Chapter 38 - Calliope

Outside Millrath's walls, the world is so still and silent. I had forgotten what the wilds sounded like, no distant clanging of forges, no hum of enchantments in the walls. No clanging of chains around my ankles.

No beasts prowl the shadows; no dragons wheel overhead. Even the wind seems hesitant, carrying only the faintest scent of smoke from the burning city behind me.

My bare feet bleed against the frozen ground as I stumble north. The power that surged through me has left me hollow, trembling, barely able to stand.

But I keep moving. I have to.

Dawn breaks over the mountains, painting the snow-covered peaks in shades of rose and gold. Below them, the Great Northern Road stretches like a black ribbon through the wilderness. Somewhere along that road, hundreds of miles north, lies Fort Caddell—the only human city in Kaldoria. The only place that might offer shelter to a runaway queen.

If I can survive long enough to reach it, it might just protect me.

The first merchant wagon I encounter nearly runs me down. I barely manage to throw myself into the ditch as it thunders past, the driver shouting about refugees from Millrath clogging the roads. When I peek out, I see he's right—the road ahead is thick with people fleeing the city, carrying what little they could save.

I join them, keeping my head down, my torn dress covered by a cloak I took from a dead soldier. No one looks too closely at another refugee. We're all running from the same nightmare.

By nightfall, my legs are shaking too badly to continue. I collapse in an abandoned roadside barn, huddling in the hay as wind howls through the cracks in the walls. Sleep comes in fits and starts, broken by dreams of fire and chains and Arvoren's face as I left him.

I love you. The words echo in my mind. When I hear myself saying them, I want to cry. But I know I made the right choice. Better to be hunted than caged, better to be free than …

A wave of nausea hits me without warning. I barely make it outside before losing what little I've eaten. As I kneel in the mud, retching, I wonder whether the Gods are sending plagues now that their beasts have failed to kill me.

I rejoin the slog of refugees north. In the dim light, three white dragons swoop low overhead, coming from the east. Reinforcements for the king from Fjordmarse. They must know who won the day.

Dawn brings the sound of horns from the south, and word among the survivors of soldiers coming. Arvoren's forces, already mobilizing. Already hunting.

I force myself to move, though every muscle screams in protest.

I spend the second day hiding in the back of a human farmer's horse-drawn cart, buried between sacks of grain. The farmer's wife took pity on me, though she doesn't know who I am.

"Poor thing," I heard her whisper to her husband, sitting atop the wooden slats nailed to the front of the cart. "Another one running from the dragons’ wrath."

If only she knew.

Through gaps in the canvas, I watch soldiers pass on horseback, their armor gleaming in the weak winter sun. They carry Arvoren's banner—the black dragon on crimson—and stop every cart they pass, searching for any sign of their queen.

Their queen. The thought almost makes me laugh. Instead, I press my face into the rough burlap, willing myself to be small, to be nothing. The nausea comes again, stronger this time, but I force it down. I cannot afford weakness now.

When night falls, the farmers arrive back to their land, and they kindly let me sleep in their barn. By morning, the wife brings me bread and dried meat, her eyes full of questions she's too afraid to ask.

I eat quickly, mechanically, though my stomach rebels against every bite. My body feels strange, different somehow—as if the power that broke free in Millrath has changed me in ways I'm only beginning to understand. At one point, I have to stop eating just to sit and breathe, brow furrowed, trying to keep from vomiting.

The wave of nausea passes slowly, leaving me slumped against the rough barn wall, eyes closed, willing my stomach to settle.

The farmer's wife watches me from the doorway, her face softened by the lantern light.

"Here," she says. She offers me a cup of water. "Small sips."

I take it gratefully, though my hands shake. The water is cool and clean, so different from the wine I was served in Millrath's halls.

"How far along are you, dear?" she asks softly, settling beside me on a bale of hay.

"I'm not—" The denial comes automatically, but something in her kind eyes stops me. "I mean, I can't be. It’s not—I’m not.”

She makes a gentle sound, almost like a laugh. "Unless you've got the winter fever—which you don't, I've seen enough of that to know—there's really only one thing that makes a woman sick like this in the mornings."

The world seems to tilt beneath me.

"But I haven't … I mean, I'm not …" My hand drifts unconsciously to my stomach. "Oh, Gods."

"When did you last bleed?"

I try to think back, counting days, weeks. Long before the battle. Before Ulric's betrayal. Before …

"A month," I whisper. "Maybe longer. I didn't notice. There was so much happening, I didn't …"

"Ah, love." Her weathered hand covers mine. "The world doesn't stop turning just because we're not watching it."

Tears spring to my eyes unbidden. "I can't be. I can't … not now. Not when I'm finally …"

"Free?" she finishes gently.

I look at her sharply, but there's no judgment in her face. Only understanding.

"Whoever he is," she says, "whatever you're running from—this child doesn't have to be a chain. It can be something else. Something that's yours. You’ll be alright. No matter what happens. I just know it.”

Before leaving, she presses a small token into my palm—-Maerika’s mark, I realise, eyes welling, its wood worn smooth by generations of mothers and healers before me. I miss my grandmother fiercely, but the thought of her, her faith and love, strengthens me.

Later that morning, already sensing I’m putting these people in danger with my presence, I set out alone, thanking them for everything. They press food, clothes, furs, and boots onto me, ignoring my protests.

"The king's men are everywhere," the farmer tells me as he re-laces the boots on my swollen feet. "They say he's offering a fortune for information about his missing queen. Some say she was kidnapped by rebels. Others say she's a witch who enchanted him."

I keep my eyes on the horizon, though my hands shake all the same. "What do you say?"

He shrugs. "I say any woman who'd run from the Dragon King must have her reasons."

I set out, deciding to stay away from the main path, my borrowed cloak pulled tight against the cold. Despite the new shoes, the frozen ground numbs my feet until I can’t feel them.

The new day brings snow, thick flakes that swirl through the air like ash. It’s winter in Kaldoria now, well and truly. I lose the path I’m following twice, stumbling through deep drifts until my legs give out. Hunger gnaws at me, but every time I try to eat, my stomach heaves.

This time, when I retch into the snow, I can't ignore the truth any longer.

My hands drift to my belly, still flat beneath my stolen clothes. But I know. Gods help me, I know. There's a life growing inside me—a spark of something that's both dragon and human, both his and mine.

Despite everything, Arvoren got what he wanted.

I think of Arvoren's mother, her grave in the catacombs beneath Millrath. Did she feel this same terror when she realized what grew within her? Did she know what fate awaited her?

A branch snaps nearby. I whirl, heart pounding, but it's only a deer, picking its way through the snow. It freezes when it sees me, nostrils flaring. For a moment, we stare at each other—two creatures far from home, both hunted, both afraid.

Then horns sound in the distance, and the deer bounds away into the forest. I force myself to my feet, though my legs shake with exhaustion. I have to keep moving. Have to reach Fort Caddell before he finds me.

Because he will find me. I know this as surely as I know my own name, as surely as I know what grows inside me. Arvoren will never stop hunting us—me and this child I carry, this impossible heir to his throne.

The snow falls harder as I stumble on. Ahead, the foothills of the mountains loom like guardians, their peaks lost in clouds. Somewhere beyond them lies Fort Caddell, and whatever future awaits me there.

I press one hand to my belly, feeling the tiny spark of life that changes everything.

"We'll survive," I whisper, though my voice is lost in the wind. "Whatever comes next, we'll survive."

Because that's what my bloodline does. That's what my grandmother taught me, what her mother taught her. We endure. We survive.

Even if it means running forever.

Even if it means never seeing Arvoren again.

I walk into the gathering snowstorm, leaving no tracks for anyone to follow. Behind me, Millrath burns. Before me, the future stretches vast and unknown. I bow low, protecting my stomach as I brace for the cold. We are all that remains of each other now: a runaway queen, an unborn heir, and the long road ahead.

*****

THE END