Page 52 of Aubade Rising

The sun glints off the summit of Chi An Mor as we finally approach Pentargon days later, the palace a proud beacon, welcoming us home.

We’re beaten and exhausted, dishevelled and weakened.

Long days on the tiny boat were followed by catching the first ferry from Porth.

No personal cabins this time, as we assume the role of common foot passengers, wanting to blend in.

As we step off the quay in the city, I see new fine lines written on Eskar’s face; the grief of carrying the news of Cathair’s destruction weighs heavy on us both.

Pentargon is unchanged and uninterested in our arrival.

Nobody takes any notice of two jaded, haggard entrants at the main city quay.

We pass through the harbourside docks and are ignored by the sunburnt fishermen discussing the catch of the morning, fiercely negotiating a price to sell at the market.

Fish are abundant in the summer months and yesterday’s unwanted catches sit festering in crates next to their boats.

The Mordros will only eat fresh fish but the waste turns my stomach, we’ll look back on those fish and regret wasting this glut come winter.

I peer through the streets, eyes searching as we cross Cedar’s rubbish collection route, hoping for a glance of my brother.

An eerie calm follows us through the city, languishing in the late haze of a summer afternoon.

The streets are bustling, lively and carefree.

I never saw what it was like directly after the attacks last winter but I imagine the reaction now will be worse.

Those attacks were remote, the subject of gossip and speculation and incited anger in the citizens but had little impact on their daily lives once the mandatory curfew ended.

Now though, it will be different. Their halcyon days are numbered.

The aqueduct systems will have started to drain as soon as the explosion in Cathair occurred.

For a coastal city, with a large river feeding the majority of the population, news will spread slowly as dependence on the aqueduct is low.

But the news can’t be contained forever and, once word spreads, fear will worm its way into people’s consciousness and further separate the classes.

I hesitate at the doors to Chi An Mor, finally home and uncertain.

Part of me wants to run to the Koes Dowr, to ground myself in the tall trees there.

The rational part demands we go straight to the King and petition for retribution for the people of Cathair and for what the rebels did to Eskar but I realise I’m not exactly a neutral party right now.

Eskar lets me make the call, glancing at me as he shifts the heavy bag of serpentine from one shoulder to another. One big breath in and I brace to tackle the never-ending stairs to the Concord chamber.

The guards shuffle back a few steps when they see us, dirty and dishevelled, recognition slowly filtering in when they meet our eyes. Their reactions spur me on; we reflect a fraction of the suffering of the people of Cathair and the Concord must understand the severity of the situation.

I stride into the Concord chamber, happy to interrupt whatever meaningless debate they currently feel is important.

Thick silence spreads through the room at our entrance and nobody moves.

The King is the first to react, rising from his seat, his political mask fading to reveal shock and disbelief.

“You’re alive,” Dervla’s hands rush to her mouth, trembling slightly before she regains her composure. Surveying the room in more detail, the Concord looks as if they’ve seen a pair of ghosts appear. Haelyn’s seat is empty, as are ours, but the rest of the members are assembled.

“Barely,” replies Eskar. “We have pressing news.”