Chapter 28. Visitation
“Poet, we should have been traveling by flight from the start. It’s so exhilarating!” my voice carrying on the crisp morning wind.
He tipped his head with a melodious trill, wings slicing through the thin air as he glided effortlessly beside me. “Indeed, my lady,” his feathers glinting in the sunlight.
Below us, the rolling valleys and forested hills blurred into a tapestry of green and gold, rivulets of mist clinging to the treetops. Other birds darted in our wake, tiny silhouettes against the sky, but we moved so swiftly that they fell behind.
The wind danced along my skin and tangled through my hair, cold at my cheeks, warm at my back. The world beneath stretched out like a living map: rivers glimmered like silver ribbons, fields rippled with the promise of harvest. High above, the morning sun crested the horizon, its rays spilling over the clouds in shafts of gold. Its warmth was a distant caress compared to the thrill of our ascent.
“Lady Veil, I believe we’re approaching Valenhorn,” Poet announced, his voice hushed with reverence.
In the distance, the Arcanist Tower rose from the plains like a white sentinel. Its spire pierced the sky. Three years ago it had looked just the same, its stones unweathered, its presence unchanged and I reminded myself that in the vast expanse of the void and the Underworld, three years was but a breath.
“How about we land right here, Poet? We can walk the rest of the way,”
My eyes scanned the gentle slope of grass beneath us, dotted with wildflowers.
“I’m sure they’re used to arcanist flying, but I’d rather avoid unwanted attention.”
“At your command, my lady.” With a graceful arc, Poet descended, talons brushing the ground before he folded his wings and settled on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of damp earth and early blooms.
“You know, Poet,” I mused, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face, “that little one back there was right. I really need to get some shoes.
Mother provided me with an abundance of heels, but last time I tried to wear them, I stumbled at every turn.”
He puffed out his chest, feathers fluffing with pride.
“Well, my lady, I think you are perfection regardless.”
I laughed softly, the sound mingling with the rustle of grass.
“Yes, yes, you’re right."
Oh, now look who’s becoming conceited.”
“I learn from the best,” as I pointed at him.
Ahead, a line of travelers stretched toward the gateway merchants with laden carts, cloaked figures murmuring among themselves, and a few hopeful adventurers clutching chipped swords and battered shields.
“Seems to be a line forming,” I observed.
“Archoness did mention they’re on high alert,” Poet added, his tone edged with concern.
I drew a handful of candied dates from my satchel and offered them to him. He accepted one with a chirp of gratitude. The line inched forward; I watched nobles in gilded carriages roll through a separate queue, their velvet drapes swaying. Merchants’ wagons creaked under barrels and crates of exotic wares: spices that perfumed the air, tools that glittered in the sunlight.
At last, we reached the front. A warden in polished steel armor leaned against the gatehouse, quill poised over parchment. He licked the felt tip and looked up.
“Welcome to Valenhorn. Name?”
“Veil.” My voice was calm, deliberate.
“That’s all?” His brow arched, surprise flickering in his gray eyes.
I inclined my head. “Yes, just Veil.”
He studied me, from the tips of my gleaming feathers to the bare soles of my feet. “Hm. Reason for your visit?”
I paused, choosing my words. “I intend to register as an adventurer.”
His gaze sharpened. “You do look like a royal arcanist except for missing shoes.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “I suggest speaking with a merchant soon.”
I caught the suppressed giggle escaping from Poet behind me and shot him a warning look. The guard’s advice hung in the air, dry as the parchment in his hand.
“That will be one silver.” He held out his palm.
I snapped my fingers; a single coin appeared in my grasp, and I tossed it to him. It gleamed as it landed in his hand. “The Hall of Valor is straight ahead, just beyond the Arcanist Tower. Once you register, you may stay indefinitely. Without registration, five days is your limit, after which you’ll owe another toll.”
He tucked the coin into his belt pouch with a nod.
“If it’s not too much trouble, may I ask why all this palimanary?
Has something happened?”
The guard sighed, his shoulders slumping.
“Ever since the Champion party disbanded, monsters swarm the borders, marauders raid villages, kidnappers lurk on forest roads. Opportunists are forming new orders, covenants rise overnight. Rumor has it a cult is trying to summon the undead.”
“Really?” My curiosity flared.
“Yes. Plenty of coin to be made, but no coins brings back the dead. Be careful out there, adventurer.”
I produced another silver piece from the air and offered it to him. “Just for you, for the information.”
He accepted it, eyes softening. “Thank you, my lady.” With that, he stepped aside, and we crossed the threshold into Valenhorn, the city’s pulse quickening with each footstep.
As I cross, I remember the letter the Archoness gave me. “ Excuse me for the bother again, but I have a letter,” I say softly. “ I was advised to present it upon arrival.”
His gaze flicks to the fine wax seal, and his eyes brighten.
“A seal from House Astreia,” he murmurs, brushing a fingertip over the crest. He unfolds the parchment; his eyes scan the elegant script in a heartbeat. When he finishes, he refolds it carefully and hands it back.
“I do apologize, my lady. I..I should return your silver to you. I did not realize you were an honored guest of Archoness Caelith. Please grant me a moment to speak with our head warden. I will personally escort you to the Halls of Valor.”
I glance at Poet perching on my shoulder, then shake my head. “No, it’s all right. Keep the coin. I believe I can manage on my own. I don’t want to be a bother.”
The guard studies the parchment once more, then nods. “When you reach the Halls of Valor, present this to the scribe. They’ll contact the Head Master immediately.” He bows slightly.
“Thank you, Warden. Have a wonderful day.”
“You as well, my lady.”
The street beyond is alive with activity: stalls groan under baskets of fruit, puff fragrant clouds of fresh bread, and vendors shout over the clamor. Wardens in polished armor patrol the crowd, their presence reassuring yet solemn. I weave gracefully through the throng until the Halls of Valor rise before me a vast structure of pale stone, its facade dominated by a carved relief of a dragon felled in mid-roar, scales dusted with crimson.
Halfway up the grand staircase, a sharp ache blooms in my chest. I tilt to one side, clutching at it.
“My lady, is everything all right?” Poet’s voice is a concerned whisper in my ear.
I exhale, voice shaking. “It…it hurts, Poet. Memories flood in screaming, blaming me for what happened. Not the laughter or friendship, but betrayal and guilt. It wasn’t my fault they turned on me.”
Poet hops down onto a step, looking up at me with earnest eyes. “Please, my Queen, look at me. Focus on my voice alone. Think of your mother, the Goddess of Spring, all who love you. You are not the person of that past. Remember what you told me: live in the present. This present is right here.”
I press a hand to my chest and take another step. The pain dulls, retreating to a manageable thrum.
“Good…very good, my Queen,” Poet murmurs. “You’ll be alright.”
I mount the last step and stand before the massive double doors. The ache vanishes completely, the weight of guilt lifting from my shoulders.
“Thank you, Poet,” I whisper.
He flutters back onto my shoulder. “Do not thank me, my Queen. It is an honor to serve.”
I close my fingers around the small ruby pendant at my chest, its warmth reminding me of home before I let it rest back in place.
Pushing open the doors, I step into a vaulted hall filled with light. Adventurers cluster around the boards, poring over parchment quests. Long wooden tables are strewn with maps and coins as eager scribes record new recruits.
I thread through the lines toward an open spot when a broad shoulder barrels into mine.
“Oof hey, watch it ” the man sputters, looking up. His eyes widen at the sight of mine, still shimmering with unspent emotion.
“I I’m sorry,” voice trembling. “I promise I ” He scurries away, hastily averting his gaze.
“Great first impression, my lady,” Poet teases from my shoulder.
I let out a laughter tinted with relief. “Poet, you’d best be grateful I care for you so dearly.”
“You say that as if you have any other choice,”
I smile and scratch the soft crown of his head. “Such a good boy.”
“Always, my lady.”