Thoughts swirled in Alannis’s head as her horse, Goblin, galloped through Mistfall, his hooves clopping against the cobblestone roads. Each scenario about The Council’s purpose for calling upon her dissolved as quickly as it appeared in her mind. She didn’t know why The Council wanted to speak with her, and she hated not knowing things. She always had, even before the attack on her unit turned her into a constant ball of nerves.
The ride to Council Hall was short. Mistfall was not a large city, and Council Hall sat right in the center.
Alannis guided Goblin to the stables out front. As she climbed down from the saddle, she stared up at the large building. The smooth, gray granite on the outside walls was extra shiny, thanks to the droplets of mist that dripped down. The peaked roof was adorned with black shingles, and rivets of water spilled over the edges. Despite passing the building many times since coming to Mistfall ten years ago at the age of thirteen, Alannis had never been inside.
Alannis winced in pain as she ascended the gray stone steps and forced open the heavy black iron doors.
The inside of the building was even more impressive than the outside. Alannis walked into a lobby bigger than her entire apartment, which was larger than most apartments in Mistfall. A tapestry with the map of Caestreon covered the wall to Alannis’s left. To her right, smaller tapestries with maps of each country in Caestron lined the wall. Candlelight flickeredfrom above, where gray and white stained glass chandeliers—which matched the stained glass windows—hung overhead.
Alannis’s boots padded against the gray and white checkered marble floor, and she stopped in front of the gray granite counter in the center of the room. “Commander Alannis Cresswood,” she said to the woman in the black chair on the other side of the counter. “I received this.” She held out the summons the messenger hawk had brought her.
The woman gave the paper the briefest of glances before she set it aside and told Alannis, “They’re expecting you.” She pointed to the hallway behind her. It was the only hallway that had guards blocking its entrance.
Alannis passed the desk. The guards let her through, and she walked down the hall, where two more guards were standing next to the black iron door at the other end of the hall.
One of the guards held open the door for Alannis, and she entered the room.
Twelve people sat at the circular black stone table before her, each wearing robes in the colors of the country they hailed from.
The Council of Caestreon.
Alannis lowered herself to one knee and tried not to wince at the pain that shot through her entire body.
The Council of Caestreon came into existence sixty years ago, following the end of the war between Sunait and Starev. The idea that all the countries would benefit from being united had been floated by various scholars for centuries, but once the war between Sunait and Starev ended, people really started pushing for unification, and The Council—comprising of two nobles from each country—was founded, and Mistfall was built to serve as the captiol of the entire continent.
The Council oversaw most of the international goings-on in Caestreon, including the military.
So, if the captain of the military was Alannis’s boss, then the Council was her boss’s boss. She had to be on her best behavior.
Finally, a woman told Alannis in the common language, “You may rise.”
Alannis stood, glancing at the woman who spoke. The woman was short—even at just five foot four, Alannis towered over her—and lithe. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun, her face was covered in white paint with winged eyeliner, and she wore robes of pinkish-red and mint green—Xuchi’s colors. The nameplate in front of her read Councilor Kuazami.
Alannis looked away from Councilor Kuazami, addressing the whole room when she asked, also speaking in the common language, “How may I be of service?”
The man to Councilor Kuazami’s left also wore Xuchi’s colors. The nameplate in front of him told Alannis his name was Councilor Gamotto. He had dark, narrow eyes, and his straight, black hair was loose and down to his waist. He explained, “For some time now, we have been considering forming a team of people to help solve crimes. Many cities employ guards or knights to prevent crime, but often they are unable to do anything after a crime has been committed and the perpetrator escapes.” He stopped speaking and looked at Alannis expectantly.
Alannis had no idea what he wanted her to say, but when she scanned the faces of the other Council members, she realized they were all looking at her the same way. “With all due respect,” she began, “I don’t understand what this has to do with me. I was—I am—a soldier.” She might have been on hiatus, but she planned to return to her job as soon as she was able to.
“We are well aware of who you are, Commander Cresswood,” a pale man at the far side of the table, with white-white blonde hair and bright blue eyes, wearing dark blue and white robes—Starev’s colors—told her. Councilor Korvach, according to his nameplate. The first word that comes to Alannis’s mind when she looked at the Starevan Councilor was round. Councilor Korvach was a very round man. From his face and his eyes to his body. Even his arms, which rested on the table in front of him, to his hands and fingers, which formed a steeple in front of him as he went on, “You are a hero to this land. You risked your life in the name of duty. Your former colleagues have spoken highly of your intelligence and eye for detail. We think those qualities—along with your skills in leadership and diplomacy, and your fluency in five languages—make you an excellent candidate for the task.”
Alannis stared at the stone floor. She didn’t deserve all that praise. Not when ten of her unit members were burned beyond recognition, leaving nothing for their families.
“Commander?” One of the women—Councilor Kuazami, judging by the accent—prompted.
Alannis took a deep breath and looked at Councilor Korvach. “And what task is that?” She was still unsure why she had been called here.
“There has been a death in the Sunait palace,” Councilor Saldi, a woman clearly from Sunait, with her medium-brown skin, dark brown eyes, and thick, black hair, wearing Council robes dyed teal and orange, explained. “Princess Kasha’s wife had a guest from Starev. A dragon breeder named Filip Isayev. He died shortly after dinner on his first night in the palace. He was young and in excellent health. Poisoning is suspected.”
“You want me to find out who did it?” Alannis must not have been understanding correctly. It was an impossible task.
But Councilor Saldi simply said, “Yes.”
Alannis glanced at Councilor Korvach and the other Starevan council member, Councilor Zelnyk. “If you do not mind my asking, who suspects that this dragon breeder was poisoned?”
“Princess Yelene,” Councilor Zelnyk answered.
Princess Yelene—Princess Kasha’s wife—was a princess from Starev. As the youngest of seven, she had been unlikely to ever take the Starevan throne, which was likely why she had been allowed by her family to marry a princess from a foreign country—especially a foreign country Starev has a tense relationship with.
“Is she the only person who suspects this?” Alannis asked.
The Starevans glanced at each other for a moment before Councilor Zelnyk admitted in a gruff voice, “Yes.”
“And does she have any proof?”
The two men glanced at each other again.
“There is no proof,” Councilor Korvach conceded.
“But there has been tension between Starev and Sunait for centuries,” Councilor Zelnyk added, glancing across the table to the Sunatian council members.
“Please,” Councilor Saldi waved a hand. “If Sunait was to kill one of your people, it wouldn’t be some dragon breeder.”
Before an argument could break out and derail this conversation, Alannis carefully said, “With all due respect, that makes Princess Yelene’s suspicions harder to…” she trailed off as she searched for the right word.
“Believe?” the second Sunatian council member, Councilor Bladina, suggested with a smirk, glaring at the Starevan council members.
Alannis grimaced. “Well, I was going to say prove.” Even so, believe also worked.
“We are not asking you to make an arrest,” Councilor Rodiach, one of the council members from Grenvell—a woman with wavy, waist-length red hair and brown eyes, wearing green and gold council robes—told Alannis in a lilting accent. “We are simply asking you to investigate. You will not be punished if you find no evidence of foul play.”
“And if I find evidence of a murder? What will I be expected to do then?”
“You will report your findings to the Sunatian empress. Whatever happens after is her decision.”
“All I have to do is investigate?” Alannis clarified.
“Yes.”
Alannis considered her options. The council members made it seem like if she said no, she could just leave. Go home and go about her life. However, when Alannis joined the military and became a dragon rider, she had taken an oath to the continent of Caestreon, swearing to put her duty above all else. Although she’d been on hiatus for the past year, this could be a good way for her to get back to work—a way to ease back into things. “All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
“We will send word to the royal family,” Councilor Bladina said. “Report to the aviary at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
Alannis bowed once more before turning to the doors. Then she left to prepare for her journey.
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and then Add to home screen.