Midnight on the Dragon Tower
The Border Crossing
Yolanthe lay awake long after midnight, listening to the sounds of the streets and wondering what fresh troubles awaited them the next day.
Luckily, it was almost noon when they left the inn in Farouk’s coach. The gracious nobleman appeared a littly greenish and Yolanthe surmised he has been carousing late with his mistress. Nevertheless, he wore traveling clothes of the finest wool and his mustache was waxed to perfection.
"Lady Roa! Miss Viola!" he greeted them in the inn’s common room. "I trust you slept well? Excellent! Please, allow me to assist you into the carriage."
The interior was upholstered in rich burgundy leather, soft as butter and worn to comfort. It also sported a small, fold-down table, retractable oil lamps with polished brass reflectors, and a small collection of bound books in a spring-loaded shelf.
"I've taken the liberty of having the inn’s cook prepare a traveling basket," he announced as he settled across from them. "Good food makes any trip more pleasant."
Hawa appeared to beam.
"My lord, I cannot thank you enough for your generosity.”
“I am the one to be grateful, my good lady. Besides, I am so glad to have a bit of charming company to enliven my journey. They are so fastidious!”
He poured deep red wine into ornate silver goblets.
The carriage lurched into motion and pulled out of the courtyard in a clatter of hooves. Its swaying was way more comfortable than all the previous vehicles Yolanthe had tried so far, and the seats, much softer. It didn’t feel like a moving torture instrument. She could actually enjoy the experience.
Hawa took a sip of her wine. “This goldenharvest is marvelous!”
Farouk nodded. “Yes, a vintage from seven years ago.”
“I believe your House has quite a few vinyards.”
“Yes, in the Dragon Valley and and Blue Hills. “
For the next minutes, Yolanthe learned more about winemaking than she ever cared to know. The wine hit her palate with a slap, bitter, rich and strong. She sipped slowly, to avoid getting drunk and saying the wrong thing. While she pretended to listen with respectful interest, she cast sidelong glances to the windows. The city streets rolled past. Every soft bump and jostle of the carriage was bringing them close to the border guards. She fought the urge to fidget.
Farouk was still droning on about his vintages. "Now, this one," he said, swirling his wine in his goblet, "has notes of blackberry and oak, with a hint of... what would you say, my dear?"
"It's... quite rich, my lord. And... complex." Hawa commented, shooting her a warning glance.
"Indeed, indeed!" he beamed. "The complexity comes from the soil, you see. The grapes grow on a south-facing slope in..."
Outside, the banter of the footmen sitting behind the carriage drifted through the windows, a counterpoint to his almost monologue.
"Oy, Garrash!" one called out. "Bet you a silver aspron I will sell this nice fox pelt for over two golden."
"Not bloody likely," another voice shot back. "I take the bet."
The coachman's gravelly voice joined in. "Both of you shut it. Last thing we need is some jumpy border guard overhearing your yammering and getting fined for smuggling."
Their voices dropped lower. These men were smuggling pelts. Not uncommon since their sale has become the monopoly of a few Triskelian nobles. Yolanthe's heart picked up its pace, thundering in her chest like a war drum.
She kept trying to appear casually interested in the passing scenery. The carriage was veering away from the main avenue, its wheels crunching on the gravel of a smaller road. Ahead, loomed the massive stone bridge. On the other side, lay Triskelian and more troubles, provide they managed to get there.
“…so, I am eager to reach Samarzal before the wine auction, of course.” concluded Farouk.
“How is the capital currently?” asked Hawa.
“Well, as usual, I expect. Full of wonderful surprises.”
Their vehicle slowed and joined the small queue leading to the bridge. Yolanthe caught a glimpse of an arch, fifty paces ahead and the green uniforms of the Triskelian border guards. She forced herself to focus on the conversation.
Her mentor was now studying her drink, the picture of embarrassment. “Actually, I was hoping for some advice, Lord Farouk, if this is not too presumptuous…” her fingers tightened slightly on her gobelet. “As I mentioned, I am but a widow, fallen on hard times. After visiting my sister, I hope to journey to the capital to stay with a cousin and, if fortune smiles upon us, perhaps find a suitable match for my dear daughter." She nervously straightened her skirt.
The nobleman chuckled warmly. "Ah, you will not be alone in that pursuit, my good lady! It seems every noble family with a daughter of marriageable age will descend upon the capital."
Hawa raised her brows.
He leaned in. "It's all because of the crown prince coming of age. The Emperor has summoned all the young nobles to come and swear allegiance to him, you see. A ceremony not seen in years. So, plenty of young men in town. Quite the opportunity for ambitious families."
Outside, the coachman's gruff voice cut through the air like a whip crack. "Hya! Get on, you lazy nags!" The wheels groaned. The vehicle rolled over a bump, then swung left and began to ascend the steep ramp to the bridge. Yolanthe's dress felt suddenly too tight and sweat trickled down her back beneath the layers of fabric.
"Indeed?" Hawa replied. Her tone was one of mild disappointment. "How fascinating. I confess, we have been quite isolated in our country estate. News travels slowly to us. It is a grand ceremony with many balls and celebrations, I believe."
Farouk nodded, taking a large gulp of wine before continuing. "Indeed, indeed. As it happens, I have a distant niece who has been chosen as one of the prince's Worthy Maidens for the occasion." He puffed up with pride. "The whole family's got high hopes she will catch his interest."
The carriage neared the bridge and slowed, each groan of the wheels feeling like the tick of a clock to Yolanthe. She could count the buttons on the guards' uniforms now, could see the suspicion etched into their weather-beaten faces. Her throat constricted, and she nearly choked on her wine, but managed to turn it into a delicate cough at the last moment. Hawa shot her a warning glance before turning back to their host with a smile. "How wonderful for your family. Your niece must be most accomplished to have been chosen for such an honor."
Farouk’s expression turned slightly sheepish. "Well, truth be told, she will need quite a bit of tutoring. Prince Imran, from what I hear, is rather shy and bookish. Our dear girl, bless her heart, is more of a... how shall I put it... a chatterbox."
He laughed heartily at his own description and Hawa joined in with a polite chuckle. Yolanthe forced a smile.
The carriage slowed to a crawl.
“Yes,” he puffed. “Her father is the chancellor, after all.
“Oh! Lord Baskar himself?”
“Indeed.”
“Then, this must be the perfect match.”
“Perfect is the word.”
Outside, two guards approached the carriage.
"Oy, Jemah!" one guard called out to the coachman, in Triskelian. "Still carting around like a glorified pack mule?"
"Better than standing around all day pretending to be important, Marz,” he scoffed. “How's that working out for you?"
"Watch your tongue, old man, or I'll—"
"You'll what? Bore me to death with another inspection? I've got Lord Farouk himself in here, and he's not known for his patience."
A second guard, younger and more nervous, piped up. "We should probably let them through quick, Marz. Remember what happened last time we delayed a noble too long?"
The first guard grumbled something under his breath. "Fine, fine. But next time, Jemah, I'm turning this fancy cart of yours inside out, you hear?"
"Looking forward to it," the coachman replied with a chuckle. He cracked his whip, and the carriage sped up.
Inside, oblivious to the exchange, Lord Farouk was carrying on with his boasting.
"Yes," he puffed. "Our family is quite well settled."
The carriage entered the bridge, leaving the guards behind.
Yolanthe felt herself melting in relief. They had done it.
Hawa leaned forward, her face carefully crafted into a mask of maternal concern. "Good sir," she began, her voice pitched low as if sharing a confidence, "might you enlighten us on the current... balance at court?" She paused, feigning hesitation. "I don’t want to marry my daughter into a family falling out of favor by ignorance. As I said, I know very little of what has been happening in the capital."
“Ah, my lady, the court’s balance change every day. Worse. It might change every hour.” Farouk smirked. “Myself, I do not know if the court is as I left it.”
