The Silver Lark glided through the aether, its polished hull gleaming under the magenta sky. Below, the desert realm of Vash’kara stretched vast and empty, a golden expanse broken only by jagged rock formations and the occasional ruin half-swallowed by shifting sands. In the distance, the ice mountain loomed, the Sleeper’s Veil the locals called it, an unnatural monolith of blue and white that jutted from the desert like a wound that refused to close.
Chastity Evergold stood at the ship’s railing, the wind tugging at the veil pinned to her golden curls. A veil, she had been informed, that symbolized purity and devotion. A veil that would soon be lifted by Bartholomew Galedragon, or as the bards labeled him, Drake the Ornamental, her soon-to-be husband.
She sighed heavily.
Behind her, Mathurin, her ever-patient tutor, leaned against the railing with an air of practiced disinterest. “Ah, Vash’kara,” he mused. “Where the water is locked in ice, the people are locked in tradition, and you—” he shot her a knowing look, “—are locked in a marriage contract.”
Chastity turned, leveling a sharp glare at him. “I can still jump.”
Mathurin considered this. “It would be quite the scandal. ‘Princess of Evergold Leaps to Freedom, Presumed Lost to the Aether.’” He nodded. “I imagine Drake the Ornamental would mourn you for—oh, let’s be generous—three hours. Four if the wine runs out.”
She snorted, unable to help herself. “He sounds delightful.”
“Practically a dream,” Mathurin agreed. “A well-groomed, perfectly polished, utterly decorative dream.”
Chastity exhaled slowly, fingers tightening on the railing. Below them, the desert passed by in an endless blur of sand dunes and stone. Zareth-Ka, the capital, was visible now—a sprawling city of tents that moved as frequently as the creeping dunes.
And beyond it, the Sleeper’s Veil. A stark, defiant thing against the dry wasteland.
She watched it for a long moment, her unease curling into something sharper. “That doesn’t look stable,” she muttered.
Mathurin followed her gaze. “It isn’t.”
The Silver Lark shuddered as it began its descent toward the city. As they neared the landing platform, a tremor rippled through the ground below. The Qirathi attendants—lean, dust-furred figures draped in tattered silks—paused in their work for the briefest moment, ears twitching. Then, as if nothing had happened, they resumed.
But Chastity had seen the way their tails flicked, the quick, wary glances they exchanged.
Mathurin noticed too. “Ah,” he said, voice light but careful. “Nothing to worry about. Just the ground subtly reminding us that we are temporary.”
Chastity arched a brow. “Comforting.”
“I do try.”
The ship settled onto the platform with a soft hiss of releasing steam. Chastity forced herself to stand tall, smoothing the embroidered fabric of her gown. The veil fluttered in the dry breeze, irritating her.
She plucked it from her head and tossed it over the railing.
Mathurin watched as it drifted down onto the sands below. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Subtle.”
“If I have to be sacrificed,” she said, brushing past him, “at least let them see the lamb.”
With that, she strode toward the gangplank, where the scorching wind of Vash’kara struck her like a slap in the face.
Chastity's slippered feet had barely touched the landing platform when she felt another tremor that seemed to rise from the very heart of Vash'kara itself, a subtle vibration that traveled up through the sandstone and into her bones. The platform swayed ever so slightly, like a ship caught in a gentle current.
“Did you feel that?” she whispered to Mathurin, who had stepped down beside her, his thin frame casting an even thinner shadow in the harsh desert light.
“The ground's enthusiasm for your arrival? Yes, quite touching.” Mathurin shot her a lopsided grin. He adjusted his spectacles with one finger, surveying the Qirathi who were acting as if nothing had happened. “When in Vash'kara, ignore the impending doom as the Vash'karans do.”
The welcoming party—a cluster of rat-like Qirathi officials in elaborate headdresses festooned with precious stones and feathers that seemed to defy gravity—parted like a curtain, revealing a lean figure who stepped forward with practiced grace. This one wore simpler garments, though still richly embroidered with patterns that seemed to shift under the harsh sunlight. Intricate silver chains draped across a dust-colored pelt, tinkling softly with each deliberate movement.
“Princess Evergold,” the figure said, bowing with fluid grace. “I will be your guide through Zareth-Ka.” Their eyes—amber with vertical pupils—studied Chastity with unsettling intensity before flicking to Mathurin. “I am Ravak, appointed by the King to guide you through Zareth-Ka. I am male. I am told it is important in your culture to define such things and equally difficult for your kind to tell the differences between us.” His voice was melodic but dry, like wind through ancient chimes. “I trust your journey through the Aetherseas was... uneventful?”
Chastity nodded, but their guide continued to look at Mathurin, ignoring her. When he followed suit, Ravak finally turned toward her. “The Ornamental One awaits your presence at the Amber Palace.”
Chastity bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Even the locals were calling her betrothed by the title given to him by jesters
“Prince Drake will have to be a little more patient,” she said, straightening her spine. “We want to see all the splendor of Zareth-Ka first. Let's first explore the bazaar,” she declared. “I hear it is... elaborate.”
Ravak blinked slowly, as if mildly amused by this defiance. “I see. You wish to view our markets.” He inclined his head in reluctant acknowledgment. “This way.”
Chastity shared a triumphant glance with Mathurin as they followed Ravak into the city.
The streets of Zareth-Ka were an vibrant chaos where jewel-toned silks clashed with vivid tents and fragrant spices mingled with incense and smoke from open fires where spiced meats turned slowly on spits. Vendors called out from beneath the shade of colorful awnings, their voices rising above the constant creak of water rigs and the eerie, distant rumble from the ice mountain.
“Quite the carnival,” Mathurin remarked.
Amidst the noise and bustle, Chastity felt the thrill of anonymity that came without her veil—a small taste of freedom in a world that sought to bind her.
“Do you have any specific acquisition in mind?” Mathurin asked, stepping around a particularly enthusiastic merchant thrusting a purple fruit under his nose.
“A ring,” Chastity replied, her voice determined. “A wedding ring.”
Mathurin raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “For dear Drake? How thoughtful.”
“Something like that…”
Near the edge of the market, Chastity stopped at a stall where a Qirathi woman tended her wares with nimble fingers. The merchant’s coat was a deep russet, stripes of gray speckled the fur on her face, accentuating her sharp, canny eyes. Braids of beaded gold adorned her ears, tinkling softly as she examined a bracelet through a loupe.
Chastity studied the array of jewelry spread before them: exquisite pieces of hammered silver and copper inlaid with luminous stones that drank in the desert light.
“Such craft,” Mathurin commented. “Your people are quite gifted.”
The woman smiled, flashing a toothy grin. “Gifts are for giving. My skills, they are for selling.” Her voice was low and musical, with an edge like chipped glass. “What do you seek?”
Chastity leaned in conspiratorially. “I am told that in Zareth-Ka they make very special rings,” she said, choosing her words with care. “Rings that ensure fidelity by... ”
'“You needn’t say more child.” The Qirathi woman's eyes glinted with interest and amusement both. “Bold jewelry for bold customers.” She reached beneath the stall’s counter and produced a small ebony box, flipping it open to reveal several delicate bands of different metals.
“Bridal faith-keeper rings,” she announced, flicking a clawed finger towards Chastity's unadorned hand. “You would like one fitting your color.”
“It’s not for me,” Chastity retorted quickly. “And it should be large—he is very full of himself.”
Mathurin raised his eyebrows at Chastity, but kept silent as he watched the exchange.
”I see.” the merchant intoned, putting away the box and retrieving an identical one and popping it open. ”Of course we have them in any style. Our realm is known for its beautiful weddings.” Sweeping a hand over the jewelry until she found what she sought, the Qirathi selected a wide band wrought from some dark metal that gleamed like polished onyx. She held it up for inspection, the dim light catching on small, subtle teeth that lined its inside like a predator’s grin.
Stolen novel; please report.
Chastity took it from her with careful fingers, weighing it in her palm. It seemed too mundane for such a sinister purpose. “Does it work?” she asked.
“It works or I do not,” the merchant replied with a sly tilt of her head. “The price is as sharp as its bite.”
Chastity nodded, her mind made up. “I’ll take it.”
After Mathurin had haggled over the sum and they left the stall behind, Ravak reappeared from the throng of bodies and led them further into the maze of stalls and tents which made up Zareth-Ka, a sprawling hive of canvas that stretched endlessly in every direction.
The tents rose taller and became more ornate as they continued, some towering high over the others like proud kings surveying a colorful court.
”These are out meeting tents,” Ravak said, waving a hand toward a group of large tents. ”Many important matters are discussed here!”
As Chastity examined them, wondering what sorts of meetings might be taking place in each one, she overheard their guide whispering to Mathurin, ”Excuse me for saying so, but you are a male, yes?”
”I am indeed,” Chastity's tutor replied.
Ravak scratched at his ear, thoughtfully. ”How then is it that you are the chaperone for a princess? Is that not...” his tail twitched as he tried to think of a way to phrase the question. Finally, he continued, ”unsafe for her royal highness' virtue?”
”Ah,” Mathurin chuckled. ”My charge's parents had the same question, until they learned that I fancy more adhesive lovers.”
Ravak stared blankly at him. ”Adhesive?”
”He means he's gay,” Chastity said, reveling in the beautiful chaos around her. Zareth-Ka was a city without walls or ceilings, an endless marketplace sprawling beneath the vast bowl of sky. Nothing permanent. Nothing confining.
She held her hands out and spun around as she walk, looking up towards the sky and feeling the sun on her face. She felt almost light enough to float away.
But beneath an enormous red-and-gold canopy that billowed like a royal standard, she came to a halt. Standing at military precision outside the tent’s entrance was a familiar figure clad in plated armor. The insignia on his chest was unmistakable: her father's personal crest.
The guard gave no sign that he saw them, but Chastity could feel his eyes beneath the helm, tracking them as they passed.
Mathurin chuckled softly under his breath. “Let us hope that the guard doesn’t report back to your royal father that you are taking your time attending to the Prince’s wishes.”
Chastity set her jaw, annoyance flaring. “Let him talk. Tomorrow, my father will have no say in what I do or don’t do.” But that victory was hollow, knowing that she’d be trading her father’s control for someone else’s. Someone she had never met, but who was generally considered a laughingstock.
She glanced at the guard again, a thought taking root. If he was stationed here, that meant her father was…
A wicked smile spread across her lips.
Mathurin caught the change in her expression. “Chastity? I don’t like the look of that smile…”
Ravak slowed, turning back. “Is something wrong?”
“It might be,” Mathurin said, as Chastity veered toward the tent.
“Princess, it is vitally important—” Ravak protested, but his words trailed off as Chastity ignored him and circled around the backside, where two pieces of canvas overlapped. Finding a slit in the fabric, she knelt and peered through. Mathurin and Ravak exchanged reluctant glances before trailing after her.
Inside, opulent rugs covered the sand, and a cluster of richly embroidered cushions formed an informal throne where her father sat. His presence was unmistakable: broad shoulders draped in ceremonial robes, austere jaw set with the determination of a conqueror.
Yet it was not he who held court.
Coiled atop a pile of even more intricate cushions, gleaming beneath the shifting light of hanging lamps, was something from legend—a dragon. Its scales shimmered golden-red like molten glass cooled beneath desert sands. Long whiskers framed a narrow snout and sinuous neck, giving it an air both ancient and regal. It fixed Chastity’s father with brilliant blue eyes that betrayed intelligence far beyond its bestial form.
“You do ask for much!” The dragon's voice resonated through the tent like thunder swallowed by velvet. “And offer little in return.”
“My offer is more than fair,” her father countered before Mathurin pulled her away from the tent flap.
“This isn’t why we came to Zareth-Ka,” he whispered. “Drake awaits—”
“Which is exactly why I need to know what’s going on,” she snapped back, slipping from his grasp and back to the tent.
Ravak frowned, shaking his head impatiently. “This tent is off-limits, even to me…”
“Three months of rains have swelled the rivers in the southern provinces,” he was saying. “Floods ruin our crops, while here in this infernal wasteland you need the rain.”
The dragon rumbled softly, a sound of amusement or derision. It was hard to tell which.
“You overestimate your bargaining position, Evergold. It is not I who need rain, but the Qirathi.”
Chastity had never heard anyone address her father in such a tone, but before she could heard her father’s voice rise in response as Mathurin tugged at her arm again, more forcefully this time.
“We can linger when there’s no risk of being caught by your father,” he said.
She sighed, but allowed him to draw her away from the tent and back towards Ravak, who stood with arms folded and tapping an impatient foot.
”We’re going,” she said before either could chide her further.
The tent colors deepened into richer shades as they moved along: opulent purples bleeding into midnight blues and shadowy blacks, and Chastity wondered if that meant they were moving into the more opulent quarter of Zareth-Ka—if there even were such a thing.
Then they were climbing a large dune in the middle of the nomadic city. When they reached the top she looked out, hardly able to tell where one colorful tent ended and another began. Ahead of them a large yellow rock stuck out from the dunes, towering above even the tallest tents.
“The Amber Palace,” Ravak said, as if reading her mind.
Chastity looked away, her gaze instead falling upon the the impossible glacier in the distance, marooned in a sea of sand. Even from this distance she could see massive ramps spiraling up the mountain like arms towards an indifferent lover, tiny figures swarming over them like ants.
She paused for a long moment watching them.
When Mathurin noticed she was no longer with them, he turned back with an expression of exaggerated suffering. “Princess…”
“You should see this,” she replied without looking.
He returned and followed her gaze while Ravak continued down the other side of the dune to wait impatiently in the shade of a tent.
There were thousands of workers—mostly Qirathi by their short statures and muted brown-gray pelts—clustering near enormous rigs where they worked metal drills into the ice. Networks of troughs snaked away down the mountain’s face, carrying captured melt-water from the drills towards storage cisterns far below.
High on the mountainside, one drilling rig shuddered and failed to work its way any deeper. A figure gestured, and the drill withdrew, its bit spinning slowly. Chastity watched as a dark crack crept steadily downwards in its wake—further with each heartbeat—then slowed and stopped.
“I wonder,” she mused, “just how much longer they can dig away at the ice before it all comes crashing down around them?”
“Watch long enough and you may find out,” Mathurin said, “but we have matters that require us now.”
As if punctuating his words, the ground trembled beneath them and sent a shiver through sand and sky alike. Mathurin swayed but kept his feet, while Chastity felt her heart leap with sudden excitement.
She watched as a thin line zigzagged across the surface of the Sleeper’s Veil—icy fissures spinning outward like a web. Chastity held her breath, expecting cries of alarm from the distant mountain, but the workers seemed not to notice the cracks as they swarmed up the ramps and secured ropes over new hunks of ice.
By the time she looked away, the vibration had already forgotten by those around her.
“A few little earthquakes,” she said, excitement fading to disappointment. “Is that the best Zareth-Ka has to offer?”
“Need I remind you?” Mathurin replied. “We’re not in Zareth-Ka for earthquakes.”
Chastity cast one last glance back towards the ice mountain—the Sleeper’s Veil—before sighing. “I suppose seeing the Prince can’t be any worse than seeing my father,” she admitted grudgingly.
They descended the far side of the dune to where Ravak stood waiting with arms folded across his chest and tail flicking behind him in annoyance.
“Two hours,” he said, an edge of warning in his voice, “you've kept the Prince waiting... Any longer, Drake will take it as refusing his offer and your father…”
Chastity interrupted with a weary nod. ”I get it.... Let's go.”
“Your entourage arrived well ahead of you,” Ravak said twenty minutes later, noting the group of Chastity's father's guards already waiting at the carved out entrance of the Amber Palace.
As one of them walked toward them, Mathurin called out to him, “Sorry for the unexpected delay!” He gave the guard a smile, but it was not returned. “Would you believe we got lost?”
The guard’s expression remained humorless as he looked at Ravak who was shaking his head. “I would not.” he stated, his voice taut as the bowstring slung on his back. “Lord Evergold requested the princess be punctual,”
Chastity crossed her arms, an edge of defiance in her stance. “And Princess Chastity requested an entourage who could keep up with her.”
“My apologies, your grace,” the guard said irritably as he thrust out a bundle of fabric.
Chastity took it before she realized what it was—her veil, the one she had abandoned in protest when they had arrived in Vash’kara. It had a fine layer of sand covering it and looked very much like it had been trampled by several people.
“We were waylaid chasing after her highness’ veil.” The guard continued, clearing his throat. “Shall I inform King Evergold of your arrival?”
Mathurin waved him off like an overzealous page. “We will present ourselves when the Princess is ready.”
For a moment, the guard looked as if he might argue, but protocol won over persistence. With a stiff nod, he rejoined his stoic brethren.
“Why do my guards make me feel more like a prisoner than a princess?” Chastity muttered as the guards walked into the carved entrance of the Amber Palace like shadows at noon.
“With any luck,” Mathurin replied, “house arrest here will be more scenic than usual.” He adjusted his spectacles and turned to their guide. “Our sincerest apologies for imposing upon you so unexpectedly. You’ve been a magnificent host.” He handed him a sack full of coins.
Ravak took the coins with a low bow and a flicker of something that might have been amusement in his golden eyes. “A host is only as good as his guests, and you have been… most entertaining.” He nodded towards the carved walls of the Amber Palace. “I wouldn’t want to slow your pace any further, but, should you need another escort tomorrow and wish to be late to your own wedding, you know where to find me.”
With a final swish of his tail, he was gone, leaving them alone.
Mathurin watched him disappear among the tents before turning to Chastity. “Shall we?”
With a deep breath and a lingering look at the Sleeper’s Veil, Chastity tucked the sand-covered veil under one arm and marched towards the carved entrance of the Amber Palace.
Once inside, they were engulfed by the palace’s cool shadows. The halls were just as Chastity had imagined: draughty caverns adorned with imperial banners that did little to hide their age. Her footfalls echoed as she made her way toward the assemblage room where the true business of her marriage awaited. She glimpsed her father’s guards stationed at intervals, their expressions brusque but relieved, as if thankful they wouldn’t have to chase her down again.
As they approached the grand chamber doors, Chastity paused and glared at Mathurin while still clutching her disregarded veil. “Do I really have to?”
"If you're considering a daring escape, just bear in mind—your loyal crew stands ready," Mathurin calmly interjected, his gaze unwavering.
Muttering under her breath, she opened the doors.
“The lost Princess!” her father’s voice boomed from across the chamber. He stood with regal impatience next to an equally imposing figure—Emperor Galedragon himself.
If her father's tone surprised anyone, it wasn't Chastity, who let his words hang unacknowledged in the air as she approached.
Only when she had walked across the spacious room did she finally reply, “I’m a day early.”
Her father frowned. Beside him, Emperor Galedragon spoke with a dry amusement in his voice. “For the wedding, my dear, but tonight you must be fitted for your gown.” But then the two of them went back to whatever discussion they were entrenched in, as if she were not even there. “As I was saying, Aldric,” the emperor began, “The Spider Mother herself could not have spun such promising alliances…”
Chastity stopped listening. The words “Qirathi” and “ratlings” floated between the men. She caught Mathurin’s eye and found him watching her with a shared, sardonic understanding. For all their talk of alliances and schemes, she and her impending marriage were no more than footnotes to the greater bargains at hand.
“…and the drilling will continue as scheduled,” the emperor was saying, his voice brimming with finality.
Another pawn in their game—that’s all her engagement was to them.
