Ryolas continued, “I expected us to go flying by now, but there are hardly any bumps at all.”
“Yes, very impressive,” Lucyan said, looking out at the countryside as it raced by. Unlike Dragonfell and Elvenhame, it was easy to spot the cities off in the distance—one simply had to look to see where the plumes of smoke were rising. One thing Lucyan did not miss was the smog; the warlocks had magic to filter it out in the cities, but Lucyan’s sensitive nose had still picked up the tinge of charcoal in the air when he visited Inkwall. They claimed that the smoke dissipated harmlessly into the air, but Lucyan had a feeling they were lying. All of that black smoke couldn’t be good, no matter what their officials said.
“Are the two of you foreigners, then?” the woman sitting next to them asked curiously. She was in her early twenties, dressed in common garb with a babe swaddled in her lap.
Lucyan smiled. “Yes, from Elvenhame. My brother and I have decided we are tired of living amongst the elves, and are journeying to Shadowhaven, where our cousin Illias lives. We are hoping we can find new jobs.”
The woman looked them over and chuckled. To her eyes, they were strapping young men dressed in rough traveling clothes, all of their worldly belongings in the packs draped over their laps as they sat on this coach, barreling toward adventure. “There will be plenty of work for the two of you,” she said, “provided you don’t mind working for the metalsmiths. The royal family has every smith in Inkwall working double time, casting pendants and rings and all sorts of other devices to be turned into amulets and charms. They say they’re merely stockpiling, but most people in the country know better. Our rulers are preparing for war.”
“That’s good news for us, then,” Ryolas said cheerfully, even though Lucyan had felt the elf tense beside him. The woman was wrong—her country’s rulers weren’t merely preparing for war. They were at war. They were the sole reason there was a war.
As promised, the coach pulled into Inkwall three hours later, depositing them in the heart of the bustling city. Ryolas’s eyes were wide as he took in the towering buildings, the sturdy bridges, the bustling roads so neatly planned. Merchants stood on nearly every street corner, hawking food and wares, and luckily the aromas covered up that nasty charcoal scent Lucyan could still smell.
“What are those?” Ryolas asked as he watched a woman at a cart hand over a fresh roll covered with white icing to a waiting child.
“Cinnamon buns.” Lucyan grabbed Ryolas’s arm and pulled him in the opposite direction. “Come, we can eat later. Let’s get some information first.”
They walked up the block and purchased a newspaper from a large stand at the corner. There was a café just on the other side of the street, so Lucyan indulged Ryolas and grabbed a table outside, where they ordered hot food and beer.
“Amazing,” Ryolas said as he and Lucyan flipped through the paper together. “This is such a brilliant way to disseminate news. We only send out public proclamations—there are no regularly printed papers in Elvenhame.”
“Nor in Dragonfell,” Lucyan said. “The newspaper was one of many innovations I tried to talk to Father about when I returned home from my visit to Shadowhaven, but he would not hear of it. Admittedly, we do not have the printing presses they use here, which are necessary to run such large quantities. But perhaps after the war, we can get the warlocks to teach us.”
Ryolas sighed. “I doubt Elvenhame will ever implement any such technology, not when so much metal is required to get anything done around here.” He glanced at a carriage that rolled by, whose frame and wheels were made of metal, then up at the sign above the café—also metal.
The two spent the next hour scouring the paper while they enjoyed a meal of meat pies and ale, looking for any mention of Basilla or a royal wedding. Unfortunately, all they found was more propaganda. The papers depicted both the dragon and elven royal families as unhinged, headed by weak or mad kings, overly aggressive, and unable to be reasoned with. It didn’t seem to matter that Lucyan’s father was no longer on the throne, either. Lucyan was glad that Drystan was not reading these—the top of his head would likely blow right off if he could see the things this rag said about their family.
“This is interesting,” Ryolas said as they perused the advertisement section. He pointed to a full-page advertisement on the right. “This looks like a recruitment advertisement.”
“Exciting new positions available for adventurous and smart young men and women who like to travel,” Lucyan read aloud. “Present yourself to the royal steward at Castle Inkwall tomorrow morning at six a.m. to be considered. Be prepared for various physical and mental tests, including combat. Limited openings available!” He paused, mulling it over. “It sounds like they are recruiting more spies.”
“Indeed.” Ryolas’s face darkened. “We can look forward to more Shadowhaven spies infesting our lands.”
“This is a good opportunity to gain more information about Shadowhaven’s plans,” Lucyan said, folding up the paper. “I believe I’ll go to the castle tomorrow and apply. I already have espionage training, so I should be able to beat out the competition.”
“Fair enough,” Ryolas said. “I would volunteer myself, but I think my time is best spent continuing the search for Basilla.”
The two of them finished their lunch, then went to the Green Mermaid and booked separate rooms. The spy Shadley had sent to meet them was there, and Lucyan and Ryolas grabbed a drink at the bar with him.
“Your plan is not a bad one,” the spy said in a low voice after Lucyan explained his intentions to infiltrate the spy ring. “However, you are going to need to think through your disguise a bit more. The warlocks will recognize the disguise ring you are wearing—they will likely strip search everyone.”
“Of course they will,” Lucyan muttered. They would instantly recognize his dragon eyes if he resumed his natural form, even if they did not know his face by sight. “I will have to find a way to conceal the ring.”
“Have you heard any news of Basilla?” Ryolas asked, a little anxiously.
“There have been rumblings about an elven woman being sighted, but so far I’ve had no luck locating her,” the spy said. “Now that you are here, with your superior sight and your ability to sense her, I may have better luck. We’ll search for her together.”