Outside, a few people had stopped to watch. The whole village liked to pretend they didn't care about me, but a golden carriage sitting at the edge of the road drew more attention than anything else ever could.
I spotted old Mrs. Hara, her apron dusted with flour, whispering to her daughter; two boys who used to steal fruit from the same market as I did, staring with their mouths hanging open; even old Norem, who never left the stool in front of the tavern, had dragged himself up, wobbling, to get a look.
Everyone watched, yet none of them dared come closer, ask what had happened, or offer help. Of course not, getting their names tangled with mine had never brought anyone luck. May all of them be damned; may their crops burn and their names be dragged through the mud.
The messenger saw me approaching and opened the carriage door, making a gesture far too courteous for someone who had just threatened my life by mentioning law 502, or whatever it was.
"Ready, Lady Ashael?" he asked, extending his hand toward me.
"No," I replied. "But do I have a choice?"
I saw the corner of his mouth twitch before I accepted his help and stepped inside. The interior was even more excessive than the outside, embroidered cushions, heavy velvet curtains, tiny touches of gold in the most useless places. I sat on the edge of the seat, back straight, hands gripping the strap of my bag until my fingers hurt.
The carriage shifted as the messenger climbed in and settled across from me. He knocked on the side, and soon the creaking of the wheels began, mingling with the horses' hooves and the fading murmurs of the village.
Through the narrow window, I watched the dirt path, one I had walked countless times, grow smaller with each passing step. The gardens, the thatched roofs, the smoke from the hearths. My whole life shrinking into a blur.
"I thought they had forgotten I existed," I muttered, more to myself than to him. "What could possibly be so important that they'd call a bastard back?"
Yes, I was born a bastard. And to make things worse, I was the King's child, Corvin Aramyra's. Not that anyone recognized me as his daughter, of course. If my name meant anything, I wouldn't have lived the miserable life I had for so many years. My mother, Nalyra Kalevra, had been far too young, far too beautiful, and far too poor. A disposable piece among dozens the palace collected to satisfy the king's royal whims.
When she became pregnant, her life, and mine, became an inconvenience to the many other concubines who hoped to become queen, with their sons as the next heir. By luck, or perhaps misfortune, I'm still figuring that out, rumor spread that I would be born a girl. Her life was spared, and she was forgotten among the many others.
Maybe if I had been born a boy, I wouldn't have suffered so much. I might have been killed in childhood, or, with a bit more luck, placed in the line of succession… but that doesn't matter now. My worries and fears never matter...
***
To my misfortune, I arrived in the capital yesterday. They quickly placed me in this guest lodging and left me to fend for myself. I did nothing all day except sleep, eat, and bathe, something I could never truly do in that tiny village, at least not if I wanted to save enough coins to survive. A single day without work there was practically a death sentence.
I was sitting on the windowsill, overlooking a stunning view of the city below. It was almost nostalgic; it felt as though nothing had changed. But what seemed like a peaceful afternoon was completely shattered when I heard my bedroom door swing open with a harsh thud. I stood up so fast I nearly dropped the tray of sweets I had in my hands.
Startled, I looked toward the doorway and saw Mira, my former maid and nanny, enter with her face drained of all color. She looked older than I remembered, new lines etched around her eyes and mouth, strands of gray woven into her dark hair pulled back in a tight braid, and the same work-roughened hands clasped nervously in front of her apron.
"Mira…? What happened?" I asked, setting the tray on the desk and stepping toward her. "Why are you here?"
"Asha… they… they're going to send you away," she whispered, locking the door from the inside.
"What are you talking about?"
Wasn't that good? Whatever the hell they brought me here for, if they were sending me away, it meant they didn't need me anymore. I could return to my small hut and my simple life, though after all that fuss, maybe it would be smarter to move somewhere else.
"No, no! Asha, you have to run! Run now!" she cried, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the window. "We don't have time, jump!"
I stared at her in silence for a few seconds before turning my head toward the long drop below. She wanted me to jump? From the third floor? What in the world was this woman thinking? Had she finally lost her mind after all those years working for snobbish nobles?
"Mira, have you lost your mind?" I hissed, pulling myself away from the window. "I wouldn't even survive half that fall!"
"It's better to break your legs than die to some monster, or something worse!" Mira gripped my shoulders so tightly her wide eyes looked ready to pop out of her face. "They're going to hand you over to those barbarians, Asha!"
"Mira… hey. Breathe, calm down. What are you talking about? Which barbarians?"
She sucked in a sharp breath, shaking her head so fast her braid whipped against her back.
"The barbarians of the South… Saqar, Asha. The men from Saqar!"
I felt her grip tighten again, her tears running down her face and dripping onto my shoulder where she'd buried her head. I knew instantly it wasn't a lie.
Barbarians… I knew exactly what she meant.
Or rather, who.