28. Dagmara

“And you’re certain?” Dagmara asked her guard.

“My answer won’t change no matter how many times you ask, Princess,” Martine replied. “To be on the royal guard I have to memorize all the appointments for security reasons. Mael Revel, Lyam Desco, and Samuel Arsenault don’t exist.”

Dagmara’s brow furrowed, remembering the three men her brother had told her were on the border register. Which meant they were false aliases—but they had papers signed by the king himself. That had to be evidence that the king sent the assassins, right? She only had to confirm those three were assassins. Hopefully, Teos would find out more about them soon.

“Is there anyone with authority to grant citizenship or falsify papers?”

“Lionel Floquet, the governor of Sailonne, also manages border regulations, but none of our papers are falsified,” Martine insisted.

Lionel…Dagmara would have to find out who that man was. If she could confirm that he had not created the aliases, then all leads pointed to King Claude.

“Why do you ask? Who are those men?” Martine interrupted Dagmara’s thoughts.

“What do you know about the town Nouchenne?” Dagmara countered, avoiding Martine’s questions.

Martine’s head jerked back, her composure faltering for a brief moment. “Nouchenne was my hometown.”

That’s not what Dagmara was expecting. Her tactic shifted as she attempted to play into Martine’s emotions. “How long did you live there?”

“Until I joined the guard at fourteen.”

“And your family still lives there?”

There was a pause. “No.” Martine replied.

“I’ve heard so much about it, and I would like to visit. Will you accompany me?”

Martine’s brow furrowed. “Nouchenne was cleared by order of the king. That is why my family is no longer there but rather in the neighboring village.”

Dagmara had heard the rumors that King Claude had eradicated towns throughout Ilusauri with no warning. Cleared? What did it actually mean?

“Why was it cleared?” Dagmara ventured.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Dagmara’s mouth was agape. “You don’t know why the king is clearing towns?”

“No.”

“But Nouchenne is your hometown. Aren’t you curious?”

“It is my duty to serve the king, not ask questions of him,” Martine snapped. “Why are you so curious?”

“I know nothing about him, and yet, I am to marry him,” Dagmara replied.

“He is an honorable leader.”

“Well, you’re trained to say that.”

A change of emotion flashed across Martine’s face, but it was gone before Dagmara could decipher it. Was it shock? Or guilt?

“I’m going to see the town for myself,” Dagmara continued. “You can join me if you want. You can see your hometown for yourself, and maybe get your own answers as to why your family was thrown out.”

“We’re not allowed to go to cleared towns, nor are you allowed to leave the castle without his permission,” Martine objected.

“I’ll find a way to get there,” Dagmara responded. “Either you can come with me, or not.”

Martine folded her arms in front of her. “Will you use another sleeping potion on me?”

A cold shudder tore through Dagmara’s body.

“That’s right, I know what you did,” Martine continued. “I am very suspicious of you, Princess, and so is the king.”

And so was Sabien. Dagmara clearly needed to pick up the pace of this mission.

“You’re not even the slightest bit suspicious as to why the king is clearing towns?” Dagmara asked. She added for effect, “Why was your family kicked out of their home?”

The wheels visibly turned in Martine’s head. Then she finally spoke, “I’m only accompanying you to keep you safe, and to avoid more sleeping potions, not because I’m questioning why the king cleared out Nouchenne. Understood?”

Unable to suppress her smile, Dagmara nodded, “Understood.”

The following morning, before the sun was rising over the horizon, the two set out to Nouchenne. Dagmara needed to make sure that she wouldn’t be out when the sun was at its highest. There was no doubt it would drain all her energy, and she needed to save her energy for the upcoming engagement ball. Nouchenne wasn’t too far from the castle, leaving them plenty of time to investigate. Martine had ordered the stablehands to prep two horses, and they set off south to the town. Dagmara had bandaged her hand and was wearing leather riding gloves, and whatever Martine may have seen in the library, she didn’t bring up again.

They rode in silence for a long time, Dagmara racking her brain for the king’s motive. Why was he clearing out entire towns? She hoped going to Nouchenne would give her answers. There was no doubt, although the guard tried to hide it, that Martine wanted to know the answer as badly as Dagmara, if for different reasons.

When they were well outside the castle walls and cresting over the top of a hill, the sun began to cast an orange glow along the brown grass. The air was filled with a morning fog, and Claude’s castle had disappeared into the mist far behind them. The grass was withered, alternating between yellow and brown hues. Dust flew up underneath the horses’ hooves as though it were a coating of ash.

When they reached the top of the hill, Dagmara yanked the reins of her horse, breaking his canter. He skidded, causing a spray of dirt to fly up from the ground, and tugged against the bridle in agitation. Yet Dagmara couldn’t move, for her attention was fixated on the scene before her.

In front of them, at the bottom of the hill, was an expansive field. It was so large that it vanished into the murky fog, seeming to continue endlessly. The field was littered with bones—small bones, large portions of skeletons, and animal carcasses. Twigs and brambles unwound from the earth, and a thick layer of ash coated the area in a gray blanket.

Martine had turned her horse around and was approaching Dagmara at a trot. “You alright?” she asked, and her horse stopped with her back to the field.

Dagmara knew her expression gave away her surprise. “What is this?” she asked. However, she wanted to know if Claude was behind this more than anything. There were hundreds of bodies—thousands of bones. There was no way to bury all of these if someone wanted to.

“The Field of Valor,” Martine announced. “I believe you have a sea of scarlet?”

Racking her brain, Dagmara remembered the poppy field Magda always went to on her rides, beside the waterfalls. The elders claimed the flowers were markings of the deceased, and the field was the gravesite for the fallen from the war for magic. The war was centuries ago, and Dagmara had always assumed the poppy field was more an abstract memorial.

“It used to be covered with irises,” Martine continued, filling the silence. Her back was purposefully to the field, but Dagmara couldn’t seem to look away. “The day King Percival Mirage—Claude’s father—was killed, the irises began to transform to what you see here. It certainly makes you question if the stories about the war for magic were actually true.”

Finally able to tear her eyes from the endless graveyard, Dagmara met Martine’s gaze, surprised to find an expression of remorse. “Do you believe the stories? About the war against the First Prince?”

“His Majesty believes they are real.”

“I asked what you believe,” Dagmara countered.

Martine hesitated, fiddling with the reins in her grip. Her eyebrows narrowed as if she wasn’t sure what her answer was at first, and she was simply trained to answer with the king’s rules. After a long pause, she spoke, her voice timid, “It doesn’t all add up. The First Prince wanted to kill his siblings before entering the trials, something against all sacred tradition. Then all the guardians teamed up to get rid of him. According to legend, the First Prince was the most powerful guardian to ever exist. So why would he try to kill his siblings before the trials if his win was practically guaranteed? And why are the guardians connected to their territory as though they are the land’s lifeline?”

Dagmara looked to the field, littered in bones. She answered under her breath, “I don’t know.”

A few hours later, they arrived at Nouchenne. Dagmara’s chest and lower back were wet with sweat, and she wiped her brow with the back of her wrist. She had brought everything with her to face the worst, her throwing stars, her stunning potion, and even the jasny light flash her brother had invented. Martine, on the other hand, had daggers lining her thighs, and a sword at her side.

The morning mist had cleared, and the entire village came into view at once. Dirt paths cut through gray, stone buildings, and their pointed roofs were interspersed by rain clouds. Around the two-story houses, were once healthy trees and flower beds that now were crippled with blight. Tan, scorched grass extended out into the fields, making the entire village a mournful color. There were no distinguishing characteristics—just rows of melancholy houses with tangled weeds, surviving in a thick coat of dust.

As they neared closer, the buildings grew larger, but the atmosphere remained quiet. At the border of town, Martine spoke first.

“Shall we dismount here, explore on foot?”

“No,” Dagmara replied. For one, she wanted to conserve her energy. She couldn’t walk long distances without easily exerting herself. Secondly, she didn’t know what they would encounter and if they would have to make a hasty exit. “Let’s keep going.”

They ventured into the town, proceeding down the main road. The dirt road narrowed, turning into an alleyway. Dagmara pulled her horse forward in the lead, both sides of the road blocking her vision due to the thick, stone houses. Who knew how long it would take to find out why the townspeople were cleared of this area.

“What if it’s an illness?” Martine asked, a new quiver in her voice. “What if we are exposing ourselves to something here?”

That hadn’t crossed Dagmara’s mind. It was too late, anyway, as they were already here. “It can’t be,” Dagmara denied. “That’s too easy. Wouldn’t the king have told people that reason? Besides, I’m sure the villagers would’ve been put in quarantine, not sent to a neighboring village.”

Yet as they rounded the corner, turning into the center of town, the answer was directly before them.

In the main square, a gaping hole swallowed the central fountain and the rock foundation of another building. The cobblestone crumbled into the depths, and a line in the earth was drawn away from the hole, like a river running away from a lake.

“What is this?” Dagmara asked, dismounting from her horse and tying him to a nearby post. The sinkhole in the earth didn’t look like it was created from an earthquake or natural disaster. It was eerily precise. It would’ve been a perfect circle if the broken cobblestone path didn’t give it the illusion that it was uneven. On closer inspection, Dagmara saw that the line running away from the central hole seemed to extend deeper into the ground, as though it were a tunnel leading into the earth. And Dagmara wanted to know where it led.

“Come on,” Dagmara said, approaching the crater.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go down there,” Martine objected.

“I want to know,” Dagmara replied. “Are you coming with me, or am I going alone?”

Martine let out a sigh. “Let me go first,” Martine said, having already dismounted from her horse. She approached the gaping hole and slowly descended. Her tactic was nearly a crawl, squatting and putting her hands on the ground before dropping to the next stable piece of earth below.

Following Martine’s every move, down to her hand placement, Dagmara descended. Curiosity brewed deep inside her, and the same interest exuded from her guard. She climbed over broken chunks of rock, fumbled over the statue that was once at the center of the fountain, and even uneasily crossed boards and wooden planks that jutted out from the nearby structures. By the time they reached the bottom of the crater, she could no longer see the town. They were so deep in the earth, that all that was visible to them was the rubble they descended upon.

At the bottom of the crater, there was a small crevice in the wall. It was narrow enough that Martine had to turn sideways to shimmy through, but wide enough that she could slide through without touching either side. Dagmara turned her body sideways as well, and followed Martine. The crack in the earth at ground-level seemed far above them, but allowed the sunlight to cast enough of a beam for them to see their surroundings.

Martine’s armor clattered as she stepped out of the narrow crack and into an open space. It was a tunnel that descended slightly downward. Relief flooded through Dagmara as she too exited the crevice. The two proceeded toward a light in the far distance. Then they emerged into a cave.

The cavern seemed to be the end of the underground space, since there were no other exits Dagmara could make out. The ground underneath them was stone, and another wide hole was in the center of the room.

Crossing to the hole, Dagmara peered down and only saw darkness. Even she was not brave enough—or stupid enough—to jump in and find out what secrets lay beyond.

The walls in the cavern were etched with various symbols. Dagmara scanned the entirety of the stone, her eyes landing on letters. Squinting her eyes, she saw a sentence written in large text. The words were strikingly similar to words in the Ilusaurian language, and she almost thought the sentence was in Ilusaurian at first. However, she couldn’t translate it.

Dagmara’s head began to spin. She reached out to the wall for support, then slowly sat. She could sense Martine glancing in her direction, but Dagmara ignored her guard. As long as she sat nonchalantly, maybe Martine wouldn’t catch on that something was wrong with her.

Dagmara caught her breath, letting her vision refocus, and spotted a disfigured boulder against the wall. Her eyes narrowed, unable to make it out in the dim light. She rose slowly despite her throbbing head and neared closer, realizing it wasn’t a boulder at all.

It was an animal.