I thank the gate beggars for sharing their space with me, they thank me for being unusually warm, and we part ways as allies. The gate is slow in opening for the morning, and when it does I see why: Captain Romauld's second stands at the entrance with a full squad of guards. Rather than checking those who enter, they carefully search every person and cart that leaves. Most of the guards are unfamiliar, but his second has his trust for a reason. I can't demand passage from him, nor walk out while he stands there.

  Except that he wouldn't know me from any other local woman. What will his captain have told him? Would he have given him an accurate description of me, and risked my identity being leaked to others? It seems unlikely that he would, after so many years of being one of the few people trusted by both Uncle Ben and the emperor, both of whom had reason to want my identity kept a secret.

  It is a small satisfaction knowing that Romauld himself must be at the northern gate doing the same. I barely slept thinking I was too obvious, but apparently he considers me either doubly clever or singularly stupid.

  I slip back to the beggars and produce a few coins, one for each. "Penny for your thoughts?" I already told them I was escaping an abusive relative.

  One thinks he can create a commotion, but there are guards waiting outside the gate as well. A commotion will only encourage vigilance, and attract Romauld before I can disappear. Another says I need a better disguise, but covering my face would draw attention. The third gives the best suggestion: hide among the western traders. Their women wear veils when they travel, supposedly because they are too beautiful for foreign eyes. Uncle Ben says the practice, historically, coincides with the advent of western women warriors. He didn't call it suspicious, but his eyebrows did.

  There are three groups of traders in line already, unsurprising for the time of year, and day.

  The next town is a few days' walk, but the regularity of trade means inns and posthouses along the way. How far can I make it before Romauld catches up? Is it worth...

  Or what?

  I hand over the coins and thank the beggars again. Keeping the gate and its guards out of sight, I make my way around to the last group. "Pardon me," I begin, only to find I am speaking to the stranger from the night before.

  "Yes?" Ash leans back against his cart, his face bright with amusement.

  There is no point being circumspect. "Could I travel with you out of the city? After all, I did save your life."

  He doesn’t need to ask why. "And if we get caught?"

  If it were Romauld, he would detain them long enough to understand who they thought they were helping. His second will not bother, if he even has any way to recognize me. "I am known to travel alone." Or rather, everyone I know is looking for me. "They would not give you any trouble." They know how persuasive I can be.

  He opens a trunk containing typical western clothing and hands me a dress and veil. "My dear, do get changed."

  "Are we really helping her?" I hear his companion ask.

  "Don't we owe her that much?" Ash sounds convinced, which is the normal response when a dragon makes a request.

  They let me use the closed carriage to change into the matronly dress. He climbs onto the driver's seat as they move slowly forward with the line. "Are you dressed?"

  Fastening the veil, I lean through the front curtain. "Are we there yet?"

  "Got a name?"

  "Just for today, I'll answer to 'darling'." The irony that I am pretending to be a stranger's wife to avoid marrying another does not make me smile.

  Ash does smile, and even with my eyes still freshly remembering Captain Romauld's beautiful face, he looks handsome. At least Uncle Ben will approve that my choice was motivated. "Darling, if the guards ask?"

  I can't say Adelaide, and Adi sounds too obvious. But if I give a name nothing like mine, I'll forget it before we reach the gate. Laide. Ide. Dela.

  "Having trouble?"

  "Aela."

  "Aela? That's pretty."

  I regret giving it. Only Adison ever called me Aela, when he was first learning to speak. It seems wrong for someone else to use it. But it's safe. Romauld and Vasilis met Adison when the three started training together, when they were five or six years old, so they never heard it. Even Uncle Ben wouldn't know it as a nickname for me.

  The guards don't ask. They make me climb out to search the cart, and I lean on Ash's arm and use western words to ask what the problem is. In the same language, he tells me not to worry, then asks the guards not to frighten his wife. His accent is dodgy in both languages, but the guards wave us through and move on to the next travelers.

  Though I intend to leave them once we are out of sight of the gate, I am offended when Ash calls for everyone to stop the moment we are and asks me to get out.

  "Aksel did a reading this morning, and found misfortune ahead. You had better not go to the city. West from here is a smaller town. East is nothing but desert."

  His description matches what I remember of the map, but it's a longer journey if I go west and then south. The slower I travel, the more quickly Romauld will catch up. "Thank you for your advice. Fare--"

  "I can take you as far as the next posthouse."

  His companions disagree, but he encourages them to ride ahead. "It won't take long." He helps me onto his horse and jumps up behind me. "Ya!" The horse trots down the dirt path, and I have no choice but to hold on.

  The path looks unused, and I see no sign of other travelers. If no one normally takes this road... I wish this guy would just leave me alone; then I could check the map and choose my own direction. "Hey. Hey!" I pull on the reins and the horse dances slightly as he slows down.

  "What?"

  "I appreciate your willingness to help," though not his actual help. "But you seem busy, and I have my own plans." I try to lift his arm, but he won't be moved. Keeping calm, I motion for him to make space.

  "It's no trouble," he says, urging the horse forward.

  Less calm, I tug on the reins again. "I really would prefer--"

  He blocks my arms from the reins. "You'll confuse my horse." He urges her faster. "We'll arrive before dark if we ride straight."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  For his horse's sake, I sulk quietly. For his, I tell myself that he just wants to feel like a hero. For mine, I fold my right hand into a fist and remind myself that I am choosing not to punch him. I am so polite, I am so nice.

  But why is it so hard to follow my own will, even among strangers?

  -----

  "And you just suddenly remembered that trader caravan being only men when they entered."

  "That caravan only entered the city yesterday, so I recognized them." The gate guard shifts nervously. "Captain..."

  Captain Romauld leans on the battlements, his expression betraying nothing. "Spread out, search the city."

  "Yessir." The guard leaves quickly, tripping over several steps but still managing to run when he lands on solid ground.

  "Take six soldiers and travel north, just in case. Check the inns along the way back to General Benelus. And have word sent to the palace that the princess has left the empire."

  "How can you be sure it was her?" His second asks curiously, not doubting his captain for a moment.

  "Years of experience." Captain Romauld's face is no less handsome for its cold expression. "I will go south myself, no need to trouble these border guards."

  ----

  Sitting on the roof of a lonely tower, Kiurral can easily describe the type of person for whom guards would be summoned in all the wrong directions. He wears a hunter’s pelt and carries a hunter’s bow, a quiver of arrows strapped to his back. "What do you think, Ari? Have I gone too far this time?" A falcon perched nearby does not answer him.

  In fairness, he did not go far from where he was. But he went the in the opposite direction. The tower overlooks a mighty fortress, which is currently crumbling as plains' warriors assault the walls with stones and the front gates with a ram. Through the dust and chaos, most would have trouble identifying the warriors and the likely winners. Kiurral does not. "They attacked from the south to prevent them from asking for reinforcements." Kiurral is both impressed and alarmed by the bold strategy. "Amastan has enough soldiers to risk being surrounded, and his is only one of three armies.."

  The tower he sits on is a beacon tower. If he lights the flare, the other water cities will see and may send reinforcements. If he does not, the city will fall undisturbed. "And then what?" he asks his falcon. "I have neglected to watch the plains. What is their goal?" He watches the battle, although it gives no information beyond an immediate display of strength and strategy.

  "You go ahead, Ari. Let them know I won't be back until winter." Since the bird, though intelligent, is not able to deliver this message, Kiurral has to write it, tie it to her leg, and throw the falcon off the tower in the right direction. She complains at the indignity and flies away.

  Dropping down to the beacon, already prepared with dry sticks and leaves and logs, he pulls out a fire starter. He blows it and throws it into the pit, stepping back as the fire catches on the wood. He moves to the tower entrance, and then outside it, while he waits to make sure the fire is strong enough. The more it grows, the farther away he stands, wiping sweat from his forehead. When the next tower in the line lights up in response, he brushes imaginary dirt off his hands and climbs down from the tower. Below, a wolf paces between the trees. Kiurral whistles as he gets close. "Asta! Time to leave. Best not to be here when whoever killed the tower guards returns.” He grins as he lands next to the massive predator. "That would be too annoying for such a fine summer evening."

  The wolf grins in return and they set off running through the forest, looking for all the world like a wild boy and his oversized dog.

  ----

  I watch Ash ride away through a light rain and remind myself again that he was being helpful. And that I can't conjure a spark to startle his horse in such damp weather. And that even if I can, it is mean and I shouldn’t try.

  The posthouse is shabby from neglect. A few straw mats covered in moth-eaten blankets serve as bed options, a chamber pot as a toilet, and some cupboards make a small pantry. Jars of preserved vegetables and a bag of questionable potatoes in the corner indicate that someone has visited in the last year.

  The kitchen is outside, little more than a pit with a stone pot fixed above it near the door. Even with a roof keeping it dry, the air is too humid for the sticks to catch fire. A well between the hut and the stable has a rope and a bucket, but I'm already half-washed.

  Wet and annoyed, I go inside to wait for the rain to stop. I take a nap while my clothing dries and start making food as soon as the rain lets up. I'm serving myself when I hear a horse's hooves in the yard. I set the bowl on the table and go inside for another. Coming out, I see Romauld already seated and praying over it.

  "It doesn't need your blessings." 'And neither do I,' I'd like to say, but I am not sure what choices I will make, if he intends for me to go back. I might need those blessings.

  He produces his own spoon.

  "Help yourself." I fill the second bowl slowly, my attention more on watching him. "You came alone."

  "You made it out. I didn’t think you would." He doesn't sound impressed, just factual.

  I lean closer, as if the dark prevents me from seeing him clearly. "Changed your mind? Come to elope?"

  Captain Romauld eats, unfazed. "Your cooking has improved."

  "I've always been a good cook. It's one of my two skills." It is what I do to be near fire, a family trait. I watch a drop of water fall from his hair to the table. "You promised." I sit, balancing the spoon on the bowl.

  "I promised nothing."

  "You said if I left without undermining the emperor’s authority, he would have no argument for bringing me back."

  "That was merely information." Bowl empty, he reaches for the serving spoon. His eyes narrow. "You're not eating." Then he rolls them. "Firestarter..."

  I laugh. "I'm starving, and that was still worth it." I take a big spoonful of the rice porridge to celebrate the small victory. It tastes below average, but that it is edible is surprising considering the ingredients. "All those years in the military have ruined your palate. So what's your plan?" My voice is steady, but I feel how heavily my heart beats.

  Although we all grew up together, Romauld and I were never friends. Even after everything, he stayed in the capital as the emperor's most trusted friend and guard. The emperor only sent him to "protect" me when Uncle Ben said I caught the plague, his last resort against an imperial wedding.

  Running away is my last resort against burning down a palace. Again.

  "If you had gone to the city, I would have politely followed. Why did you come out here?"

  I huff into my stew, hiding my relief. "It's not worth mentioning."

  "No one died?"

  I glare, but he doesn't care.

  "If you committed any crimes on the way out, I have some responsibilities to consider."

  I remember the assassin girl--and the three others before her. "I did not take any lives or commit any..." Theft of a horse, shop burglary, one midnight mugging, and countless instances of stolen food come to mind. "So, what's your new plan?"

  With visible difficulty, he resists asking. "I was ordered not to return without you."

  I smile and lean across the table. "Sure you don't want to elope?" I nudge his arm. "You're pretty, I'm pretty..."

  "I hope to be there when you fall in love." He pulls out a flask and drinks his water like it's alcohol.

  If Adison were still alive, I believe he would obey the intention of the command and bring me back. But then, if Adison were alive, it would be him giving the commands, and they would be different. "Is the emperor really considering marrying me to the plains?"

  "No, and yes."

  When he doesn't continue, I lean on his arm, putting my weight into his muscles. "How much no, and how much yes?"

  He winces. "No, he cannot afford the consequences. Yes, half his advisors are brain-dead imbeciles who think it's a brilliant way to remove the old dynasty. No, he has always considered you as--"

  "Ahhh, I don't want to hear it." I cover my ears, moving away.

  "And yet you flirt at me all the time."

  I smile brightly. "That's different."

  "Yes, you've rejected him for ten years now, with every excuse from the plague to a disfiguring accident. Your skin looks much better, by the way." He makes the compliment too medically factual to appreciate.

  "It's politically inconvenient to say, 'I just don't like your face'." Romauld looks unamused, so I remind him that I like his face. His lips twitch, to my satisfaction. "Here we are, all alone, at night, in this..." It's hard to think of romantic words to describe our surroundings. "In defense of his advisors, he is a member of the old dynasty." He is a cousin of some degree, on his grandfather’s side. “Or is that more proof of their uselessness?”

  "A member of the imperial family has never married abroad. Tradition forbids it, not to mention..."

  I scoff at what he will not mention. "How many people really believe there was ever a fire dragon?" My great-grandmother was the last to be called ‘fire empress’, and she was known as a legendary general and nothing more. "People are weak to superstition, and the imperial family has worked to maintain that." My grandmother worked as a blacksmith and her brother as a potter. My mother had glassblowing and jewelry making among her hobbies. "Always near fire, our cities and palaces and artworks are full of it. We keep the legends alive by acting like there’s truth to them." Uncle Ben just smokes a lot, but they still call him the dragon general.

  Romauld’s expression is unreadable. "I asked around, a few years ago. Soldiers, farmers, traders. Most still consider you the imperial princess. Superstitions aside, they wouldn't be happy to see you marry an enemy."

  It's suffocating to think that even common strangers have opinions about my life.

  "They love you. Don't cry." He pats the top of my head awkwardly.

  They love an idea. "Don't tell me what to do."

  "I'm going to sleep. In the morning I'll ask you what you want to do."

  "I want to steal your horse and leave you here." I smile brightly.

  "Please don't." But he still does go to bed, and falls asleep quite quickly. He’s even prettier asleep.

  ----

  For a moment, let us observe our friend Ash, whose full name is Amayas. His four friends are sneaking about in the dark, quietly flooding grain stores and armories in that very city over which Aksel foretold misfortune. If that is not suspicious enough, Ash rides not to the city but to sand dunes not far from it where several thousand soldiers are encamped without fire to warm their night. As Amayas looks at the city walls and listens to his scouts reports, he nods with cold satisfaction and motions for his army to march out. The independent city’s prospects for continued independence look bleak. Misfortune, indeed.