It was still early spring, and from her carriage window she had been able to watch the farmers at work, tilling the ebony soil in strict, even rows. The ones who were blessed by Eyvindr, God of the Harvest, had performed the rituals that would sink green magic into the earth and ensure a good harvest. Meanwhile, shepherds and milkmaids drove their animals to grassy green fields, stopping at shrines to Cyne to mutter prayers or leave small offerings or simply run their hands across the stones.
In Ieflaria, and indeed on the entire continent of Ioshora, Cyne was the Eleventh. The Eleventh was the god that served as a tiebreaker to the Ten, the most powerful gods in Asterium. The Ten were the same all the world over (or at least, all the parts of the world Esofi had read about), but the Eleventh differed across regions.
Back home in Rhodia, the Eleventh had been Nara, Goddess of the Sky. But here, with farmlands taking up so much of the geography, she could understand how Cyne, the God of Animals and son of Eyvindr, had become more powerful.
Overlooking the farms were always a few soldiers or, if the town was particularly fortunate, paladins from the Order of the Sun. Their attention would be not on the land but the skies above, ready to sound the alarm at the first sound of heavy wingbeats. Their presence was a grim reminder of the constant danger that hovered overhead.
Esofi’s understanding of the dragon situation was thus: At the height of its power, nearly a millennium ago, the Xytan Empire had driven every last dragon from the continent. The dragons had retreated to a small cluster of unclaimed islands that lay between the northeastern coast of modern-day Ieflaria and the southeastern coast of Veravin. From that day forward, they only occasionally troubled the lands of Men.
But centuries passed, and the Xytan Empire began to crumble. One by one, its outermost territories rallied their own armies and declared independence. Ieflaria’s own independence was a relatively bloodless transition, as most of the Xytan soldiers were well aware they were outmatched and chose to retreat home.
Under the new regime, the dragon attacks remained infrequent enough to be regarded nearer to legends than threats. Things had only started to change in the last few decades, when the strikes had grown in frequency.
Esofi had not realized anything was truly amiss until one day, about five years past, when Albion wrote to her that the dragons were no longer coming to Ieflaria simply to steal cattle. They had started burning towns and attacking soldiers all along the coastline. Esofi wrote back that she was sure the Ieflarian military could handle the problem, and suggested a hope that the attacks would die down once the dragons learned that venturing into Ieflaria would end badly.
But it seemed that things had only become worse in the interim years.
Esofi had met refugees during her journey to the capital. They were mostly from small coastal holdings, fishing towns that had been destroyed in a matter of moments. The refugees had traveled inland, seeking the protection of their lords. But these Ieflarians were unaccustomed to farm life and frequently expressed their desire to return to the seaside as soon as possible. Unfortunately for them, the nobility was refusing to rebuild until the danger had been dealt with.
Esofi could see both sides of the issue. There was no sense in expending the resources to rebuild a town only to see it destroyed again. But crowding refugees into small farming communities or minor southern cities was not a viable long-term solution either.
Despite their misfortunes, it did not seem that the Ieflarian people were using the death of the crown prince or the threat of dragon attacks as an excuse to forsake their work. They had been working in the fields or caring for their animals as Esofi’s carriage passed by along her journey. Sometimes, they had raised their heads, their mild curiosity turning to fevered excitement when they caught a glimpse of blonde curls instead of ebony braids.
Esofi had been afraid that the people of Ieflaria would have no interest in her, the foreign bride rendered useless by the loss of her groom. But they still turned out to line the streets whenever she passed through, even in the smallest farming communities. Children had given her messy bouquets of wildflowers and called her Solviga, the Ieflarian name that sounded closest to her own. Old grandparents had clasped her hands (something shockingly disrespectful in Rhodia, but apparently as common as rain in Ieflaria) and prayed with her.
“She’s so beautiful. They’ll find someone to marry her in no time,” the Ieflarians had proclaimed to one another when they knew Esofi was in earshot. “No need for her to turn around and go back home—that would be a tragedy, would it not?”
Their motives had been transparent but no less heartwarming.
The outer door opened, returning Esofi to the present. She set down her embroidery as Lisette slipped inside like a cat or perhaps the shadow of a cat. When she saw Esofi sitting there, she froze momentarily.
“Lady Lisette,” greeted Esofi in a neutral tone. “I trust you are well.”
Lisette said nothing. She never seemed to know exactly how to reply to pleasantries.
“Have you anything to report?” asked Esofi.
“Only gossip and speculation,” said Lisette in that dry voice of hers. She crossed her arms. “But if you are truly able to handle the dragons, I think they will have little reason to complain.”
“You know perfectly well that I can,” said Esofi, focusing on her embroidery. “What else have they been saying?”
“There is also the question of heirs,” said Lisette. “The Ieflarians worry that neither of you will be able to hold a Change long enough to produce one.”
“Mm,” said Esofi. “Well, we shall handle that situation when it arises. And what do they say of the Crown Princess Adale?”
“It would seem Her Highness is ill-suited to be her parents’ heir or anyone’s betrothed.” Lisette’s eyes narrowed. “She spends her days hunting, riding, or drinking, disrespects the gods, and takes no interest in state matters.”
Esofi pressed her lips together.
“But,” added Lisette with a touch of reluctance in her voice, “it seems the castle staff is genuinely fond of her. Several servants tried to convince me that she is of good character.”
“Has she said anything of me?” asked Esofi.
“A servant was sent to her with the news yesterday,” explained Lisette. “But he says she may have been too drunk to understand the message.”
Esofi found herself wondering which purse her prayer beads were in. “Very well. Thank you for your service.”
Lisette disappeared into the ladies’ suite, and Esofi went on embroidering, admiring the way her hands did not tremble.
Next to arrive was Captain Henris. He was dressed in his familiar formal battlemage attire, and Esofi called for Mireille and Lexandrie to attend her for the meeting.
“The Ieflarian military is requesting we station our battlemages at every port, city, and town,” he reported. “And they are eager to ship them out as quickly as possible.”
Beside her, Lexandrie clicked her teeth together in agitation, and Esofi knew why. Ieflaria was a large country, and the plan struck her as overly ambitious. “We haven’t enough mages for that. They would be spread too thinly.”
“I fear the same,” said Captain Henris. “The Ieflarians are overly excited at the prospect of easier victories against the dragons. I have explained to them that sending only one mage will do little good in most circumstances, but I feel they do not believe me. These Ieflarians are so unfamiliar with Talcia’s magic, they earnestly believe a single ordinary battlemage can take down a dragon.”
“If we order only a single battlemage to defend an entire holding, we are sentencing them to death the moment a dragon arrives,” said Esofi. “I will not throw away their lives like that. But I will speak to Her Majesty today, and perhaps I can persuade her.”
Captain Henris nodded. “I trust that you can. And will you tell her your plans for the university?”
“Yes,” said Esofi. “And more of those battlemages will be needed here to teach what I cannot. Their Majesties’ generals will not like it, but hopefully, they will come to see that a slower solution will protect us for generations to come.”