid’s voice caught somewhere between blissful laughter and horrible anguish.

  Ygrain laughed too, allowing her maid to lift her into her arms despite how the princess towered over her.

  As they finally parted both their eyes were wet with tears.

  “Oh but I have missed you, my little spark. Gods, not so little now though! Has it only been a few months? How have you been?! How have these barbarians been treating you?”

  The woman asked frantically as she fussed over the girl's clothes and hair almost reflexively, as she had done her entire life.

  “I’m perfectly fine Alane, honestly. They feed me, and clothe me, and leave me be for the most part. And now that the regent’s done having his frivolous parties I’m left mostly to my own devices,” the woman made her messy curls more respectable, and smoothed her wrinkling dress.

  Alane gritted her teeth angrily.

  “To treat a princess like a spectacle. A prize jewel! A new beast in his royal menagerie! It's absolutely deplorable. The man is without any respect. I’m sorry I’ve left you alone all this time my girl,” her voice was weary, from the road or from other troubles Ygrain could not tell.

  “Why were you away for so long?” she asked quietly, hoping she didn’t sound too impertinent in the asking.

  “While important kidnapped folk such as yourself have the privilege to ride dragons between their captors’ prisons of choice, us common maids have to make do with horses to get around.” The woman scowled, eyes heavy with sleepless nights.

  “We have the privilege of enjoying three months of riding through the burning countryside with a gaggle of armed men who don’t understand a word you’re saying,” she huffed.

  “I know what you mean. The maids and the other servants here only speak Chandra and I don’t understand a lick of it. A few know a handful of words in Imperial, enough to get myself food and water and tell them to sod off, but I haven’t spoken with anyone in éirenic in over three months now.”

  “How many days was the journey by dragon?” Alane asked, curiosity overtaking her.

  “One, perhaps two I think. I managed to sleep a little on the way...somehow.” she felt herself go a bit green at the memory of being so high above the earth.

  Even hiking the tallest peaks in Eiren paled in comparison to that experience.

  “All the way to Guhran in two days...uhm, how was it then? Riding a fire-breather?” Alane asked off-handedly, though she looked disturbed by the news.

  Undoubtedly caught off guard by the notion that an army such as Raich’s could refresh itself on food, weapons, and vital intelligence from four thousand miles away, and all in a mere two days.

  “It was...I couldn’t begin to describe it, Alane.”

  She tried anyway, musing that it had felt something like riding a storm cloud, or a lightning bolt.

  The creature, Baksurra, had radiated intense heat from within, like a furnace.

  Through its thick hide and soft black fur the warmth kept the rider (and captives in her case) comfortably warm against the biting winds of the upper skies.

  The body itself thrummed with some unknown force, terrifying in its raw power.

  Touching its skin with her bare hand caused fleshy bumps to run along her arms and a tightness to spasm through her muscles before that feeling slowly smoothed away into some sense of renewed normalcy.

  It reminded her of the pool in the cave, of the old power trapped there. But this time had been different.

  This power did not turn its eye on her.

  Did not speak.

  It did not ravage its way through her being leaving her utterly spent.

  The power the dragon held within had swept through her not like a flame but like a great tempest, vast and unconcerned about her in the grander scheme of things.

  Just as quickly as it had appeared the feeling was gone again.

  She had only ridden the great beast for the first day as they left the ruin of Kaerwyn Muir behind. Afterward she had been handed off to another lancer and her mount.

  The land beneath her had been a blur of colors, indistinct shapes beneath representing mountains, hills, and forests.

  Finished with her hair, Alane pushed her way into the bedchamber, squeezing past Ygrain and ignoring her mistress’s wistful eyes as she remembered the experience.

  The matronly woman surveyed her surroundings, huffed once, and went about putting the princess’s room into order. Alane sighed with a hint more relief than annoyance.

  The girl was still a slob, that at least hadn’t changed.

  “Are there any other young lords or ladies in the palace?” Alane asked with false professional disinterest.

  Ygrain seemed deeply interested in the curtains suddenly, turning away from her maid and fidgeting with the fabric in absentmindedness.

  “Not as such. All the young lancers live elsewhere I gather, not that I’d want to talk to one of those butchers. There's a few young local magistrates who visit court occasionally, but they aren’t noble-born, they don’t understand a word of Imperial so...”

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  “What about the prince?”

  Ygrain pulled at the curtain reflexively, cursing under her breath as it ripped a small seam in the fabric.

  “We’ve hardly spoken, honestly...but he enjoys following me around, spying on me. Quite a nuisance if you ask me.”

  Alane nodded her head genially, but narrowed her eyes a little as thoughts began to form.

  “When will they release us, Alane?” Ygrain asked.

  “Soon, I should think. When I left Eiren they had already set Kaerwyn Krell and Kaerwyn Andhar aflame, they were just ash and smoke when we passed by.”

  The woman spoke absentmindedly, but her eyes were distant and full of flaming castles and the screams and cries of burning and dying men and women...oblivious to the fear that shot through Ygrain like a cold spike.

  “...Only the eastern Kaerwyns remain?” Ygrain’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. Masking the deep stabbing worry she felt for her bundle of baby siblings, her older brother Trahern, her boisterous father, and even her stern and steadfast queen-mother.

  Imagining them each laid in quiet rows amongst the other tides of dead that dotted the hills of her home.

  “To my knowledge the Guhrans haven’t marched past the River Muir. They know they’ve beaten us down, no need to fight anymore. I suspect in a few months we’ll be released.”

  “Will the war will be over then?”

  “Yes mistress, your lady mother and lord father will have surrendered by then I should think.”

  “Surrender!?” she bellowed, startling Alane.

  “What about independence for all Eiren?! What about freedom from the Empire?! All the speeches and meetings! All the thousands who died to free us and we’re surrendering?!”

  Alane gave the girl a long hard look.

  “...Mistress, your brother the Crown-Prince Uhtren is dead. And with his loss the line of MacLeod and the whole of Eiren lies vulnerable. If your mother should fall in battle or to treachery then the dream of peace and freedom in Eiren is finished forever. A puppet regent will be installed who will follow the Empire happily, and we will be slaves for a generation more.”

  Her words stilled Ygrain.

  She imagined it.

  The halls of Eiren once again bearing the banners of the Bloodstone Emperor. Imperial gold subsuming the native green.

  Her people, the old and young alike, working in perfect rows in the sprawling plantations of tobacco and the poppy flower.

  The pains of their labors soothed only by the very same poison they produced.

  Corpse carts would sit at the fields’ edge, present at all times should anyone fall to exhaustion or to choking on the occasional cloud of poisonous fumes they used to keep the plants clear of pests.

  It would all happen again.

  “You are the sole heir to the whole of Aold Eiren now. I heard the declaration passed through the other captives, in your mother’s own words.” She placed a soft hand on Ygrains shoulder.

  “Not merely a princess now, but crown-princess.”

  Ygrain’s mouth was ajar.

  “You mean I’m to be queen!?”

  “That is the idea of it, yes. Not that the royal succession is particularly my area of expertise ma’am.”

  “But what about Trahern? He’s older than me. Why can’t he be crown-prince?”

  Her eyes were fearful as she pictured her head as a ball of red curls rolling across the floor.

  She imagined that it was Trahern’s instead and felt immediately guilty.

  Alane shrugged.

  “You know why Trahern can’t be king, miss. There are responsibilities to be performed that your brother, Fire bless him, simply can’t. Not as you can.” She said, voice soothingly low and quiet.

  “Your life is your family's future now, even if it should be a future of further enslavement to the Empire and imprisonment. But it will not always be so, child. I promise you.” She explained, spitting out the last words out like a curse.

  “I didn’t ask for any of this Alane. I didn’t ask to-....” To replace Uhtren.

  “I know, child, I know… your brother was a great man, and would have made a great king,” Alane’s damp eyes were heavy with the weight of loss.

  She embraced her friend and mentor, and they held one another for sometime.

  Ygrain knew better than to be angry with Alane. Her blunt words had lacked any true cruelty.

  Alane had always been ill-suited for the politeness expected of those at court, noble or otherwise. It was one of the things Ygrain liked most about the woman.

  Ygrain was silent for a time, mourning the loss of a life she never had the chance to live.

  “Then...there is nothing else to do but wait. And, Elder Fire willing, pray release comes swiftly,” Ygrain said, trying to adopt a firmer voice, low and confident as she had seen her brother do when addressing his people.

  Alane smiled faintly.

  “And pray we shall my dear, and pray we shall. But take heart. I am here with you. We are safe, and fed. Let us save our tears and worries for the dead and dying, they shall need them far more than us...”

  ...

  The prince stood before the grand chambers of his Lord Father, shifting from one foot to the other and counting the tiles of the stone floor underneath him.

  The doors were shut and locked from within.

  Inside, he could hear the regent speak in impassioned tones to his council of followers, the most distinguished of his lancers and his most senior and trusted generals.

  Vigorous speech quickly devolved into frenzied shouts and yells.

  “The Emperor’s Incarnates were able to sweep away the rebels of House Grynt in a single night. Why does he not settle this war in the same fashion, my king? Why must we continue to weaken ourselves fighting when the enemy shows no sign it will surrender! Will he give us, his most loyal servants, no aid?” He heard one of the Twins say loudly.

  He could hear his father respond in a low whisper, too low to hear, but his voice was deep and hissing like a snake’s, thick with rage.

  The doors opened wide and a group of far-eyed lancers came moving with speed and purpose out into the hall, nearly knocking the prince to the floor.

  Before the prince had time to gather himself and enter the chamber the doors were once again slammed shut in his face with the clicking of a heavy lock.

  Inside, there was silence for some time.

  And then, softly, the regent began to whisper.

  Kairava curiously craned his ears and focused but could hear no voice reply in answer, even as his father seemed to have a hushed and urgent debate with the silent room.

  Kairava leaned in closer.

  The door flew open, and Kaiaan Raich looked down on his son, who lay crouched with his ear close to the vestibule.

  The regent’s lip twisted in a sneer, before his face settled again into that familiar mask of unreadable stone.

  “Father, I-”

  The regent’s hand struck the boy hard about the cheek. Kairava felt the knuckles sharply bite his flesh.

  His father was unemotive, wiping a fleck of blood from his hand with a white handkerchief as if nothing spectacular had occurred.

  “Do not speak if only to beg and plead, boy. I care not for your excuses, enter.”

  He turned and walked within, leaving the doors wide.

  Kairava carefully closed and locked the chamber doors behind him. Stepping after the regent with mounting hesitation.

  His father stood before a grand diorama, a map of the entire continent, labeled and painted, landscapes molded of clay to match all the mountains, hills, and rivers of Arcturas in miniature.

  Kaiaan glowered at a spot labeled Aold Eiren, a cluster of green and white mountains and hills, dotted with tiny trees the size of a thumbnail.

  His father seemed to be alone in the chamber.

  “What have you observed from...the girl,” Kaiaan asked, with all the decorum of an officer questioning his subordinate.

  Kairava did not speak for a moment, but opened his mouth softly a few times in sputtering starts.

  His father cocked an eyebrow and held out an open hand to him, not a gesture of fellowship.

  “S-She doesn’t do much Lord regent, she spends most of her time in the Guest Compartments...Or walking.”

  “Walking?”

  “In the gardens, sir.” Kairava answered, lowering his head.

  “Hmmm. I had expected more...resistance.” The regent was silent for a few moments, deep in thought.

  His dark eyes seemed to stare past the prince at nothing.

  “Only walks in the gardens? Nowhere else?”

  The question seemed leading, and the prince wondered if there was a place the regent would rather the princess not to be wandering.

  By all accounts, the Raichan Palace, even as lightly staffed as it was, was supposedly impregnable and inescapable.

  “Yes, sir,” it was a lie, but it came too fast for him to second-guess.

  “...” his father stood again in a deep and brooding silence.

  He could feel the regent’s eyes on him, burrowing into him.

  Searching for any deception.

  “Good. Finally a MacLeod who isn’t a constant thorn in my side. Perhaps she’ll be of some use after all...” He said finally, and Kairava breathed a whispered sigh of relief.

  “Our preparations are nearly complete, the Flight will be returning to Eiren in the morning.”

  The prince nodded, beginning already to back towards the door in short shuffling steps.

  “You will watch the girl carefully, in my absence. If you should notice anything...unusual about her-”

  “Unusual?” He interrupted.

  His father waved him away.

  “You will know when you see it. Tell Slyke what you find. They will handle the rest...”

  Then he turned back to the map of the continent, seemingly uninterested in further discussion.

  Kairava’s blood went cold.

  There was little range to that which his father entrusted Slyke to “handle”.

  His talents were singular.

  He turned, and pulled the heavy doors closed behind him with a resounding boom.