Dahlen sat against a tall chest with his left arm crossed, propping up his right. He pressed his mouth and nose into his fist as he chewed on the knuckle of his index finger. The room in which he sat was carved from smooth stone, stacked with chests and boxes stuffed with rarities. Though, many of the things he saw would not have been considered rarities outside of Lodhar: sacks of tomatoes, squashes, peppers, oranges – any fruit or vegetables that required excessive sunlight, really; boxes of Drifaienin whiskey, Karvosi rum, Ardanian heartseed liquor, and other spirits Dahlen had never even seen; stacks upon stacks of various timber and logs. Hundreds of other goods and trinkets lay scattered about, adhering to no logical organisation that Dahlen could see. Though he supposed smugglers weren't often known for their organisational skills.
A table was cleared out in the middle of the room, a series of small maps splayed across it. Belina stood at the other side of the table, her arms folded, a frown set on her face. One of her contacts had just left, and the news the man had given was more or less what they'd expected, but it still dampened the mood.
"So, essentially, we're fucked." Belina lifted her head, her lips pursed as she shrugged at Dahlen. "I can still have us out the Southern Fold Gate by the day's end."
Dahlen gave Belina a flat stare before pushing himself off the chest and joining her at the table.
"Worth a try." She sighed, then pulled a rough drawn map of the freehold across the table. "So," she said, pointing towards the refugee quarters in Durakdur, "as we know, Daymon and the Belduarans made it to the refugee quarters and are now holed up there with Kira's soldiers blockading the entrance. And from what Tilly has just told us, both Elenya and Pulroan have reached out to Kira and are sending more dwarves. Rumours in the streets say that Hoffnar was killed by an assassin." She looked up at Dahlen. "What does all this tell us?"
"That nobody has any idea what's going on. Even the kings and queens."
"Queens," Belina corrected. "If Hoffnar is dead, that leaves only Pulroan, Kira, and Elenya. Three Queens. Which I'm all for, by the way. Women make far better rulers. But yes, nobody has a fucking clue what's happening. Which, strangely, leaves us a little less fucked."
Dahlen knew Belina was baiting him. He could safely assume she was always baiting him and be right ninety-nine percent of the time. But this time, simply out of curiosity, he decided to take the bait.
"All right, why do women make better rulers? I'm assuming it's something witty, like 'men are always thinking of their dicks.'"
"Well," Belina said with a downturn of her bottom lip, "the phrase is actually 'thinking with their dicks', but now that you mention it, you lot are fond of your dicks. No, dicks definitely get in the way, but the issue is more because men always believe they are the smartest person in the room, regardless of who else is in the room with them. Which leaves them open to being proven wrong – often."
"You just said dicks as many times as you could, didn't you?"
"Yes."
Dahlen shook his head. "And women never think they're the smartest person in the room?"
"Oh no, women think we're the smartest too, but centuries of men chasing their dicks has taught us to pretend we don't – well, not me. I'm definitely the smartest person in this room, but you're not really giving me a lot of competition. I'm also not a fan of dicks, so there's that."
Dahlen puffed out his cheeks, tilting his head back. "You're a lot, you know that?"
"I've been told. Though, funny enough, the people who tell me that are usually the ones who need me." She raised an eyebrow, a smirk on her face.
Dahlen didn't respond; he simply glared at her. The woman was infuriating beyond belief. She was also bat-shit mad – of that, he was absolutely sure. However, she was capable – more than capable. She was also the best chance he had of keeping the Belduarans alive. "All right, what's our move, then? We need to find out what is actually happening here."
"Straight to business," Belina said, standing up and folding her arms. "You really are your father's son. Not a sense of humour between you. You've got a brother, don't you? I bet he's funny. Probably took all the humour in the family. And the looks… and the smarts."
Dahlen ignored Belina. He found that was usually the best tactic for anyone who spoke too much. But unfortunately, that seemed to only spur Belina on. He looked her in the eyes and held the silence for a moment before continuing. "The first assassin that came for Daymon, before my father left, said he was sent by Elenya. The one we found in The Cloak and Dagger also said Elenya."
"I'm sensing a pattern here."
"But Daymon said it was Pulroan he made a deal with, not Elenya – Pulroan, who sent the assassins that night. Not only that, he said Pulroan had promised to help him retake Belduar once Elenya and Hoffnar were gone."
"Which also implies Pulroan's working with Kira." Belina clicked her tongue off the top of her mouth. "I'm only going to suggest one more time. What if—"
"We're not leaving, Belina."
"Well, technically, I can just go and leave you here. There's a nice, warm bed waiting for me in a tavern in Midhaven. A hot bath. Lamb stew. Ale. Women. You really aren't winning this competition."
Dahlen slammed his fist on the table, maps and letters lifting into the air. He drew a slow breath through his nose, clenching his jaw as he pushed his tongue against the inside of his bottom teeth. "Belina, if you want to go, then go. The people trapped in those refugee quarters only have so much food. They're likely already running out. We don't have time for your games. People are going to die."
To Dahlen's surprise, when he looked up at Belina, she was smiling. "Dayne really is going to like you." She pulled over a scrap of paper where she'd scribbled the names of the dwarven rulers earlier that day. "Look, I'm here. I don't have to be, but I am. Let's assume Hoffnar is dead." She picked up a pen from where it sat in the inkwell at the side of the table and scratched a line through Hoffnar's name. "He's no good to us. Unless you're into necrophilia – no judgement if you are." Belina paused for a moment, looking at Dahlen as though she'd expected a laugh. "That famous Virandr stare. But yes, let's assume Hoffnar is dead. Elenya has been accused by two separate assassins, and you've said that Daymon has named Pulroan and possibly Kira, though the little arsehole only actually met with Pulroan that we know of. Which leaves only Kira as the one not directly implicated. I'd also wager that, based on the way Kira attacked the Belduarans, that there was an attempt on her life as well. Which was likely blamed on Daymon."
"She was also the only one who came to Belduar's aid when the Fade attacked. If she had wanted Daymon dead, it would've been easy for her."
"Well, that settles it then. We're off to see Queen Kira."
"What?" Dahlen gave Belina an incredulous look. "It's not that simple."
"Sure it is. Well, it is for me."
"How?"
"We write her a very nicely worded letter."
The sound of cascading water thrummed in the air, the cool touch of the resulting mist tickling Dahlen's face. He stood at the edge of a stone landing trimmed by a low wall, about an hour's walk down an enormous staircase into the seemingly bottomless chasm to which Durakdur's waterfall tumbled.
Looking out at the waterfall was an exercise in understanding just how insignificant he truly was. The raging river tumbled from the mouth of the tunnel hundreds of feet above his head, falling through the chasm with the force of a hammer, crashing somewhere unseen in the depths of the mountain. The light from the Heraya's Ward lanterns that lined the low wall of the plateau glistened through the mist produced by the crashing water, glittering and sparkling in the air like jewels.
"Beautiful things in a bloody world." Belina stood to Dahlen's left, hands clasped behind her back, head tilted upwards as she stared towards the mouth of the waterfall above. She had exchanged her long dress for a pair of padded trousers and a linen tunic tied at the collar by string. Long-healed cuts lined the dark skin of her lean-muscled arms, her breaths slow and steady.
Dahlen didn't answer her. Moments like this, when Belina's dry wit and sarcasm pulled back and she spoke from her heart, something about those moments seemed… pure, honest. He didn't like spoiling them.
Belina had in fact written a letter to Kira and had one of her contacts in the council chamber deliver it to the queen. Whether or not Kira would show up was the question. It had seemed almost too easy, particularly for Belina. The woman had a penchant for the dramatic and theatrical. A letter seemed too simple, too logical, but it was the pragmatic choice. If they had tried to speak to Kira on their own terms, they would have had to fight their way past her Queensguard, and that wouldn't have gone well for anyone.
Dahlen closed his eyes, savouring the sound of the crashing waves, letting his mind drift. And as he did every night before falling asleep, he pictured his mother's face in his mind. He'd been young when she died of consumption, and so most of his memories were of when she was sickly and weak. But he pushed them aside, unwilling to remember his mother as anything but the powerful woman she was. Her dark hair, falling like ocean waves. Blue eyes, flecked with spots of brown and white. Arms that held him when he needed strength. Hands that forged the swords that now lay on the floor of Daymon's chambers in the Heart. He missed her far more than he had ever admitted to Erik or their father. Erik was a few years younger than Dahlen and so had even fewer memories of their mother than he did. Dahlen had never decided whether that was a good or a bad thing. It was difficult to miss what you barely knew, but still… He would like to think that Erik remembered their mother's face.
As Dahlen's thoughts drifted, he realised there was something else he missed: his brother. In all their years, they had never been apart this long. They had always followed their father wherever he led. But they had always been together. There was nothing and no one that meant more to Dahlen than Erik. He was Dahlen's little brother. His blood. His best friend. Dahlen had made the decision to stay in Durakdur instead of going with his father to search for Erik. That had been one of the most difficult decisions he had ever made, but it still felt like the right one. Erik had his purpose. He knew who he was. Dahlen was still searching. Through the years of his father's training, through the life of blood and steel, he had always — somewhere deep down — believed that when they did finally find a dragon egg that would hatch, it would hatch for him. He knew it had been a silly notion. But children dream, and those dreams persevere.
He had given Belina a letter for his father, informing him of what had happened and ensuring him that everything was all right and to continue after Erik. With any luck it would find Aeson soon, and he would write back telling Dahlen Erik was safe and sound.
"Dahlen Virandr."
Dahlen's eyes snapped open. He glanced at Belina and they turned. The plateau upon which they stood jutted out from the rock face, a staircase on either side winding upwards towards the city. Ten Queensguard stood at each staircase in two rows of five, heavy plate on their shoulders, crimson cloaks hanging, double-bladed axes gripped in two fists. At the front of the Queensguard, on the left staircase, was Kira.
The queen was garbed in full plate, the metal almost black, golden ornamentations intricately wrought along its surface. Emblazoned across the breast of the armour was an ornate hammer, its head all swirls and spirals, four stars positioned above it in a semicircle — the symbol of Durakdur. A crimson cloak trimmed with gold hung from the queen's shoulders, and her long blonde hair flowed down over her plate, silver and gold rings laced throughout.
The dwarf took a few more steps closer to Dahlen and Belina, making no motion to reach for the axe that hung at her hip. The first line of Queensguard on the left staircase followed her. "By virtue of your father, I grant you this meeting. Aeson has been a friend to my people for generations. But let me be clear, if you show yourself to be my enemy, I will cut you down where you stand and tell Aeson where the bones are buried. Nothing comes before my duty to my people. Nothing. Am I understood?"
"Yes."
"Bit dramatic," Belina whispered.
Dahlen threw Belina an irritated glance but didn't bother to answer her.
"Your letter said you had proof of Daymon's innocence. I would see it."
A shiver swept over Dahlen, moving from his shoulders to his fingers and from his chest to his stomach, his mouth going dry. He turned to Belina, who'd pursed her lips, face twisted in a grimace.
"I had to tell her something," she whispered. "She wouldn't have met with us otherwise."
"But we don't have any proof."
Belina let out an awkward laugh. "Time to find some?"
"This was a waste of my time." Kira shook her head. "I truly don't want this. I had hoped our people could build an understanding with Belduar. Hoped that together we could become something greater. I tell you this so you will know I regret what needs to be done. I will allow you to leave, out of respect for your father. But if you choose to stay, you will no longer be seen as a friend to the dwarves." Kira turned, the crashing waterfall drowning out the sound of armoured boots on stone as the Queensguard parted to allow her through.
"Wait!" Dahlen reached out his hand, walking towards Kira, but four of the Queensguard darted to intercept him, their heavy armour and stout builds belying a deceptive speed he already knew was there. The guards positioned themselves between Dahlen and Kira, feet set, axes hefted to a swinging position.
Kira stopped, waiting a few moments before turning, the bluish-green flower light colouring her blonde hair. She gave a slow nod. "Speak."
"We don't have proof."
Kira let out a sigh and made to turn.
"But there is proof." Dahlen took Kira's silence and her raised eyebrow as a sign to continue. "Three assassins made an attempt on Daymon's life the night you attacked in the Heart."
"I didn't attack!" Kira snapped, her voice laced with a fury. Dahlen had seen her fighting in Belduar. His father had told him stories of the dwarven bersekeers of old, warriors who had honed their rage to a fine instrument of war. "Your king tried to have me killed, and I demanded he stand down. He refused. I defended my people and my home."
"That night," Dahlen said, trying his best to move past the topic as swiftly as he could, "three assassins made an attempt on Daymon's life. Ihvon killed two of them. The third is in the refugee quarters with Daymon. I had him kept alive in case he knew anything that we might need."
"And what does any of this matter?"
"If we can get inside the refugee quarters and bring the assassin to you, he can confirm what we're saying. You will have your proof that an attempt was made on Daymon's life as well as your own. Surely he would not have himself killed?"
"He might have," Kira said, her expression unchanging. "Doing so would shift the blame from him. It would be smart."
"Let us speak candidly. We both know Daymon is many things, but smart is not one of them. He lacks that kind of cunning. He is simply scrambling to survive."
That drew a fleeting smile from Kira. She gestured for the Queensguard between her and Dahlen to step out of the way, and she took their place, moving within a foot or two of Dahlen, her eyes searching his. "And why, Dahlen Virandr, do you find yourself here with this woman? Why are you not with Daymon and the others?"
"We were separated that night." Again, Dahlen avoided telling Kira of how Daymon had arrested him and attempted to frame him for the things Daymon himself had done. He wanted so badly to speak them aloud, but doing so would implicate Daymon in whatever was happening. If he was implicated, any sense of trust Kira had with the Belduaran people would vanish. "It is good we were, for it has allowed this meeting."
Kira's gaze stayed locked on Dahlen's, her stare intense. She ran her tongue across her lips, then looked to Belina. "And you. Who are you? You are not even Epherian. Narvonan, I would guess. What is your stake in all of this, and why should I trust you?"
"Straight to the point. My name is Belina Louna. And you are correct, my family is originally from Narvona. But we came here when I was very young. I'll happily tell the story over an ale or two, once this is all done. And why should you trust me? You shouldn't."
Kira raised an eyebrow at that, a curious smile on her face. "I shouldn't?"
"No."
"What are you doing?" Dahlen whispered.
"I'm not the trustworthy kind. But he is." Belina looked to Dahlen. "I've come to the conclusion Dahlen Virandr doesn't have a dubious bone in his body. In fact, I don't think he could even spell the word. Everything he's told you is true. And if he swears an oath to you, he will keep it."
Kira looked from Belina to Dahlen, then back again. "And your stake?"
"I've got nothing better to do, Your Majesty. Boredom is a great inspiration. Besides," she said, nodding towards Dahlen, "little Virandr here begged me to stay. It was quite embarrassing really."
"You say you're not honest, but that was as honest an answer as I've heard in a long time."
"I didn't say I wasn't honest, Your Majesty. I said I wasn't trustworthy."
Kira nodded, smiling. "Very well." For a long moment she just stood there, looking from Dahlen to Belina. "How do you intend to enter the refugee quarters?"
"We haven't quite figured that out yet," Dahlen admitted.
"I may have a way."