Page 8 of Song of the Shadow Prince (The Dragon’s Ballad #1)

7

CAT

T he following days were a blur of confinement and contemplation, trapped in the opulent Ryder residence while I tried to figure out a way back home. Obviously, the river wasn’t an option. At least I didn’t think so. Attempting it again was off the table for now. Maybe I needed to pinpoint the exact location where I’d been pulled through on the river. I had no idea.

I spent the last week hiding out in the real Arya’s room, barely saying a word. I even took my meals there, though most of the vegetables and meat were unfamiliar and criminally under seasoned. And don’t get me started on the bathroom. Never in my life did I think I would be forced to use a chamber pot, yet there I was. The whole experience was extremely embarrassing and gross. I wish I knew something about plumbing so I could develop it here, but alas, traveling to another world woefully behind the times wasn’t in my bingo card this year.

I curled up on the hard-as-fuck mattress and wondered for the millionth time how I could possibly escape this predicament, but as usual, I came up empty.

Maeve and my so-called father were starting to worry. Especially since I refused to touch that concoction the healer prescribed. But come on, who knew what was in that stuff? I wasn’t about to take the risk.

Just then, the doors burst open and Maeve stormed in, her tiny hands jammed onto her hips. “Lady Arya!” she shouted. Her normally sweet face was beet red with exasperation. “I’ve had enough of this!”

I raised an eyebrow and sat up. “Oh?”

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times like a fish out of water, clearly struggling with controlling her nerves. “Y-Yes! You’ve locked yourself in your room for too long. You need a bath and to get out of your nightgown!”

I lifted my arm and took a whiff under my armpit, then grimaced. Yikes, I did smell. “Okay… I don’t disagree with you,” I mumbled, leaning against the headboard with my knees pulled to my chest.

“And you need to take your medicine, my lady!” Maeve insisted. “Please, you’re not well!”

I sighed heavily and draped my arms over my knees. “Bring me the prescription. I want to see what’s in this medicine.”

Maeve hurried to my side and dug through the pockets of her dress, pulling out a folded parchment and handing it to me. I went through the list, which had a whole lot of stuff I didn’t recognize—ginseng, ginkgo biloba, ashwagandha… I knew what turmeric and sage were, and I think I’d heard of ashwagandha on TikTok, but the rest of the list was completely alien to me. For all I knew, they were poisoning me.

“What the hell is all this?”

“They’re herbs, my lady. Boiling them in water at the precise temperature directed by the healer and taken in the morning and before bedtime will help you recover your memories,” Maeve answered confidently.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have memory loss. I just wasn’t that diabolical Arya chick they all thought I was. I wondered if taking the medicine in my current predicament would hurt me or not… Truthfully, they seemed like natural herbs. So was the devil’s lettuce, but one puff of that had me higher than a kite. There was only one way to find out.

“Fine,” I relented. “I’ll take the medicine… but only at night. Not in the morning.”

“My lady,” Maeve whined, but I held up a finger to stop her.

“No buts. Either take my deal, or you get nothing,” I said firmly. I didn’t know how the medicine would make me feel, and I would rather keep my wits about me throughout the day. Nighttime was safest.

She huffed, clearly displeased. “Fine. I’ll brew the medicine only at night.”

“Good.” I scrambled out of bed and languidly stretched. “Now, I need a bath and some fresh air.”

Maeve’s eyes lit up with relief. She bustled around the room, gathering towels and directing the servants to prepare a bath. “Would you like me to contact the ladies and schedule a teatime? They’ve been inquiring why you haven’t met with them all week. There’s only so many excuses I can make, my lady.”

“Who?” I scrunched my face at the idea of teatime.

“Lord Albert and Lord George’s daughters. They’re your friends,” she replied mindlessly as she gathered clothes from the armoire.

I grimaced. “And what do I do with these… ladies?”

“Gossip.”

I scoffed. “No thanks.”

“Fine,” she grumbled as she ushered me out of the room. “But sooner or later, you need to return to your art classes.”

I stumbled over my feet in my haste to look at Maeve, horror painted across my face. “Art classes? Jesus Christ, I can barely draw stick figures!”

Just then, one of the servants poked their head into the room to announce the bath was ready. With her arms laden with towels and a fresh change of clothes, Maeve led me outside along a winding pathway to another building in the courtyard where a vast tub and changing area was located. Fragrant lavender and rose petals permeated the air, mingling with the warm steam that curled from the tub.

Maeve helped me undress with efficiency and poise. Most people would probably be uncomfortable with nudity around others, but being in the military, you quickly got used to being naked around a bunch of women.

I was curious to know how the real Arya spent her days. “So what do I do on a daily basis?”

Maeve shrugged one shoulder. “Tend to house duties when you’re not out with the other ladies or attending art classes.”

“Borrrring,” I grumbled.

I sank into the tub and closed my eyes, not bothering to squelch my contented sigh as water just shy of too hot enveloped me. The tension coiled in my muscles began to melt away and a semblance of peace settled in. The only thing missing right now was a glass of wine and Spotify. Alas, the only thing accompanying me was the sound of Maeve’s heavy breathing. Gosh, she was such a worry wart. She hovered nearby, ensuring everything was to my liking, but worry lines were etched on her face.

“Relax, Maeve, I’m not going to run away,” I muttered with a sigh. “You and I can go have tea later in the garden. Is that something Arya would have done?”

Maeve softly exhaled. “Yes, my lady. Of course.”

“After tea, maybe we can go out? See the city?” I asked with a raised brow.

She watched me intently as if unsure how to answer.

“Come on, Maeve! Would you prefer to be stuck inside the Ryder residence, taking care of household duties and chores, or would you rather go out and see the world?”

Maeve nibbled her bottom lip as a smile crept across her face. That was when I knew I had her. “Okay, my lady,” she agreed, hiding her smile.

After scrubbing away the filth and grime that coated my skin and hair, I emerged from the bath with flushed skin, smelling like a florist’s shop. Maeve helped me into a fresh set of clothes, a simple gown that felt comfortable against my skin. The fabric was soft and light, perfect for a chilly afternoon. She braided my hair with deft fingers, adding a few flowers for a touch of color. Of course, the dress had long sleeves to hide my tattooed arm. It was yet another mystery about me that Maeve was still trying to figure out.

We emerged from the bath house and stepped into the garden. Golden sunlight warmed my skin and I filled my lungs with fresh air. The garden was a riot of competing colors and scents—intoxicating rose, jasmine, and honeysuckle created a symphony of fragrance that was just shy of cloying. Busy bees bounced from flower to flower to extract their sweet nectar while birds wheeled in the sky and merrily chirped, providing a soundtrack to soothe my addled mind.

Maeve led me to a secluded corner half hidden by landscaping where a small table stood, laden with food and a tea service. The sight of it made my stomach rumble, and I vainly hoped this spread tasted better than the bland, tasteless stuff they’d been sending to my room over the past few days. I sat down and piled my plate with fresh bread, cheese, and fruit. Who didn’t love a good charcuterie board?

I ate as if I was starved, fully aware I wasn’t being very ladylike, but past the point of caring. I peered over at the pot of tea and grimaced. “Where’s the coffee?”

Maeve frowned and repeated the word as if it was foreign, her dainty face scrunched in confusion.

I shook my head. “Never mind.”

As I nibbled on a piece of cheese, Maeve poured me a cup of tea and set it before me. “My lady, you must take care of yourself. We’re all worried about you,” she said softly, her eyes full of concern.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I muttered. I peered at the caramel-colored tea and cautiously took a sip, then nearly gagged. God, it needed some serious sugar or honey. It tasted like ass, and that was saying something since I’d never tasted ass.

Maeve huffed, unimpressed by my reaction. “I don’t think you do, my lady. I overheard Lord Zacharia. He is tempted to send you to the fae to recover your memories!”

I froze mid-bite and raised a brow. “Say what, now? The fae? You mean the cruel little fairies?”

Maeve sighed. “They’re not little fairies, my lady. They’re quite elegant beings. But lethal. Very lethal,” she warned.

While I was tempted to say I didn’t care, I sort of did. I certainly didn’t want to travel to yet another unfamiliar location, especially one that would take me further from home. Besides, I lived by the saying, The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t . I didn’t know these fae, and if Maeve was right, nothing good could come from living among them.

“Okay, then.” I quickly set my teacup down, sloshing dark liquid over the rim in my haste. “We need a game plan.”

“A what plan?” Maeve repeated, but I ignored her.

“Tell me everything you know about Lady Arya.” I smirked. “It’s time I put on a show.”

For the rest of the afternoon, I relaxed in the garden with Maeve, who regaled me with a series of increasingly jaw-dropping tales about Arya. Some stories, I honestly could have lived without. Turned out, Arya wasn’t just a mean girl; she was a certified tyrant.

At the tender age of ten, she had a servant’s hand chopped off for the alleged crime of stealing one of her necklaces. The kicker? The poor servant hadn’t stolen anything. Arya had simply misplaced it and found it later, tossing it aside with a careless shrug. All of her horrific behavior was not only tolerated but endorsed by her father, Lord Zacharia. Though she lost her mother at fifteen, she didn’t lack anything. Spoiled and feared by all who had the misfortune of encountering her, Arya ruled with an iron fist.

The Ryder family’s fortune came from mining iron, but after several disastrous business deals orchestrated by Lord Zacharia, they teetered on the edge of bankruptcy. Arya, however, spent money like water, oblivious to the financial cliff over which they precariously dangled.

“This is ridiculous, Maeve!” I exploded as we stood, ready for our trip into the city. Accepting the cloak she offered, I wrapped it around my shoulders. The velvet red cloak with its fur collar was luxurious, though I imagined PETA would have a field day with it. “How could people let her… I mean, me , get away with all this shit?”

Maeve shrugged as she donned her cloak, made of a much cheaper fabric. “Being the legitimate daughter has its perks, my lady. Aside from your brother, who joined the emperor’s army, you’re the only one left to be doted on.”

I furrowed my brows and my head ticked back in surprise. “I have a brother?”

Maeve nodded as she opened the front doors and led us out of the Ryder residence and into a waiting carriage. “Yes, Young Master Jacob,” she murmured shyly. Her delicate cheeks took on a lovely pink hue when his name passed her lips.

I raised an eyebrow as she helped me climb the steps into the carriage. It was obvious she had a thing for Jacob, but I wasn’t about to tease her about it. I’d seen enough TV dramas to know that it never ended well when the lower class mixed with the upper class. Her secret crush could land her in hot water.

Maeve climbed into the carriage and we settled in, opening the curtain to usher in the cool evening air. The crisp air announced it was early fall, with the earthy scent of fallen leaves and a hint of wood smoke mingling with the floral notes from the garden.

“Where do you want to go, my lady?” Maeve asked as she slipped on a pair of gloves.

“Take me somewhere to get a drink! But not anywhere in the Northern District. Somewhere fun in the Southern District, where you would go.” I grinned, fairly bursting with excitement.

Maeve’s eyes widened. “Are you serious, my lady? You want to go to my side of town?”

I nodded. “Of course. Show me your world, Maeve.”

“You never liked going to the Southern District if you could help it,” Maeve whispered as she bit her lower lip, looking at me suspiciously. “You used to say it smelled bad there.”

I snorted. “The poor have a smell? Jesus… Arya was truly a bitch. Look, Maeve, forget everything I’ve said in the past. We’re starting a clean slate. I want to get sloshed, which is fairly easy to do. Two pina coladas will turn me into a lush.” I winked, enjoying her horrified expression.

“Jesus? Pina coladas?” she repeated the unfamiliar words.

I nodded. “Yes, they—”

The worry lines that had smoothed out over the course of our afternoon in the garden suddenly reappeared. “Maybe going to the Southern District isn’t such a good idea, my lady. Perhaps you should—”

I waved away her concern. “Don’t worry so much, Maeve! We’re just having a girl’s night, which I desperately need after being shut away in my room for days on end. And I promise tonight I’ll drink my medicine. Pinky promise.” I grinned and stuck out my pinky, which she stared at for several moments with a confused expression. While I was somewhat sincere, I had ulterior motives for this trip. I needed to get the lay of the land and discover if there were allies to be found. Allies I wouldn’t encounter in the Northern District.

Maeve sighed. “Fine, my lady.” She hooked her pinky with mine, then stuck her head out of the carriage window and told the driver to go to a place called The Broken Tankard.

I leaned back in the seat and stretched my legs, making myself comfortable. “So, tell me more about my brother Jacob. Does he have any redeeming qualities, or is he just as charming as I seem to be?”

Maeve’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink. “He’s a good man, my lady. Brave and kind. He always stood up for me when you… well, when you were being difficult.”

“Difficult? That’s one way to put it,” I muttered and shook my head. “Sounds like he’s the family’s saving grace.”

She nodded shyly. “He’ll inherit the Ryder fortune and business… well, whatever is left of it. No one knows about the family’s financial problems, not even him.”

An uneasy feeling squirmed in my gut. “Wow, how long have they been able to keep it under wraps?”

“Roughly two years now,” Maeve answered. “Jacob is due to visit the Ryder residence soon. I assume Lord Zacharia will tell him about the family’s dwindling fortune then.”

Dang, I’d hope so. Or else the poor guy was going to inherit nothing. “And I assume Lady—I mean, I know all of this?”

“Yes. You are well aware of the financial issues the family is enduring. Both you and Lady Gianna know. I believe it’s why Lady Gianna is so desperate to marry the third prince,” Maeve added quietly.

“Let me ask you something, Maeve.” I leaned forward and stared at the young girl, searching her face for answers. “Why are you so loyal to me even though I seem to treat you and everyone around me so badly? I would assume you’d hate me.”

Maeve’s eyes widened and she quickly waved her hands. “Goodness no, my lady!” She gasped and then winced. “You may not be the nicest at times, but I am grateful to be in your life. You may not remember, but you saved my life.” Her eyes dropped and a flicker of pain crossed her delicate features. “I was young, just a child, and my father was a drunk. You couldn’t have been more than ten when you ventured out to the Southern District and witnessed my father trying to sell me to The Gilded Serpent for money to buy more alcohol.”

“The Gilded Serpent?” I raised a brow in question.

“Oh, that’s the brothel,” Maeve clarified. “I was barely seven at the time. I hadn’t even bled yet, but my father was desperate for money and I was the only thing of value he had.”

“That’s awful, Maeve! I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I assume he wasn’t able to sell you?”

She shook her head and smiled. “No. You intervened and bought me instead.”

I jerked back and my eyes widened in shock. “I don’t know if that was a better deal, Maeve,” I muttered. After hearing about Arya’s wicked antics, the brothel might have been safer.

Maeve chuckled. “You are different with me. You never once hurt me physically. Yes, you could be cruel at times, but you never put your hands on me, and you never let anyone else do so, either. I’m the only servant in the Ryder residence who was allowed to learn to read and write, and that was all thanks to you. So, while you’re no saint, you’re not so bad, my lady.”

I leaned back and sighed. “Okay, so I’m not a total bitch. Go figure.”

Maeve frowned. “Why do you keep calling yourself a female dog?”

I looked at her for a moment and then burst into laughter. “Jesus, I forget that some things don’t translate the same here!” I shook my head. “Where I come from, a bitch can be a curse. Like calling a female a shrew, but like, ten times worse.”

Maeve gasped and looked positively scandalized. “My goodness. That’s awful! Why would you call yourself that?”

I shrugged. “Because it’s true. At least from what you’ve told me. Arya sounds awful.”

The driver pulled the reins and the horses neighed as the carriage rolled to a stop. “We’re here, Miss!” he called out.

Maeve hurried out, then unfolded the short ladder and helped me down the carriage steps and onto the street. I looked around the busy marketplace and my senses were immediately assaulted by the vibrant chaos. Bright lights from candles and gas lamps flickered, radiating a warm, golden glow over the cobblestone streets.

Mingling scents of roasting meat, fresh bread, and something that smelled suspiciously like sweaty feet made me wrinkle my nose. Vendors shouted to advertise their wares, their voices a cacophony of enticements and haggles. The stalls were filled to bursting with colorful fabrics, shiny trinkets, and exotic fruits I couldn’t name if my life depended on it.

I stumbled slightly as I took it all in. The noise, the colors, and the smells were like walking into a medieval carnival.

“Welcome to the Southern District, my lady,” Maeve said with a hint of wry amusement.

“Yeah, thanks,” I muttered, my eyes darting around. “This is… lively. Definitely not like the quiet burbs of the Northern District.”

Down the street, I spotted The Broken Tankard, a rickety-looking tavern with a crooked sign creaking in the breeze. The place looked like it was held together by nothing more than hopes and prayers, with a faint odor of stale beer wafting out every time the door swung open. Just a bit further down was The Gilded Serpent. Even from a distance, the brothel looked opulent, its exterior adorned with intricate carvings of serpents and golden accents. The windows were kept from prying eyes by heavy drapes and the entrance was flanked by ornate columns, giving it a grandiose and somewhat sinister appearance. The air around it seemed to hum with a different kind of energy, a mix of seduction and secrecy. Even I was a bit curious about what was going on inside.

Maeve guided me through the throng of people with a firm grip on my arm. “Careful, my lady. Keep your purse close.”

“Trust me, I’m not letting go of it,” I replied, clutching the small pouch like it was my lifeline. “I’m already broke, according to you. I’m not trying to get pickpocketed, too.”

We navigated through the sea of people as laughter, music, and bargaining customers filled the air. A juggler wearing bright green and red performed tricks nearby, his balls and clubs spinning in a mesmerizing blur. Children watched with wide eyes, their faces sticky with sweets.

“Let’s hurry,” Maeve urged, steering me towards The Broken Tankard. “We don’t want to linger too long.”

“Why not? It’s kind of fun,” I said, dodging a particularly enthusiastic merchant waving a roasted chicken leg in my face.

“It’s also dangerous,” Maeve said, glancing around warily. “Theft is common, and not everyone here has good intentions.”

We finally reached The Broken Tankard, where the dim interior was a stark contrast to the bustling street outside. A pungent wave of ale and sour sweat hit me like a wall. Where laughter and merriment danced in the streets outside, the tavern whispered with low, murmuring conversations.

Smoky haze stung my eyes as I glanced around at the rough wooden tables and a bartender wiping a mug with a rag that probably hadn’t seen soap in years. The place had a certain grimy charm, faintly reminiscent of a dive bar back home, but with more swords and fewer neon signs.

“Well, this is cozy,” I offered dryly.

Maeve rolled her eyes. “Just try to stay out of trouble, my lady.”

I offered a mock salute. “I’ll do my best.”