The 34th of Lumord, 1251

The City-state of Vielrona

As foreign as Vielrona’s people and streets were to Alea, the sounds were the same. Migrating birds looked like tattered black lace over the overcast sky. Right, Arman said it was autumn soon. She was not certain what that meant outside of the most abstract sense. Desert seasons were just the two, though this close to the mountains they occasionally saw frost on winter nights.

Rough wood walls and the single slice of sky were comforting, but she was restless. She rose shakily, finding a sun-warmed basin and pitcher by the wardrobe. Sickness and sweat washed from her body with the water. Weakness dragged on her arms when she braided her hair, but she was cleansed from sweating illness and terror from her body. Both echoed still, but softly.

In a chest at the foot of her bed was a dress in an alarming shade of saffron and a plain black scarf. Breeches were an added layer under the shapeless dress, almost echoing her yelek and tsalvar. Though shorter than the jahi she usually wore, the scarf was enough to protect from the sun.

Not that there’s much in the way of sunburning here.

Clinking dishes and low conversation emanated from downstairs. One narrow hand gripped the banister as she descended, steps shaky. Sunamen architecture was delicate, designed to take advantage of any breeze. This inn was sturdy and plain. Arman sat at the bar in the rear of the common room. One foot tapped against the foot-rail, the other hooked around the leg of his stool. He hummed absently as he peeled potatoes.

Words clogged in her throat and, without the swathing layers of clothes, she felt exposed. “Good morning.” Nerves pinched her voice into shrillness.

Arman glanced up and waved with one of the potatoes. Distraction shadowed his eyes. “Afternoon, actually.”

Kepra emerged from the kitchen, a smile blooming. “My dear, I am glad to see you about.”

“Walking’s easier than I thought. Will things be busy tonight?” She dreaded a crowd.

“Not for another two hours probably. Farmers' and guards come most often, and they aren't free until evening-fall. Want to sit?”

I want to go home. Alea edged over and took a seat two stools away from Arman.

Kepra slid a steaming mug over to her. “This ought to steady you.”

Alea watched the swirling tea for a moment. It smelled of earth and rain. “Thank you—” her voice rasped. She remembered another voice, another mug of tea, the soft hand of her foster father on her brow. Grief was a sandstorm abrading her mind. She tried again, “Thank you for the tea. And your care.”

“Ma's the best midwife in the Lows. Even if her draughts taste like cow's piss and pond muck.”

The memory of a smile tugged at Alea’s mouth. The description was accurate, and it sounded like something one of her foster-brothers would say.

“Arman!” Kepra flicked her dishtowel at her son. “Neither of you’ve died, and you’d do well to remember your manners.” She removed the forgotten potato from his hands. “Get our guest some food, why don’t you. I doubt she came down for the company.”

While Arman did his mother's bidding, Alea surveyed the common room, noting the mixture of local wood and Sunamen sandstone. “Your people traded with us often. I remember the markets had your wood, your wool.”

“Vielrona would be much poorer without trade,” Kepra answered. “She's a convenient place to stop between Berr, Athrolan and Sunam. Speaking of, the Guild announced refugees are welcome to stay if they take up work. Something for you to think about.”

Alea caught the underlying meaning. If I stay in Vielrona I’ll earn my keep. Allies or not, the city-state risked herself by harboring the survivors. “I’ll think on it.” She had nowhere else to go, but the idea of making a life anywhere was distant and uncomfortable.

Arman added a plate of chicken and greens to the bar top before her, but waited until she was finished before breaking the silence. “If you wish for fresh air I’d be happy to show you the city. Or, there’s a porch upstairs. I could show you landmarks from there.”

Alea fiddled with her fork. She did not care about the city, though surely it was interesting. “I think I’ll keep to myself if it's all the same to you.” When his expression flickered from curiosity to frustration, a tinge of guilt colored her apathy. “I’m just adjusting. Thank you for the food, both of you, I’ll not keep you from work.” She beat as quick a retreat as her trembling legs allowed.

“Milady ir Suna,” Arman caught up to her at the top of the stairs. “I know you suffered—I can’t imagine how, but you have nightmares. Distract yourself, come see the sights. You ought to put the attack behind you.”

Honestly, “milady?” The smile on his face did not quell the bitterness in her throat. “Suffered? Nightmares?” Anger sharpened her words, but she managed to keep her voice low. “You think I’m glad I survived? I have no history, no family. My only hope at a future is reduced to memories and sand-weathered bones!” Fatigue and fury darkened her vision. I’m exhausted. “Until you understand that, Master Wardyn, keep words like 'ought' and 'should' to yourself!” She slammed her door shut behind her.

Emotions she had ignored raged, released by her angry words. Her weakened legs failed, and she caught herself on the edge of her bed. She crawled to the chamber pot, heaving until nothing remained in her writhing stomach. Please don’t let him hear this. In Sunam discussing one's emotions was common, but showing them was not. It was something only young children did, who knew no better. What does it matter? Ihal or Ahren aren’t here to see. I’m not Sunamen, not truly. Fear welled, and she choked on the sobs exploding from her gut. Memories tumbled through her mind, each ending in blood-soaked sand and clouded eyes. She did not know how long she stayed curled on the floor, trembling and weeping.

Isolation was familiar. Not in the usual sense—she had friends in Cehn. Few were close, but Alea never minded. Life was an engaging play she watched, separated from her by an invisible wall.

Now the bubble surrounding her burst and she was raw from the strange wind buffeting her mind. It did not matter others had no such barriers. That wall protected her, and she would rebuild it. Perhaps it protected the world from her.

Muscles cramped when she finally pushed herself upright. She could not bring herself to get back into bed. For better or worse, she had survived. There was little sense or probability in spending the rest of her life in bed. I need air. She hated closed spaces. Remembering Arman's offer, she stepped quietly into the hall. It was deserted, but voices drifted from the common room below. The aforementioned patrons. At the opposite end of the hall from the main staircase was a narrow door. Finding it unlocked, Alea opened it to see narrow stairs winding up to the smaller third floor.

A door to her left bore a child's scratched letters. Arman's room. Another door opened onto a porch. It was barely more than a ledge but looked out over the front of the inn. Alea folded her arms on the open rail and tilted her face up to the sun. Warmth eased across her skin, heated the black scarf on her head and crept up her arms. Cradled in the northern foothills of the mountains, Vielrona was smaller than Cehn. Most of the surrounding buildings were two-storied, the lower half built from thick beams or stone and the upper with plaster. Rooftops sported moss and most houses had kitchen gardens. Plowed fields lay beyond, bordered with a low stone wall. A river wound through the city. Across a bridge sat larger houses built of stone and official looking buildings. Alea supposed she was in what Arman called the Lows.

Awareness bloomed on the back of her neck and she turned.

Arman leaned on the porch’s doorway. “It's a nice place to think.”

“I like to be someplace high when I have too many thoughts. It makes them seem smaller.” She picked at the weathered wood of the rail. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“No need. I spoke thoughtlessly. I’ve seen my share of violence, but it was long ago.” He gestured to a wooden chair, the cushion of which he hastily beat clean. “We've lived here since I can remember. I can't imagine what you see, looking at it with new eyes.”

Alea sat and looked out at the city again. “It’s greener than I’m used to. And cold.” She frowned. “You’re not part of Athrolan, though, correct?” The vast kingdom was something of an enigma to Alea. Sunam occasionally received news, fashion, and metals from its northern neighbor, but nothing as formal as an alliance.

“No. We are not a part of Athrolan, Berr, or Sunam. Vielrona started as a guard city for a nearby Laen citadel. Most just consider us outlaws now. We’ve a lot of fine craftsmen here, though, and make decent trade.”

“What is your work? Do you inn-keep with your mother?”

“I design and sell blades. My father was a bladesmith and when he passed, my friend Wes took the clients. He does the actual forging, but has little skill for business or art.” He faltered as if choosing his next question carefully from a jumble of words. “Did you study in Sunam?”

She frowned. “Ihal was very strict about our studies. He wanted each of us to learn as much about the world as we could. I enjoyed economics and learning about plants and trees—we had so few in the desert.”

“What of history? That was always my favorite.”

“Not mine. Ihal said we must learn the past, however, so we would not make the same mistakes.”

“Is that why he sheltered the Laen?”

Alea's breath hitched. How could he know about the Laen? Her foster-father did everything in his power to hide the truth about the strange guests who arrived three days before the attack. She knew from the beginning that the attempt was pointless. And we were repaid our kindness with death. “Maybe. He had news for them, something about their first visit years ago. I was too young to remember their first visit. I don’t know how anyone could keep that kind of power secret for long.” She glanced over. “Sunam’s divided in its opinions of the Laen. But Vielrona a sympathizer, since you used to guard them?”

It was Arman's turned to frown. “I would like to think so.”

Grief and awe both tinged Alea’s view of the Laen. On the grand scale, she wanted them to succeed, but they were also the reason her family was dead. Mirikin blades opened Ahren, not Laen smoke. “How did you know about the Laen in Cehn?”

Arman glanced at her, his brows raised. “They brought you here. They loaded the survivors onto horses and wagons—the one with the instrument carried you on her back for half the trek.”

Nerves thundered through her and she glanced up the street, half expecting silver footprints to lead down the cobblestones. “They aren’t still here?”

“They stayed long enough to rest a few hours and restock, before continuing north.” Arman’s expression was pinched as if something clawed at his stomach.

“It does not matter if they only stayed long enough to use your privy.” Alea rubbed the strong bridge of her nose. “The Mirikin will know. They knew which wing the Laen used. It was the oldest part of the building, designed to be a stronghold. We used it for the children.”

Arman winced. “They attacked there first.”

“And yet the Laen survived.” Alea tried to keep the frustration out of her voice, but fell far short. She looked away. “I’m sorry. I’m not opposed to the Laen, Ihal saw to that. But they protected themselves, as my family was cut down around them.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I can’t speak about—” Her voice tripped into a shaking breath and she rose. “Perhaps when I'm ready you could show me the city?”

“Of course. Can I do anything to help?”

“Just….” She squeezed her eyes closed and turned away. “I wish they left me for the vultures.”