Page 28 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)

CAT

T he Northern District buzzed with life the way it always did in the early hours of daylight.

Golden morning light spilled across cobblestone paths and warmed the sandstone facades of merchant stalls that lined the market square.

The scent of baked bread, spiced meat, and the sharp tang of dried herbs filled the air.

I walked beside Maeve, tugging my cloak tighter around me as we wove through the throngs of people haggling over pomegranates, scarves, and glittering trinkets.

It was... normal. Too normal, considering what happened at the palace last night.

“You sure you want to be out here, my lady?” Maeve whispered as we passed a group of laughing children chasing a dog.

I arched a brow. “If I stay cooped up in that mansion one more minute, I might scream. Besides, fresh air helps me think. And I’m still waiting for the heavens to open up and give me my thunderstorm-shaped portal ticket out of here.”

Maeve frowned. “Is that how it works? The thunderstorm must bring the portal?”

“Something like that,” I muttered. “It’s more symbolic, but yeah. Rain equals go-time.”

We paused by a booth draped in colorful silks. A vendor waved a shimmering violet scarf at me with an eager smile. I was about to shake my head when the sound hit.

Loud. Brassy. Final.

Trumpets.

The first note blasted over the rooftops like a war cry. Every conversation in the square instantly died. The merchants fell silent. Mothers pulled their children close. Even the dogs stopped barking.

I froze. My blood went cold. “No,” I whispered. The last time I heard those trumpets, it was to herald Thorne’s presence at the Ryder residence.

The horns flared again, echoing down the main boulevard.

The crowd parted as soldiers in crisp black and gold marched forward, steel glinting in the sun.

They moved in perfect formation with helmets polished to a mirror shine.

Between them was a palanquin carried by eight armored guards, and upon that throne of velvet and carved obsidian sat the man himself.

Prince Thorne. Or should I say—Emperor Thorne.

“Shit!” I hissed. Grabbing Maeve, we ducked behind a fruit stand and crouched between crates of oranges and bushels of dried figs. I pulled the hood of my cloak up to conceal my face.

He looked just as smug as I remembered. Draped in imperial robes with a golden circlet resting on his brow, Thorne wore his new authority like a second skin. The palanquin slowly rolled past as his herald rode ahead, voice magically booming through the city streets.

“Citizens of Elaria! Kneel before your new emperor—Thorne Drakonar! First of his name, protector of the realm, chosen sovereign of the Immortals!”

I almost gagged.

Around us, people began dropping to their knees like dominoes. It wasn’t reverence—it was fear. Confusion. A few exchanged uncertain glances, unsure what they were supposed to feel.

“He’s really doing it,” Maeve whispered, horror in her voice.

“Yeah,” I said bitterly. “He’s rewriting the narrative.”

Another round of trumpets followed and the herald continued, louder this time.

“By decree of the crown, any who refuse to kneel before your sovereign shall be deemed traitors to the realm.”

A low murmur rolled through the crowd like ripples in a pond.

And then—

“I refuse!”

The voice was loud. Clear. A man stepped into the street from the shadows of an alley, his hands raised. He was older, maybe in his fifties, with a greying beard and sun-wrinkled skin. A simple tunic clung to his frame and a worn leather satchel hung from his shoulder.

The entire market froze.

“That is not our emperor!” the man bellowed, his eyes blazing. “I was at the valley! I saw what happened! The gods rejected him! Thunder without rain, life turning to death beneath his feet—do you not see? He was not chosen by the Immortals!”

Gasps rose like smoke. For a beat, even the guards seemed unsure.

Thorne’s expression didn’t change. He raised a single hand.

The nearest imperial guard moved forward.

“The Immortals have spoken!” the man cried as he stood his ground. “You follow a false sovereign! One who threatens our future!”

A sharp whistle cut the air.

Then came the arrow.

It pierced the man's chest with a sickening thunk. He staggered backward, blood blooming across his tunic like a dark rose. Cries of horror echoed around the square.

“By the Immortals!” Maeve whispered, smacking a hand over her mouth.

The man fell to his knees. Then to the stone.

Dead.

A stunned silence followed, broken only by the herald’s voice.

“Let this be a lesson to those who defy the crown!”

The palanquin rolled forward, the soldiers marching behind it with renewed vigor. The crowd bowed even lower now, trembling as the palanquin and guards walked over the dead body.

I remained hidden, my heart pounding. My hands were clenched so tight, my nails dug half-circles into my palms.

He was sending a message.

And I got it loud and clear.

“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered to Maeve. “Before the next brave soul decides to have a death wish.”

We slipped away from the market with our heads down, invisible among the fearful crowd.

But inside me, something boiled.

Because now, it wasn’t just about getting back home.

It was about burning his throne to the ground.

We didn't speak much as we hurried through the winding alleys back toward Royal Prince Bai’s mansion. The silence around us was unnerving, as if the entire district held its breath. Once we were safely inside the mansion walls, I turned to Maeve.

“Did you see the look in Thorne’s eyes? That wasn't power—it was desperation.”

Maeve slowly nodded. “He fears what people know. That’s why he silenced that man. He’s not securing peace—he’s squashing the truth.”

I pushed open the doors to the inner courtyard and stepped into the gardens, inhaling deeply. The air was warm, but my skin crawled.

If Thorne was willing to kill in broad daylight in front of hundreds of his new subjects, what else was he willing to do?

I glanced at the darkening sky. Still no rain.

Not yet.

But a storm was definitely coming.

The storm that brewed in my chest still hadn’t cleared. It clung to me like the humidity in the air, sticky and restless. I needed to move. To breathe. To get away from the suffocating thoughts of emperors and portents and thunderless skies.

So, I did what any self-respecting, emotionally frazzled woman would do in my situation—I went to the gardens. What else was there to do around here?

“Are you sure this is wise, my lady? If they—” Maeve asked for the fourth time, trailing behind me like a shadow, her eyes constantly scanning the tree lines.

“Exactly,” I cut in, not letting her finish. “After what we saw this morning, I need some fresh air before I implode. Besides, we’re in Royal Prince Bai’s gardens. What could possibly go wrong?”

Maeve frowned, ever the worrywart, but didn’t argue further. She stuck close beside me as we walked beneath the shaded arches of the meticulously groomed estate. The hedges were trimmed to geometric perfection. Flowers bloomed like they’d been hand-painted by some obsessive god of symmetry.

It was peaceful here. Deceptively so.

“You’re too easily seen from the outside, my lady. If the emperor passes by, I worry…”

“Relax,” I sighed. “I doubt he’ll be passing through here,” I mumbled.

We were walking past a bed of violet thistle and lavender when the unmistakable screech of a raven sliced the air. I turned my head, shielding my eyes from the blistering afternoon sun, just as a black-feathered messenger swooped down and landed neatly on a marble bench.

It cawed once, shook its feathers, and dropped a sealed scroll into Maeve’s outstretched hands before flying off.

“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” I muttered.

Maeve turned over the scroll and examined the seal. Her eyes widened. “It’s from Garrick.”

My stomach flipped. I stepped closer. “What’s it say?”

She broke the seal and quickly read it. “He wants to meet at The Gilded Serpent. Says he has something for you.”

“Then we better not keep him waiting,” I said. “Prepare the carriage.”

The Southern District was quieter during the day.

Still colorful, still lined with temptation and shadowy figures, but subdued.

The Gilded Serpent stood like a painted gem in a crown of dust, all polished marble columns and brass lanterns.

Classy. Regal, even. A far cry from the sleaze dens that surrounded it.

We pulled up in a discreet carriage and I was halfway out the door before it fully stopped. Garrick was pacing near the entrance, a bundle of nerves wrapped in patchwork robes. His one good eye tracked me like a hawk.

“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” I said by way of greeting.

“Good to see you too, my lady,” he replied with a dry laugh. “Let’s go inside. It’s not safe to talk out here.”

We entered through the polished doors. The brothel was empty, save for a bored-looking attendant who gave us a lazy wave before disappearing into the back.

We’d taken to meeting at the pleasure house since the tavern wasn’t a very safe place to talk.

According to Garrick, we’d have more privacy here.

I still had my doubts, but I trusted him.

Garrick led us to a small corner table, pulled out a rolled-up parchment, and handed it to me with shaking fingers. “The information you wanted. Took some digging—and a few threats I may or may not regret—but I got it.”

I didn’t unroll it. I didn’t need to. We already knew Thorne killed the emperor. I felt like I put Garrick in danger for nothing. But still, he might have dug up some information that could be useful.

I looked up, noting his furrowed brow and his fingers twitching against the wood grain of the table. “You okay? You look like you're waiting for a dragon to drop from the sky.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he said. “It’s Elaria. It’s everyone.”

I tilted my head. “Talk to me.”