Page 7 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
Behind me, I could hear the low lowing of cattle being led back to pasture, accompanied by the cheerful chatter of Kira and her younger brother Jem. The children had been fascinated by my presence since the day I'd first managed to stay upright for more than a few minutes. A human who wasn't trying to kill them was apparently noteworthy enough to warrant constant observation and a steady stream of questions about life in the Imperial city.
"Septimus!" Kira's voice called out, followed by the sound of running feet. "Wait up!"
I turned to see the girl jogging toward me, her long white hair braided with small flowers in the Talfen tradition. At twelve, she was all knees and elbows, growing too fast for her body to keep up. Her pointed ears and golden eyes marked her as full-blooded Talfen, but her curiosity about the outside world was purely human in its intensity.
"Where are you taking that?" she asked, falling into step beside me.
"To Meren's house. Her youngest has been sick, and she needs the milk for strengthening broth." I glanced down at her. "Shouldn't you be helping your mother with the washing?"
Kira wrinkled her nose. "Mother said I could have a break if I helped with the milking. Besides, Jem can handle the washing. He's better at it than me anyway."
That was probably true. I'd learned over the past weeks that Talfen children were encouraged to find their natural talents rather than being forced into rigid gender roles. Jem had a gift for domestic tasks and an eye for cleanliness that would have been mocked in Imperial society but was celebrated here. Kira, meanwhile, showed promise as a tracker and hunter, skills that would serve the village well.
"Tell me about the city again," Kira said as we walked. "About the tall buildings and the dragon academy."
I'd told her these stories dozens of times, but she never seemed to tire of them. I smiled down at her.
"The Academy sits on a hill overlooking the harbour," I began, falling back into the familiar rhythm of the tale. "The training grounds are carved into terraces, each one designed for different types of combat..."
As I spoke, I found myself editing the story, leaving out the cruelties and prejudices that had shaped my experience there. Why poison her dreams with the reality of Imperial hatred? Let her imagine a world where Talfen could walk freely amonghumans, where her pointed ears and unusual eye colour would be curiosities rather than death sentences.
We reached Meren's house—a modest stone cottage with a garden that would have impressed even Octavia with its organization and abundance. Meren herself answered my knock, a tired smile creasing her weathered face.
"Septimus, you're a blessing," she said, accepting the bucket gratefully. "How is Tarshi today?"
"Grumpy," I replied, which earned a laugh from both women. "He's convinced he should be up and about by now."
"Men make terrible patients," Meren observed. "My husband was the same way when he broke his leg last winter. Kept trying to hobble out to check the snares, convinced we'd all starve without his supervision."
"Speaking of which, where is Jorin?" I asked. “I said I’d go hunting with him in the next day or two.” I'd met Meren's husband only briefly—he was one of the village's primary hunters and spent most of his time in the deeper woods, and he rarely cracked a smile, but he was a good man.
Meren's expression grew more serious. "He left before sunrise. He's been ranging farther lately, checking the southern approaches. There have been... signs."
I felt my stomach tighten. "What kind of signs?"
"Imperial scouts. Burned-out camps where refugees tried to shelter. Bodies." She lowered her voice, glancing toward where Kira had wandered off to examine the garden. "Word is spreading through the mountain communities. The Emperor's planning something big."
The milk bucket suddenly felt heavier in Meren's hands, as if the weight of impending doom had settled into it. I'd known this day would come—had felt it in my bones since the moment Mira had spirited us away from the festival bombing. The Empire wouldn't let the resistance's final strike go unanswered.
"How long do we have?" I asked.
"Hard to say. Could be weeks, could be months. Depends on how many forces they're willing to commit." Meren set the bucket down and straightened, her expression resolute. "But when they come, we'll be ready. This isn't the first time we've faced Imperial aggression."
Her confidence was reassuring, but I couldn't shake the feeling that this time would be different. The Emperor wasn't just seeking to expand territory or claim resources—he was pursuing what he saw as a final solution to the "Talfen problem." There would be no negotiation, no mercy, no possibility of retreat.
"Meren," I said carefully, "has the village council considered evacuation? Moving the children and elderly to safety before—"
"This is our home, Septimus." Her interruption was gentle but firm. "Our ancestors have lived in these mountains for a thousand years. We won't be driven from them by fear of Imperial violence."
I understood the sentiment, even admired it. But I'd seen what Imperial legions could do when unleashed without restraint. These people—good, peaceful people who'd shown me nothing but kindness—would be slaughtered if they tried to make a stand against professional soldiers.
"I know it's not my place to suggest anything," I said. "But if there's anything I can do to help prepare defences, or organize supplies..."
"You've done more than enough already," Meren replied. "Your very presence here has been a gift to this community."
"How so?"
"You've shown our young people that not all humans are monsters. That there are those in the Empire who see us as people rather than beasts." She glanced toward where Kira was now chasing a butterfly through the bean plants. "That matters more than you know."
