never been to the tower,” Dierdre replied. “I am from the city of Ur – and that is a good day’s ride south.”
“Then tell me of your city,” Kyra said, wanting to think of anything but here.
Dierdre’s eyes lit up.
“Ur is a beautiful place,” she said, longing in her voice. “The city by the sea.”
“We have a city south of us that is near the sea,” Kyra said. “Esephus. It is a day’s ride from Volis. I used to go there, with my father, when I was young.”
Dierdre shook her head.
“That is not a sea,” she replied.
Kyra was confused.
“What do you mean?”
“That is the Sea of Tears,” Dierdre replied. “Ur is on the Sea of Sorrow. Our is a much more expansive sea. On your eastern shore, there are small tides; on our western coast, the Sorrow has waves twenty feet high that crash into our shores, and a tide that can pull out ships in a glance, much less men, when the moon is high. Ours is the only city in all of Escalon where the cliffs lower enough to allow ships to touch to shore. Our has the only beach in all of Escalon. It is why Andros was built but a day’s ride east of us.”
Kyra pondered her words, glad to be distracted. She recalled all of this from some lesson in her youth, but she had never pondered it all in detail.
“And your people?” Kyra asked. “What are they like?”
Dierdre sighed.
“A proud people,” she replied, “like any other in Escalon. But different, too. They say those of Ur have one eye on Escalon and one on the sea. We look to the horizon. We are less provincial than the others – perhaps because so many foreigners touch down on our shores. The men of Ur were once famed warriors, my father foremost amongst them. Now, we are subjects, like everyone else.”
She sighed, and fell silent for a long time. Kyra was surprised when she started to speak again.
“Our city is cut with canals,” Dierdre continued. “When I was growing up, I would sit atop the ridge and watch the ships come in and out for hours, sometimes days. They would come to us from all over the world, flying all different banners and sails and colors. They would bring in spices and silks and weapons and delicacies of every manner – sometimes even animals. I would look at the people coming and going, and I would wonder about their lives. I wanted desperately to be one of them.”
She smiled, an unusual sight, her eyes aglow, clearly remembering.
“I used to have a dream,” Dierdre said. “When I came of age, I would board one of those ships and sail away to some foreign land. I would find my prince, and we would live on a great island, in a great castle somewhere. Anywhere but Escalon.”
Kyra looked over to see Dierdre smiling.
“And now?” Kyra asked.
Dierdre’s face fell as she looked down at the snow, her expression suddenly filled with sadness. She merely shook her head.
“It’s too late for me,” Dierdre said. “After what they’ve done to me.”
“It’s never too late,” Kyra said, wanting to reassure her.
But Dierdre merely shook her head.
“Those were the dreams of an innocent girl,” she said, her voice heavy with remorse. “That girl is long gone.”
Kyra felt sadness for her friend as they continued in silence, deeper and deeper into the wood. She wanted to take away her pain, but did not how. She wondered at the pain that some people lived with. What was it her father had told her once? Do not be fooled by men’s faces. We all lead lives of quiet despair. Some hide it better than others. Feel compassion for all, even if you see no outward reason.
“The worst day of my life,” Dierdre continued, “was when my father conceded to Pandesian law, when he let those ships enter our canals and let his men lower our banners. It was a sadder day, even, than when he allowed them to take me.”
Kyra understood all too well. She understood the pain Dierdre had gone through, the sense of betrayal.
“And when you return?” Kyra asked. “Will you see your father?”
Dierdre looked down, pained. Finally, she said: “He is still my father. He made a mistake. I am sure he did not realize what would become of me. I think he shall never be the same when he learns what happened. I want to tell him. Eye to eye. I want him to understand the pain I felt. His betrayal. He needs to understand what happens when men decide the fate of women.” She wiped away a tear. “He was my hero once. I do not understand how he could have given me away.”
“And now?” Kyra asked.
Dierdre shook her head.
“No more. I am done making men my heroes. I shall find other heroes.”
“What about you?” Kyra asked.
Dierdre looked back, confused.
“What do you mean?”
“Why look any further than yourself?” Kyra asked. “Can you not be your own hero?”
Dierdre scoffed.
“And why would I?”
“You are a hero to me,” Kyra said. “What you suffered in there – I could not suffer. You survived. More than that – you are back on your feet and thriving even now. That makes you a hero to me.”
Dierdre seemed to contemplate her words as they continued on in the silence.
“And you, Kyra?” Dierdre finally asked. “Tell me something about you.”
Kyra shrugged, wondering.
“What would you like to know?”
Dierdre cleared her throat.
“Tell me of the dragon. What happened back there? I’ve never seen anything like it. Why did he come for you?” She hesitated. “Who are you?”
Kyra was surprised to detect fear in her friend’s voice. She pondered her words, wanting to answer truthfully, and wished she had the answer.
“I don’t know,” she finally answered, truthfully. “I suppose that is what I am going to find out.”
“You don’t know?” Dierdre pressed. “A dragon swoops down from the sky to fight for you, and you don’t know why?”
Kyra thought about how crazy that sounded, yet she could only shake her head. She looked up reflexively at the skies, and between the gnarled branches, despite all hope, she hoped for a sign of Theos.
But saw nothing but gloom. She heard no dragon, and her sense of isolation deepened.
“You know that you are different, don’t you?” Dierdre pressed.
Kyra shrugged, her cheeks burning, feeling self-conscious. She wondered
