The Princess and The Frog

Chiara

Riposa was a young city, relatively speaking. For centuries it had been little more than a tiny village, not even important enough for the ancients to put on their maps. But after the Holy See was founded in the old city of Vola, the roads that ran through the village began seeing more and more foot traffic, as pilgrims from all over the world passed through the village on their way to Vola. As the decades and later centuries passed, the village became an important rest stop for pilgrims, which in turn led to inns, restaurants, and various tourist traps cropping up in order to cash in on the wealth suddenly flowing down those roads. In turn, the village became a city, and the city prospered.

Then Edda the Woman-Serpent came, and sunk the city and much of the land around it into the sea.

Chiara didn't know much of the specifics of what happened—she hadn't been there and much too young besides—but the legends spoke for themselves.

Five years ago, the Woman-Serpent invaded the Land, and brought the Sea with her. For the first few days she went uncontested, sinking countless towns and villages along the coast. But then she grew ever more ambitious, and soon pushed further inland, all the way to the city of Riposa.

The City of Pilgrims, so far inland, had not been prepared for an invasion from the sea. But unprepared did not mean unguarded, and as the Woman-Serpent descended upon the city she was met by hundreds of adventurers, mercenaries, and soldiers from around the world, who rose up to meet her.

Things became less clear after that. Who-did-what and what-killed-who changed from telling to telling. People would prop up their own local adventurers as heroes of the story, while each of the guilds involved claimed credit for fighting her off. Charles, the only knight in their guild who had been there at the time, refused to talk about it, as he did so many things. He'd just say it was 'a bad fucking time' and drown himself in his drink.

In the aftermath of the battle, the new bay became known as 'Edda's Folly,' and the Lady Pontiff herself declared the day a new holiday for pious the world over. For those who were not there, the battle and victory against the Demon Lord became a time of celebration and renewed hope.

For those who'd been there, it was a pyrrhic victory. The city of Riposa had been destroyed and sunk beneath the sea. All that remained of the original city were the few surviving steeples of the churches which poked out above the waves.

But the people of Riposa were stubborn and spiteful. Though their home had been destroyed, they spit in the eye of the Demons by rebuilding it in the exact. Same. Spot.

Thus brought them to the New City of Riposa, a city built not on the ground, but on the aqueduct which once towered over it. Thin and tall taverns and inns dominated the central river-road of the aqueduct, while the homes of the citizens who stayed clung to the sides of the megastructure like leeches, with ropes and ladders and rickety staircases the only way to reach them. In the heart of the new city they had even begun building further up, building new layers over the old aqueduct and stacking densely packed apartments, bars, and all else further and further up.

The City of Riposa stood defiant, even now.

Chiara and Palmira made their way down the thin stone streets of the aqueduct-city, weaving past merchants hawking wares and children playing by the river. Chiara led her crystalline horse by the reins, while Palmira sat side-saddle up above, rising prominently above the crowds. Chiara felt herself relax, now that they were in the safety of the city, letting the 'clink, clink, clink' of Cavalla's hooves drown out her thoughts. She'd never really cared for the crowded streets of Firozzi, but Riposa's one road had a sort of energy about it that the big cities further inland never really captured.

It might have been from the strength of its people, all of them survivors of a horrible disaster, yet all willful enough to return to the place of that disaster and reconquer it for themselves. Or, maybe, it might have been that every so often the locals would glance down at the sea far below, fear and hate and pain writ on their faces, as if they were only waiting for when the sea would return to swallow them again.

The people here understood true hardship yet fought on regardless, and it called out to her adventurer's soul something fierce.

She felt her mouth pull into a pleased smile. The good mood from her victory over the hydra hadn't left her yet, and she was already imagining rubbing it in everyone's face back at the guild. Maybe now Ósma would treat her like the adult she was.

She could only hope.

"Can I come down now?" Palmira nearly begged, leaning over to grab her attention. Chiara turned away from her people-watching, raising an amused eyebrow at the younger girl. She looked immensely uncomfortable on top of the horse. "People are staring!"

Chiara looked back out at the crowded streets. Sure enough, some people had stopped to point at the mage riding the crystal horse. "I don't know. Can you walk yet?"

Palmira scowled down at her. It was even a little intimidating, the way angry flames poked out from between her teeth. Chiara was impressed. "I don't need to walk. We're already here! Why can't we just sit down at a tavern or something and wait for the rest of the caravan to arrive?"

"Because they won't be getting here for hours yet, and I don't want to spend the rest of the day sitting around doing nothing. Now come along, that merchant over there is selling fancy wine glasses and I promised my nieces and nephews I'd bring them something special back."

Palmira huffed, but couldn't do anything about it. And so she was dragged along as Chiara managed to bag two pink wine glasses, several rolls of local pink thread, a dagger with a whale-bone hilt, several jars of salt and honey, a box of dice, two—

"You're buying a lot of stuff," Palmira interrupted her shopping spree. Chiara turned back to her, the other girl watching her with unabashed envy and distaste. "Do your, uh, nieces and nephews really need that much stuff?"

"Unfortunately," Chiara rolled her eyes. "You know how children are—if you don't get them anything someone's bound to complain, but if you get one of them something then you have to get everyone something."

The younger girl gave her a look that said she didn't understand at all but also didn't care enough to argue. "How many kids do you have that you have to buy that much stuff?"

"They are not my children," she scoffed. Even if it sometimes felt like they were. Her scowl deepened. "And to answer your question, far, far too many."

Palmira rolled her eyes but let the matter drop. Instead she turned to her creepy-and-probably-evil staff and started muttering quietly to it, quickly losing herself in the conversation.

As she did so, Chiara took the time to take a closer look at the newest member of their guild.

At first glance, she looked like any other down-on-their-luck street rat. Unkept brown hair, tanned skin, calloused hands and the dozens of tiny scars from daily toils dotting her body. The hand-me-down leather armor she'd been given by the guild made her look at least a bit presentable—rather it made her look more like an adventurer that just spent the last three months surviving in the wilderness then someone just pulled off the streets—but it still didn't take away from the fact the girl looked like any other poor girl in the city.

Palmira looked, dare she say it, normal.

Which was weird.

Palmira was a mage. She was a powerful—if not very technically competent—mage. And if there was one constant between all mages, it was that magic warped their bodies.

Chiara herself was a prime example of it. When she was younger, her hair had been black, and her eyes blue. But as she learned and used more and more of her magic, her hair bleached itself silver, her eyes drained of color, and her skin now refused to tan in the sun. On one occasion, when she'd had her arm nearly cut off by a bandit she'd even seen her bones were no longer bone, but solid crystal. Her magic had spent nearly a decade warping her body beyond recognition, and she wasn't even the most powerful of mages. And she knew that as the years passed it would change even more.

She'd sometimes seen glimpses of what that would be like. Of men and women who'd devoted themselves wholly to their magic, becoming something Else in the process. Of sorcerers with skin of brick and eyes of iron; of warlocks whose skin and flesh melted away to become swirling gas and whose eyes turned to stars; and of witches who'd delved so deeply into the forest you couldn't tell them from the trees. Magic changed you, fundamentally and irreversibly.

And yet, the girl sitting behind her was just a girl.

She hadn't noticed earlier, too blinded by her own anger. But now that they'd killed that hydra—a feat far more impressive than caravan guarding—her good mood had allowed her to stop seeing the newbie as a burden and more as what she was—a newbie. A newbie who had to be shown the ropes and taught what and what not to do like anyone else in the guild.

She still hated the fact it was her responsibility, but given time for her anger to cool that had faded somewhat to annoyance.

She actually felt a bit embarrassed by how she'd acted back in front of Ósma. Not that she'd ever admit that—no, she was burying that deep and dark and praying nobody ever brought it up again—but she could admit to herself she hadn't made the best of impressions on Palmira. Sure, the girl was brash and annoying and flipflopped between competence and incompetence on a dime, but that was true of everyone else in their guild! She shouldn't have held that so against her.

It was just… it was babysitting duty.

Chiara was made for greater things. She was a powerful mage and a prodigious fencer, even her blood could be traced back to the heroes of old! She should be out there slaying demons and saving lives!

Instead she was here. Buying souvenirs in a ruined city at the edge of the world where nobody would care who she was or what she could do. Because she was never allowed to do anything important. Because the only guild she was allowed to join was run by a damn busybody who thought seventeen was too young to go out adventuring.

Ósma was a damned softhearted fool who was wasting her talents on menial labor when she could be out there, making a name for herself. Forced to sit and watch as adventurers who'd been part of the guild half as long as her got twice the glory, while she was left in the dust to stagnate.

As the years passed her annoyance grew into anger, and now she tasted bile on her tongue every time she spent to long thinking on it. It felt too much like her childhood. Like sweeping marble floors and cleaning chamberpots while everyone else went around eating like kings and lounging in villas and learning the arts. Like being forced to take care of dozens of spoiled nephews and nieces who were all treated better than her, as if they weren't the third sons of third sons while her only crime was not being born to the right mother.

Chiara would be a great Hero of the modern age, spoken of in the same breath as Sinbad the Indomitable and Rosalina the Holy. She'd become so famous that her name would outstrip anything her family had even accomplished!

So famous that even father would—

She felt herself scowl, before forcing her face back to neutrality. She noticed she'd stopped walking, and people were giving her the stink-eye as they squeezed around her. Coughing, she led her horse and Palmira off to the side, leading them down into a tiny side-alley where they weren't in the way.

Maybe Palmira was right. Maybe it would be best to just sit down somewhere and do nothing for a few hours.

Glancing up at the other girl, she noticed that her conversation with her staff had gotten more heated, and despite herself she found herself curious.

"What are you two talking about back there?" she asked. The girl jerked sharply in surprise and had to grab onto the horse to keep from falling off.

Righting herself, Palmira gave her an embarrassed scowl. "Morte was just telling me about what the city was like back before it was destroyed. Apparently, it had a lot of brothels."

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Ah. She regretted asking.

--

Lorenzo

Lorenzo let out a sigh of relief on seeing the gated entrance of Riposa. The caravan had, thankfully, not been attacked by anything on the final stretch of their journey, but the fact that they'd lost two of their guards had made the whole thing far tenser than it needed to be.

After he'd gotten the messenger bird from Chiara about the monster they'd fought he'd been on high alert for hours. He'd informed the leaders of the caravan of the danger and had them clump up tightly to make it easier for him to protect while he took point. One of the few good things of being on an aqueduct was that enemies could only come from two directions and it was impossible to sneak up on them. That had been the only reason he hadn't forced them to stop right then and there and wait for the other two to return.

As it was, he'd spent the last leg of their journey oscillating between tense paranoia and fear and worry for the girls safety.

But now that they'd reached the end he could, finally, relax.

Waving on the caravan ahead of him, he turned and marched Bella off to the side, towards one of the few stables that remained in the city.

He marched the bear straight into one of the stables perched precariously on the edge of the aqueduct, settling her down next to some nervous looking horses and an even more nervous looking stablehand.

"Um, uh," the stablehand stuttered, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than here. "I don't think we can stable… uh… bears. I'm sorry but I'll have to asked you to go… elsewhere…"

Lorenzo smiled, grabbing the man's shoulder. "Ah, I would if I could!" he lamented dramatically. "But alas! The guards refuse to allow my dearest Bella into the city. But without the city, and without your fine stable here, I'd have nowhere to leave her while I go about my business. Why, I may even be forced to just let her roam free outside!"

"I… don't think you should do that…"

"Then we're in agreement!" he grinned, clapping him hard enough on the shoulder to nearly knock him over. "Neither of us want her to spend the night outside, so cold and alone! Why, she might even get sick! Have you ever ridden a sick bear, my friend? It's not for the faint of heart, I assure you."

"Um…"

"Ah, but where are my manners!" Lorenzo chuckled. He pinned the stablehand with a stare that made the man freeze on the spot, and yet his wide smile never dropped. "Three silver grossi for the night sounds reasonable, don't you think?"

"Ah… I…"

"Wonderful!" Lorenzo slapped the coins in the man's hand. "It's always so nice to meet such a reasonable person. Now, don't worry about feeding her—I'll come back and take care of that tonight—but do try and keep her away from the other horses until then, yes? Especially any that are injured. She does so love the smell of blood."

Clapping the terrified stablehand on the shoulder once more he left to go finish up his work with the rest of the caravan.

The caravan had made its way further upriver while he'd been stabling his bear. The makeshift barges made excellent temporary market stalls, and so the caravanners had set up a floating market all along the aqueduct, trading their wares with other people and merchants and pilgrims while their own pilgrims set out to find inns for the night. The caravan, he knew, would break up here. Half the merchants would continue on tomorrow to Vola under the protection of a different guild, while the other half would set up here in Riposa for the next month or two. The pilgrims would be finding their way down to Vola from here on their own, though it was likely they planned to continue as a group for safety in numbers.

But his job was, finally, done. He'd gotten the lead merchants to sign all the remaining paperwork (and forged some of it to make them look a little better than they otherwise might have been (Ósma didn't care because everyone did it)) and waved them off. One of the older merchants had stopped him on his way out and placed a silver grossi in his hand to give to Palmira as "thanks for listening to an old man ramble. Tell her to use it to buy some proper armor, ha-ha!" He'd thanked the man politely an assured him he'd get it to her.

And then it was time to find the girls.

It wasn't that hard. The city was built along a single road and he could always just ask people which way the big crystal horse went.

As such he found them within an hour, sitting on a terrace overlooking the ocean. Chiara was sipping at a cup of coffee while Palmira was chewing through some stale looking Schiaccia. They seemed to be arguing quietly about something. Resting a bit away from them was Chiara's crystal horse, who was surrounded by children giggling as they poked and played with the passive creature.

He felt his heart unclench as the sight. Thank the Goddess, but they were safe.

Chiara noticed him first, pausing in their argument to wave him over. Palmira lit up when she saw him (literally, as her hair caught on fire again) and smiled as he walked up to them.

"Lorenzo!" she greeted him. "You think prostitutes get to go to heaven, right?"

He stopped. He looked to Chiara. She grimaced and looked a bit embarrassed, but also invested in his answer.

He wondered if it was too late to leave and go find an inn.

"How are your legs doing?" he settled on, ignoring her previous question. "I heard you got in a fight and I was worried they may have gotten injured more."

Palmira frowned, but let him change the subject. "Yeah," she scowled down at them. "My right knee dislocated when I fell off the aqueduct, and I don't know what happened to my left ankle but it's agonizing whenever I put weight on it. …I can't really walk right now, actually."

Lorenzo hissed, glancing at Chiara. "She fell off the aqueduct!? Why didn't you protect her? And why didn't you tell me that sooner?"

"I'm not her babysitter!" "I don't need her to protect me!" Chiara and Palmira both snapped at him. The girls glanced at each other before looking away, annoyed.

Lorenzo raised his hands placating them. "Alright, I understand. I didn't mean to sound so judgmental. It's just… you two fought a hydra. On the pilgrim's road. Do you understand how terrified I was when I heard? And then I didn't hear anything else for hours and I…" he shook his head. "My apologies, you don't need this right now. Chiara, would you like to go find us an inn for the night? Or would you rather I do it?"

Chiara face softened at his words. Mulling over his question, she eventually shrugged. "I suppose I can do it. You could probably use the break anyway."

Palmira frowned, confused. "Wait. We're staying here for the night?"

Lorenzo gave her a look. "Of course we are! You can't walk! Besides, it's nearly sundown already. I'm not leaving town just to set up camp two miles down the road."

"We're staying the night," Chiara agreed as she got up, stretching. "I'm looking forward to sleeping on an actual bed tonight. Hey, Lorenzo, newbie, how many rooms, and how many nights? I don't want to stay here longer than I have to."

"Whatever option is cheapest," Palmira gave her a sour look. "I can't afford whatever fancy-pants resort you'll want to stay at. This restaurant's already blown through most of my coin."

"You didn't have to order anything, you know."

"I haven't eaten all day! Just because I can go without eating doesn't mean I like doing it!"

Lorenzo frowned. "One night will be fine," he told Chiara before another argument could break out. "It'll give Palmira enough time to heal a bit, and she can ride with one of us on the way back."

Chiara rolled her eyes at Palmira, strutting away from the table. "Very well. One night at the cheapest hole in the wall I can find, I understand."

Palmira scowled at the older girl's back. "She's going to rent the most expensive one she can find, isn't she?"

"Probably not," Lorenzo shook his head. "She's not as well off as she might like to pretend. She'll be reasonable."

Palmira gave him a look that clearly disagreed.

He let out a sigh. He dearly wished the two could get along better. "Ah," he blinked. "All this talk of money reminds me—one of the merchants left this for you."

He pulled a silver grossi out of his pocket, placing it gently in her hand.

Palmira stared at the coin with wide eyes, before turning up to look at him, shocked. "…What?"

"Mhm," he let a small, real smile appear at the sight. "It was an old man. He wanted to thank you for talking with him or something. Oh, and don't bother trying to return it—tips given out of the kindness of a person's heart should be treasured. It's the simplest 'thank you' most can give."

"Of course I'm not going to give it back!" Palmira snapped at him, quickly shoving the coin in her pocket. She blinked her eyes, rubbing them clear in a way she probably thought was subtle. "Do I look stupid to you? This is probably the only payment I'll be getting for weeks!"

Lorenzo simply smiled, happy for her.

--

Chiara, true to her word, did in fact find them the cheapest hole in the wall inn that she could. The place was more a collection of wooden boards barely clinging onto the side of the aqueduct, and the few patrons sitting around the bar looked at them like they were planning to mug them. Palmira looked shocked walking in, but Lorenzo just sighed and shook his head in exasperation.

Chiara had always been a spiteful woman.

As it was, they stayed the night there with relatively little fanfare (baring one enterprising thief who was now short a few fingers). Lorenzo made Palmira down another healing potion before ordering all the insects populating the sole lumpy mattress in the room to leave and find a different home.

Chiara had looked like she was regretting her choice of inn, but Palmira just shrugged and told him she tended to catch on fire when she slept and that any bug who tried to touch her would've been burned regardless.

Once they learned that they unanimously agreed she'd be sleeping on the stone floor.

And so the night passed, and they woke up in the morning. Not really refreshed, but certainly rested. Even Palmira was better, with her legs healed enough that she could stumble over to the chamberpot without their assistance.

Soon enough they left the sketchy inn and were back at the outskirts of the city, Chiara and Palmira saddled up on her crystal horse while Lorenzo grabbed Bella back from the watchful and terrified eyes of the stablehand.

It was as they were almost ready to leave that another man walked up to them.

"Hello there!" he smiled, raising a gloved hand. He was outfitted in the armor of a paladin, while a sword that reeked of holy energy rested at his side. As he got closer, a decorated eyepatch became visible on his face, almost hidden behind long, salt and pepper hair. "I couldn't help but notice the crests you bear! Would you three happen to be travelling to Firozzi?"

Lorenzo glanced down at his shoulder, where the upside-down tree of the Cadorna Famiglia sat beneath the golden rose of the Ambrosia Famiglia. "Aye, we are. Why do you ask?"

"Ah, my apologies," the paladin gave them a kind smile. "I have been sent by the Lady Pontiff herself to deal with a possible threat in the city, and I was wondering if you'd mind if I accompanied you on your way. It's always more enjoyable to travel in groups then alone, I'd say!"

Lorenzo hummed, glancing at the other two. Palmira was squinting at him like she recognized him but couldn't place where, while Chiara was staring at the man with what if he didn't know any better he might have called hero worship.

"I don't see a problem with that," he hummed slowly. The man was radiating far too much holy energy to be lying about being a paladin, a the very least. "But if you wouldn't mind giving us your name before we head off?"

"…Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, haven't I?" He stood straighter, and gave them a swift bow of respect. "My name is Sinbad, Paladin of the Holy See, and I hope you'd be willing to accommodate me."