Popilia wouldn’t have expected a villager on the outskirts of Chorus to be so shocked at the sight of a young dragon – few wild dragons ventured out here, that was for sure, but the dragon guard patrolled the skies regularly. Maybe that was exactly why this tall farmer was scared, though. Not of the dragon, but of the empire he saw behind it.
In any case, his fixed stare on Nazagin was making it difficult for Anshar to get through to him.
‘I won’t need it long,’ she said, trying to position her new form between the man and the dragon. ‘Just a few days, perhaps, then I’ll return it. Or I can just pay you enough for a new one, if you want.’
After a few seconds, the promise of a large sum of money made its way to the farmer’s brain and he turned, eyes widening. ‘You sure, missus?’ he said. ‘Only, that’s an awful lot.’
‘It’s all right, dear.’ Anshar gave him a crinkly smile and patted his arm. Laying it on a bit thick, Popilia thought. ‘We need the wagon and horse more than we need the money.’
‘Oh. Well then.’ He blinked at them like he thought every blink might wake him up from a dream, and his gaze kept sliding to Nazagin and back. ‘They’re both yours, then.’
Anshar handed over a bulging purse of coin that turned the farmer’s eyes into saucers, then turned to Popilia. ‘Climb in the back with your dragon now, girl, and I’ll mind the horse.’
The horse in question hadn’t stopped snorting and pawing the ground since it had caught sight of Nazagin. No doubt it would have run away if it hadn’t been hitched to the shafts of the covered wagon Anshar had spotted before their landing.
Popilia traipsed around the back of the wagon with Nazagin in tow. The farmer had been emptying when they arrived, and nothing remained beneath the stained cloth canopy beside a couple of benches built into the sides. She clambered in and took a seat as close to the front as she could get. Outside, through the open front of the canopy, Anshar stood soothing the horse. When she caught sight of Popilia, she gave her a nod.
‘Come on.’ Popilia gestured to Nazagin.
Nazagin nudged a sense of reluctance her way, but placed a tentative foot on the end of the wagon. It tilted and creaked as she put her full weight on it.
‘It won’t break.’ She could tell Nazagin saw right through her false confidence, but added, ‘You’ll be fine.’
With her neck and head hunched to avoid the roof, Nazagin jumped into the back of the wagon with a great thud, then dug her claws in at the front to keep herself from sliding backwards. The wagon stayed in one piece, though it felt a fraction lower than before.
Nazagin shuffled around in a circle until she could coil into a comfortable position, then lay with her head resting on the front step. Of all the things Popilia expected to sense in Nazagin’s mind in that moment, she hadn’t expected to find such a strong distaste for the horse. What had horses ever done to her?
On the tail of that thought, Nazagin sent a vague sense memory to Popilia: ropes around her mouth and limbs, being thrown up and down on the backside of a horse for hours on end, the rain pummelling down around her.
Ah, yes. There was that.
A moment later, Anshar appeared on the driver’s step and took up the reins. She raised an eyebrow at Nazagin’s nose on the step beside her and pushed it back with one hand.
‘We’ve already scared one farmer today,’ she said. ‘Keep yourself in there and close the covers, and we won’t scare any more. We don’t want to go drawing a crowd before we get to where we need, now, do we?’
With a grumble, Nazagin slid her head back inside and rested it on top of her wing, leaving Popilia to close the front and back flaps to hide them both. She left the front flap open a crack, just enough to keep track on the landscape outside but not let anyone else see in. Or so she hoped. She pulled back the broad hood she had been wearing and shook her hair out. The farmer had been too busy staring at Nazagin to notice the princess right in front of him. She made quite a good distraction.
Anshar chivvied the horse into a walk and, lurching, the wagon trundled forwards. Ominous creaking from the axle beneath them suggested it wasn’t happy with Nazagin’s weight. Outside, vast wheat fields took up most of the view beneath the cloudy sky, broken only by rough farm buildings when they turned towards the city.
Popilia had passed this way not too long ago, on her way to Nazagin’s hatching and the bonding ceremony. It felt like an age. The winter wheat stood a good deal taller now, readying itself for harvest. On the horizon, Chorus sat as an indistinct bar of white. She could just make out a blocky skyline if she squinted.
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‘How long until we get there?’ she asked.
Anshar replied without turning. ‘Midnight, by my guess. So it’s best if we sleep outside the city tonight and time our arrival for daytime. Everything appears more suspicious at night.’
Sighing, Popilia settled back against the edge of the wagon and fidgeted with the hem of her sleeves. Back in Kimah-Kur, the dragons were fighting for their lives. And here she was, just rattling across the countryside, doing nothing. All she really was was bait, but if being bait was what it took to help, then she wouldn’t have it any other way. She closed her eyes and tried to think of what she could look forwards to – fresh clothes, food made specifically for humans, the relieved look on her parents’ faces. Her imagination could barely grasp onto them, though. The thoughts slipped away like sand between her fingers, and her gut swirled with unease.
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Boredom and scattered conversation with Nazagin and Anshar occupied the rest of that day. By nightfall, they had come to the edge of a small patch of woodland a half hour’s ride from Chorus’ outskirts. There they ate and fell asleep with their gazes fixed on the lights flickering in each window, one by one being snuffed to darkness.
While they woke with the sunrise, they waited an infuriating hour or two so the timing of their arrival wouldn’t be too convenient. Then, humming under her breath, Anshar drove the wagon on and they bounced out onto the wide imperial road, into the city’s outskirts.
Chatter and bustle surrounded them within a few minutes. Popilia ached to leap outside for a clear view, but she restricted herself to the small gap in the front flap. After so long with only dragons for company, she hadn’t realised how much she missed humans – not for anything inherently superior in their company, just not to feel so out of place, or watched.
If she stepped out here, she certainly would be watched. Every now and then they passed a likeness of her, block printed onto fabric and pasted onto walls. While it wasn’t a great match for Popilia, it was too close for comfort. She wouldn’t even trust the deep hood of her borrowed cloak to ward against that.
Not once did she hear the dragon guard or see their shadows. She wished she knew exactly how many had been sent out, and by whom. Critobulus? Her parents? Logic told her one could not act without the permission of the other, although she was beginning to doubt which was which.
Half an hour saw them queueing for entry to the central city, and Popilia’s anxiety gnawed at her more and more with each yard they rolled towards the gate. The walls loomed closer and closer until they took up almost all of the view through the gap. When she spotted the first guard, she nudged the cloth shut again and waited in blindness. Only the periodic clatter of hooves and wheels on stone, and the weary rocking of the wagon, gave her any indication of their progress.
‘Next!’ a man’s voice called from up ahead. Again the wagon moved, and this time she could make out the guards’ footsteps.
The same voice came again. ‘State your business in Chorus today.’
‘I’m going to the palace,’ Anshar said.
‘You don’t look like much of a tourist. What are you transporting in there?’
‘I found some Imperial property that was stolen, so I thought I would return it. Take a look if you like, just don’t make a fuss.’
The guard said something to another one, but Popilia didn’t catch their words. The next thing she knew, the wagon lurched as someone climbed onto the driver’s step. They flung the cloth aside, letting bright light stream inside.
Popilia squinted, trying to resolve the details of the silhouette in front of her.
‘Princess Phoca?’ The guard’s eyes widened. He held out his hand to her. ‘Come with me. We’ll see you back to the palace.’
Thoughts raced in Popilia’s head. She needed to stay with Anshar, and Anshar needed to come with her to the palace. With no time to compare options, she just recoiled and gave the guard her best glower.
‘Touch me and I set the dragon on you,’ she said.
The guard snatched his hand away as if burned.
Still hidden by the canopy, Anshar laughed. ‘You wouldn’t be the first she’s set it on. I couldn’t get much out of the girl when I asked what happened, but I suspect her late kidnappers may have had help from inside the palace, if you catch my drift. I don’t think she trusts you lot an awful lot. I can take her to the palace myself, don’t you worry. But I can understand you not trusting me. I won’t argue at an escort, if you can spare one.’
Straightening a fraction, the guard tried to regain a semblance of professionalism. ‘Of course we can spare personnel for the princess’ safe return. Stay put. I’ll call them now.’ And he disappeared, letting the flap fall back down behind him.
Not wanting to stay cooped up inside – and not needing to know that her presence was known – Popillia ducked through the flap and joined Anshar on the driver’s step. Nazagin’s head followed a moment later, nudging past their elbows to rest between them.
Within a minute, rapid hoofbeats heralded the arrival of more soldiers. They passed through the gate in two lines and encircled the wagon in a heartbeat. Popilia tensed, but then they turned to face their direction of travel and the soldier at the front, his white horse patterned with red dye, gave them a friendly nod.
With a click of her tongue, Anshar set the horse moving again. It walked on, head raised, ears perked up now it had the company of other horses to bolster its spirits.
A shadow fell upon Popilia’s own spirits as they passed beneath the gate, and try as she might, she couldn’t lift it. If everything went back to how it had been before, when she returned home, then it wouldn’t be longer before she was carted off again. Then there would be no familiar face on the driver’s step and her journey would take her across a whole ocean into unknown lands. If they were the same unknown as Kimah-Hur, then she would be overjoyed. But they wouldn’t be. They would be the unknown of foreign tongues and attitudes, of cities ruled by strange men, of a life laid out for her with some man she didn’t know, but had heard enough of from Galnai to worry over.
She eyed the soldiers around her, like the bars of a newfound cage. Let Anshar succeed. Let the dragons be free. Then maybe enough will change that I will be, too.