Chapter 6

T he guard in front of the mesa's lift stares at me like I'm a threat. Does he look at everyone that way? A deadly gleam encircles his dark pupils as his hand moves to the hilt of his sword hanging by his side. Maybe I'm being paranoid.

"Would it be possible to speak to Lord Myles?" My voice quivers, and so I clear my throat and repeat myself with more confidence. "May I speak to Lord Myles?"

I don't know why I'm so nervous. It's not as if I've never spoken to the man. Gods know how he seeks me out in public settings, often within plain sight of the village's many gossip-laden tongues. But in those scenarios, our conversations were surface-level, rarely discussing anything deeper than the weather. This is something else entirely. These prowlers pose a threat that could alter the future of Carcera, or at least my status in it.

A high bun rests atop the guard's head, clearing the way for his fearsome eyes. They rove up and down my body like he's searching for some hidden threat. I stand stock still as he surveys me, nearly forgetting to breathe altogether. Finally, he clicks his tongue and asks, "Is it urgent?"

"Yes," I clear my throat again. "Yes, it is urgent."

He pauses to assess me once more before turning toward the lift that ascends the mesa's side. That little box seems small next to the colossal body of rock, which appears to have sprouted from the earth in a perfect circle. Its rocky base extends so high that the top can hide behind the clouds, though not today. Today is clear and warm, which only exacerbates my nervous sweats.

Did he intend for me to follow him? Should I have given him my name? I take a step forward, ready to follow, but he halts and holds a hand in the air. "Stay here," he says as he steps into the lift. The doors quickly snap shut behind him. The wooden contraption floats up into the air, levitating up, up, up, until the bottom is barely visible.

For every minute that I wait, the urge to leave grows stronger. Am I making a mistake by alerting Lord Myles to the prowlers? The last time he felt threatened by outsiders, he trapped the entire village within the barrier. If he suspects an attack could be on the horizon, who knows what drastic measures he might take? He could confine everyone to their cottages until the threat subsides, shrinking our cages even further. Or, what if he punishes me for speaking to the prowlers? There may not be a rule against it, but there's always a first for everything!

Oh, gods, what have I done?

Just when I decide to abort the plan, I see the lift descending, coming closer into view with every beating thud of my heart. I step back to make room for it, as if it might crush me if I'm too close. And when the doors open, the guard greets me with a scowl. Would it hurt him to offer even a tight-lipped smile?

"Come," he commands, so I obediently follow him into the lift. He turns the crank hidden on the side wall, and the doors close, trapping us in here together until we reach the top. I feel like a mouse to a hawk and so vulnerable within the confines of this too-small space.

"This thing won't drop us, will it?" I ask nervously, but the guard refuses to acknowledge my question. He stands still as a portrait as the box continues to lift us further and further into the air. I wonder how many enchantments this mesa holds.

The higher we climb, the more my ears begin to protest with popping aches. My head starts to feel like it's leaking air in a slow, dizzying fizz.

After what feels like an eternity, the doors open. I release a heavy sigh of relief and then suck in the cool morning air like oxygen is in short supply. It takes a considerable effort to stumble out of the lift and onto the gravel path, but I manage – if for no other reason than to escape that death trap. This is my first time visiting Lord Myles' estate, and I'm already off to a terrible start.

Once I'm able to see straight again, I'm struck by beauty. Immaculately trimmed rose bushes encircle the mesa like a fortress of thorns. Manicured trees line the path to the front door in perfect order. And the home itself, my gods, it is stone and marble, arches and spires. Large stained-glass windows, colorful and intricate, showcase peacocks and other birds with bright feathers. I've never seen anything like it. The estate that I pictured looked more like the rest of the village – small, shabby, and modest. But this, no, this is like stepping into a painting.

My father worked for Lord Myles for a time and occasionally would visit the estate. He told me all about the mesa's unobstructed views of the village, but he never spoke of its grandeur. Every time he visited, he waved to us from the grounds, or so he said. We could never confirm one way or the other, but I relished the thought nonetheless. I would wait for an hour after he left and then run outside to wave back to him. My mom would lift me into her arms to help me get a better view. All I ever saw was the monolith, never the wave returned. I took joy in that tiny, insignificant gesture, nonetheless.

I take a cautious step toward the roses and find that you really can see all the way to our cottage. Almost. If you squint your eyes just right.

When I peek down at the ground below us, my gut lurches. I've never been so high before. My head spins with the rush of it, and I stagger back, dizzy and shaking.

"Let's go," the guard clips.

I follow in step behind him, still a bit unsteady on my feet, as he leads me down the path. Two short and plump figures appear in front of the iron door, which is at least four times their heights, and I nearly choke. It's too late to turn back now.

"Radya! What brings you here?" Lord Myles shouts from the marble steps of his home. The guard nods dutifully to each of them and then turns on his heels to march back to his post, leaving us alone.

"Hello." I dip into a curtsy that sets me off balance, and I stumble to regain my footing. Gods, formality and grace are skills that I never did master. I recover awkwardly and hurry closer, as they stand firmly in position at the front of the estate. When I'm close enough to speak without yelling, I say, "I need to tell you something."

"Very well." Lord Myles nods a tad uneasily, shifting a handkerchief between his thumbs.

Deep breath. "I saw three more men stalking the barrier. They spoke to me. Asked me questions. When I tried to press for more information about who they were or where they came from, they fled," I explain as succinctly as possible, hoping that brevity might lead to absolution. "I worry that something might be wrong."

Something like alarm flicks through Lady Lora, but she quickly recovers and softens her gaze. "Can you describe them to me, dear?"

"They were tall, a bit disheveled, weary, even." Lady Lora, who couldn't be more than five feet flat, would barely reach their chests. "And they were cautious. It seemed like they knew what would happen if they crossed. Like they had witnessed what happened to the other man and came back to test the barrier's limits. One of them threw a stick through it."

"Did they penetrate the barrier?" He leans a little bit closer, waiting for my answer with bated breath.

"No, they failed." This time.

I squeeze my trembling hands together so tightly it hurts. What if they return, having learned some way to cross?

"That means that they're still out there. We'll double the guards until we track them down. Doesn't matter if it takes every patrolman we have, it will be done." He stares out into the distance as if searching the woods from this vantage point might bring him closer to finding them. Though, who knows, maybe he does have some sort of heightened magical vision or a threat-detecting enchantment visible only to him. If so, he doesn't let on.

He nods as if confirming a thought and then steadies himself. His face shifts in an instant from that of a ruler to the mask of a welcoming host. He exchanges a conspiratorial look with Lady Lora, and she quickly mirrors her husband's unsettling shift. She says, "I'm sorry that you had to witness such a terrifying thing. I know that it must have been frightening for you. Please, come in and join us for some tea."

Tea? Why would they invite me in for tea?

I said what needed to be said, so there's no use in dragging this out any longer. My feet, on the other hand, disagree and begin stepping toward the front doors that could swallow my entire cottage in one gulp. Finely dressed servants pull them apart with the golden knobs shaped into the likeness of a feather. It appears to take some degree of strength to open those colossal, heavy doors, as they have to put their whole weight into it.

I follow Lord Myles inside, and I can hardly believe what I see. It's so massive, so ornate. A giant staircase with a banister made of gold extends down the left side and curls inward. The ivory floors shine so bright that I can almost see my face reflected in them. Paintings line the walls. One after the other, they depict scenery that I've never born witness to. The mountains. A brook that appears so real that I can almost hear the babbling water streaming past the rocky shore. A cliffside castle on the sea. Where are these places? That hollow longing in my chest pangs at the sight.

We turn into the sitting room on the right, where chairs made of tanned leather surround a mahogany table. The fireplace in the corner of the room is flickering, despite the day's heat. And candles of all sizes are placed on every open surface.

It all feels so overdone. But then again, so does Lord Myles.

"Al, would you mind getting Radya some tea?" Lady Lora asks the servant by the door before taking a seat, while Lord Myles clumsily plops himself into the chair beside her, leaving me to sit opposite them.

The servant, Al, turns his attention to me. "What type of tea would you like?"

I didn't know that there were options for types of tea. My mother used to bring us tea, once upon a time. I didn't care for it like she did. I preferred the familiar buzz of coffee. But that was years ago, maybe my tastes have changed. "Whatever you have is fine."

"Green, jasmine, black, dandelion?" He bristles at my indecision.

"Green, please," I tell him awkwardly. Not that I know the difference.

"How about some chocolate? Bread? Croissants?" I shake my head, far too nervous to eat.

Lady Lora smiles softly. She has a kindness in her that's more sincere than her counterpart. It's baked into the cluster of wrinkles formed around her mouth and the depths of her hazel eyes.

Lord Myles focuses his attention on me, and my blood turns cold. "Radya, you know that we do our best to make sure that you are well taken care of, right?"

Excuse me? What is he implying? "Not to be rude, but I wasn't aware that you were taking care of me at all." What have they done to make sure that I'm well taken care of? The few times that we see each other are cordial at best. Uncomfortable, actually.

"Your home is still in good shape, yes? And your allowance still gets delivered on time each month?" His smarmy grin makes me shift in my seat, and the leather groans at the movement.

Of all the ways I imagined this conversation going, this certainly was not it.

"Well, yes." The back of my neck is starting to feel unbearably hot. "I'm very fortunate to receive a pension."

But he didn't say pension. He said allowance. Did I mishear him?

"I have seen your work in the markets. It's quite good, but I imagine that doesn't bring in enough to live. The allowance supplements that income. Seems like decent care to me." He forces a shrug and then narrows his eyes on me. "Did you think that this money came by mistake?"

Yes, that's exactly what I thought. I feared the money would dry up any day now, even though I prayed and prayed that it wouldn't. Never in a million years did I imagine that it was their intention to care for me , as he put it.

"If it's not a mistake, then why? Why send me money?" I swallow the lump forming in my throat as I spit out the words. So many in this village deserve it more than me. Marco, for starters. Why me?

The servant sneaks up behind me and places a tray of sweets on the table before handing me a cup of tea. The polished silver is so clear that I can see my own face reflected back to me in miniature form between each of the confections. Donuts, flaky pastry puffs, and purple tea cakes are arranged in little circles. How in the name of the gods did he retrieve all of this so fast? "Can I get you anything else, miss?"

"No, thank you." I slowly, shakily, raise the cup to my lips but halt as I'm hit by the billowing steam.

"Is it too hot, dear?" Lady Lora asks after seeing me flinch.

"Just a little." I place the cup back onto the saucer, too afraid to try again, lest the tea burn my tongue. "Respectfully, may I repeat my last question?"

"Which question?" She is all smiles and charm, but I fear that it's edged with deceit. What game is she playing?

"I asked about the allowance," I remind them, a tad harshly. "Why did you say that you cared for me? Why do you still send me money when you clearly know that the time for my father's pension expired long ago?"

"Call it a favor to your parents." Lady Lora's smile is now stretched so wide that I think her cheeks must hurt. "I hear that you visit the library quite often. Do you enjoy reading?"

"A favor to my parents? My father only worked here for a very short period before he died. Do you send allowances to all of your employees' families?" But of course, I already know that they don't. None of this adds up.

"Not all, no, but your father was special to us." Lord Myles drops his smile, replacing it with a cold, humorless stare. It's getting too tense in here, too hot and uncomfortable.

"He was. Your mother too. We were so heartbroken when they passed," says Lady Lora, reaching over to grab her husband's hand.

The time for condolences is long past. If they were so heartbroken, then why didn't they speak to me after it happened? Why bring it up now? She ignores my seething and continues, "If you do enjoy reading, then I'd love to show you our private collection."

"I must excuse myself while you two ladies speak." Lord Myles stands from his seat, adjusting the dusty red trousers over his protruding belly. He seems anxious to leave as he nods to me and then to his wife before scurrying away.

I came here to warn him of the threat on the other side of the barrier, and now he's leaving me to drink tea with his wife? What is going on?

Undeterred, Lady Lora continues on with the deflective line of questioning, "What type of books do you like to read?"

My cheeks turn pink as heat rushes to my face. In truth, my preferred books skew toward the smuttier genres, but that seems too inappropriate to confess to the Lady of Carcera. "Anything I can get my hands on." The choice of words makes me squirm even more.

"Well, feel free to explore our personal collection. I will let the guard know that you may enter at any time and take as many books as you'd like. We really do have a bit of everything. I'd be happy to show you myself if you'd like to go see it now?" She grabs the tray of sweets and extends it toward me, insisting that I take something.

"No, thank you." Something is wrong here, very wrong. Why is she talking about reading and libraries? She's far too calm and collected for someone who just learned about a potential threat lurking outside of the barrier. They must know more than they're letting on. They hardly even flinched when I told them about the prowlers. If anything, their misdirection increases my interest in finding the truth about the prowlers and the pension. I say, "I've lived by the edge of the forest for two decades. Not once have I seen people on the other side. And now… I've had two separate encounters with a total of four men – one of which was swallowed whole by the barrier. Why are they appearing now?"

My refusal to talk about simple subjects seems to annoy her. She folds her hands in her lap and says, "I wish that I had an answer for you, but I can only speculate. Carcera is situated at the edge of the kingdom, less than a day's walk to Umbra, even shorter by carriage. It's possible that Umbra's king, King Caelis, sent scouts on a reconnaissance mission of sorts. It is equally possible that these men are simply thieves who wandered too far. We won't know more until we capture them."

"Oh," I gulp. "You're planning to capture them?"

I don't know why this surprises me. Clearly, if there is a threat to the village, that threat will need to be neutralized. But for some reason, it unnerves me to know that they might lose their freedom, or worse.

"We need answers to the very same questions you're asking. No better way to get those answers than to ask the men directly." She sits a little taller in her seat, and I start to wonder if she has more power in this village than she lets on.

"What would King Caelis want from Carcera? A tiny speck on the map shouldn't be of interest to him." For as long as I can remember, the two countries have coexisted peacefully, though I do vaguely remember mention of the wars of Ruby and Onyx from years past.

"It can be hard to understand the reasoning of a mad king, my dear. Our two kingdoms share a violent history, each one vying for power and control over the other for nearly four hundred years. This peace we've enjoyed within your lifetime is new."

"What triggered the peace that we have now?" Maybe something changed. Maybe that peace was never meant to last.

"King Vani forced the Mad King to his knees," she explains, and her eyes turn to calculated slits. "He devised a plan that would end the reign of King Caelis for good. And even though things didn't go according to plan, he did force a retreat that sent Caelis into a vicious spiral. He went so mad that he cloaked the entire kingdom in uninhabitable darkness. It rained for months on end, bringing flood and famine with it. Once it cleared, the once moderate climate turned frigid, and thick clouds covered the sky, squelching the sunlight and dooming their crops, not that he cared about such things. To this day, you can still smell the scent of rot wafting in from the west. With the lands ravaged, King Vani pulled back and allowed the Mad King to fester in his wasted land."

The darkness is what drove my parents to flee from Umbra – that much I know – but the rest of the details are absent from the records. It's as if the particulars of what happened were shielded from history.

"What didn't go according to plan?"

"Our army tried to kill both King Caelis and his queen, against all odds. But instead, we took her life and his sanity. It wasn't the victory that we hoped for, but the fighting ended nonetheless." She quietly adds, "None benefit from a war."

My stomach lurches. How can we expect peace to reign eternal when that peace hinges upon the sanity of a mad king? "Are those prowlers here on his behalf? Seeking revenge for the loss of his queen?"

"I'm afraid that I know no more than you, my dear."

These men could be just the beginning.

One thing that I don't understand, though, the piece that doesn't quite fit, is that those men didn't ask about the village or levy threats against us. Their questions were mostly about… me. Both the first prowler and the men that I met yesterday seemed to have a peculiar fascination with my birthmark. I raise my left hand into the air and point to the faint discoloration on the back of my hand, those swirling white lines. I somehow muster the boldness to ask, "What does this mean?"

She pinches her brows together as if she's struggling to see the mark. "What does what mean?"

"My birthmark. I never really questioned it until the men in the woods brought it up."

"Did they, now? Hmm, that's odd. Birthmarks don't have meaning. I have a birthmark in the shape of a croissant on my right arm, can you see" She pulls up the sleeve of her gown, revealing a tiny crescent. "It doesn't mean anything. Though, coincidentally, I do love croissants."

Lady Lora and I hardly ever speak, but I would be a fool not to recognize a deflection so clearly designed to distract me.

"Are you sure that you don't know?" I press, squinting my eyes to level some reason.

"Why would I lie to you?" The look that she's giving me now conveys an unspoken message: I need to drop it.

Even though my brain is buzzing even more than when I came here, left with more questions than answers, I shut my mouth.

She smiles in a cold, almost derisive way, and all airs of pleasantry evaporate as she stands to escort me out the door. We quickly exchange our goodbyes and, before I know it, the doors of the lift are closing behind me.

* * *

My mother lies on the bed next to me with our hands intertwined. Her chest heaves with each pained breath. Her sunken eyes are devoid of their usual glimmer. The smile wiped from her face. As the color drains from her body, I know that these are her final moments.

She squeezes my hand a little too hard, taking me by surprise. But that squeeze means that she is alive, that she still has a chance.

Time moves in circles as the scene repeats on loop until she whispers something inaudible. I ask her to repeat her words, but she remains silent until her eyes fixate on something behind me. Her body stills until her right arm lifts to point into the distance.

"Leave her alone," she says.

Those words ring in my ear as I wake.

When I look up from my bed, I see those familiar red eyes staring, narrowing their burning gazes on me. I wait for them to disappear, as they always do, but… they do not.

They're not vanishing.

They're staring.

Burning.

Glowing.