Page 39 of Foundling

“I’m afraid so,” he said. “Strangers coming to town before never appearing again. Healthy trees felled across the border as though to make a bridge. And on the other side, more and more humans. Not just in their towns, but at the border. As though patrolling it.”

“The border itself has felt…diminished of late.” Leaning forward, Narinda asked, “Is it like that elsewhere, too, my Queen?”

Leita swallowed hard. She wanted to lie, but that was beyond the capability of the fae. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Perhaps it is just a symptom of your new reign?”

“Perhaps.” Clearing her throat, Leita hurried to add, “But I’m here in part to help reinforce the border.”

That information clearly relieved the couple, the two of them sitting back in their seats.

“In truth, it was weakening before you took the throne. It didn’t surprise us, given how…” Narinda’s lips thinned.

Leita understood. Amaranthe had fractured the balance. The cycle had been rotting away for centuries; so it wouldn’t be a surprise to see such flagrant cracks out here in the borderlands.

“All the more reason to celebrate your arrival, then, in all ways,” Narinda concluded.

Leita nodded, sipping at her cider rather than speaking. She didn’t want to make grand promises; although she did intend to strengthen the border, she hadn’t much inkling how to do it yet.

The drink was just the right balance of sweetness and spice, rolling down the throat pleasantly. Gazing into her goblet reminded Leita—

“I’m pleased to see you’ve taken to drinking so easily. Those in Fallorian are more reticent.”

The mayoral couple shared another look. “In truth, Your Highness, many fae here in the hinterlands never fully gave up eating and drinking,” explained Narinda.

“Magic is used for a great deal, of course, but we have our local ways, you see, and we’re quite stubborn about them.” Glenys chuckled, swirling his goblet. “We’re far too fond of good food and drink to give it up.”

Leita returned his jolly smile, genuinely astonished. “I’m very pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’ll be able to teach the city-folk to love it again.”

“Say the word, and we’ll send you back with more barrels of cider than you can carry!” Glenys exclaimed. “My father would weep with joy to know we did business with Fallorian again.”

“I’m sure Charis can work out a fair—”

The front door crashing open echoed down the hallway, quickly followed by a panting fae sentry. She looked local, wearing leathers rather than a uniform and having white sclera.

“Forgive me, duana-daín, but something strange has been sighted overhead.”

Leita shared surprised looks with the couple before abandoning her goblet. She hurried with them through the mayoral home, rushing into the town center. A crowd had gathered there, faces turned skywards.

Worried mutterings filled Leita’s ears as she too looked up.

High above, so high they were barely more than dots in the sky, flew a tight formation. Too lofty to be birds, and too big to still be visible that high and anything other than dragons.

“It can’t be…”

“They haven’t been seen in centuries…”

“What could it mean?”

What indeed. It was time that lizard she was keeping in a cave start talking.

From that cave, in the shelter of its mouth, Attalus watched the formation of gorgoroi soaring overhead. Well, shit.

Unhelpful but not unexpected.

At least Leita’s efforts and the rain would have washed away his impact crater by now. Still, they’d be drawn to the obvious burn scar left across the land. Leita too had thought Attalus started the blaze. Dragons were of fire; they were naturally drawn to it.

Araxos must really want him dead.