“They’re often used to spy,” Solan replies, his tone clipped as his eyes dart to the rooftops again. “The queen and her sovereignty, rival towns, even private individuals can train them to record conversations and carry them back to their owners. In some regions, they’re considered the ultimate tool for intelligence gathering.”
TheDracodineflutters its wings once, and I swear its swirling gaze sharpens on me for a heartbeat before it shifts to scan the crowd below. “And nobody notices these things eavesdropping?” I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief.
Solan smirks faintly but doesn’t take his eyes off our surroundings. “They’re common enough here that most don’tgive them a second thought. But that’s the trick, isn’t it? Something seen too often becomes invisible.”
I frown, studying the creature. Its talons flex briefly, and the subtle glint of something metallic catches my eye. “Wait—do they wear… jewellery?”
Solan shakes his head. “Not jewellery. Those are message cylinders. They’re attached to their legs to carry written missives.”
“Efficient,” I murmur, though I can’t help but feel unsettled by the thought of these creatures flying around with recorded voices or secret messages strapped to them.
“It is,” Solan agrees, his tone darker now. “But don’t trust aDracodinejust because it carries a message. If someone gets their hands on one, they can tamper with what it delivers.”
I stare at the creature for a moment longer before finally tearing my gaze away. “That’s… terrifying.”
Solan offers a small nod, his expression grim. “It should be. In the wrong hands, they can be weapons. In the right hands, tools. In either case, always be on the lookout for them.”
His words linger in my mind as we continue through the bustling streets. I cast one last glance at theDracodinebefore it spreads its wings, the feathers flashing iridescent in the light, and takes flight with a single powerful leap. It vanishes into the sky, but its piercing, all-seeing gaze stays with me long after it’s gone.
“We’re here.” Solan’s voice is low. He flashes me a glance, his focus intent. Worry appears in his eyes, blatant enough that my chest tightens. If Solan is concerned, is he expecting something to go wrong?
Before I returned to the outback to support Dad and take over the family farm full-time, I’d spent years in Brisbane. Time working on the ranch, both growing up and since going back home, meant I had no choice but to work andthink independently, think fast on my feet. When mustering especially. Sure, I had seasonal workers to support me, but that meant I had additional responsibility. Decisions could mean the difference between life and death. Okay, that sounds a little more dramatic than it likely is, but ranching life could be dangerous.
Before returning to the outback, I’d worked as a firefighter in Brisbane. Fires don’t wait for you to figure things out. You make decisions fast—whether it’s kicking down a door or deciding which way to direct your crew to keep them safe. And it’s not just about the fire itself; it’s the people.
You learn to read panic in someone’s eyes or hear it in their voice. Not everyone reacts logically when their world is literally burning around them. That’s where reading the room becomes as important as knowing how to handle a hose or an axe.
But it was my time as a firefighter that really taught me the significance of thinking fast and staying on my feet. Not only that—the skill of noticing the tiniest details in the heat of the moment and acting without hesitation.
I shake off the creeping unease and glance at Solan. “Should I be worried?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
His lips twitch—a faint smile or grimace, I can’t tell. “No,” he says, but the way his hair ripples in an almost-imperceptible wave tells me he’s not as confident as his words suggest.
Reading a situation is one thing. Reading a monster with sentient hair? That is a whole new challenge.
Solan pushes open the heavy door, and I follow him inside, stepping into a building that smells of something earthy and slightly spicy, like freshly cut wood and warm pepper. The walls are crafted from a material that looks like wood but shimmers faintly, catching the light with an almost-metallic sheen. It’s larger inside than I’d expected. The space is open, high ceilingsarching overhead, with beams that stretch across like the ribs of a great beast.
To my surprise, it feels more like an office than a store. A long counter with polished surfaces stands at the far end, and scattered throughout are desks, some piled with neatly stacked parchment, others with odd contraptions I can’t even begin to identify. This isn’t just a merchant’s shop—it’s some kind of hub for activity, far more organised and official than the dusty, ramshackle trading posts I’d imagined.
A smaller creature—not a Glowranth—sits to one side, perched on a stool that seems slightly too large for its compact frame. Its skin is a mottled mix of blue and green, textured like tree bark, and its three round eyes blink in unsettling succession. Those eyes keep darting towards me, curious but not hostile. My hackles don’t rise, and I let myself relax. It’s clearly wary, though I can’t tell if it’s because of me specifically or just their general behaviour.
Solan strides towards them, his gait confident but not rushed. His voice takes on the rhythmic cadence I’ve heard while walking through the township, speaking in the language I assume belongs to the Glowranth. It flows smoothly, musical but with sharp edges, like the hum of a song interrupted by snaps of static.
The small monster nods rapidly, its gaze flickering to me, then back to Solan. I watch their exchange, trying to piece together the meaning from their tones and expressions. The smaller monster looks unsure, then placated, though its wide-eyed glances my way don’t stop.
After a brief exchange, Solan gestures for me to follow him into a back room. I trail behind, stepping into a quieter space that smells faintly of ink and some kind of herbal musk. The walls are lined with shelves stuffed with parchment-like books,their covers worn and their edges uneven. The floor is a patchwork of mismatched rugs that are soft underfoot.
Behind a low desk sits someone who I assume is the chief merchant, and immediately, I know this isn’t your average shopkeeper. He’s a Glowranth, his luminous, iridescent skin casting a faint, warm glow that shifts subtly with each breath he takes, like sunlight refracting through a thin veil of mist. The surface of his skin shimmers with faint hues of gold and violet, as if alive with its own energy. He’s engrossed in writing, long, sharp fingers moving deftly across a sheet of parchment, the fluid motion as precise as it is practiced.
The merchant looks up as we enter. His gaze locks on Solan first and then shifts to me. A flicker of recognition flashes in his intelligent eyes, his expression sharpening. The curve of his lips hints at a smile, though it’s tempered by something serious.
His gaze travels over me, and I know immediately that my disguise isn’t fooling him. I resist the urge to fidget, instead standing as straight as I can, though my insides twist with nerves.
“Solan,” the merchant greets, his voice deep and smooth, but there’s an urgency in his tone as he continues in the Glowranth language. The two exchange words quickly, their voices quiet but intense. I can’t understand what they’re saying, but the merchant’s eyes widen briefly as he takes me in again, his expression shifting from cautious to concerned. Then, surprisingly, something softer takes its place.
The merchant leans back in his chair, his skin shimmering like moonlight rippling over a smooth dam, and switches to rough but comprehensible English. “You are welcome,” he says, his tone surprisingly warm. “I am Harith. We felt the shift but had not yet heard where it took place. There is news that the Prince Aelith is missing… as is his bodyguard.” He tilts his head slightly, watching my reaction.
Panic seeps through me at his words, threatening to buckle my knees. Harith leans forwards, his face darkening. “The royal guard searches. It is… not good.”
