In the morning, Sheilah extricated herself from Fialla’s embrace, struggled out from under the mound of furs, dressed in her dragon leather, tucked her weapons in her belt and went to the balcony.
In the Redstone, the air was dry and crisp in the morning. Here in Stormheim the air was cool, but heavy with moisture. There were so many things she could smell and taste, an intermingled smell of people, animals, leather, sweat, and smoke.
Sheilah looked up at the castle wall above her balcony. It reminded her strongly of the keep in the Redstone, another Stormheim-built structure with gray stone blocks fitted together neatly.
She tested her first handhold, and began to climb.
It was easy to scale the castle of Stormheim, her fingers and shoes finding grips and rests. At first she went straight up, but that was just a short climb to a simple watchtower, and the strange sense of spatial awareness she’d gained from the Tyrant Dragon seemed to imply that the heavy metal-reinforced door that occupied the low end of the Watchtower somehow connected to her apartments. To say it was disappointing was an understatement.
“What a boring climb.” She complained to the morning air.
She prowled around the high stone walls of the watchtower restlessly, peeking between the gaps in the stone.
There were other parts of the castle to climb; higher perches to reach. She’d aim for them.
As she crossed a tiled rooftop, another building came into view that seemed to challenge the size of the castle, a building she knew from description, the thin, narrow spires of the Cathedral that her father spoke to her about.
While there were some families that venerated a male-female pair, “the Sun and the Storm”, the officially adopted faith of Stormheim was ‘The Light’, which was theoretically omnipotent, but woefully apathetic.
Apparently, there had been no recorded miracles or actual actions made by “The Light” since the Church was founded. “About as useful as worshiping a rock.” Her father had explained to her, and they’d shared a laugh, then.
According to Davian, they tried to preach about the light in one’s soul, and the need for living righteously and with good character. Anyone could do that, and they didn’t need a ridiculously ostentatious building to do it, but apparently the people of Stormheim felt differently.
Sheilah continued her climb across the castle, trotting across conical rooftops and scaling walls as she went, some part of her marking the return trip.
There was some part of the castle with a wall made with small discs of some hard, clear material held in place with metalwork. She could see through it, and inside that area was a room that was crammed with books. Nearly floor to ceiling, filled with books on shelves.
There weren’t many books in the Redstone, and truth told, they were all owned by Davian. That was interesting to her.
She wasn’t great at reading, despite her father repeatedly struggling to teach her. She really wanted a chance to try her best and live up to his expectations, and maybe, if she were lucky, she’d have a chance to do so.
She continued her exploration, unaware of a man with plain gray and brown robes staring up through the library window at her.
There was a squarish sort of spire that rose up higher than any other part of the castle, and she set her sights on it, scaling up the wall easily, her dragon-leather coat flapping around her in the stiffening breeze.
A mild sweat had sprung up on her brow; the morning air whisked it away. Her arms ached comfortably, there was a mild twinge in her legs, all signs of a good exertion. More, it felt good to climb. The higher she went, the better she felt, her mood elating as so much of the Stormheim city came into view as she climbed. It felt good to look down on things from on high. The air was brisk and clean where she was at. She took a deep breath into her lungs and closed her eyes.
This.
This feeling.
This sense of being as high as she could go. This is what she’d wanted. Still, she could go higher.
There was a ledge a little further up; she’d sit there and have a drink from her canteen. She’d take in the view, and after a bit, she’d return to her apartments and have breakfast with Fialla and that Andrea woman.
As she closed in on the ledge, she spotted something carved into the stone of the castle, some mark. She pulled herself closer and found herself staring straight at a Dragon mark, carved into the stone wall she was climbing.
She blinked a few times. It was still there. She traced her finger in the grooves carved into the stone. The Great Tyrant. The First Bloodline. The personal mark of her father, Davian.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
He too had climbed this wall.
She had no idea how it came to be there- well, it was obvious that he himself had carved it- but she didn’t know the circumstances behind it.
A great feeling that she could not place a name to swelled in her breast; she closed her eyes and let it fill her.
Below his mark, with her fingernail, she etched her own mark, carving it into the stone.
If there was ever a point where she somehow made it back to the Redstone, she would tell him.
She was there, alongside him, she had seen what he had seen, she had done what he had done.
That feeling swelled within, threatening to overflow. She threw her head back and gave it a voice.
“Father, I’m here!” She cried.
“...Sheilah?!” A stunned voice called from right above her.
She jolted and let out a shriek as a shadow suddenly loomed over her.
She lost her perch, and gravity took hold of her, yanking her down with claws of the inevitable.
*****
Toril had gotten up early in the hopes that he could take care of reviewing the paperwork he needed to review in time to give Damiel the slip long enough to meet Sheilah. Magdalene had whispered in his ear all night long about what she was like. She’d been breathless and excited, though she’d tried to hide it.
There were a lot of roundabout phrases about how she needed to be properly refined as a lady, and how their work would be cut out for them, but still- that excitement- he hadn’t seen it in Magdalene in decades.
The vague phrases she used to describe Sheilah’s behavior likely meant she really was a Redstone clansman, through and through. He hoped that was the case. He’d wanted that strength, that discipline, that surety of purpose he’d seen in Davian for himself.
His first two sons were soft, clad in the strength that came from simply being born into power; their deaths weighed on him lightly. The first had died in a provoked fight, he lost his head as quickly as he lost his temper. The second- well, he wasn’t certain whether or not Davian had killed him, but he’d disappeared in the elven lands and the only one that had sailed back had been Davian himself, with shipload after shipload of wild-looking brown elven men, women, and children.
His third son had died under mysterious circumstances; the too-innocent looks the Dark Elves gave him after his death told the complete story.
They had two years to instill in Sheilah proper etiquette and manners so that she could pass her social debut without mistake.
Afterword.... Well, afterword would take care of itself, wouldn’t it?
Normally there would be no problems at all with crowning her as the princess, educating her in etiquette and manners and cultivating her ability to rule; the problem was that the Dark Elves would be getting in the way, doing whatever they could to interfere in whatever manner they thought best.
Worse the luck, one of the Dark Elves had dropped out of sight completely. Perhaps that one had somehow caught wind of the plot to bring his daughter back from the Redstone and had decided to assassinate her before she arrived.
“I just want to see her.” He muttered, and picked up his cup of Cliff.
Cliff was a drink that came from the darklands to the south, a drink brewed from roasted beans. He couldn’t get through a day without it.
He took a swallow, savored it, and turned to the windows behind his desk.
He opened the window in time to hear a young woman’s yell, “Father, I’m here!”
He jolted, looking down and right beneath his window was a young woman with glossy black hair and deep blue eyes clinging to the wall outside.
She looked up and their eyes locked.
“Sheilah?!” He blurted, and her grip slipped and she started to fall.
He lunged for her and missed her hand entirely. As she fell she kept grabbing at the wall, trying to catch herself as she fell, as if it would do anything.
That- that couldn’t have been Sheilah. As far as he knew, no one in Stormheim had black hair. His family was known for blonde hair; same as his wife, though her roots were in the Westlands.
Still, her cry-
No, it couldn’t have been Sheilah. His daughter wouldn’t climb the outside of the castle like-
Like Davian had, so long ago.
His mind whirled, struggling with the conflict as he tried to wrap his mind around the baffling chain of events that led to watching his only daughter and last living heir plummet down the sheer wall of the castle. That couldn’t have been Sheilah, could it?
*****
The dragon in Fialla wanted everything to burn. Everything in her dreams was covered in flame. She soared over mountains she’d never been to, through valleys she’d never seen, across plains that stretched all the way to the horizon, and everything burned where her shadow fell. She looked over all that she had wrought, and it was good.
She woke up to an appetite like she’d spent her whole night using her draconic abilities and guzzled water. It was only after she lowered the waterskin that she realized that she’d woken up alone. Where had Sheilah gotten off to?
She rubbed her eyes. There was a strange sense of space that she wasn’t used to, as if she was seeing things differently. Her stomach roiled and she shook her head, trying to dispel the nausea that roiled up from her guts.
She closed her eyes, but could somehow still sense where things were without using them. Was this what Sheilah was doing last night, as she explored her apartments? Somehow... mapping the place with a weird sense of perception that didn’t rely on her senses in the traditional way?
Her body felt weird, her senses were strange, her mind was filled with all sorts of alien thoughts that made no sense to her.
She lay back down and hoped that Sheilah would return soon.