Benaghar and The Last Sydula: Benaghar, #2

By F. K. Maddison

THERE IS NO CHEST. NO TREASURE YOU WILL FIND.

 

Prince Taigor watches as the icy waters of The River Nebben slowly carry the pyre downstream. His manservant bristles behind him as the ashes and smoke from The Fall of The Kings Hall billow out across the city.

 

WE CARRY ITS SECRET WITH US, ITS WEIGHT BETWEEN US ...

 

Florin waits upon the mourning widows and mothers of the fallen and wonders what has become of her elder brother - she has heard nothing from Rasia since he left. Yet something else is bothering her ... where is the treasure which has caused so much grief? And why has Miss Phæ'enor disappeared?

 

... UPON US. NOW AND FOREVER.

• Language: English
• Publisher: F. K. Maddison
• Release date: Feb 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781919605739

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Pyre on The River Nebben

Prince Taigor could see his breath in front of him, a small puff of hot air turning rapidly into a wispy cloud. Although his hands were gloved, the metal armour chilled him to his bones. He blew gently into the palms of his hands and rubbed them together, breathing in deeply and closing his eyes, forcing the bitter cold tears out and down upon his cheeks.

As he steadied his breathing, he listened to the low murmur of the people gathered; a clinking of armour as the soldiers lined up behind him, the sobs of the palace staff, the rustle of clothing as courtiers placed their handkerchiefs back into their pockets or up their sleeves. He wished it could be like this forever, calm and with only a little noise, but he knew the peace was only momentary.

‘Brother, do I look the part?’

Prince Taigor’s eyes snapped open at the sound of his brother’s voice. The crowds, thousands of people lining the banks of the river, appeared before him. He could make out the faces of those nearest to him clearly; most had tears in their eyes, some looked down at the river, staring as the solitary pyre floated past them. Only some were dressed in black; others wore brightly coloured clothes; a celebration for them then, not something they should be mourning.

There were those who wore what they could afford, the only clothing they had ever owned, thought Taigor bitterly.

‘Brother?’

‘What? Yes, Your Majesty?’ asked Prince Taigor.

‘Ha, I hope you are not getting too emotional on me, brother? You are in a world of your own,’ said Heolbus.

Taigor looked at his brother, robed in deep blue furs, the heavily bejewelled crown made of oro stone upon his head. A King’s robe, a King’s crown. Their father’s robe, their father’s crown. It did not belong to Heolbus.

‘Well then, Taigor? Do I not look the part?’ asked Heolbus.

Taigor forced a smile back at his brother, ‘You look very kingly, Heolbus. The robe, the crown; it suits you very well indeed.’

Heolbus clapped his right hand upon Taigor’s shoulder, ‘And I wear it better than he did and suit it better than you would ever have done, brother.’

The smile on Heolbus’ face infuriated Taigor, but his new king was right; he did wear it better. Taigor had never entertained wearing the crown; he lacked the appetite for it, that power, that greed. He was not in the same league of bastard as his brother, or come to think of it, even his father.

Heolbus continued, ‘And now neither of us have to deal with him anymore.’

Taigor and Heolbus watched over the low-lying palace wall that overlooked The River Nebben, looking out towards the floating pyre on the river, gently carried away by the current.

‘How you continued to live in his presence - I’m not sure how you did it, Taigor. All that pretence. Supporting our father, caring for the old King Sol,’ said Heolbus.

Taigor was still staring after his father’s body on The Nebben. He could feel Heolbus’ eyes glance upon him. He did not answer, so the king pressed on:

‘After what he did to you, I’m surprised you stayed here, in Benaghar. I mean, granted, falling in love with a filthy Harq is not ideal. What was her name again? O’urra, wasn’t it? You would not have made king then!’ Heolbus chuckled to himself.

Taigor could feel the ripples of hate flow off his manservant, O’sea, behind him.

Taigor clenched his jaw closed, flexed his hands, and tried to remain calm, tried not to let his bother provoke him.

‘Sending you away to war, a mere teenager, for your punishment?’ Heolbus shook his head. ‘What if you had died? With me banished and under constant guard, who then would have taken the throne?’

Taigor turned to his brother, nodded in the direction of the South Tower and then returned his attention to Heolbus.

‘Ha!’ barked Heolbus, who had followed his brother’s gaze, and couldn’t stop laughing.

Everyone around them looked shocked at their new king. The people lining the river looked up towards the palace, disgusted at the laughter ringing out from Heolbus’ direction. Taigor waited for him to calm down.

Heolbus wiped the tears of mirth from his face and nodded at Taigor, ‘You are right, brother. If that happened, then this kingdom, our empire, would have been lost. But I am glad my little brother still has a sense of humour. We will need some laughter in the coming months if my subjects do not obey me.’

Taigor did not say anything to his brother, continuing to watch the pyre on the river.

‘Your Majesty,’ came a voice, loud and clear from behind them.

Heolbus turned, ‘Ah, Captain Alesand. Are they for us?’

Captain Alesand nodded, ‘Yes, Your Majesty. Please, let my men and I prepare them for you.’ He summoned some of the city guards over to the royals’ present: Prince Taigor, King Heolbus, Queen Amia and Queen Phenice, and began to prepare the bows and arrows.

As they prepared, Heolbus spoke in a low voice to the captain; only Prince Taigor, Queen Amia and Queen Phenice would be able to hear, ‘Have you discarded the bodies of Admiral Gull and Colla Anwir, Alesand?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ replied Captain Alesand. Heolbus raised his eyebrows at him, unsatisfied with his captain’s answer. ‘I saw to it myself. Their bodies were thrown over the northern, outer city wall. The birds can have what is left of them.’

Taigor breathed in deeply again, controlling his emotions at this news.

‘Good,’ said Heolbus, ‘and what about the other bodies, have you found them yet?’

Captain Alesand did not answer straight away. Heolbus, distracted momentarily, adjusted the bow in his hands, tilting his head, squinting his eyes, but Taigor was impatient to find out what the captain knew.

‘Well, then? Answer your King!’ demanded Taigor. Heolbus dropped his bow and returned his attention to Captain Alesand.

‘We believe O’scilla Juur removed his son’s body from The Kings Hall, or at least his men have.’

‘It’s not O’scilla’s son I am concerned about,’ said Heolbus. Taigor looked at his brother, who was staring intently back at the captain.

‘We cannot find the bodies of the Harq, O’tila or that of Wolf Canis. We have, however, spoken to witnesses who say they saw them go down. Both men were shot several times. With the palace overrun with Wolves and Rats, O’scilla’s men would have easily retrieved his son’s body, and so we must assume the same is true with the Rats and O’tila’s, the Wolves with Wolf Canis.

‘I need to know for certain that they are dead, Alesand.’

‘Your Maj –’

‘I have not finished, captain. Search the city and search in Old Town. Once you know for certain they are dead, then you need to make O’scilla Juur disappear,’ said Heolbus.

Captain Alesand nodded his head, ‘Of course, Your Majesty.’

As Heolbus turned his gaze away from the captain, Taigor caught Captain Alesand’s eye and smirked at him, knowing how difficult the task of ridding the city of O’scilla Juur would be for Alesand - for anyone. The Captain of The City Guards gritted his teeth in response.

‘Captain, you need to find the body of that jester too - what was his name again?’ asked Heolbus.

‘Consta, Your Majesty. O’starr Consta,’ said Captain Alesand.

‘He was one of the top court astronomers as well as the court jester, Heolbus,’ advised Taigor.

‘Yes, yes, I know this already. I need to know more,’ said Heolbus, turning to face Taigor and the captain. ‘I need to know everything about him. What he was up to, why he turned on all of us.’ Turned on you, thought Prince Taigor to himself. ‘What else have you found out about him so far?’

Captain Alesand nervously cleared his throat, ‘He was good friends with Cort Rohgah, Your Majesty.’

‘What? What do you mean?’ asked Heolbus.

Captain Alesand hesitated, ‘Your Majesty … They —’

‘They were lovers, Heolbus,’ advised Taigor and watched as all colour drained from Heolbus’ face. ‘They have lived, travelled together and loved each other for many years, brother.’

Heolbus lowered his bow and spoke in a low hiss, ‘Are you telling me that man, that jester, who tried to kill my queen and me, tried to bring this empire to its knees, was the lover of our highest court advisor?’ both Taigor and the captain nodded. ‘Do you know if they were working together - colluding together?’ Taigor and the captain shook their heads in reply. ‘And tell me, is our esteemed court advisor present now?’ Heolbus’ eyes twitched from side to side in search of the courtier.

‘No, Heolbus, he is too ill. Cort Rohgah is still grieving for Consta,’ said Taigor.

Heolbus straightened up, ‘Bring him to me and search their house. I need to know if they were more than just lovers – if they were working against me together this whole time. I need to know how Consta got hold of that chest!’

Captain Alesand nodded, ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

Heolbus began to fiddle with his bow and arrow again, clearly agitated. Taigor resisted the urge to wrap the bow around his brother’s neck and pull it tight until he stopped breathing.

‘Here, let me, brother,’ said Taigor, offering to adjust his King’s bow. Heolbus handed it over willingly and stared at King Sol’s funeral pyre again.

‘Have we had any news from Captain Rost G. Alba? Has he sighted Captain Doven and the fleet yet?’ asked Heolbus.

‘Not yet, Heolbus,’ replied Taigor.

‘The sooner we have our best captains back in Benaghar, the sooner we can start to take back our empire’s lost lands,’ said Heolbus.

‘Patience, brother, patience. They will arrive soon, I am sure. And it is better to wait for Alba and Doven than rely on less experienced or unworthy captains,’ said Taigor, flashing another smirk at Captain Alesand.

Captain Alesand clenched his fists; Heolbus was oblivious to the exchange between his brother and the Captain of the City Guards’.

Taigor finished adjusting Heolbus’ bow and handed it back to him, ‘Here, take this. Alesand, light our arrows.’

As Captain Alesand gave the command, one by one, a member of the city guards stepped forward and lit Prince Taigor’s, King Heolbus’, Queen Amia’s and Queen Phenice’s arrows.

One hundred members of the city guard stood lined behind the gathered royal party. Captain Alesand nodded, they all lit their arrows and then the captain raised his arm high.

‘When you are ready, Your Majesty,’ said Captain Alesand.

Before he gave the command, Heolbus asked, ‘Taigor? Alesand?

Both men replied, ‘Yes, Your Majesty?’

‘Once this is over, prepare for the arrival of The King of Arinthscar.’

Taigor said nothing; he looked at Captain Alesand, who stared back at him. Neither knew of Heolbus’ plan then.

‘Let’s get this funeral over with,’ said Heolbus. ‘I am ready, captain.’

‘Ready your arrows!’ the captain commanded his guards.

The royals raised theirs also, aiming the position of their arrows towards the sky. Captain Alesand then brought his arm down, and the arrows flew above them. Taigor watched as the tiny balls of flames soared overhead, only slowing as they peaked and arched above The River Nebben, gently curving down before picking up speed.

Some of the arrows went astray of their target, extinguishing as they hit the surface of the river; others bounced off the edge of the pyre. Then a flurry of arrows rained down upon it, before bursting into a great ball of fire. Taigor watched as the body of his father, King Sol, was engulfed in flame, the firelight reflecting in the eyes of the people who lined the river.

Chapter 2

The Maid

There was another knock at the front door.

‘Florin! Please get that, will you?’ barked Odora Jemin from the sitting room.

Florin was about to descend the stairs to the basement kitchen when she heard her summons and turned back into the hallway, moving swiftly to the entrance hall. The bright colours of the stained-glass window in the door seemed odd now against the black and white chequered floor and a stark contrast to the mood at No. 09 Grand Alboreum Circus.

She opened the door only to be greeted with yet another bouquet of white lilies. The house was full of them; the side table in the entrance hall was laden with various sized vases. Another two stood on either side of the bottom of the stairs and two more on either side of the door. The place was turning into a nursery.

Florin looked at the bouquet sadly, ‘Thank you,’ she said to the man at the door who smiled back awkwardly, dipped his cap at her and backed away from the porch steps. Everybody in the city knew death had come to The Grand Circus’. It was where all the soldiers, Officer Nathryn and his men who died, had lived or where the families they had left behind resided.

‘Is it more bloody flowers?’ asked Mrs Jemin.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ answered Florin, as she closed the front door and walked into the sitting room to present the bouquet to her Mistress and the party of women gathered there.

‘They are lovely, Florin,’ said Mrs Doven.

Simi and Mimi Doven briefly looked at the bouquet, then at Florin, before returning to their teas.

Mrs Jemin shook her head in dismay, ‘The same old white lilies. Who are they from this time?’

Florin looked at the card inserted between the flower heads, ‘They are from Ar —’ she paused. ‘They are from some friends of Miss Phæ’enor’s in Newtown.’ She could feel the return of the twins' attention upon her.

‘Very well,’ said Mrs Jemin, ‘if we have not run out of vases already, maybe try the corner there, just by the window.’

Florin nodded and fetched another vase from the basement, placing the card from the bouquet into the pocket of her pinafore. Mrs Bride and Florin had taken to visiting friends and other servants in the different parts of the city to borrow more vases. Their friends were only too willing to oblige when they came knocking. And each time, there were always a few words of condolences for the Doven household. But never anything for Florin or her family. She tried not to let it get to her; it wasn’t their fault. Most of the other servants in the city didn’t know who her brothers were. And if they did, they would tend to avoid her whenever she ran her errands.

Florin returned to the sitting room and made her way through the cramped flowers and mourning women who were gathered around. Some were sitting around the small coffee table in the middle, others on the pouffes brought in from the drawing and dining room.

Mrs Bride and Florin advised Mrs Jemin to host the women in the drawing room, but Mrs Doven made the call.

‘The dining room is too bright for this occasion. We should hold it in the sitting room.’

In the gloom of Mrs Jemin’s favourite room in the house, thought Florin.

Mrs Bride had already re-entered the sitting room with a selection of sandwiches, biscuits, cake and more pots of tea. Florin placed the new bouquet in their vase by the window in the far corner and joined Mrs Bride to help pour the tea and serve food to the guests, although none of them seemed to be eating much.

Some women stared into the space in front of them; others wiped the tears from their faces. Florin observed the women discretely and listened intently without showing any signs she cared for their conversation. She could tell Mrs Bride was doing the same.

‘Lili, is there anything else we can do whilst you wait for your daughter to arrive from the north?’ asked Mrs Doven.

Florin took a quick look at the woman Mrs Doven had addressed as she handed out a teacup and saucer to another lady seated on one of the pouffes.

She was tall, brown and dark-haired, like Mrs Doven, only much older. The dark greys and white hairs creeping in were tied back in a long plait. She was Mrs Oleston, Lieutenant Hall Oleston’s mother.

Florin knew her maid servant from Old Town, a Harq by the name of O’gare. But they weren’t what you would call friends. Both girls knew exactly where the other one came from; which gang they each belonged to. But being a servant cooped up in a big house was a lonely job, especially when you were much younger than the other members of staff and had nothing in common with them. O’gare and Florin had a shared understanding.

They would bump into each other when buying supplies for their respective cooks or running errands for their mistresses. It was only natural they would talk, gossip about the goings-on in their households.

O’gare had mentioned Lieutenant Hall Oleston and his family. They were oddly friendly towards her, just as the Dovens were to Florin. Neither of these families were like any that either of them had worked for before.

There were similar stories from other servants who had worked for these now deceased officers and the families they had left behind.

‘No, my maid O’gare has everything in hand when it comes to the house. I don’t even need to ask her to do these things anymore. She just seems to know, you know?’ said Lili Oleston.

‘Yes, yes I do,’ said Mrs Doven, ‘I think we have all been fortunate in our choices of staff.’ She caught Florin’s eye as she said this and smiled. Florin blushed and continued serving the food.

‘I, we, just need some help with planning the funerals for our boys, that’s all,’ continued Lili Oleston. Her smile controlled, holding back tears.

‘Yes, do we know the date for the wakes yet?’ asked another woman.

‘No,’ replied Mrs Jemin, ‘we are waiting for Eron to confirm everything with Prince Taigor - organise it officially. The new king wants to oversee the proceedings.’

At the mention of King Heolbus, all the women seemed to forget their mourning. They were angry.

Lili Oleston swore under her breath. Another looked at her tea disgusted, as though the very mention of his name had soiled it.

‘This is all, just so awful,’ cried another woman.

Florin recognised her as Captain Letho Oldus’ widow. Everyone knew her for her work with injured soldiers from the battlefield. Her beauty, now covered with a black veil, had caught many of the officers' attention. Her reputation preceded her and it seemed to Florin that her tears were not genuine. Clearly, Mrs Jemin thought the same.

‘You are still young, Nell. I’m sure with your good looks and the attention you receive, you will remarry in no time!’

Florin could tell the other women were trying their best not make eye contact with Mrs Oldus. They all picked up their teacups and drank in unison.

Nell Oldus was flustered and shifted uncomfortably in her chair, ‘I am not the only young woman amongst us that, in time, will be able to move on.’

‘I don’t think it will take you that much time, dear,’ muttered Mrs Jemin. But everyone had heard her.

‘I meant your daughter, Mrs Doven. Phæ’enor. She is young and will find a husband in time,’ said Nell Oldus.

‘They were never married,’ barked Mrs Jemin and quickly picked up her tea to hide her trembling bottom lip.

Mrs Doven and Mrs Oldus both placed a hand on either side of Mrs Jemin’s lap.

Mrs Bride and Florin exchanged cautious looks. They were still not used to Mrs Jemin’s tears, her sudden spells of hysteria. The other day they heard a commotion coming from the library; upon entering, they found Mrs Jemin crumpled amongst piles of books on the floor. Exclaiming her granddaughter would no longer be getting married, she had preceded to throw Miss Phæ’enor Doven’s books on etiquette into the fire. Mrs Bride and Florin had taken to using smelling salts on their mistress to help calm her down.

‘How is Phæ’enor?’ asked Mrs Oleston.

Both Mrs Jemin and Mrs Doven shook their heads. They looked unable to speak as the other women waited for a reply.

Instead, Mrs Bride answered for them, ‘Not well, I’m afraid. She mostly keeps to her room and will only see Florin.’

The women nodded in understanding. Mrs Bride looked at Florin to continue.

‘She has taken the death of Officer Nathryn very badly,’ said Florin, ‘and is still too ill to be in company.’

‘Young love. It makes everything so much worse, doesn’t it?’ said another of the women. They all nodded solemnly.

‘Florin, could you please go and check on Phæ’enor, see if she needs anything else,’ said Mrs Doven.

‘Yes, ma’am, of course I will,’ replied Florin. As she made her way out of the sitting room, Mrs Bride threw her an accusatory look, and the twins' eyes followed her over their teacups.

Florin entered Phæ’enor’s room without knocking. There was no need to; she knew Phæ’enor would not be in there.

The room was still in darkness; the curtains were drawn and unmoving—the bed made from yesterday. Nothing in the room had been disturbed.

There were still piles of unopened letters of condolence on the dressing table. Florin slipped her hand into her pocket and retrieved the card that had come with the bouquet, and read it in full:

Miss Phæ’enor Doven,

---

Our condolences, et cetera. However, we require your assistance urgently!

Come as soon as possible, and by that, we mean now!

---

Yours faithfully,

---

Archä & Mëdez.

Florin had stumbled her words earlier when asked who the flowers were from. Archä and Mëdez were not good news, undesirables of the city. Mrs Doven knew them, of course, and Simi and Mimi but still, she was sure the mourning women downstairs would not be so happy to learn that they had sent the flowers. And speculation about Miss Doven’s association with them had already started to spread amongst the servants in the city; it would not be good to confirm their suspicions to their mistresses. The Dovens had enough eyes and attention drawn onto them; they didn’t need any more of that.

Our condolences, et cetera. Florin shook her head at the bluntness of the words. Miss Phæ’enor may not have loved Officer Nathryn but the circumstances of his death had affected her greatly. Florin’s mistress was quiet; she ate little and barely spoke in the days that had followed. She had taken to disappearing from the house for hours every day.

A tap at the window gave Florin a start. She added the card from Archä and Mëdez to the pile, made her way over to the window, and drew open the curtains.

Blinding light was let into the room, casting away the shadows. Florin felt a rush of loneliness; her usually stubborn, mischievous mistress was gone and her two brothers had disappeared.

Rasia had sent word to her. No matter what happened, she was to remain in her job with The Dovens. She must stay put at No. 9 Grand Alboreum Circus. Rasia had gone to take care of Canis, and Florin was to say nothing about the matter to anyone. But she wondered where he was, where he had taken the body of their brother Canis to.

Another tap at the window made her jump. She looked out and across to the rooftops of the building opposite. She could make out the fur wolf heads, Cana in the middle.

He shrugged and mouthed at her, ‘Well?’

Florin shook her head and shrugged in reply. Cana shook his head in dismay and retreated from the skyline.

A creak behind Florin made her stiffen, and she slowly turned around. Simi and Mimi Doven stood there, watching The Wolves retreat before turning their attention to her.

‘You’re not even going to tell your own kin?’ asked Mimi. Florin made no reply.

Simi folded her arms, ‘So, where is she then? Where is Phæ’enor?’

But again, Florin didn’t reply. Although she had aided Phæ’enor in leaving the house undetected, she honestly did not know where she was or where she kept disappearing to. But Florin was sure of one thing. After everything that had happened, she now had no one to turn to, no Rasia, no Canis. The Wolves may be her family, but No. 9 Grand Alboreum Circus was her home and Florin would do everything to protect it and those who lived there. She was not going to give anything away, including the whereabouts of Miss Phæ’enor Doven, even though she had no idea where she was.

Chapter 3

The Wilds of Vanu

Phæ’enor lay still on her back with her eyes closed, soaking in the heat of the jungle around her. She thought of nothing, instead she just listened to the sounds of the Bobikokikos chattering away and the rustling of the reeds.

She breathed in the hot air deeply, spreading her fingertips wide against the warm coral sand beneath her whilst the bright light danced through her eyelids.

She took in the earthy smells about her and slowly started to drift in and out of sleep.

She was with her friends, Psychra and Gunn. They were swimming between the mangroves in the northern islands which her father’s company had planted to stop the flooding …

They danced about a low pitted fire and watched the Vanuaans place a large pig into the ground; it would be steaming and tender when they came to pull it out the following day as part of the independence festivities. Phæ’enor licked her lips …

Psychra and Phæ’enor laughed hysterically at Gunn and the other boys as they tried, unsuccessfully, to practice their dances one last time before the ceremony that evening. Gunn’s crown of spiked leaves and flowers kept falling off every time he lost his balance …

Phæ’enor stopped laughing; she felt pulled towards the shadows of the coconut trees. Emerging with his long sword, inlaid with shark teeth, and a spear in the other, the tattooed man ran at her. Frozen by fear, he lunged at her and plunged the spear into Phæ’enor’s chest before swinging the shark tooth sword at her head …

Phæ’enor woke with a start, unable to breathe with the pressure on her chest. But there was no spear. Instead, Rama, the large pointy-eared, grey cat, stood on her ribs, prodding at her face with his front paws, whining at her.

‘Get-off-me!’ said Phæ’enor breathlessly and pushed Rama off but not without being bitten and clawed in the process.

She watched as the cat, disinterested again, spotted a reed warbler in the shrubbery and sprang after it.

She lay her head back down and stared into the canopy of pandanus and coconut trees, thinking about the tattooed man. The last time she had seen him was when he watched over her as she held Officer Nathryn’s lifeless body in her arms.

It had felt like hours as he stood there and she sobbed uncontrollably. It was as though he knew it was her first experience of death and stayed to watch over her. She no longer felt threatened by him or scared by his presence, this vision of a man only she could see.

Sometime later, they came and dragged Phæ’enor away from Officer Nathryn’s body, unclasping her fingers from the medals on his chest. Later, she found out from her mother that Prince Taigor and some of the city guards had pulled her from him.

It was at that moment she last caught sight of the tattooed man. As soon as she no longer touched Officer Nathryn’s body, he was gone.

Exhausted, she had slept for a couple of days, but when she woke, she felt empty; food and drink disinterested her; likewise, conversation or the company of others did nothing to cheer her up.

It was only when her maid, Florin, insisted she take a bath that the hot water washed away some pain and confusion. She started to think about what had happened: O’starr Consta; the new king and queen; O’scilla Juur and the dead bodies of the officers scattered everywhere. Officer Nathryn dying and the tattooed man. It was too much.

Phæ’enor needed space, somewhere to think without the interruptions of No. 09 Alboreum Circus. Her grandmother’s constant chatter, the over-worrying from her mother, the maids increased attendance upon her. And then there were the widows and the families of the dead officers.

The mourning parties, going from one house to another; their company was overbearing; she just needed time to be on her own. That was when she remembered this place, and what Officer Nathryn had said to her about them – as residents of Grand Town, you have unrestricted access. These were the city's indoor tropics, where she could hide in peace, think if she wanted to or sleep if she needed it.

Rama leapt into the air in front of her feet then scarpered up the bark of a nearby coconut tree after a large green dragonfly. She watched as he struggled to catch it, swiping his paws after the insect in front of him.

Unbalanced, he fell back to the ground. He shook the sand off his back, stood still and looked straight at Phæ’enor before proceeding to lick his fur and clean his pride.

Phæ’enor giggled to herself and spoke out loud, ‘I wonder where your master is now, or should I say both of your masters?’

Phæ’enor had not seen Rasia since before the chaos had erupted in The Kings Hall. As for Canis, she had seen him fall in front of her. It must have been a stray bullet.

She frowned at the thought of the astronomer. An aloof figure that she knew next to nothing about. He had destroyed at least a third of the palace, and most of the area surrounding it was smouldering. Smoke covered parts of the city, depending on which way the wind blew each day.

Phæ’enor had not mentioned to Florin that she had seen her elder brother fall. After the carnage she had witnessed that night, she didn’t have the heart to tell her.

As for Rasia, Phæ’enor was informed by her cousins’ he’d been seen carrying Wolf Canis, through the fighting crowds and the fires and smoke, before disappearing.

Phæ’enor had nodded at her cousins, acknowledging she understood what they were telling her, glad Rasia was safe. But she had not asked how they knew this. Phæ’enor still needed to find out how her cousins knew so much and who they got their information from. But that wasn’t important right now.

The cat slinked over to her, sitting down next to a pile of opened letters to her left. She stroked his head in the middle, just above his eyes; he started to purr.

A couple of days after the King and Queen’s wedding, the day Phæ’enor had her hot bath, Rama turned up on No. 09 Grand Alboreum’s doorstep. It had been raining heavily, which had assisted the city guards still tackling the fires in the street, but Rama was soaking wet, bedraggled and hungry.

Florin had let him in much to the dismay of her grandmother, but Phæ’enor had insisted the cat stay. Rasia was not with him, and Phæ’enor had a hunch that Rama had been sent to her. The cat slept in her room, followed her around the house and even ventured outside