Centa Muis

It took Samuel several more days to repair the portcullis. In the meantime, Lavenza had Deme and the others withdraw into the relative safety of the gatehouse. Most traces of the battle had disappeared, but Old Calvin shivered when he walked through the courtyard for the first time.

“How many lay dead here?” he asked Lavenza. “No. Don’t tell me. It will just depress me.”

Only a handful of travelers crossed the imperial border the next few days. Captain Kerone arranged transport for the wounded and allowed the last of his men to leave aboard merchant carriages and wagons. On the day that Samuel finally lowered the repaired gate, the captain was all that remained of the former garrison to see Lavenza and the others through to the imperial road.

“I’m staying,” Captain Kerone told her.

“Her Royal Highness will ask for you to return in the final months,” Lavenza said. “Then—“

“That’s not what I meant,” the captain shook his head. “I’m staying until the end.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond.

“There might still be travelers trying to rush to Centa Muis in the final months,” he explained, “maybe even the final few weeks.”

“They can let themselves through,” Lavenza replied.

“People will panic,” said the captain. “Those who won’t make it in time will resort to desperate things. If they see a manned garrison here, they’ll know Her Royal Highness is still here, looking after them. They’ll think they can still make it.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

Lavenza hated resorting to platitudes.

“And you?” the captain motioned to Deme. “Are you finally taking the child to Centa Muis?”

“Yes, but not to the harbor,” she hesitated. “As for what comes after...”

“No need to tell me. I will ask no further,” Captain Kerone smiled. “If this is the last time we see each other, then I bid you farewell. It was a pleasure entertaining a second visit.”

“Wait. One more thing,” she said. “The other night, you mentioned something about Menuans who are vanishing?”

“Mostly the usual rumors,” Captain Kerone paused. “Though, there is one thing. Someone was asking about Menuans traveling the road, asking if anyone’s seen one of you.”

“That isn’t too unusual.”

“I suppose not,” the captain shrugged. “Just be careful, Menuan.”

“You too captain.”

Once Lavenza and Deme crossed back into imperial territory, Centa Muis was less than a week’s travel away. For Old Calvin and the others, this was their first time traveling the empire interior.

But the road to Centa Muis looked no different than the roads beyond the border. Empty. Sparse. Unattended. The occasional caravan could be spotted further down the path, but they moved with great haste and often disappeared the morning after Lavenza and company made camp.

“I would have thought it would be more…lively,” said Old Calvin. “Everyone’s in quite the hurry.”

“Look at the farms, the fields,” Ariadne gasped. “They’re all dead.”

“It makes sense if you think about it,” Old Calvin said. “They would send farmers to The Opposing Shore first, don’t you think? You’d need to give them time to cultivate the land, raise animals, prepare a proper harvest when the rest of us arrive.”

“Are there still ships left for us?” Ariadne asked. Her hands folded over her belly. “How many have they already sent across the sea?”

“There are ships for all of us,” Samuel comforted his wife. “Aren’t there, Lavenza?”

“They say all of Aparthia has emptied to build the vessels to carry us across The Great Sea,” Lavenza said. “Besides, the empress has yet to depart.”

“Her Royal Highness?” Samuel asked.

“She remains to oversee the evacuation of Aparthia,” Lavenza said. “So long as she is here, ships will be built to ferry Her Royal Highness to the new world.”

“You hear that?” Samuel laughed. “There will still be ships, Ariadne.”

Centa Muis came into view from patchy hilltops overlooking a vast plains, long before Deme or Lavenza passed through its gates. The city went by many names, as cities often do when they stand for generations. The Old City. The Ironclad City. 

In truth, the city was all and none of its names. Its ironclad moniker referred to its walls and guardhouses roofed with iron domes and barbs, but much of the city interior was built with white limestone and polished chestnuts. Its roads gleamed with traces of marble.

Early cathedrals towered over the defenses as if they were the city’s true protectors; stone arches and capitals decorated with fantastic beasts and acanthus spanned the lengths of monasteries and academies. Meanwhile, Centa Muis’s modern harbor was raised with weathered steel and iron-riveted chimneys billowing with charcoal smoke, for no abundance of mythical or foliate carvings could withstand the battering of The Great Sea, which drew in and from the city shores a breath of ancient misty foam.

In the fetid swamps and flatlands beyond Centa Muis, by muddy riverbank and eroded plots of soil, the city ended and a field of tents began. They numbered in the thousands, flooding the plains with sagging, sun-bleached fabrics and the stench of manure. Every arriving caravan added to the encampment, and had it not been for imperial colors flying overhead, it would have not been a mistake to assume the city was encircled and besieged.

“All those people,” Ariadne whispered. “They’re all waiting to get in?”

“There’s not enough space in the city,” Lavenza said. “Those without passage by Royal Decree wait here for a ship that will bear them.”

“Will we have to wait outside?” Ariadne asked. “Like the rest of them?”

Lavenza’s head turned sharply at the blacksmith’s wife.

“What do you mean ‘like the rest of them?’” she growled. “Are we different somehow?”

“T-that’s not what I meant,” Ariadne said.

“She truly didn’t mean anything by it,” Samuel rushed to his wife’s side. “She only thinks of the baby. That’s all.”

She looked into Samuel and Ariadne’s frightened eyes. In truth, the blacksmith’s wife was not wrong. Because of Lavenza, they were not like the other refugees, scouring for fish in the river.
Imperial soldiers guarded the main road. Lavenza counted almost a dozen makeshift towers and barricades along the plains. Each time they were confronted, Lavenza flashed the guards her royal seal tucked beneath her robes. 

The soldiers did not flinch. They sheathed their weapons and allowed her and the others to pass without so much as a second contest. But others did not take kindly to a new caravan that cut in line. One glance at Deme and Lavenza and many came to their own conclusions.

“I know someone three tents down who has a child. Why aren’t they being sent into the city?”

“Hey look. That’s a Menuan woman.”

“There are only a few left. You think the empress is giving them special privileges?”

“I always knew Her Royal Highness had a special kink.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Deme advised the others. “They can’t do anything if you don’t talk back.”

The final checkpoint lay at the main gate to Centa Muis. Tents were not allowed so close to the city entrance. Instead, their short caravan ran into one final hurdle, a waiting line for the day’s entries into the city. Once the guard grew tired, or annoyed, or too lazy to let in more refugees, the gates to Centa Muis would close.

“What happens if we don’t get in today, Venz?” Deme asked.

“Then we’ll set up tents just like everyone else,” she replied, “and wait for morning.”

Looking behind her, Lavenza could tell Ariadne was too scared to ask the obvious follow up. Why wasn’t she using her royal seal to cut in line?

“Why don’t you just use that seal of yours?” Deme asked. “Cut the line? Get us in that way?”

Ariadne jumped in her seat. Lavenza sighed.

“One way or another, those in front of us will be in Centa Muis soon,” she explained. “Merchants, noble caravans, large families. It may not look it, but the city can be small. I’d prefer to not anger anyone if we don’t have to.”

The line inched forward into the late afternoon. Deme and the others occupied themselves with small talk, while Lavenza stood alone at the front of caravan with the horses. It was more comfortable this way. Lavenza couldn’t stand common gossip, and she was sure the others, maybe even Deme, were happy she wasn’t around to intimidate them.

The soldier that guarded Centa Muis’s gate that day seemed the attentive sort. He asked the travelers stern questions, then paced about their wagons and carriages to inspect for anything peculiar. This was good luck. This was the sort of man who would work until the sun rose the next morning.

“State your name and purpose in Centa Muis,” he said when Lavenza had reached the head of the line.

The apostate flashed her royal seal, but the soldier shook his head.

“State your name and purpose in Centa Muis,” he repeated.

She wondered if perhaps he did not recognize the seal of Her Royal Highness. No, that was not it. Power meant nothing to incorrigible men and women. All peoples were equal beneath the dying Endire, and to some, no amount of wealth or favor could compensate for a lack of just cause or noble purpose.

Lavenza looked behind her again. Even below the city’s daunting gate, Deme and the others had not even noticed that they were next in line into the city. They did not pay attention to Lavenza, who tucked her away royal seal, smiled, and answered the soldier with the truth.

“My name is Lavenza. I am here to see Empress Seline.”