I Returned To Kill Monsters, And Created The Worst One

Chapter 6 — An Open Door

Elara Veyne

Almost two months after leaving Veyrhold, I discovered that maps were terrible at explaining distances.

On paper, Azhareth looked like nothing more than a kingdom in the far southeast, separated from Aldervane by a few lines, two trade borders, and a reasonably large stretch of sea. In practice, it meant weeks of arcane railway travel, far too many nights in cramped cabins, a ship that rocked enough to make me question every decision I had ever made, and, finally, an aerostat that seemed to have been built by someone who thought hanging dozens of people beneath an enormous structure filled with gas and mana was an excellent idea.

I survived.

Which, considering my history, was already a promising start.

The landscape changed gradually. First, Aldervane’s dense forests disappeared. Then the dark stone buildings became lighter and lower. The air grew drier. My clothes started to feel far too heavy. When I finally crossed the last mountains and saw the dunes for the first time, I spent several minutes simply staring.

I had seen drawings.

Read descriptions.

I knew what a desert was.

None of that prepared anyone for the absurd amount of sky and sand.

In Veyrhold, towers, cathedrals, and gothic rooftops always seemed to compete for space above our heads. Namarra was different. The city spread out in pale stone beneath the intense light, surrounded by shades of sand and distant mountains. There were domes, wide arches, inner courtyards, slender towers, and facades decorated with geometric patterns that reflected the sun.

Mana crystals were embedded in some structures, but not in the heavy, industrial way I knew.

There, they seemed to be part of the architecture itself.

Narrow canals cut through some avenues and courtyards, water running beneath small stone bridges while trees grew in areas protected by fabric shades.

The first thing I thought was that all of that must cost a fortune.

The second was that I was melting.

The seller in Veyrhold who had sworn my clothes were suitable for “any hot climate on the continent” had clearly never set foot in Azhareth.

If I ever went back to his shop, I intended to personally discuss the definition of lightweight fabric.

My first day in Namarra ended with the purchase of two loose tunics, thin-fabric trousers, and a kind of light cloak used to protect the arms and head from the sun. The woman who sold me the clothes tried to convince me I needed three different scarves.

I bought two.

She wore the satisfied expression of someone who had probably overcharged another foreigner.

The language was less disastrous than I had imagined.

I had spent much of the previous year studying Azhari while making potions and saving money. I could read simple signs, form questions, and understand a conversation if the person had the kindness not to speak as though they were being chased.

The people of Namarra did not possess that kindness.

The speed of my first conversations made me suspect I had accidentally studied a different language.

My contact in the city was named Harun Saret, a merchant of fabrics and spices who had done business with Edda a few times. He was a middle-aged man with a short beard, watchful eyes, and the unpleasant habit of laughing whenever I mispronounced a word.

“You asked for a room with a goat,” he explained on the second day.

I stopped.

“I asked for a room with a balcony.”

“You asked for a goat.”

“The two words are almost the same.”

“Only to foreigners.”

I started practicing pronunciation more seriously.

Harun had also arranged my lodging. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was in a busy area of Namarra and had exactly what I needed: a bed, a small table, a wardrobe, its own lock, and an owner who didn’t ask questions as long as the rent was paid in advance.

I liked it immediately.

For the first seven days, I did what I had planned to do before I even left Aldervane.

I observed.

Namarra quickly taught me that almost everything I knew worked differently there.

There were no tracks cutting through the main avenues as there were in Veyrhold. Light carriages shared space with animals I knew only from books, and small crystal-powered platforms carried cargo between some commercial districts. In the larger canals, narrow boats carried goods and people from one district to another.

I also discovered that jewelry did not necessarily mean wealth.

On the third day, I saw a woman selling fruit while wearing four worked-metal bracelets and small earrings set with blue stones. I assumed the stall was merely a pastime.

Then I asked the price of two pears.

I almost gave them back.

Harun found it amusing.

“Water costs money.”

“We have metals. Stones too. Fruit needs good soil, irrigation, and people with enough affinity to keep everything alive during the summer.”

I looked at the pears again.

“Then maybe I’d rather have a bracelet.”

He laughed.

Agriculture around Namarra depended on a combination of mana-fed canals, deep wells, condensers, and people with an affinity for water. Some families were known specifically for their ability to manipulate moisture, supply crops, or cause rain in particular regions.

It was strange to think that an ability treated almost like a curiosity in some parts of Aldervane could be worth more than gold there.

Stranger still was realizing how much I didn’t know about the world even after three years of studying.

At least now I knew enough to recognize my own ignorance.

It was progress.

Despite the rumors I had heard in Veyrhold, Azhareth did not seem like a kingdom on the verge of collapse.

Namarra was busy, relatively clean, and surprisingly prosperous. There were beggars and poor districts, of course. I hadn’t crossed the continent to find a utopia. But the markets were full, the water systems worked, and even ordinary workers seemed to live better than some families I had known in Veyrhold’s poorest districts.

That also made the rumors about the royal family more interesting.

The king was respected.

The prince, less understood.

During that first week, I heard enough versions of Kian Varesh’s illness to conclude that no one actually knew what was wrong with him.

Some said he had been born sick.

Others swore the illness had appeared during adolescence.

A spice seller told me he could no longer stand.

A porter at the market claimed the prince was practically dead and the palace simply didn’t want to announce it.

Harun rolled his eyes when I told him.

“The man is alive.”

My interest remained elsewhere.

Nythrium.

I asked little.

I listened a lot.

I discovered that talking directly about the mines was not the best way to make friends. The Crown controlled much of the extraction, and export contracts involved powerful families, licenses, and more bureaucracy than I would have liked.

Buying small refined quantities was possible.

Buying enough to truly test its effects on my blessing would be expensive.

Having regular access seemed almost impossible.

Almost.

I hadn’t crossed two months of travel to give up after one week.

It was on the seventh day that the palace decided to make my job easier.

I was in the grand central market trying to convince a seller that being a foreigner did not mean being an i***t when I heard the trumpets.

The man stopped arguing over the price of a set of small ceramic containers and immediately looked toward the main avenue.

People began moving aside.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Royal announcement.”

He was already putting away half his merchandise.

A row of guards appeared first.

They wore lighter armor than the paladins of Aldervane, with golden metal plates over dark fabric and long sashes bearing the symbol of House Varesh.

Behind them came three ornate carriages.

The gold was not exactly subtle.

Clear crystals were fixed along the sides and projected the herald’s voice across the entire avenue when he began to speak.

Everyone around me lowered their heads.

It took me two seconds to notice.

The woman beside me discreetly tugged at my sleeve.

I bowed.

The last thing I needed was to be arrested for disrespecting a local tradition before I had even been in the country for ten days.

“By decree of His Majesty, King Rayan Varesh...”

I kept listening.

The announcement spoke of foreign delegations.

Noble houses.

Representatives from allied kingdoms.

A grand ball that would be held at the palace in a few weeks.

Then came the name.

Crown Prince Kian Varesh.

The event would receive candidates from noble bloodlines considered suitable for a possible marital union with the heir to the Crown.

Beside me, two girls started whispering.

“They say princesses from three kingdoms are coming.”

“My sister heard that a duchess from Merath has already arrived.”

“To marry him?”

The other made a strange expression.

“If he survives until the wedding.”

It didn’t sound exactly like a promising love story.

My interest remained moderate until the herald continued.

Because of the extraordinary number of guests and delegations arriving in the capital, the palace would open temporary positions for civilian workers.

Kitchens.

Cleaning.

Laundry.

Table service.

Room preparation.

Storerooms.

Gardens.

Maintenance assistants.

My head lifted.

The seller beside me murmured,

“They’ll pay well.”

I didn’t answer.

I was looking at the royal carriage.

I had spent a week trying to figure out how to get close to information about the mines.

Where were extraction contracts approved?

At the palace.

Where did important merchants negotiate with representatives of the Crown?

At the palace.

Where would any change in Nythrium exports be discussed before reaching the markets?

At the palace.

And now they were hiring ordinary people.

I almost laughed.

Not because of the prince.

The idea of presenting myself as a possible bride never even crossed my mind. I had no title, important name, territory, army, or family capable of offering a political alliance. The women arriving in Namarra were princesses, daughters of dukes, and heirs of powerful houses.

I had a bag of coins, foreign documents, and enough talent to produce illegal potions.

It wasn’t exactly the same category.

But a servant?

That I could be.

I had far too much experience being invisible inside the homes of powerful people.

The difference was that, this time, I intended to use it to my advantage.

Harun didn’t like the idea.

“You arrived a week ago.”

“I know.”

“You’re a foreigner.”

“I know that too.”

“And you want to work inside the palace.”

“Temporarily.”

He stared at me across the table in the small business room where he usually met with suppliers.

“Why?”

I had already prepared the answer.

“Money.”

“But you have money.”

“I want more.”

“Miss Elara...”

I smiled.

“The palace will receive merchants from many places. Maybe I can make better contacts for work.”

It wasn’t a lie.

It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Life in Veyrhold had taught me that the best lies had a healthy amount of truth mixed into them.

Harun remained suspicious.

“They’ll ask for references.”

“I have them.”

I had spent a year preparing to reach that kingdom. I didn’t know anyone important, but I had legitimate trade letters, records of temporary work, and a recommendation signed by one of Edda’s contacts.

Nothing impressive.

But nothing false.

Exactly the kind of thing that allowed someone to pass through without being remembered.

“You planned quite a lot,” he commented.

“I like to know where I’m stepping.”

“And yet you got into an aerostat,” he said, teasing me.

“We’re not going to talk about that...”

He laughed.

The next morning, I went to one of the registration points.

The line already stretched around the corner.

I stood there for a few seconds watching men and women holding documents, discussing positions, and trying to look more competent than they probably were.

I should have been nervous.

Maybe I was a little.

Entering the palace of a foreign kingdom in search of information about a resource controlled by the Crown was not exactly the definition of sensible behavior.

But I had learned one thing over the past year.

Looking suspicious was a choice.

Most of the time, no one paid attention to a woman carrying trays, cleaning tables, or lowering her head at the right moment.

Powerful people had a curious habit of discussing important matters in front of those they considered irrelevant.

I knew that better than most.

I took the application form when my turn came.

At the top of the page, the Varesh crest was printed in golden ink.

I looked at it.

I didn’t particularly believe in fate. My experience with higher powers had never been good enough for that.

But I had crossed almost two months of travel looking for a way to get close to the source of Nythrium.

One week after my arrival, the palace itself opened its doors and asked for workers.

If that wasn’t an opportunity, I didn’t know what was.

I dipped the tip of the quill into the ink and began writing my name.

I wouldn’t enter that palace as a guest.

Much less as a suitor.

I would enter in the way that had always worked best for me.

As someone no one would have any reason to notice.