It was rare to see Jess without a smile on her face, let alone being actively grumpy and irritable and tired, or in this case, all of the above. Whatever Caesar had concocted last night had done a number on her that none of the potions in her apartment could fix. It had apparently done a number on them, too, since they were horrifically late to their shift. She would consider it karma, if it weren’t for the fact that it left her standing outside The Red Poppy with a stack of flyers in her hand trying to push them onto people passing by.
She had just finished shoving a flyer straight into the chest of an innocent bystander when she spotted her coworker, friend, and neighbour coming down the street. “Fucking finally,” she greeted once they were closer, waving the flyers at them. “Listen. Listen. Caesar Salad. C-Rex. Darling. I love you, you are one of my dearest friends, you’re phenomenal in bed, but don’t ever make me cover for you again.”
Coming like a hurricane, I take it in real slow
The world is spinning like a weather vane
Fragile and composed
I am breaking down again
I am aching now to let you in
The call went out a week in advance: there was to be a clan-wide meeting in the town square, and although, as always, attendance was not mandatory, all were encouraged to take part.
In the days that followed, there was a great deal of speculation. Passage through Thunder’s March had been closed, and many believed it in relation to some evil within the Hewn City. Apparently, there was a seer living there, and they had caused quite a stir among their neighbors in Aphaster. Perhaps, they reasoned, Dreamweaver was prepared to speak on the matter.
With the cycle quickly drawing to a close, however, there were other worries besides shifty Hewn City fortune-tellers. Night of the Nocturne was a tumultuous event at the best of times, and one had to consider the extensive renovations within and without Feldspar Proper. Then, some reminded, there was the fast approaching anniversary of the exodus.
All of this wondering and pondering culminated in a packed house on the eve of the meeting, and Dreamweaver faced their people with the same diplomatic aloofness they always did in times of unrest. Solaire did not need to quiet the crowd tonight. Everyone was silent, waiting for Dreamweaver to begin.
“I welcome you all,” they said, “and ask first for your forgiveness.”
A murmur rippled through the assembly. Dreamweaver bowed their head slightly in the pause. As the chatter died away, they continued: “Eleven eons ago, I appointed our Flight Ambassadors. Ten eons ago, I sent our Dragonhome Ambassador, Ambassador Chopra, on a mission of the utmost importance--and secrecy. On my orders, she returned to her homeland, and made first contact with the Warren.”
Rosegold stepped forward, joining them at center stage. The crowd erupted in a cacophony of questions, each voice trying to make itself heard over all the others.
“Outrageous!” someone cried.
“What business do we have with those brutes?!” demanded another.
“Silence!” shouted Solaire. “All of you, be silent, for once in your lives! Let them speak!”
“My mission was one of healing,” Rosegold said, firm but calm. “I went seeking to liberate the Warren’s people. If there is a clan in Sornieth with the might to stand against its queen, it is ours. We--that is, Dreamweaver and I--felt it was our duty to intervene.”
“That said...” Dreamweaver bowed their head lower still. “I fear, in my haste to preserve innocent life, I have inadvertently put you all at risk. A day may come when war knocks upon our gates, and for that, I apologize. It is the duty of a leader to think first of their own people. I have failed you in this regard. I can ask for nothing but your understanding.
“Even so, Ambassador Chopra’s mission did succeed. She was able to strike a heavy blow against the Warren’s dread-queen. More so than ever before, we are equipped to counter the unique threat the Warren poses, and, perhaps, to even free its people from tyranny.”
Now Banrai had stepped onto the stage, and with him came a drake many had seen over the past ten eons, but whose identity none could claim to know. He was small, and frail, and trembling at Banrai’s side, as if the wind may pick him up and carry him off at any moment. He balked under the scrutiny of the entirety of Feldspar’s populous.
“I can’t,” he whispered to Banrai. “I’ve never spoken publicly before.”
“You’ll be fine,” Banrai said bracingly. “It’s time for them to meet you.”
Rosegold turned and held out a hand to the stranger. The softness of her smile seemed to embolden him, and so he went to her, though his legs trembled and the stage lights blinded him.
“This,” Dreamweaver introduced, “is the former captive mate of the dread-queen, Eyja. His loss has shaken her to her core, and planted the seeds of revolution in her lands. This is what can be done through simple kindness and perseverance.”
“Now?” the drake whispered.
“Now,” Rosegold replied.
“I...” Rosegold placed a hand upon his shoulder and squeezed. “I am Caesar Argyros,” he declared, “son of Acrisius Argyros, son of Agathon Argyros. I come to you, and humbly request your assistance. My people remain enslaved even now. There are dams, children, the sick and the elderly, all suffering under Eyja’s hand. I cannot free them alone, so, please...”
“You did well,” Rosegold said.
Caesar grinned bashfully, and in the cozy warmth of the founders’ den, he looked healthy for the first time in cycles. “You think so?” he asked. “I--I’m really not accustomed to public speaking at all. Before, when I was a noble, all I had to do was smile at the right people; then after, in the Warren, of course, Eyja did all of the talking.”
“You were wonderful,” Dreamweaver gushed. They leaned across the hearth to refill Caesar’s cup with steaming chamomile. “I could tell that the reaction was overwhelmingly positive just by the buzz in the air. When we do decide to make our move, the people will support us, support you.”
“I’m so glad.” Caesar heaved a heavy sigh. “I was worried maybe I’d gotten too emotional.”
“Emotional is good,” Banrai said. “Emotions are what connect us all to one another. Dragons can relate to them more so than mere words. You struck us more deeply by baring your heart and soul.”
“Still...” Abaddon crossed his arms over his chest, leaning moodily against the mantle. “A war with the Warren,” he mused darkly, “is a serious matter indeed.”
“We have the numbers,” Solaire said, “and now we have the support of the common folk. Furthermore, we have time to plan. Our eyes on the inside report no signs of war-mongering among our enemies. Eyja is still reeling from Caesar’s betrayal.”
“We’ll need to sharpen up our evacuation procedures,” Dreamweaver added, “as well as fortify our outer settlements--and Telos will have to be informed. I’ve no intention of seeking her aid in this conflict, but Aphaster must be prepared, should the Warren’s forces come to us before we can get to them.”
“Do you think it will come to a war?” Caesar asked.
“I cannot say,” Dreamweaver replied. “For now, all we can do is plan for every possible scenario.”
“I’m sorry,” Caesar said. “I wish--I wish there was another way--”
“Caesar, dear...” Dreamweaver set their cup aside. “We are the privileged,” they said. “We live in a place abundant in resources, magic, and protection. Surely, we have suffered in the past, but we remain powerful--and it is the duty of the powerful to ensure the safety of those in need. If we could help, and we chose not to, we would be no better than Eyja.”
“No offense, Rosegold,” Abaddon joked.
“None taken,” Rosegold replied, though the smile dropped gradually from her lips. “My sister is no longer as I remember her. She deserves such harsh criticism.”
“I wonder if that’s how Apollyon felt about me,” Abaddon said, “when I became a tyrant.” Then he chuckled. “Perhaps all your sister needs is her very own Shard the Radiant.”
“She had hers,” Rosegold said. “Caesar is a saint.”
“Aye,” said Solaire, “but he’s not exactly interested in, ah, her sort, is he?”
Caesar smiled again, out of politeness, but his ears were burning with embarrassment. “I’m really not so saintly,” he insisted. “I do wish I had been able to--to change her for the better, but--” He ran his thumbs across the lip of his cup. It created a soft sound that was soothing to him, in a way nothing had been in countless eons. “I was always too afraid,” he confessed, “of her, of myself. In the end, I couldn’t do it.”
“Not everyone wants to change,” Abaddon said. “You did what you could. That’s more than enough.”
“You’re all so kind,” Caesar sniffled. Banrai offered him a handkerchief, which he accepted gratefully. “I hope that--that my people can experience such kindness someday soon.”
“They will,” Dreamweaver assured. “We will not rest until they do.”
As was often so in cases of political sabotage, the plan was easier laid than executed. On paper, it went something like: meet outside of the palace, follow the southeastern tunnel to its mouth, ride southeast into the Scarred Wasteland, ride northeast to the border of the Tangled Wood, and meet with Ambassador Akhtar’s contact.
In practice, however, it was far trickier, and Rosegold felt it only worked as well as it did due to a very convenient streak of good luck.
Firstly, Eyja did not request Caesar’s presence that evening. She was brooding over her confrontation with her sister still, and so, when he called upon her, she sent him skittering away with a shout. Thus, Caesar had no prior arrangements, and could roam the palace freely without suspicion.
Secondly, Rosegold had managed to make a very good impression on the palace staff during dinner. They thought her both clever and kind, and turned a blind eye to her own roaming, even though, at well after midnight, they should have found it suspect.
Lastly, the moon was new, and a storm had rolled in off the sea to the south, so that not even starlight could betray them. They would travel in pitch blackness, with only their own senses to guide them.
It was too convenient, and Rosegold wondered, as she saddled their cerdae at the tunnel exit, how long their luck would hold out.
“Keep to the border,” one of the guards instructed. “Our scouts rarely go out that way. Too near to the Starfall Isles for their comfort. Foul things lurk in the waters, but if you keep a distance, they’ll let you pass.”
“Thank you,” Caesar said, “and, I swear, I’ll come back for you all.”
“Don’t worry about us,” the other guard snorted with a wave of her hand. “Worry about yourself, Caesarah! It’s a long journey, and you’re a peaky little thing!”
“Take good care of him, Ambassador Chopra,” the first guard said. “We will need his guidance, when this is all over.”
“On my honor as a daughter of the Earthshaker,” Rosegold replied, “no harm will befall your rah while he remains in my care. I will give my life for his, if necessary.”
“You’re either brave,” the second guard said, “or foolish. Either way, he’s in good hands.”
The guards bowed to Caesar, and Caesar returned the gesture awkwardly. It was all Rosegold could do to coax him up onto the back of their mount. The cerdae was larger than most of its kin, bred to traverse the rocky landscape of Dragonhome, but it was no less spirited. The moment Rosegold had taken its reins, it was off like a shot into the cool January night.
Even long after the Warren was lost from his view, Caesar stared at where he knew it lay over Rosegold’s shoulder. He thought, if he squinted hard enough, he could still make out the telltale glint of armor on the horizon, the guards’ final farewells to him, their cowardly rah.
“You hold too much guilt in your heart,” Rosegold said. Caesar started and turned around, staring forward at the path ahead. “My sister has taught you to blame yourself.”
“No,” Caesar muttered, “I was always like that. She merely used what weakness I already possessed.”
“Fear for your loved ones is not weakness,” Rosegold replied, “but you must know when to take responsibility and when the responsibility is not yours to take. You are doing what you can for your people.”
“By abandoning them?”
“Is it abandonment if it will set them free?”
Caesar sighed and sank back against Rosegold’s chest. “Maybe not,” he conceded, “but it feels like it.”
“Enjoy the winter air,” Rosegold said. “When was the last time you saw the sky?”
“Months ago,” Caesar whispered, and his gaze wandered up to it. What few stars shone through the heavy cloud cover danced in his wide, dark eyes. “She brought me out, on occasion. I was luckier than most. I--I got to see it now and again. There are some who have not seen it for cycles.”
At last, the tears he had been holding in since their meeting with Sayid spilled down his cheeks, and in the quiet of the night, Rosegold allowed him to mourn undisturbed--for his friends, and his family, and his people, who he may not see for many cycles more, and who would suffer in a land he could not return to.
Suddenly, Rosegold pulled back on the cerdae’s reins, hard enough to bring it to a shrieking halt, and to jar Caesar out of his melancholy. The cerdae tossed its head in protest, but its rider paid it no heed. With another harsh tug, she wheeled the beast around and made due south--but it was far too late for evasive maneuvers. They were hemmed in on both sides by a pair of massive forms.
Caesar shrank back, his hands clutching for anything that might protect him from their pursuers’ wrath. In the eerie early morning dark, General Argent smiled a crooked, malicious smile, as deathly white as his scales. “If you’re having second thoughts,” he purred, “then we’ll just bring you home, little king.”
“Away with you,” Rosegold commanded, “or I will be your end.”
“Oh,” said Argent, “did you hear that, Malakai? She’s going to kill us.”
The Imperial to their left gave a loud, unimpressed sniff. He towered above all of them without the guise of his glamour, each of his claws larger than their heads, and Rosegold felt sweat bead on her brow. This was not a foe she could best in fair combat.
“We’ve come with an offer for you, Caesar,” Argent informed. Rosegold felt Caesar go rigid. “If you return with us now, no harm will befall you. We need not inform Eyjarah of your heinous betrayal. It was a mistake, an honest mistake. We all yearn for a bit of fresh air from time to time.”
“We may even let Ambassador Chopra live,” Argent pressed. “If you refuse, however, we’ll have to kill her. Wouldn’t you hate to be the cause of her death? Wouldn’t you hate to bear the grief of your rah?”
“R-Rosegold...”
“Do not listen,” Rosegold said again. “He will kill me either way, and nothing will change. Your people will remain enslaved.”
Caesar pressed a hand to his lips. There was bile in his throat, rising and falling with his labored breathing, and he knew he was going to be sick all over their mount. “I c...I can...”
“Caesar,” Rosegold warned, “don’t.”
“I can’t go back!” Caesar sobbed. “I won’t!”
This single declaration spurred Rosegold into action. Malakai and Argent were already moving, but their adversary was quicker. The ground beneath their feet tore open, forming long, black scars in the dust. Argent was the first to fall. His pale silhouette disappeared into the earth, swallowed whole. Malakai shrieked and lunged to his aid.
“Let us pass!” Rosegold shouted over the rumble of her magic. “Let us pass, or I will crush him!”
“Release him,” Malakai hissed. He stood over the chasm, the full length of his body shielding his superior from view. Beneath him, Argent gasped for breath. “Release him now!”
“Let--us--pass!”
Malakai looked to Rosegold, then to his superior. “Don’t,” Argent wheezed. “Kill her.”
“...Go,” Malakai breathed, and lowered himself to the ground in a show of submission. “Go and do not return. If you do, I will kill you with my own claws--both of you--and suffer the wrath of my rah.”
“He will be freed when we are well away,” Rosegold vowed. “You have my word.”
“Go!”
“You fool,” Argent snarled. “You idiot, let me die!”
“I will take the punishment,” Malakai said, “so, please, do not ask the impossible of me, sir.”
Then their cerdae was off again, and Argent’s reply was lost to them in a rush of wind.
They traveled in silence after that. The danger was passed, but they were afraid to speak, for fear of letting a harsh and terrible truth slip between their lips. The guards who had seen them off were very likely dead, or would be soon. Sayid’s fate hung in the balance. If his Owsla plants betrayed him, there was no guessing what Eyja may do to him.
Neither of them wanted to be the first to say so, but the Warren would smell of copper this night.
Several times, they were forced to stop, so that Caesar could retch onto the ground rather than the cerdae’s back. He was weak with fear and exhaustion, and his sickness only made him more so. Rosegold forced him to drink from her waterskin, but it found its way back to the earth eventually as well.
Only once they had passed through the Scarred Wasteland and arrived on the outskirts of the Tangled Wood did Caesar finally break the long quiet. “How did you know Malakai would let us go?”
“I didn’t,” Rosegold replied. “I took a gamble.”
“It was a good gamble,” Caesar said. “Argent is everything to Malakai. I--I almost feel bad. Malakai isn’t--he’s a good drake. He just chose the wrong idol.”
“How are you feeling?” Rosegold asked.
Caesar wrapped his arms around himself. “Like a coward,” he spat. “If I had gone with them, maybe the others would have been spared.”
“No,” Rosegold said. “I have seen enough of my sister’s lands to know they would not have. You did the right thing. You did what was best for the clan as a whole.”
“I did it out of selfishness,” Caesar rasped. “I did it because--because I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to that place.”
In the shadow of the Tangled Wood, Rosegold dismounted, and offered Caesar her hand. “No one will think less of you for it,” she said kindly, “and I believe, if you had felt it was for the best, you would have returned despite your fear. You are a better drake than you give yourself credit, Caesar.”
With eyes downcast and head hung low, Caesar took her hand, slipping sluggishly from the saddle. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “I hope I made the right choice.”
“Hello there!”
Rosegold whirled to face the wood, pushing Caesar behind her--but mere moments later, her demeanor relaxed, and her hard expression melted into one of pleasant disbelief. “Marvelous?” she called. “Ringmaster, is that you?”
From the undergrowth appeared a very familiar sight: a tall, pale drake, dressed all in purple garb fit only for a circus. He gave a jaunty wave as he picked his way effortlessly through the brambles. “You’re late,” he said, “I was about to come looking for you myself!”
“Surprised?” Marvelous grinned. “You ought not to be! I get around, you know? Or, rather, everyone else gets around to me! You can thank that wily incense merchant!”
“Tian?” said Caesar.
“The very same!” Marvelous, noticing Caesar for seemingly the first time, bowed low at the waist, sweeping his arm wide. “Welcome, Caesarah,” he said, “to Darkroot Circus! If you’ll follow me into the Wood, we’ll get the both of you rested up for your journey to the Ruins in no time at all, or your money back!”
“We have to pay for it?” Rosegold said. “Really, Marvelous?”
“No,” Marvelous replied, “but I’m a showdrake first, a philanthropist second, my dear.”
The servants loitering about the great hall scurried for cover at the sound of their queen’s raised voice. Rosegold only returned her sister’s scowl with a wider, brighter smile and took another sip from her glass.
The Warren may have been a dictatorship, but it was obviously flourishing. Before them lay a feast of immense proportion. Traditional Dragonhome dishes had been laid out in excess, and several casks of wine had been brought up from Eyja’s personal stores. “Nothing special,” she’d claimed, but one of the servants had quietly informed Rosegold that it was, in fact, her best year.
They had eaten their fill in silence, but for the occasional attempt at small-talk.
“How are they?” Eyja had asked.
“Who?”
“...Ma and pa.”
“Mother passed after you left. Father passed last cycle.”
“...I see.”
Then, once the plates had begun to be cleared away, Rosegold had clasped her hands neatly in front of her, leaned forward, and said, “I want you to release your people.”
Now they found themselves at an impasse--Eyja on her feet, palms splayed against the table, teeth clenched in stubborn defiance; Rosegold seated comfortably, smiling sweetly, sipping daintily from her glass.
Watching.
Waiting.
“I will do no such thing,” Eyja said, and spat the final word like poison from her lips.
“Haven’t you played tyrant long enough?” Rosegold asked. Eyja leaned heavier against the table, letting her full size loom over her sister. “I don’t know your reasons,” Rosegold went on, “but I do know you’re hurting innocent people. Those who disobey are beaten and maimed, those who continue to disobey are executed, and anyone who strays too near is dragged here kicking and screaming to be either subjugated or murdered.”
“As it should be,” Eyja said. “I’m above them. I’m better than them. I’m in charge.”
“You aren’t even dirt beneath my heel.”
Rosegold expected violence, for her sister to reach for the wicked dagger at her hip. Instead, Eyja snorted and reclaimed her seat. “I won’t let you goad me,” she said. “We aren’t children anymore, Rosy.”
“Really?” Rosegold said. “You’re still acting like one.”
“This is my land,” Eyja reminded, “and these are my people. Everything you see, I have built. My leadership has led to incredible advances in technology, magic, architecture, agriculture, and the arts. We will never want for food. We will never want for shelter. We will never want for money, or weaponry, or warmth.”
Eyja leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, chin tilted upwards just so. “I do not need your approval,” she said. “I know that what I’ve created here is a masterpiece, a well-oiled machine far more efficient than even those found within the Shifting Expanse. I’ve accomplished something grand.”
“You’ve accomplished nothing,” Rosegold replied. “The people you’ve oppressed for the past three cycles have.”
“Under my leadership.”
“Under pain of death.”
“Gods, you’re so naive!”
“I’d rather be naive than a murderer, Eyja!”
“This is the way the world is now!” Eyja slammed a fist down on the table, making its entire length jump and rattle precariously. “‘Kill or be killed’ isn’t just for Plague dragons anymore! Our world is a cruel one, and you’re too soft to live in it!”
She stood again and turned her back to Rosegold. A long silence descended between them; then, “You can stay as long as you’d like, but if I hear you’ve been meddling, I’ll kill you.”
“You know I’m going to meddle,” Rosegold said, “so you might as well kill me now and get it over with.”
But Eyja did not. Her hand hovered briefly over her dagger, fingers twitching, though out of malice or hesitation, Rosegold couldn’t say. Then she swept from the hall like a thunder storm, all broiling, angry clouds and booming footsteps. A door slammed somewhere in the palace; timidly, its workers began to creep back into the lamplight.
Rosegold remained. Even as her sister’s servants cleared away the remnants of their meal, she remained. She remained, and she sighed, and she wracked her brain for some idea, some tiny, flickering, dying light bulb of a plan.
Finally, when she could bear the echoing emptiness of the dining hall no longer, she gathered her skirts in her hands and left the palace for the crowded, subterranean streets beyond.
Before she had gone very far, a tiny, trembling hand grasped her wrist. She paused, letting her skirts fall again, and turned to face the stranger. He was the shortest, skinniest drake she’d ever laid eyes on, with patchwork skin of cream and sand and a great many golden trinkets dangling from him like spiderwebs. When her gaze fell upon him, he flinched and dropped his own to his feet.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I don’t mean to be a--a bother, but--”
“You’re not,” Rosegold assured. “You’re not at all.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “My name is Caesar,” he said.
“Oh.”
Rosegold extended a hand. At first, Caesar looked at it like it was a trick, something to trap him and earn him a frightful punishment. When she thrust it more insistently towards him, however, he took it. “You must be my brother-in-law then,” she said. Caesar winced. “I’m sorry. You don’t want to be my brother-in-law.”
“It’s not that,” Caesar said. “Rather, I wish I could be your brother-in-law under more favorable circumstances.”
“I know my sister has shown you no kindness.”
“Oh, she’s--she’s shown me some.”
“Not nearly enough.”
“I--I don’t suppose so.”
“Still,” Rosegold said, “it’s good to meet you.”
“You as well,” Caesar replied. The tension fled from his shoulders, but only slightly--and a different sort of knot settled between their blades. His eyes scanned their surroundings with the kind of discreet curiosity only a drake with years of practice at hiding his comings and goings could perfect.
Then, in a voice quieter still, he said, “I think I can help you.”
“You?” A bemused smile tugged at the corners of Rosegold’s lips. “Help me? I don’t mean to be rude, but shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“You’re here to emancipate our--Eyjarah’s people,” Caesar said. “I know someone who can help.”
“Oh my,” Rosegold said, “that is awfully convenient.”
“You’ve heard of our Light Representative, I take it?” Caesar asked, and beckoned for Rosegold to follow him. In the dim lighting of the royal cavern, the two slipped away in pursuit of the city outskirts. “He’s from your neck of the woods,” Caesar went on, “or, er, where you’re living now anyway.”
“Yes,” Rosegold said, “I’ve heard quite a lot about him. He’s the son of a highly influential ambassador from a kingdom out near the Beacon. It was big news when he went missing--I believe a priest from his kingdom was captured as well.”
“That’ll be Constantine, yes,” Caesar confirmed. “He’s the reason Sayid came here in the first place. Now he’s wrapped up in this mess too. I think--I think he could escape, if he wanted to, but Eyjarah--she threatened the common folk to force him into submission.”
“That sounds like her,” Rosegold murmured. “Earthshaker beneath, what has become of my sister?”
“She wasn’t always like this?” Caesar asked.
By now, they had come to one of the many paths leading up the cavern walls. From it, they would have access to the Warren’s winding tunnel systems, where the bulk of its workforce resided. Caesar paused, looked back at the glimmering lights of the royal city, and pressed onward and upward.
“She wasn’t,” Rosegold said, “when we were young. Eyja was always temperamental and stubborn, but nothing like this. Truthfully, I had hoped the stories were wrong, that the dread-queen of the Warren was not my dear elder sister. I came here half-expecting to find some other terrible dam upon its throne.”
“I’m sorry,” Caesar said, “this must be difficult for you.”
“It was easier when I believed her to be a mercenary off on grand adventures,” Rosegold confessed, “even when I believed her to be dead. At least in death, her honor would be preserved. I don’t suppose she cares much for honor anymore, though.”
Rosegold shook her head. “Listen to me,” she said, “going on and on about our golden youth. You’ve had it much harder than I have. I should be comforting you.”
“No, no, I...” Caesar halted at the mouth of a long, dark corridor. This far below ground, the air was stuffy, but it seemed even more so here. “I’m used to it,” he said. “I’m used to being an object and nothing more. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. It’s just who and what I am now.”
“I’ll change that,” Rosegold vowed, and placed a kind hand upon his shoulder. His fingers whispered across her knuckles. “We will change that.”
“Sayid’s chambers are just up ahead,” Caesar said. “Come.”
They followed the tunnel for a long way, and, as it grew darker, jogged off to the side and into a small alcove lit dimly by glow mushrooms. Caesar held up a hand. The clink of armored feet echoed in the gloom. Before long, a patrol passed by, their spears glinting menacingly in the low light.
“Owsla,” he whispered once they’d passed, “the wide guard. The next group won’t arrive for a good ten minutes. That’s our window. We have to slip into Sayid’s chambers and out within that time frame. I--I can’t be seen with you.”
“If push comes to shove,” Rosegold said, “hide, run, do whatever you must.”
Caesar didn’t respond, but Rosegold could feel him trembling beside her. As the sound of the wide guard’s clunking footsteps faded and the tunnel fell back into cloying silence, he darted out onto the main path and disappeared into the darkness. Rosegold followed as best she could, keeping to the sound of his ragged breaths.
There was a jingle of keys. “You came at a good time,” Caesar informed. “Sayid used to have a personal guard, a big, hulking brute--but the poor fellow got caught sneaking outskirters out of the warren, and Eyjarah’s been too paranoid to post another. Now the wide guard covers him in their rounds.”
“Caesar?” a voice called quietly. “Caesar, what in Lightweaver’s name are you doing here?”
“I’ve brought someone,” Caesar replied, “a friend. She’s come to--well, suffice it to say, I think she can help you with your plans.”
The lock clicked, and the door it belonged to creaked inward. Vaguely, Rosegold was aware of a prickling feeling along her skin. “Is the door made of untreated iron?” she asked.
“It’s not untreated,” Caesar said, “but it’s, er, less treated than is generally considered preferable.”
Inside, they were met by a flash of light as lanterns around the room sprang to life. The ambassador’s chambers were cruder than most Rosegold had seen in the Warren--but that was to be expected, seeing as he was a prisoner first and an ambassador second. It was furnished with the bare necessities, and, Rosegold noted, lacked windows (which was also uncommon for homes this high up on the mound).
She supposed it was another act of cruelty by her sister to deny a drake so enamored with the light Sornieth’s greatest source of it.
Sayid was waiting for them in the entryway (if it could be called such). Tall and lean, with tanned skin and the golden eyes indicative of his people, he was every bit as proud and noble as Rosegold had imagined. Eyja had not broken him yet, and, she thought, was never likely to.
“You must be Rosegold,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you. Come in.”
“I would offer you tea,” Sayid said, “but I am not allowed many comforts.”
He motioned for them to sit. Evidently, Caesar visited often, because he had already made himself comfortable before being prompted—or as comfortable as he could in a chair that looked like it was made from solid rock. Rosegold followed suit, her hands clasped politely in her lap.
“Thank you,” she said, “for your hospitality.”
“I’m not offering it out of kindness,” Sayid informed stiffly. “I’m offering it out of necessity. You’re that devil dam’s sister; I can smell it on you. I’ve no desire to fraternize with any of her kin.”
“Understandable.”
“Sayid, please,” Caesar said, “please, be kind to her. She has a good heart. She isn’t like—” His voice faltered, and he lowered it to a conspiratorial whisper before continuing-- “like Eyjarah.”
“Oh, don’t call her that,” Sayid spat. “She’s not your ‘rah.’”
“I know,” Caesar mumbled, and began fidgeting with one of the gold baubles hanging from his neck, “I know, Sayid.”
Sayid stared at him in silence for a long moment. Then he sighed and placed a hand upon Caesar’s knee. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m just in poor spirits. I shouldn’t snap at you, especially not in front of a guest.”
“It’s all right,” Caesar said, “you’re just trying to help.”
“Still...” Sayid retracted his hand. “Very well. On to business then.”
“You said you were expecting me,” Rosegold noted. “I wasn’t aware that news of my arrival had already spread.”
“Word travels fast in the tunnels,” Sayid replied. “I knew of your arrival even before you had arrived. I had no idea you were sympathetic to our cause, however—and I certainly never dreamed that Caesar would escort you here himself. That was incredibly reckless on his part.”
“I-I’m sorry,” Caesar stammered, “I just—I wanted to help.”
“I know, Caesar,” Sayid said, “but none of us wish to see anything happen to you. You know that.”
“He was very careful about it,” Rosegold placated.
“So were all those before him. Now they lie in shallow graves.”
Caesar made a quiet sound of distress and sagged in his chair. “Perhaps you should go,” Rosegold suggested. “Ambassador Akhtar and I can handle things from here.”
“No.” Sayid twined his fingers together, staring hard at the creases in his skin. “He is here now,” he murmured, “so I may as well kill two birds with one stone.”
“Am I...?” Caesar pointed to himself incredulously. “Am I a part of your plans?”
“You are the most important part,” Sayid replied, “because you, and you alone, will be leaving this place tonight.”
“Tonight?” said Rosegold.
“Me alone?!” Caesar cried, then stumbled to his feet and began pacing the length of the ambassador’s chambers unsteadily. Sayid rose as well, keeping careful watch of Caesar’s tripping footsteps. “No, no,” Caesar said, “you must be mad! If you think I’m going to leave you all here while I—while I run off—you must be mad!”
“You have suffered the most out of any of us,” Sayid said, “and for the longest.”
“That doesn’t make it fair!”
“Perhaps not—but that is not my only reason for sending you away.” Sayid motioned for Caesar to reclaim his seat. Reluctantly, Caesar obliged, dropping hard into his chair with dazed carelessness. “I have chosen you,” Sayid went on, “because your loss will be pivotal in the destabilization of the clan’s hierarchy.”
“It...it will...?”
“Though she has never treated you with kindness,” Sayid said, “Eyja cares for you, in her own twisted way. If you escape to a place she cannot follow, she will be distraught, beside herself with anger and grief. She will be vulnerable, and a vulnerable leader makes for vulnerable followers.”
Caesar opened his mouth to protest, but merely hid his face, now red with emotion, in his quivering hands. “I cannot argue with your logic,” he said miserably. “If you think—if you truly think it will help, I’ll go.”
“Do you have a contingency plan?” Rosegold asked. “My sister is stubborn, as I am certain you know well, and I cannot guarantee that my Sovereign will go to war on your behalf—at least not in the near future. We are reeling from our own losses now, and they are worn thin. You must be prepared should Eyja retain control.”
“We are,” Sayid assured. “It may be many more cycles before any of us see our freedom, but your successful escape with Caesar will lay the groundwork for a revolution. You will betray her and steal away her mate in one fell swoop; not even she will be able to withstand such a blow.”
“You all will suffer for those many more cycles,” Caesar moaned, “and I—I will be free. Sayid, I don’t know if I can—how will I live with myself, having left you all behind?”
“By remembering what you left us behind for,” Sayid replied. He held out a hand. Timidly, Caesar took it. “We have plants, in the Owsla. We will ensure that they are guarding your exit tonight. Go via the southeastern tunnel, and cross into the Scarred Wasteland. It will be treacherous, but you need only linger for a short while. Once you are away into the Tangled Wood, my contacts there will see you through to the Sunbeam Ruins.”
“I will need another mount,” Rosegold said. “The Rambra I arrived on would not fare well in the Wasteland.”
“Our Owsla plants will provide one.”
“It must be tonight?” Caesar asked.
“Yes,” Sayid said, “before Eyja has time to suspect.” Though his expression had been grim throughout their conference, it grew more so now, heavy with shame. “I must ask,” he muttered, “that if the two of you are caught, you mention nothing of me. There is much I have left to do here in the Warren, and Eyja may decide I am more trouble than I am worth should she discover my involvement in all of this. I do not fear death, but—”
“The people here need you,” Rosegold concluded. “We will not so much as think your name.”
Sayid gave a short, appreciative nod. “You are a better dam than your sister,” he said. “I’m sorry for treating you coldly.”
“My sister has caused you great strife,” Rosegold replied. “I won’t hold it against you.”
“You should go now,” Sayid said, “quickly. The Owsla is coming.”
Sayid saw them both to the door, but Caesar lingered with him longer than either he or Rosegold thought was prudent. They exchanged hushed words, until Sayid bid Caesar farewell with a kiss upon his brow. “When we are all together once more, under the sky of my homeland,” he breathed, “I will be honored to call you rah.”
Caesar said nothing, so overcome by emotion that his throat had swollen shut; but he managed a shaky nod before Rosegold took him by the hand and hauled him away into the dark of the tunnels.
But now he’s going to live a comfortable, happy life in Feldspar! Rosegold will be the best sister-in-law to him! She’s going to spoil this man! (And, honestly, so will everyone else. He deserves to be pampered.)
