Page 1 of Veiled Flames
One
Rosomon
The sun hangs low, a deep magenta ball that bathes the horizon in vibrant violets and deep pinks. Purple dusks portend winds of change—so say the klericks. I could use some change.
Hope stirs inside me, and I tighten my grip on Sky Stallion’s mane, digging my bare heels into his flanks and urging him to gallop faster and faster. The King’s steed obeys my command, and the late afternoon air lifts my loose hair to fly in the wind. Together, the large horse and I race across open fields of wild oats, decorated with cornflowers and daisies, some very close to the pink shade of my hair.
My linen gown provides little barrier between the beast’s thundering body and mine, and his heat and power vibrate through me, letting me claim some of his strength as my own. Leaning close to his neck, I inhale the beast’s musky scent as his mane joins my pink locks to stream behind us.
In moments like this, I can pretend I’m not trapped. That I’m free. Free to do whatever I choose.
This bareback ride breaks so many rules governing my existence. I’ve taken the King’s favorite steed; I’m improperly dressed; I’m unchaperoned; I’m outside the castle grounds; and—horrors—I’m riding astride Sky Stallion.
My failings are endless. Father won’t take any notice.
Possessing one crucial feature I lack, my two younger siblings claim all the King’s paternal attention. I may be first born but failed to be born a boy.
Racing across the meadows, I imagine myself galloping past the end of these grasslands and traversing the dark woods toward the mountains of Verax. Perhaps one day I’ll escape the boundaries of Achotia to explore the rest of the Seven Kingdoms—even beyond. Perhaps one day I might even see the giant veil that protects the Seven Kingdoms of Light from the Darkness.
Such dreams are pure fantasy. I may have been born with royal blood but have no coin. No marketable skills. No way to survive on my own. Still, any day I’m able to steal myself outside the gates for these rides, I remain content. My life could be so much worse.
Mid-gallop, Sky Stallion neighs, and his body quivers under mine. I loosen my grip, signaling him to slow. Looking up to see what spooked the horse, I expect a falcon or other such raptor.
A massive beast cuts the sky—its wingspan far greater than any bird’s, and its knife-like tail slicing curves through the lavender sky. A dragon! Excitement bubbles inside me as I look up in awe. Such beasts were a gift from Othrix, granted to protect TheKingdoms of Light. Dragons are never seen this far from the veil. I’ve only seen illustrations in books.
A shiver of fear joins my excitement. This creature could burn me to a crisp, or swallow me with a single bite, but it’s sailing so close to the Great Beyond, there’s little chance of Sky Stallion and I becoming its dinner.
The sun is now kissing the highest treetops of the forest. Night is coming. Bold as I am, I have no desire to traverse the woods once the sun fully sets. And I don’t want any servants to be blamed for my absence, should I be late for the evening meal.
“What do you think, Sky?” I stroke the horse’s powerful neck, damp with sweat from our run. “Time to head home?”
Turning my mount, I steer us toward a small path that leads through the forest, so we can avoid the main road as long as possible. My chosen path is one more easily navigated on foot, but I duck under byrch tree branches and dodge razorleaf bushes, as we get closer and closer to the river.
As we near the top of the gorge, voices carry through the thick foliage, and I signal the horse to stop. Sliding off his body, I rest my hand on his neck, guiding him as we walk down a steep path toward a small clearing where I’ll have a good view of the river and the bridge that crosses it.
As I suspected, the voices are rising from a party gathered on the road surrounding the bridge. Dozens of soldiers on foot precede a cortege of carriages, followed by several rough-hewn carts. Four knyghts have dismounted their horses and stand in defensive positions around the most highly decorated carriage, their long swords drawn at the ready.
Given the excess of gold and gems on the main carriage, whomever it holds is seeking an audience with my father, the King. Pulling my looking tube from under my shift, I take a closer look.
The crest of Khotor.
Traveling by carriage, the Kingdom of Khotor is a good ten days to the south. Does the arrival of this royal cortege have anything to do with the dragon flying over our lands?
The carriage door opens, and a puffy-faced elderly man emerges. He looks to have many more years than my father’s eight and forty—I’d guess he has more than seventy—and his belly’s so huge it’s difficult to see his legs as he fights to extrude himself through the door.
“Hurry,” he yells. “Footmen! Now! Grab that lusty wench we reaped in the last village.”
Within seconds, footmen drop off the back of the carriage, and one falls to his hands and knees below the door. Two others support the fat old man as he steps onto the first servant’s back, while another tugs the man’s arms from the front. The kneeling footman strains to keep his back level, and I swear the old man is purposefully grinding the narrow heel of his fancy boot into his servant’s spine.
A yelp draws my attention, as a burly footman yanks a young woman out of an open cart. She struggles as he pulls her by the hair toward the old man’s carriage. The bodice of her soiled dress is torn, exposing one of the paps of her bosom, and a large blood stain soils the seat of her garment. She must be traveling while on her courses, without the required rags.
My heart goes out to her for suffering such indignities, but the scene is too far away for me to offer assistance. And the bank here too steep for Sky Stallion. It will take me ten minutes to head through the woods and down the road to reach the group, and even going that quickly I’d be risking the horse’s safety.
By the time the young woman reaches the carriage, the footmen have extruded the old man through the door. The feat seems improbable given his girth and how well wedged he looked to be, when my attention was drawn away.
“Hurry!” he yells. “My need is urgent.”
The young woman is tossed at his feet.
