Page 6 of Kingdom of Shadows and Wings

My heart sinks. Now that I’m venturing outside of my insulated bubble, the gravity of the situation Royce described hits me. Mother and her friends talked about our crop failures in Aclaris, but the excess food gracing the castle’s tables during her parties certainly gives no indication that production is dire.

I hope the land stretching along this road isn’t indicative of the state of the rest of Aclaris. If so, our kingdom appears to be in a lot of trouble. No wonder the families in our village struggle more these days. Dead crops mean inflated prices, and the poorest among us have no extra resources to spare.

I wonder if King Xenon understands how much these changes in crop production impact Aclaris’s less fortunate citizens or if his luxurious palace in the capital city insulates him from such pedestrian concerns.

A moment later, I chide myself. Our king must juggle so many responsibilities and urgent needs, a difficult task made even more challenging by the unrest between Aclaris, Tirene, and Kamor. Ridiculous of me to assume he doesn’t care about the hungry simply because assistance hasn’t reached our village yet.

All told, King Xenon is a million times more caring than whatever poses as royalty in Tirene. A kingdom that sanctions unprovoked attacks on civilians and children—like the one that stole my father from me—is a kingdom that deserves to die out.

My mother never told me or anyone else that I was riding with him on that fateful day. The only reason I know the truth is because I discovered her in her bedchamber on his birthday when I was around ten years old. She was clinging to his jacket and talking to his ghost about how she almost lost me too that day, but the gods decided to give her another chance.

The carriage slows to a stop. Weird, since it’s too soon for us to have reached Flighthaven.

Someone raps on the door. “Come in.”

Otis, one of the two guards Mother insisted accompany me, opens the door and ducks inside. “Pardon me, milady, but the driver says we’re nearing the last town before Flighthaven and it’s best you pull your shades down.”

I frown. With all the shades down, the carriage interior reminds me of a tomb. “Is there a reason the driver suggested this?”

Otis settles into the seat opposite me. “He also recommended I ride with you. Claims there are hard people in town and thinks it’s better if you don’t see ’em.”

The reply makes me bristle. Better because I’m of noble birth, which means I have delicate sensibilities? Or better formein particular?

I know what people think. Poor, sheltered Lark. She’s much too weak to survive the sight of impoverished people. Keep them hidden from view, and they’ll cease to exist.

Gross. While part of me can appreciate the undoubtedly earnest attempt to protect me, my mother’s coddled me enough to last an entire lifetime.

“By hard, does he mean poor?”

Otis clears his throat and fidgets with a loose thread on his tunic. “I’m sure I couldn’t say.”

I snort. Funny. I never knew Otis could be so tactful. “Well, whatever he meant, I feel confident that I won’t fall to pieces or faint either way.”

Otis nods. “As you wish.”

The window shades remain up as the carriage resumes rolling. The pace is much slower due to the growing congestion in town, allowing me to drink in the worn buildings and rows of small, ramshackle homes constructed from flimsy wood. Passing the residences, we enter a large marketplace. Cramped stalls stretch as far as the eye can see, and hawkers shout their wares to the threadbare shoppers milling about, boasting of everything from delicious sweetbreads and fine leather gloves to weaponry and hats. The aroma of roasting meat mingles with the stench of rotting garbage. I wrinkle my nose, but the people in the marketplace appear immune. Many of their cheeks are sunken and gaunt, their clothing torn and mended.

This, when the women who attend Mother’s parties drip with jewels…each gem precious enough to buy everyone here clothing for years.

I make a mental note to talk to Royce about donating clothing upon my return. In the meantime, barring emergencies, the food stores already gathered and the coin I handed Luke before leaving should be enough to provide for the needy.

“Hey, you!” A bellow from outside the carriage rips me from my internal planning. “Come back here!”

Startled by the shout, I lean out the window.

A small, thin boy dressed in ragged, homespun clothes bolts from between the stalls, a plucked chicken in his hand. He races toward the carriage.

“Hey, stop!” The yelling comes from a burly, red-faced man wearing a blood-stained apron. Wielding a meat cleaver, he chases after the boy. “Thief!”

Without even considering my actions, I wrench open the door and leap out.

“Milady!”

Otis’s curse trails after me, but I don’t pause to wait. If he catches me, he’ll kindly but firmly guide me back to the carriage. And given how quickly the boy’s legs pump and the fear etched on his small face, him getting caught could result in something dire.

I hurry toward the boy rushing in my direction. He sneaks another glance over his shoulder and plows right into me.

“Oof.” With my breath knocked out and pain shooting from my stomach to my throat, I can’t say much else.

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