They stepped into the dimly lit tavern, the smell of roasting meat and wood-smoke filling the air. As they approached the bar, the tavern keeper—a broad-shouldered woman with a no-nonsense expression—eyed them with a mixture of suspicion and interest, and what conversation had been going on in the tavern died down.

  “Under sky, we meet, strangers,” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. “What can I get for you?”

  Freya returned the greeting and continued, “Two ales and whatever you’re serving for lunch.” She pulled out a couple of coins from her pouch.

  The tavern keeper nodded, shouting over her shoulder for the kitchen to prepare two plates. As they took a seat at a nearby table, the murmur of conversations around them began to swell once more.

  “You two don’t look like you’re from around here,” a wiry old man at the next table piped up. His eyes were sharp, and his face was lined with years of toil and his mouth missing several teeth. “What brings you to our corner of the kingdom?”

  Theo exchanged a glance with Freya before answering, “We were sent by the king. There’s been some trouble with the dragons, and we’re off to see what that’s about. Try to settle things down.”

  “He thought someone like that would be a good one to send?” the old man asked, looking Theo up and down. He turned back to Freya. “You, I get.”

  “Yes, well, he chose us,” Freya said. “Both of us.”

  “Perhaps he chose someone he could do without,” the old man muttered, looking back at his food as if dismissing them both.

  Theo was affronted by that, but he pushed it down.

  The tavern was dimly lit despite the warm, bright summer outside, only faint light making its way through the windows that were either made dark to start with, or very, very dirty. When Theo ran his fingers over the table, they came away greasy, and he longed for a napkin to clean his hands.

  “It’s about time someone came,” a young man with a head full of red curls said from bar, sounding sour. “Should’ve been here months ago when those beasts began fighting each other in the skies.” He touched his arm, where an ugly scar criss-crossed his skin.

  Theo frowned. Was that scar from the dragons? From dragon fire, maybe? Or was it a completely ordinary one that he just wanted to make them believe was dragon-related?

  “Has it been going on for months?” Theo asked.

  “It wasn’t much in the beginning,” the wiry old man with more wrinkles than hair said, standing from his spot and dragging a chair over to Theo and Freya’s table instead. Up close, Theo noted a gauntness to his face, shadows beneath his eyes. “Just ‘em flying over here. Unusual, but it happens—sometimes they even used to stop ‘n talk. But no more talking now. And it began happening more and more, the flying. And then they began fighting. Burnt our northern fields to the ground. Now what’s gonna feed our families, huh?”

  “I’m sorry,” Theo said.

  The man raised an eyebrow at him. “Not your fault, was it, boy?”

  Theo shrugged. They didn’t know he was the prince, but he knew, and a creeping sense of guilt traveled down his spine. He wasn’t in charge, but this was the kingdom he was set to inherit. Would his father have told him, had he taken more of an interest in the kingdom, rather than just focusing on what recipe to try next?

  “Have they killed anyone?” Freya asked, bringing him back to the present.

  “A half dozen sheep and a few of our cows,” the surly young man said, turned to them away from the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest so that the scar on his arm stood out even more. “Not all at once, but they’re picking them off like they’re a dragon buffet. I have only two cows left, and how’s that supposed to get my family through the winter?” He shoved a piece of bread into his mouth. “And the royals are sitting there in their castle, doing nothing.”

  “Well, we’re here,” Theo tried.

  The redhead scoffed. “Sure. But where’s the money? The army to help fight the dragons?”

  Theo stayed quiet, because he had no idea what to say to that. He had thought this was just a quest because his father wanted him to become a man, but… There were real people being affected by the dragons. Real people, like the ones before him.

  “Just a matter of time before they take one of us,” a lined old woman said. She sat two tables further down, but her croaky voice carried. “At least I’m so old I’ll get stuck in their teeth.” There was a viciousness to her smile that was in stark contrast to her thin appearance.

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  A few scattered chuckles followed, though the mood soon turned somber again, like a wet blanket that matched the hint of mildew beneath the aromas of food.

  The tavern keeper placed two plates in front of them, filled with potatoes, grilled meat, and a heap of vegetables. Theo did not need to be told twice to dig in, and once he’d swallowed down the first mouthful, he asked, “Do you know why the dragons are attacking?”

  “Well, I think it’s the wicked witch behind all of it,” said the surly redhead. “She’s finally come out of hiding to get her revenge, and she’s making the dragons angry.”

  “And just how would she do that?” the first older man asked, rolling his eyes.

  “She’s a witch, and wicked to boot—that’s in the name, innit?” the redhead said. “There’s no telling what she can and can’t do. After all, she burned down a whole village with just a snap of her fingers. She killed people and then left it without a care. I’m sure she’s behind every bad thing since, just not showing her face to take the blame.”

  The old woman nodded, a somber expression on her face. “I remember when I got the news. One of my distant cousins lived near the village the witch burned, and he lost a good friend in the flames. His son was only five at the time, and had to grow up without his father. Just goes to show what kind of terror she was. And she was just nine at the time. Can you imagine what she’s done since?”

  “That whole business was more than fifty years ago,” the old man said. “It’s not like that’s relevant today.”

  “What, fifty-nine ain’t no age,” the old woman said. “I’ve got twenty years on her.”

  “Besides, what do you know about witches and aging?” the redhead snapped. “Nothing, that’s what. She’s probably keeping herself young, drinking blood or some such. Those animals falling sick last year? That’s her. And I’m telling you, she was here. Passed by a few months ago.”

  “So you’ve said,” the older man said, in the tone of someone who had certainly heard this several times before. “But just because some woman came and asked about Mistveil Heights doesn’t mean it was a witch.”

  “What would a lady do in those mountains if she wasn’t a witch?” the redhead asked. “That woman was up to no good.”

  “What’s in Mistveil Heights?” Theo asked, because while he knew the general direction of the mountains, he had no idea what anyone, witch or otherwise, would do there.

  “Don’t ask him that,” the old man said. “He has no idea. Hasn’t been outside Astoria in all his life.”

  The redhead’s cheeks matched his hair, and he glared angrily before standing up, slamming his glass onto the table. “You mark my words, that was the witch, and whatever she’s using to control those dragons, it’s what she found in Mistveil Heights. She got tired of messin’ with us in the little ways, and now she’s doin’ it in the big way.”

  Then he stormed out.

  The old man chuckled and shook his head. “So easy to rile up, that boy,” he muttered, as if the whole thing was funny.

  “Well, let’s hope there’s no witchery involved in the dragons’ problems,” Freya said. She rolled back her shoulders, and it could have been to take command of an army, rather than a conversation. “We’re hoping talking does the trick.”

  The old man snorted. “I’d have a backup plan if I were you.”

  “We’ll see. I’m sure the king knows what he’s doing,” Freya said, avoiding the question.

  Sure. Sending his baking weakling of a son to face angry dragons—yes, there was the ancient decree about royals and dragons, but still. Theo shoved another fork full of food into his mouth to keep the emotions from bubbling out into an expression the villagers would wonder about.

  Whether the villagers were satisfied with Freya’s answer or not—more likely not, but they knew not to criticize the king to people obviously employed by him—the conversation drifted over to lighter topics.

  ***

  Freya and Theo crossed the border of Astoria, leaving the friendly paths of the kingdom that was Theo’s home and only place he had ever been. When they turned off the road that followed the river, the terrain roughened as they entered the wild, untamed fringes of the dwarves’ domain, if Theo had been correctly informed. They may very well come across dragons too, because everything north of Astoria was the dragons’ domain, really—the massive beasts took what they wanted, and everyone else was left with what they didn’t want. Luckily, the dragons had long been content with the areas they called theirs.

  Until now.

  But having dragons north of Astoria was also a good thing, because it effectively kept the northern kingdoms from thinking about invading them. No one wanted to send an army through the forests and mountains, and the waters to the west and east were both filled with their own sort of monsters.

  “Those are the Silvershard Mountains,” Freya said, nodding ahead at the mountains looming before them. “We need to go around them to get to Craggy Peaks.”

  Theo nodded, exhausted once more a mere hour after leaving the tavern behind. “Great.”

  “No need to sound like that,” Freya said.

  “I can sound however I want,” Theo muttered. “You’re the only one around to hear it.”

  Freya glared at him. “And do you want me to report to your father that you whined the whole trip?”

  Theo pursed his lips. “You wouldn’t.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “You’re not supposed to report to my father at all,” Theo grumbled. “You’re just supposed to protect me.”

  “Turns out, I can do both.”

  Their shadows grew longer as the sun began its descent, painting the sky with strokes of orange and pink. The atmosphere tensed with the possibility of nearby threats, feeling evermore present as the forest around them darkened. Freya lit a torch for herself and another for Theo so that they could make out their surroundings—though the flickering light did nothing to stop Theo’s imagination.

  As they approached a narrow pass, the sound of running water reached their ears—a stream, perhaps a place to refill their water skins and rest the horses. But as they rounded a bend, the scene before them halted their progress.

  A small group of travelers, short and stubby merchants by the look of their cart, were cornered—by a pack of snarling wolves.