Chapter 1 – Dyra Karvendeesh

Dyra hated the rain, so it was fortunate for her that the city of Dalian had negligible precipitation. It wasn't so much the actual process of rain that bothered her, more so the way her light linen clothes would plaster themselves to her skin, rendering any minute movement unbearable. But on that late summer morning, the sun cresting in the sky, it may have well rained for the amount she had perspired. As she wound her way through the narrow streets of Dalian's old town, she grumbled to herself, indulging her bitterness in self-pity before she appeared in the auction crowds. If she wanted any hope of walking away with the amount of livestock she required for later she needed to save every last ounce of her waning patience. Pulling the makeshift hood further over her head, she kept her head down and continued meandering through the crowds which were flowing thick; today was market day after all and whilst shops sold similar produce week round, everyone knew that the market held the freshest (not to mention the cheapest) food.

The further Dyra travelled, the more she felt the perpetual pain in her limbs and chest worsen. There was a time when the trek across the city wouldn't have raised her heart beat, but that was long ago and now it only served as an acrid reminder of how debilitated she was compared to her former self. As if her own memories were not enough, the pain served as a constant physical sign of everything that she'd suffered, events that no amount of time could dull.

Feeling his eyes on her shoulder, she took a sweeping glance behind her. Sure enough Vyan was following her, ever mindful of her strict instructions to remain at least 15 feet away so as not to draw attention; there were only a select few women in Dalian who were protected by a member of the High Wardens and right now she was trying to remain as anonymous as possible. Market day was one of the few times of the week when she was simply left alone and they were precious hours that she looked forward to. Solitude was so hard to come by in the Daleen Palace and as she aged she simply desired nothing more, life was so much easier when she was alone. If any of her subjects realised it was her Vyan was following, it would not take long for her shoddy disguise to be revealed. Vyan would usually protest and remind her it was harder to defend her when she was so far away. One sharp glare and a subtle gesture to the concealed dagger she kept on her hip was enough to remind him just who it was he was guarding. His mere presence had always been more of a precautionary measure, and less of a necessity. The warden saw her watching him and gave her a short nod. He accepted her desire for inconspicuousness and chose to respect her wishes, even if he could not understand them. And it was for this reason that he was the one who accompanied her every week.

She knew, even without looking when she was approaching the Forum as the smell of spices, livestock and flowers punctuated the heady air around her, ridding it of the usual smell of grime and smoke. She continued to follow the crowds swarming, wincing whenever anyone elbowed her out of the way. Gritting her teeth to bite down the sense of self-entitlement she'd grown into, she paused to take in the looming domed forum before her.

"7 bullocks," she muttered to herself and Vyan who'd drawn up alongside her "it doesn't matter what vegetables but that and eight sacks of potatoes should keep them all going throughout the next few days." An imperceptible nod and he was back amongst the crowd. Readying herself to face the packed halls, she soldiered on in the direction of the main ring. The high temperatures had done little to deter people from witnessing the auction taking place, and so Dyra had to fight her way to get towards the front of the ring. She received a few odd looks from those she elbowed out of the way, supposing that even with the rough linen trousers and plain chemise she wore, there was something about her; the cavalier tilt of her jaw, the impatiently raised brow, the confidence of her gait that was unfitting of the guise she donned. Such mismatched mannerisms in the simple outfit she wore when venturing into the public would always cause the more eagle eyed of her people to take a second glance.

As she approached the ropes that separated the crowds from the sand laden ring she looked up at the expansive glass dome that covered the Forum. What was designed to aerate the hall and maximise the amount of light within, now only served to trap heat, baking the crowds in a room with minimal shade. She supposed when empty the dome made the room rather alluring but for now she resented it. The rest of the Forum was much more functional; high open arches on all sides meant stall holders and agricultural farmers could easily load and unload their goods when the market opened. Despite being built much more practically and simply than any other building in Dalian there was a grandiose beauty in the sheer magnitude of it. Dyra had often mused how right it was that the Forum, which formed the central hub of social and economic activity for so many city residents, was one of its nicest buildings. It felt appropriate that there should be a building as beautiful as this that belonged to them, given that they made up most of the people living in Dalian.

No sooner had she looked up than the raucous chatter around her increased in volume as the first group of heifers were lead into the ring and the auctioneer took his place on the podium. Dyra readied her hand on the wallet in her breast pocket. And so the weekly battle once again commenced …

The boy in front of her was taking a painstaking length of time to count out the money she had given him in exchange for her purchases. She had previously been rather pleased with herself. Seven bulls – she made sure never to buy heifers, they were far too valuable to be led straight to the slaughterhouse – all well past their prime but not so old that they had become all bone and no meat. The price hadn't been too bad either and she come away with coins to spare. But now as the boy took an eternity to slowly count each individual coin she could feel whatever satisfaction she'd had slipping away again. It had been a long four hours waiting for the right cattle to come through into the ring; she didn't want to take too prize a cow, her people deserved the chance to buy those – it was after all their livelihood depending on it. Exasperated, her finger twitched in agitation against her folded arm and her big toe started to tap against the limestone floor. Almost as if sensing her irritation, the boy dropped the bag of coins he was counting and fumbled to gather its scattered contents. Dyra tried hard not to openly sigh. She already had such limited time in the city unguarded, she should have been enjoying it rather than wasting it by watching someone count out what she already knew to be the correct amount of gold. The sound of rapid steps approaching made her look up to see Vyan, tugging a cart laden with burlap sacks of potatoes, root vegetables and peppers behind him. Her lips quirked at the corner and her head gave a satisfied nod which was rewarded a grin of his own. He held out a bag of coins as he approached her,

"Still some left, we can put them towards next week Your –" Dyra's quick glare cut him off before he blew her cover in the final hour of her mission. Vyan gave her a sheepish grin as his only form of apology before turning towards the boy in front of her.

"You'll find it's all correct boy. She never makes mistakes when it comes to money," the Warden spoke sharply, sensing his mistress' annoyance. The farmboy's cheeks flamed a deep red hue from embarrassment and Dyra felt some of her irritation dissipate. With a hand on Vyan's arm she turned to him.

"Your first time here?" she asked more gently. The boy, sensing she was now less inclined to slapping something, nodded a quick response.

"I don't wanna get fired madam," his Khersonian accent thick "my family can't afford to have one less child earning their way." Dyra nodded more sympathetically before tossing another two gold coins from the bag Vyan had produced.

"For your troubles," she said quickly hoping her more formal accent would not give her away, though with Vyan standing so close, if the boy couldn't tell she was nobility then he was even more simple minded than she'd begun to assume. Sarcastically reminding herself to go over the Khersoni literacy rates when she returned to the Daleen Palace, she made a move to grab the rope from which the seven bullocks were strung to. The young farmboy looked at her with wide eyes

"You can't carry them all miss, they'll drag you through the streets," he said reaching to stop her. Fed up of keeping the pretence any longer, Dyra looked into his panicked eyes before removing her hood several inches. The boys mouth opened and his face paled.

"I'd like to see them try," Dyra said her lips quirking into a smirk.

"Your Excellency I-I-I'm so sorry, I mean … I d-didn't mean to –"

"You are not the first, and you will not be the last I have no doubt," she grumbled before retaking the rope. With a quick glance at Vyan and a final nod at the poor boy - who now stood dumbstruck in the Forum's south exit unable to comprehend just who he'd sold seven cows to – Dyra headed up towards the periphery walkway slowly coaxing the cattle to follow. When her back was turned to both men, she afforded herself the luxury of wincing at the jolting pain that had run up through her arm when she'd yanked on the rope. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to remove any hint of distress from her face, she did not need to give Vyan anymore cause for concern. Her freedom had already been justifiably limited enough by Hamïd and she did not need it reducing even more.

You would be forgiven for thinking that Dalian was a beautiful ancient city and nothing more – a jewel remained trapped in the realms of times long gone. Dalian was the historic command centre for the Khersoni Province and its people had taken pride in keeping its appearance up to date with its status. And certainly the dome tipped spires, the teardrop shaped windows and the limestone walls would commend this initial impression. Even the poorer districts were still picturesque, the flat roofs leaving way to gardens and makeshift dining tables by those wishing to maximise every last inch of their property. The staggering judicial buildings and the temples were covered in ancient paintings, murals and mosaics depicting everything from the creation of Sothoryos to the founding of the Senate, from the Freedom Wars to the construction of Dalian itself. As the city expanded so did the decoration and piece by piece it was becoming a living breathing work of art. The most beautiful building in Dalian was unmistakingly the Daleen Palace. As a building, the palace had clearly been designed to favour looks over practicality; thin spires curved to dizzying heights among the great halls and throne room and exposed arches meant that should the city ever come under attack, it would seem easily assailable. And yet, its position at the summit of the Daleen Mound, and the two 30 foot guarded walls which circumvented it's gardens meant that (despite its architecture leaving it woefully under equipped for a siege) the Daleen Palace had never once succumbed to foreign invaders in all of its 1200 year existence.

And in this way the Palace was a perfect reflection of the city as a whole. What seemed ostentatiously impractical actually hid a labyrinth of ingenious design, brought about by years of progressive planning and curated by minds centuries ahead of their time. The judicial buildings and Dalian's legal system were the first of their kind in the world, it's council one of the largest and diverse in Sothoryos, even the sewage system was implemented nearly two thousand years previously, after High Duke Alakh had famously complained he 'could no longer endure the rotting stench of fermenting shit.' The city may have appeared ancient but the reality was antithetical. The oil the region mined had made Khersoni rich, and the peace Sothoryos had luxuriously enjoyed had made Dalian a city truly ahead of its time.

Dyra had not moved more than 100 yards before Vyan caught up with her, causing the bulls to skitter anxiously before resting his hand on her shoulders. She cast her eyes to his hand pointedly before he quickly removed it from her. He may have been closer to her than most but it was still frowned upon for people of low birth to touch High Duchesses, and Dyra was tired of allowing herself to blur the line between master and servant – the Gods knew she had done it enough in her life, and each time it had left her more and more broken when they departed.

"What is it?" she asked refusing to look at him or lessen her pace and instead choosing to focus on a merchant selling glass lanterns to a little girl.

"I'll take them from you, Your Excellency," Vyan requested offering his hand for the cattle, once they were within 100 yards of the slaughter house. She sighed, she should have known that she would not be permitted to take them alone. Vyan knew when she tried to cover how much physical pain she was in. He'd afforded her the luxury of keeping up appearances of strength in front of the farm boy, but now eyes were no longer following them he returned to the over protective persona he was known for. Whilst she understood his need to alleviate her of any gripe she may have with her body, there was a masochistic tendency in her that liked the ache. Sometimes she desired nothing more than to return to the training grounds in the palace, pick up a sword or, even better, a crossbow, and slice and shoot and sweat and feel. The knowledge that the throbs that now consumed her once were never there at all, were a form of guilty torture forged in the very deepest pits of self-loathing. She deserved whatever torment it gave her.

She stopped herself from resisting and thought about the final part of her own personal mission for the day. She would never be able to complete it if Vyan remained with her. Perhaps his own vigilance would allow her the solitude she required. So, halting her initial sarcastic retort, she handed the reins over to him.

"You know where to take them afterwards?" She could see Vyan wondering why she was asking him this, still under the impression she would follow obligingly.

"I believe so, Your Excellency," came the quick response "If I remember correctly, you said you wanted the food dispersed among the orphanages."

Dyra gave a quick hum of approval. She used to deliver the food herself, relished in it even, it had helped boost morale among Dalian's people and worked to forge an undying loyalty between monarch and people. Now, the memories were tainted and she no longer had the heart or the patience to deal with the thankful crowds. There was nothing to be thankful for, she was just doing her duty. And yet despite her bitterness, she could never quite make herself kick the habit of going to The Forum and purchasing the food herself, at least that way she still had some personal influence over the food delivery.

"Good, I shall make my own way back to the Palace then," she said quickly. "Get one of the workers here to assist you with the food. I imagine you'll need to load it into a cart, there's a fair amount."

Vyan started to splutter his protests but was quickly shut off by her stare.

"Vyan, how long has it been?" He shuffled uncomfortably.

"Nearly 200 years Your Excellency? I could not say," he mumbled, looking down at his shoes sheepishly.

"203," she levelled his gaze. "Most High Dukes or Duchesses die within a year of something ... something like that. I am not going to do anything stupid," she hissed. It was a lie, she knew that, and it hurt that she had to lie to someone who placed so much trust within her. But this was necessary. She had had enough of everything and everyone. She was tired of everyone treating her like fractured glass, waiting for the moment the cracks in her façade would give out and she would cease to be. Were they right to? Of course. But she could no longer have them believing something was still wrong with her, it would make the plan so much more difficult.

"At some point you must all acknowledge that if I was going to try something, I would have done it by now."

"I understand, Your Excellency,"

"Good." She nodded at Vyan and departed, feeling his eagle like eyes burn through her back and follow her movement through the crowds, watching to see if she walked towards the Palace like she said she would. She rounded the corner as if to head towards the incline up the Daleen Mound before stopping and leaning against the wall. Counting to 100 she hesitantly peered round the corner. Vyan, was still there but was now occupied with trying to get the extensive collection of food to its destination. Ducking into an alleyway, Dyra removed her hood before turning the cloak inside out to reveal a different colour. Checking the streets left and right again she began walking in the opposite direction to where she had set off.

The tavern was just as she remembered when she'd first ventured there. Situated in one of the less desirable parts of the city, the building was old and it's interior lined with exposed sandstone brickwork. The steps that lead up its six floors were uneven, worn down over decades of people running up and down them. Upon entering she was bombarded by aromas of spiced pork, pickled vegetables and the sticky humidity of steamed rice; her stomach rumbled. Dyra had yet to eat that day and now regret at not purchasing fruit at the Forum was clouding her thoughts.

Peering around at the heaving tables of people appreciating cold drinks and hearty food, her eyes found him in the back corner of the pub, hair covered by a strip of linen, face obscured from view by the tankard of ale resting on the table. Restraining herself from rolling her eyes, at his 'covert' choice of location, she weaved her way between throngs of people enjoying the shade from the blistering sun outside, before settling down in the chair opposite.

"I thought Your Excellency would appreciate discretion," his low voice wheezed out, a side effect of a lifetime of smoking the tobacco grown by the deserts in Khersoni.

"And this is your understanding of discretion," Dyra seethed "A heaving pub on market day?" she fought to withhold her voice from being too loud. The last thing they needed was to draw more attention.

"Sometimes the busiest of crowds are the best place to hide," he responded nonchalantly

"Not when you have my face," Dyra was close to spitting. The man simply responded with an arrogant tilt and nod of his head.

"Perhaps."

There was a long, pregnated pause as Dyra waited for him to elaborate. When it became clear he was to remain silent, she decided to be more blunt.

"The message said you had news on the search. What has happened? Has any of the igneonite been found?"

"We believe so."

Her heart stopped. So there was some still in Khersoni. Most of Sothoryosi igneonite could be found in The Trove and there alone. It used to be widely accessible, but now given the circumstances it was prohibited.

"Well? I don't have time! Give me what you have found and you shall be compensated," impatience colouring her tone, Dyra could feel a glimmer of hope within her for the first time in 203 years. This was more than she could have ever asked for. But her hope was dashed before it had much chance to blossom, as the man lifted his head enough to look her in the eyes. It was just as unsettling as it had been the first time she had properly seen him. The left side of his face was littered with scars, as if someone at one point had been content to use him as a human training dummy and even though she knew to expect it, the sheer brutality of his wounds caught her off guard. But there was an aura besides the startling facial scars that filled the pit of her stomach with a sense of unease. The way his eyes seemed to mock her as he noticed her losing hope subtly hinted at the slightly sadistic nature she had come to expect from him, those thin dry lip curving into a smile caught somewhere between a sneer and snarl. The face painted a picture of a man who delighted in sheer brute force and had lived his life accordingly. He would never harm her, that much she knew, but she was certain that that was because he'd seen her use the dagger on her hip. Had she been another ordinary woman, the situation would most likely be very different. Not for the first time she swore at herself for placing such a problematic task in his hands. But dark deeds drew in dark people, and she would be even more a fool if she believed that anyone virtuous would help her find the igneonite.

"I left as soon as we got some girl," the man jeered "I ain't hangin' around what with the wardens patrolling. Rode four days to get here so it wouldn't be discovered. It's being forged as we speak." He said.

"How long?"

"Well that depends on my compensation now, don't it?"

Dyra sighed. This was going to be difficult.

"I can get you the money instantly should you need it but until the igneonite is in my hands you will receive no more than half the amount we agreed. I am not so stupid as to pay you the full amount without having my purchase with me." The man gritted his teeth in annoyance. He leaned back, his loose shirt rising up to reveal the muzzle of an old, battered pistol.

"Best not get on my wrong side girl, you'll give me all the money now," the man mumbled, with a menace almost too lackadaisical to be taken seriously. Dyra released another sigh.

"You really do not want to do this," she whispered drawing her features into the most imperious expression she could manage. The sound of a gun cocking, was the only response she received.

A single frame in time had not yet passed before the man felt the dagger piercing the linen at his crotch. It seemed as if the girl had not even moved; as if time had erased the 5 seconds it should have taken her to draw her weapon from her hip and press it against his groin from history.

Impossible. Inconceivable.

And yet, there it was. And there was she, daring him to even breathe.

"Using magic eh, Karvendeesh," the man mumbled. He glanced below the table to the dagger in her hand. "You fight dirty, Your Excellency" before his eyes landed on the table where his own gun now lay, cocked and pointing at his chest.

"Very dirty." Dyra's skin crawled, the allusion to soiling the reputation she should be maintaining hitting her harder than she would have cared to admit. Implications of how low she'd sunk always grated on her, mocking the ideals that she used to prize and used to uphold.

"It would seem we are now in agreement. The first half of the money is yours," she spoke slowly, uncaringly, determined that all the man should see was her unaffected gaze. Carefully she pressed the dagger into his crotch for a second longer before removing it all together and tossing him the bag of coins. Standing up to leave she gathered her dagger and readjusted the hood on her head.

"When it is complete, send me another message and I shall meet you." She curtly turned to depart.

"There's only one reason you'd want this," the man called after her, the taunting lilt to his speech a poor mask for his blatant curiosity "you sure it's the wisest choice?" Dyra hesitated, her gait faltered, her façade slipped. She wanted to say yes with every fibre of her body, but even she knew just what it would mean. Would it make her that much of a destructive being to go through with this? Every time she questioned her motives, her own selfishness would fight her conscience and win. This amount of suffering and desolation was too much. Straightening her shoulders she continued to walk away from the man. He did not deserve an answer, nor did she have one to give. You can't answer something you truly do not know.

Throwing open the doors to her room took effort. The minute Dyra had left the tavern, the gong of the High Temple had gone off. Remembering that she was already meant to be back at the Palace, and that Vyan would be at least halfway there by now, she had sprinted her way through the city, knocking over people, carts and the like leaving a string of chaos behind her – a metaphor that was not lost on her. She'd had to use the back stairwell to avoid running into people in the palace; a sprinting High Duchess would only raise questions. Staggering to the bed at the far side of the expansive suite, she clambered onto the comforter, lunging for the book on her bedside table and throwing it open to the first page she could find.

Footsteps grew in volume outside and the chamber door flew open to reveal a panting, sweaty Vyan. At the sight of her he seemed to visibly relax. She schooled herself to not breathe too heavily and to calm her expression so as to not appear over exerted.

"As I told you before Vyan," she teased "I am fine. It would seem your run was not required." Vyan took a moment to gather himself, though now he was evidently relieved to see she had followed through on what she had claimed she would do, for once. He let go of the chamber handle, wiped his palms on the trousers of the guard uniform and bowed once.

"Your Excellency, Hamïd has requested you join him in his solar. It seemed rather urgent," he said his voice now less breathy and returning to its usual rich timbre. Dyra furrowed her brows. He couldn't possibly know about her having people search for igneonite; she'd been covering her tracks for near on two centuries. No one would talk; she'd made sure of that. And he would never expect her to look for it within Khersoni when everyone knew the largest deposits were within The Trove. No this was about something else, and from the uncertainty on Vyan's face she was beginning to feel an anxious nausea settle in her throat.

"Of course," she said quickly nodding to dismiss him before standing and gathering herself into a somewhat more acceptable state of dress. Tossing the linen shawl she'd been using as a hood under her bed, and straightening out her trousers she began to make her way down the never ending corridors towards Hamïd's room. The golden sandstone walls of the Daleen Palace, were so heavily carved and painted, it was hard to make out the original rock walls underneath, each corridor more exquisite and elaborate than the last. And yet Dyra had passed by the statues and mosaics and murals so often that now it took real effort to appreciate them for their splendour. It was one of the reasons why she had had her own room stripped of colour and painted white; so that she never forgot to appreciate just how beautiful her home really was. As she approached the heavy silver birch door that led to Hamïd's solar she hesitated before knocking. The journey to his chambers had only served to heighten the unsettling feeling she had and whilst she was sure it was none of her doing, it did not mean that the news was pleasant. Without waiting for an invitation she heaved the solid door open and entered the room.

Hamïd's sinewy back was turned to her but upon her entering he turned around. As he took in her clothes and uncommonly dishevelled appearance his face set out into a tentative smile.

"You went to The Forum?" he asked, voice deep and yet simultaneously soft, and she nodded as a quick response. "Good. That's really good …" he said deep in thought. "Who received the food this time?" Dyra allowed a hesitant smile of her own to slip through her sense of unease.

"Most of the orphanages in the city residential areas," she said and took pleasure in seeing Hamïd's face light up with a smile. As an orphan himself before he'd become a High Duke, it gave him contentment to go out of his way to help those whose position he'd been in but whose would never be given the opportunities he had been afforded. Whenever Dyra did the same it never ceased to put a beam on his face at her consideration.

Hamïd's smile was infectious. Hamïd himself was infectious. Born from next to nothing, he had charmed his way through most of life using his wit, intelligence and strikingly handsome looks to the benefit of not only himself but other's too. Fiercely protective of those he held close, his loyalty was difficult to be won but once gained near impossible to lose. Hamïd was everything Dyra could have wanted in a little brother and over a startlingly short period of time, for someone so guarded, that was what he had become to her. They may not share the same blood but they were the same heart, the same soul, both rulers of the same province with the same priorities and ambitions. Time had tamed his vivaciousness to a gentle buzz that was as joyous to be a part of as his booming laugh was to hear, and several lifetimes of success had combined with a sharp eye for reading people to make an unmatched, indomitable confidence that was hard not to get swept up in. When mixed with his high aristocratic cheekbones, unusually large Khersonian eyes and a full mouth it was no wonder Hamïd had always had women and men chasing after him.

"It's good that you're continuing to go to The Forum on market day Dy," he said gently "It makes me happy when you continue habits like that."

"I'd continue more of my old habits, if I wasn't so closely guarded all the time," she said with perhaps more bite than she had meant to. The sinking feeling had her on edge and that brought out her more guarded, hostile side. Hamïd had the decency to look ashamed before turning her and looking her in the eyes.

"You know why I do it," he said in a calm voice that did little to hide the desperation lurking beneath. Dyra gave a long exhale.

"I do," she said bitterly. "It's just it's another reminder." Hamïd frowned before turning back to the massive ebony table in the centre of his solar. Reaching towards a stack of papers he picked up a single envelope before turning to her, his expression grave and Dyra felt the sickening feeling reach a dizzying pulse. He held up the letter and with a hesitant look at her he began explaining.

"It's from Isabeth," Dyra felt confused. What on earth would the Ural's have discovered that gave such cause for concern?

"She's called an immediate Council meeting in the Core for us all. The Trove Warden's received a message from our spy in Pentos. He says there's been disturbing stories coming from Westeros." Dyra's confusion peaked even more. Sothoryos had not been concerned with anything other than itself for millennia, and rightly to if history was anything to go by, they'd spent nearly three centuries at one point carving themselves out of Westerosi and Essosi history. Staying out of the way of the wars fought there had helped maintain peace at home. There was no reason to get involved, so why now?

"Dyra," Hamïd's voice broke her out of her reverie "they think it's happening again. We leave tonight."

The nausea returned at such force that Dyra collapsed to her knees and retched on the bile in her empty stomach.

So there we are first chapter! Hopefully you all have lots of questions that I look forward to answering (in time!). I hope you enjoyed it, please like and leave a comment, and I'll see you all soon x