“Sit.”
I stare at the two generals in the room as I take a seat in one of the thick, polished chairs at a round wooden table. If I weren’t so nervous that I’d been separated from Thorn—and far away from Astralux and Vitegadium—I’d have appreciated the beautiful paintings on the wall of military victories and still-life of the city of Remyssus.
As it is, my staff and dagger were taken, the rest of my equipment still on Astralux’s saddle, and now I look between the two men who continue to stand opposite of where I sit. Many other Verlassen soldiers have filled out the room, their yellow and purple-checkered uniforms quite bright in the many candle sconces that line the wall, giving ample light to the room, as does the large window behind me.
One of the generals closes the door firmly, but when he turns around he gives me a surprisingly warm smile. “Relax, ma’am. I know General Norman comes across as harsh sometimes, but you and your friend gave us quite a start arriving on dragons.”
I manage a small smile, feeling a bit more at ease. “We didn’t mean to cause a stir. Yet the dragons are our best mode of transportation.”
The general chuckles. “I can see why! Quite magnificent beasts. I’m General Easton. This here is General Benjamin.”
The other general gives a bow of his head. “Hello, ma’am.”
“What is your name?” General Easton asks.
“I’m Estelle Brand.” I hesitate for a second. “A Ward.”
“A Ward?” General Easton takes a seat, watching me curiously.
“Introductions were included in the scroll for King Mahlir,” I say. “However, the Wards are a group of protectors under Ariadna’s hand from the city-state of Adytol, located in the Wintersong Mountains. We—”
“—Hold on,” General Benjamin says, his deeper voice cutting through. “I’ve never heard of a civilization in the Wintersong Mountains. General Norman’s men have only encountered tribal groups, trolls and other such beasts and wild things.”
“Adytol is on Mount Nordstern,” I say. “If that helps?”
“Hm.” General Benjamin glances at General Easton. “We’ll have to talk with General Norman. Please continue.”
“The Wards are long-standing enemies with the Vladykars,” I say, “who seek only to further Anieros’ cause. The Vladykars have allied themselves with Klevor.”
“I take it these Vladykars are the other dragon riders we’ve heard rumors about?” General Easton asks.
I nod. “Very likely, if the rumors are bad. The Wards’ leaders, Ward Veremund and Kalteratem, have sent Ward Thorn and myself, along with our dragons, to reach out and see if we might unite Amenyl with other countries, and aid you in the fight against Klevor and the Vladykars.”
General Benjamin crosses his muscular arms. “Unite all the other countries of Drakonia under the authority of Ward Veremund and Kalteratem?”
“No,” I say. “They thought that an alliance would strengthen us all to be able to defeat the Vladykars and Klevor, and felt that Remyssus would offer a great location for such a meeting between all the countries.”
“Hm.” General Easton strokes his gray-streaked blonde mustache. “So you and Ward Thorn are diplomats?”
“Yes.”
“Oh dear.” General Easton chuckles as he glances up at General Benjamin, who’s still standing. “We may have been a bit hasty. We saw the peace flag, but to be honest we thought it was a trap.”
“I understand,” I say.
General Easton rises, beckoning to the other general. “We’ll go confirm your story with the others, just to be sure, but I do apologize if you are who you say you are—this has been a great misunderstanding. Can I send for any drink or food for you, Ward Estelle?”
“Water would be appreciated.” My stomach rumbles and I put a hand over it. “And perhaps a bit of bread?”
“Water and bread?” General Easton laughs heartily. “Surely you expect more from King Mahlir!”
“I’m not here to take advantage of his hospitality,” I say.
General Benjamin smiles. “I think we can do a little better than water and plain bread.”
I smile, feeling much more at ease. “Thank you.”
“Of course, Ward Estelle. One moment.” The generals bow their heads and step out.
Sitting in the room in silence, under the watchful and curious gazes of the guards, I stare down at my gloved hands, wondering how long this will take. My heart is still throbbing a little with the distance between Astralux and myself—this might be the furthest we’ve ever been apart since bonding. I don’t like it. I close my eyes, imagining how she’s feeling. Anxious, I’m sure, forced to leave me at the Golden Palace with soldiers who were on edge.
I hear footsteps on the carpet runner outside the door to this meeting room. They pause at the door and there’s whispered talking. Then a tentative knock.
Opening my eyes, I find all the guards are watching me—none of them have responded to the knock. “Come in,” I say.
The door creaks open and a woman in a blue dress with the Verlassen coat of arms stitched on the front and back walks in, pushing a cart. She pauses and stares at me. “H-hello, Ward Estelle. Would you care for some tea or coffee with your crumpets?”
I peer over the cart. I’ve never heard of crumpets, but the round, golden cake-like fried goods covered in melted butter on a platter make my mouth water. The smell alone makes my stomach grumble again.
“Tea, please,” I say.
The woman bows her head and pours me tea from a gilded and painted porcelain tea kettle into an equally beautiful painted porcelain teacup. She sets this on a teacup saucer—something I’d only recently seen in Adytol—and even puts a silver spoon on it before holding it out to me. I’m amazed by the teacup by itself, its edges molded to have a fan-shape. But more than that, I notice that the woman’s hand is trembling, because the spoon and teacup clatter a little on the saucer.
I take the saucer as slowly as I can so as not to startle her. “Thank you.”
“Y-yes, ma’am.” The woman lifts the entire platter of crumpets and sets this in front of me, along with a fork and knife that match the spoon in their intricate designs of wheat fields on the silver handles. Then the woman sets a silver bowl of sugar cubes, a tiny silver pitcher of what I surmise is cream, and a tiny glass pitcher beside me filled with a dark, golden-brown liquid.
“Syrup,” the woman says when I frown at the third item. “D-does this please you, Ward Estelle?”
“This is wonderful, thank you,” I say.
The woman bows her head, pinching and lifting the edge of her dress in a tiny curtsey. “If you need anything, please send for another servant.” With that, she hurriedly pushes her cart out of the meeting room.
I feel odd sitting with a plateful of delicious-smelling food with the guards watching me, but this seems to be expected. Sipping the tea, I’m surprised by its bitter taste—the cream and sugar is needed. I add a couple of the tiny cubes to the cup, and pour a little of the cream, giving it a stir with the spoon before setting the spoon back on the saucer. I take a sip and sigh—much better.
With the crumpets, I decide to taste one them first before adding the syrup. They cut like pancakes but they’re so much thicker, and the holes on the top are pooling with melted butter. I take a small bite.
Oh my goodness. These are amazing.
I try not to lose every bit of dignity I possess as I devour the crumpets. After a couple of bites, I add a side of the syrup, and then, after dipping a bite of crumpet into it, drizzle syrup over the entire platter. While similar to honey in texture, and even in sweetness level, the syrup also has molasses flavor in it that is delicious.
Just as I finish the second crumpet, there’s a knock on the door again. “Come in.”
General Easton opens the door. “Ah good! I was hoping the servants would get you something soon enough. Your story matched up perfectly with your ally. As promised, here he is.”
I stand up in relief as Thorn strides past General Easton into the room. He looks angry, his green eyes glittering by the candle sconces, his brow furrowed more than usual, but otherwise well and unharmed as he walks around the table.
“Are you alright?” Thorn asks quietly, so soft I’m not sure anyone else would be able to hear him.
“I’m fine, how are you?”
“Fine.” Thorn keeps looking me over, as if expecting to see wounds.
“I do apologize for the harsh treatment,” General Easton says. “We truly assumed you meant ill.”
“We understand,” I say. I’m not sure Thorn is feeling that generous, but I also know we need to make a good first impression.
Another servant pushing a cart enters the room, trembling as much as the first. “Hello, Ward Thorn. Would you like tea or coffee with your crumpets?” she asks.
“Coffee,” Thorn says.
“How many sugar cubes would you like?”
“None.”
“Cream?”
“No. Thank you,” Thorn adds. His shoulders slowly relax down.
The four generals take a seat opposite of us, accepting coffee and platters of crumpets as well. This seems to satisfy Thorn, who finally takes a bite of his crumpets. He gives me a look of surprise and then eats like I did—barely containing his enjoyment of the buttery cakes.
“So, how many Wards are there?” General Norman asks.
“There are currently seven Wards, including ourselves,” I say.
“And, does this include dragons?”
I shake my head. “No, each Ward is paired with a dragon.”
The four generals glance among themselves—I can see worry on a couple of their faces. Maybe when we called Adytol a city-state, they had something much smaller in mind. Perhaps they’re struggling with the idea of seven dragons. I don’t blame them in the least.
“Seven dragons in Adytol?” General Norman murmurs.
“There are more,” Thorn says.
Now the generals’ eyes are bulging. “Surely then you could defeat these Vladykars on your own?” General Wesley says.
“The Vladykars have at least eight known pairs,” I say.
“We’re fairly certain they have more than that, but we’ve only verified eight,” Thorn says. Perhaps he wants it to be clear that even if we were more experienced, this isn’t that close of a fight.
“So not good,” General Norman says.
“Hence, why we seek an alliance,” I say, feeling despair on them. “Perhaps with the aid of us and Amenyl and other countries, we could unite together against the Vladykars and against Klevor to defend ourselves.”
“We’ve already requested aid from Dasos and Falaz,” General Easton says.
“Good, and Ward Amon has gone out to request aid from them as well as the other countries and tribes of Drakonia,” I say. “The worst they can say is ‘no.’”
“And if they join Klevor?” General Wesley drawls.
“No doubt that was their intention from the beginning, then,” I say. “It changes nothing.”
General Norman strokes his dark beard. Then he sighs. “I guess you’re right. At any rate, we’ve sent word to King Mahlir alerting him of your presence and that you’ll be coming with us to this afternoon’s war meeting.”
“If you’d like to freshen up,” General Easton says, “we can send for a servant. And, we will certainly return your equipment to you.”
I look at Thorn, but besides for his hair being a bit windswept, I’m not sure there’s anything wrong with his outfit. We’re already wearing our Ward uniforms, which was what we agreed on when meeting with the king. His green eyes look over my hair but then he gives a subtle nod of his head.
“I think we’re fine, if you believe we are presentable,” I say.
General Easton smiles. “It’s a bit unusual that women present themselves to King Mahlir and Prince Philander not in a dress, but we have had women warriors from other countries here before dressed in armor. And, you are diplomats—you are fine.”
“Thank you,” I say.
General Norman rises, shaking his head. “No—thank you. You two are the first bit of good news we’ve had in a while, and I suspect King Mahlir will be glad to speak with you directly. If you’re ready, let’s go to the throne room.”
I nod and rise, trying not to look as anxious as I feel. I’d only hoped to lay eyes on the Golden Palace in my lifetime—I never expected to see the King of Amenyl. Now, I’m going to speak with him!
Tamara Rivers 
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