Murderers, soldiers, smugglers, sailors, merchants and luminite dealers. Traitors, thieves, brigands, seers and storytellers, plague-bearers and priests, but more than anything, Dragon's Den was a place that drew spies like moths to the flame. Each drawn from distant lands, eyes and ears of every kingdom on the Continent. Needed to disappear? Kill? Bury someone in the dark? This was the place. People spoke quietly about it, if they even dared, as if naming it might summon something. No Kingdom laws ruled the streets of the little border town of Olghyr, and definitely not Dragon's Den. Wandering into Olghyr without a purpose was foolish, as the village would swallow you whole. And yet desperate, ambitious and evil people came. Everything was possible in Olghryr, any kind of purpose might just get fulfilled, of course for a price. It was dangerous to be here. I knew that and Lady Fairton knew that too. And yet, as we neared it, loud music and bright light drifted towards the carriage from afar.
The stench of piss and ale slammed into me the moment my boot stamped on the freshly laid snow. The tavern looked plain enough. Just the old heartwood beams slumped with age. Walls completely darkened from age and soot. It crouched beneath the thick branches of trees, half-swallowed by the forest that surrounded it.
When we arrived at the tavern it was almost midnight. Lady Fairton descended from the carriage murmuring something under her nose. I couldn't hear a word, but it sounded something between irritation and anxiety.
"We leave at sunrise." Lady Fairton snapped around so fast it startled me. "And Lyra. Don't. Be. Late." Her words came out sharp.
She gave me one last glance before turning her heel tavern way and opening the door wide. The soldiers surged towards her, practically stumbling over each other, arms overflowing with bags and boxes of every shape and material – velvet pouches with embroiled Erdonal insignias, iron and wood dented trunks, dark leather satchels and luminite embedded tapestries.
The air was cold enough to sting. Through the thick clouds of my breath I was barely able to see anything, so when I inhaled this time and tilted my head back, the stars above blazed bright. This was a rare sight, barely ever seen in Thams Bay because of the thick fog, but here the beauty of the night was wide open. My gaze drifted casually around the tavern, scanning for anything worth noting, or anything that might save my life later. Two steps before crossing the threshold, I stopped. Boots deeply imprinted on the snow. I had to remember my backstory, Lyra's Fairton story. Closing my eyes, I quickly repeated the words to myself:
Born in Ebonsville, in 736 Nazar's year, to Ameara and Gareth Fairton, Ameara being the younger sister of Lady Fairton. I am an only child, have no brothers and no sisters. I was raised in the Sisterhood Brides of Gods monastery, where I spent most of my life. My parents passed away ten years ago in the tragic sinking of one of the ships of Lord Fairton, who to my misfortune was a traitor and was hanged by His Royal Highness King Aslan. Lady Fairton was kind enough to take me and raise me, and since I turned twenty I will be serving as a Lady for the court for the Erhan Royal Family of Erdonal.
I repeated it a couple of times. It made me sick to my core. Even twisted my insides. But I had to believe it, I had to embrace it as if it was mine. I had to make them believe. Anything less would kill me, if there was someone having even the slightest doubt… I wouldn't make it out of Erdonal.
I was about to push the door and ready to step it when the nauseating smell wrapped around my nostrils, and then the whole body. I turned my head only to find the source of the smell right in front of me laying on the ground.
"Hhhonounred…ma lady, hic-ahhhh…how love to see you…, hi-ahhh,....please welcome…hic-ahh to our humbbble abode…Hic-aaah." The drunk man sprawled on the ground, his back shoved hard against the tavern's wall. He reeked of ale, staring at me with glassy eyes. Again, he blurred something inaudible. I couldn't decide if the stench of rotten eggs was coming out of his mouth or was part of him. My lips curved in a shy smile as I finally pushed the door with the warmth of the fireplace wrapped around me, melting the numbness off my fingers and face.
The place bloomed with life. Aroma of cooked stews wrapped around my nose, yeast and rich scent of fresh bread, smoky tang of burning logs and the roasted spiced apple. From floor to ceiling, each wall was draped with banners and thick woven tapestries from all the kingdoms of the Continent – Rasfalia, Erdonal, Isildra, Husemid and Talka. And yet, right in front of me, above the bar hung an enormous lantern light pooled tapestry with Erdonal's two headed eagle. No one hid their allegiances here, especially with Erdonal being the closest kingdom with just a couple of miles short from the tavern. It was the nearest haven, even if everyone dreaded it the most.
Stepping deeper inside of the tavern, the crowd became more varied. Sailors of Erdonal sat beside mercenaries from Isildra, merchants from Talka beside the odd looking men clearly having no business being seen. There was a troop of Erdonal's soldiers clad in black armour and emerald-green uniforms similar to the ones of Lady Fairton's entourage, one of them laughing so hard that he was almost rolled off the table. They gathered around the table drinking and chatting loudly making some other tables turn at them staring. At the very left of the corner I quickly spotted a Rasfalian Lord. I couldn't remember his name but the insignia of the Parliament quickly confirmed my suspicion. He kept looking around nervously as a young blond twirling her hair looked deeply into his eyes while sitting on his laps. Two men from Talka were right on my right side. Both grey, probably in their late 70s, saggy skin. They didn't talk. Just sat there and looked around, scanning the whole place or maybe even looking for someone.
The noise of the tavern was my shield. I was perfectly blended in between the chatter, burst of laughter and the crush of bodies. No one saw me. Or even paid attention to me. Which was exactly what I needed. I laid my hand on the wooden bar wet from the spilled drinks, and in that instant, the voice that was louder than all the noise pulled my attention. Lady Fairton seemed to be passionately arguing with the barman.
"Albert, I told you this before. I don't travel alone anymore," She threw her eyes towards the ceiling, pressing her lips into a sharp line. "At least not ever since, I've gotten my late sister's daughter on my shoulders. She left me with nothing but her off-spring to take care of, as if I had nothing else to do." She tossed her hands into the air. "What do you want me to do now Albert? Share a bed? Do you know how old I am?" The man, which I assumed was Albert, just stared down on the floor looking apologetic.
"My Lady. I will do everything in my power to get you and your niece separate rooms. That's my word." Albert replied.
Lady Fairton scoffed. "Your word? I keep hearing this every single time, if you would've been half of a host as you are a liar, then we wouldn't have had this discussion every single time." Albert, who was a short man with chevron moustache and grey receding hairline, crawled his gaze towards Lady Fairton.
"My Lady, I swear, we were not informed that you're travelling with your niece. But I can assure you that I will do everything in my power to accommodate you both. It's the last time this is happening."
"For your sake, and for the sake of this forsaken rat's and ale's pit, I hope that this is the last time. Otherwise, Albert, the next time I'll come with Darians."
The man paled. And he wasn't the only one who did. They weren't just soldiers, more like King Aslan's executioners. Loyal only to him. Ruthless. Merciless. And the things the Darian army had done weren't just rumors; they were legends drenched in blood, the reports about Husemid villages send shivers down my spine. Beheadings and burnings. Killings and pillagings. These were just some of the horrors they would leave behind.
Albert's eyes glared wide at Lady Fairton. I believe he knew what she could do, and it looked like it wasn't the first time she was throwing threats like this. By the look in his eyes, he knew he was on the tight rope.
He bowed slightly, lowering his head. "It won't happen again, my Lady. I promise you with my life."
Lady Fairton tilted her chin, lips curling in slow and winning grin. "For your sake Albert. I really hope that being true." She watched him in silence for just a moment, then dismissed Albert entirely, heading straight for the empty table reserved just for her.
With a groan, his head fell back, eyes shut tight, as if he was in pain. He muttered something which sounded a lot like swearing, before dragging himself behind the bar. It was mostly prayers and curses, yet the only thing I overheard was 'May Gods take her'. However, it didn't take me more than a short trip with Lady Fairton to know that even Gods wouldn't take her.
"I must apologise for my auntie." At first Albert couldn't place where the voice was coming from, but then his light blue eyes settled on me. "She's been in a foul mood the whole journey, and then had a migraine ever since the dresses from Talka did not arrive on time," Not a word left Albert's mouth. Just that piercing stare, like he wanted to confirm if I was who he thought I was. "My name is Lyra Fairton, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you." I extended my hand. He hesitated for a second.
"Ahhh the niece…The pleasure is all mine, Lady Lyra Fairton. I'm Albert Bogswin, the owner of the In." He offered his hand in return, softening his smile immediately, almost unguarded. "Your auntie has been more than generous, Lady Lyra. I hope to repay with our hospitality."
"I'm sure you will." I let a smile curve my lips, leaning in, hands resting on the bar almost as if I wanted to tell Albert a secret, but there was no need when the tavern was thundering with voices and laughter so loud that it smothered even the loudest conversation. "She can sometimes be very…demanding."
Whether it was my dress or my looks, the smile he offered has told me he faltered his guard. It was textbook espionage - earn trust by sharing the same enemy.
"Lady Lyra, I truthfully cannot imagine how you're able to tolerate your auntie, but may God Xelin bless you with luck."
"Luck and something strong to drink." I smiled.
"Well, this is something that cannot wait. Please Lady Lyra, what would you like?" He worked dirty checkered cloth over the glass, yet his gaze flickered to me, maybe for the first time with curiosity.
"What good do you serve here?" I was bluffing my way through, like I knew what liquor those bottles had inside of the brown glass with different royal insignia's, and that I had drunk enough throughout my life to have a favourite. The dress cinched tighter.
"Well, that would depend, my Lady, on who do you serve?"
His hand slowed.
"Erdonal." I said without hesitation. One glance at his apron, I knew he was Rasfalian. My home, but not here and not right now.
"Shame." Albert's gaze dropped. His expression shifted into a mischievous grin. "Here I thought you would've been eager to meet my grandson Ryen." He pointed to the young frail boy waiting tables and collecting glasses from the guests. Tall with hunched shoulders, he swayed in between tables stiffly, almost invisible to the untrained eye. And none of the guests paid even a flick of their attention towards him. He would've made a great spy.
I gave Albert a polite and practiced smile, as he poured me a glass of wine from the dark brown bottle with Erdonal's insignia. My fingers gently brushed the thick brim of the glass that now was heavy from the generous pour. I wasn't much of a drinker, and I probably would not have recognised a good wine from some red piss.
"It's on the house, my Lady." Albert bowed his head. With that being said, he quickly disappeared into the kitchen and left me staring at his grandson who was busy tripping over himself, spilling more than what he was delivering, and somehow becoming the most amusing part of the night so far.
The music was loud. Dragon's Den vibrated completely drunk on music and the noise of the chatter. Drums thundered, strings quartet wailed and flutes spiralled. All crashing together in the rhythmic beat that was so fast that it felt like the ground was shaking and rattling my teeth. And everyone seemed…happy. There was no war behind these walls, like these people outside of the tavern weren't the biggest enemies. It had been a long time since I'd seen a place so alive. Somehow, in between stomping, shouting and singing off-key, more alcohol kept coming spilling from all sides. The whole scene was what I wished from the Continent to become one day, united regardless of our differences, yet the perfect picture was so far from reality.
While twisting in the high chair and sipping exquisite Erdonal's wine, in the corner of my eyes I spitted Lady Fairton playing cards with Talka's diplomats. They sat in that quilted steel blue tunic with beige coat worn on top, marked with threads and crest in the shape of a bear signifying their diplomatic ranking. Restlessly they moved in their chairs, eyes always settled on the cards. While Lady Fairton sat back relaxed holding a couple of cards in her hand. As soon as she laid her cards on the table the men leaned in with anticipation, anxious, eyes half-hidden behind the palms. Lady Fairton's grin spelled out victory before her cards did.
I'd been so focused on her card game, when a burst of sound from the table right beside me dragged me back. Only then I noticed the low voices threading through the air beside me. Erdonal's military sat right behind me at the round table.