6. A Clandestine Life
A Clandestine Life
Cahira
Surely, it wasn’t this easy. She had paid a hefty price for any information pertaining to a priestess or new whispers of the old religion.
For days she had stopped at every outlying village and mud-soaked hovel.
Only when she reached the seedy underbelly of a boarded-up tavern, infamous for attracting criminals and lowlife thugs, did she find the answers she desired.
With mercenaries infesting the rickety two-story shack, she made quick work in flashing gold and making backstabbing alliances.
Every highborn from Arkan to Gail’s borders felt the wave of magic released.
Their hushed voices behind doors had finally reached lower cities where men would sell their own mother for a copper and women exchanged their children to brothels for a measly food allowance.
It seemed Eslanda had made long-lasting enemies who still craved blood.
Unfortunate for her daughter, who was quickly becoming the most hunted girl in Peraynia.
When Cahira left the sad excuse of a town south of Gail, she had learned two things.
Scrawny children with sob stories were the best pickpockets in the entire realm and Eslanda’s mysterious daughter was named Aradia.
By the time she gained entrance into Gail, chatted with locals, and explored the lower city, Cahira had woven her own story and donned a new identity.
Now, seated within the Lazy Lunar, Calia Wrenn, fifth daughter to a wealthy Vidrenian salt merchant, sat observing the last priestess who ridiculously waited on tables in a crowded tavern.
There had been no doubt something was amiss the moment she entered the quaint building yesterday.
Fear had oozed from Aradia, coating the air around her.
Her shaking hand placed in Cahira’s firm grip could only be from recently spiked adrenaline.
There were plenty of people who would be sent after her, if the waste of human space earlier was to be believed.
She peeled her tongue off the roof of her mouth.
Dealing with that particular mercenary had left a bad taste she couldn’t swallow.
She had procured a room and Aradia was more than happy to show her the way, leading her away from the lower floor and up the stairs.
Cahira had taken the moment to size the priestess up.
She was quite … ordinary. Aradia stood at least a head shorter, and the goddess Cybelle had been more than generous when shaping her curves.
Cahira imagined without the multiple pins styling her thick raven hair, it would flow at least to the middle of her back.
There had been no mistaking the well-earned calluses on her palms either.
Yet, her fingers held a gentleness Cahira did not possess.
She imagined Aradia had inherited it from her magi mother.
Eslanda had been a well-renowned healer after all.
Cahira scanned the tavern again, finding she was not the only person out of place.
The firepit crackled and popped as the cold breeze drifted through the open window. She shivered and pulled her cloak tight around her.
Gods, I’ll never complain about the Arkan summers again.
It was only her second time this far north and the blasted chill clung to her bones, making her fingers feel brittle. She reached for her bowl of stew and wrapped her hands around the rim. Secretly using her magic to heat it and herself.
The sun had set beneath the mountains. Gail’s city watch monitored the numerous alleyways and cobblestone lanes. They lit lanterns, casting the streets in a glow of blurry pale light
“Can I get you anything else?” Aradia plastered a smile across her face, but Cahira could read the stress behind the quiver of her lips and the crinkle at the corner of her eyes.
“Yes,” Cahira smiled, focusing her full attention on Aradia. “I was told the pies here are delicious.” She glanced at the table beside her. “What flavor is that?”
Aradia frowned. “It’s the last slice of autumn pie, unfortunately, we’ve run out of the winterberries used to make it.”
“I see,” Cahira patted her stomach, pretending there was anything but toned muscle from years of training underneath her clothes. “Probably best.”
Aradia laughed. “Our sugar twists are also outstanding.”
“Well, in that case, I must have one.”
How easy it was to banter back and forth with Aradia. If Cahira wasn’t planning on using her for everything she had they could have been true friends.
Aradia nodded and left the table.
Cahira’s mind drifted south to where Kaiden could possibly be. Had he reached Pirath yet? She held a sigh of frustration. How the depths was she going to get Aradia to come with her willingly?
Most of her missions from the king ended with her targets being dragged back against their will or dead. Cahira blinked away the guilt trying to creep into her mind. She had done unforgivable things to survive and she would continue to do so if it meant ending her father and protecting Kaiden.
A white plate of twisted sticky bread was pushed in front of her.
She inhaled the sweet aroma and her mouth watered instantly.
She smiled at Aradia before taking a bit of the sugary delicacy.
Cinnamon, nutmeg, crushed pecans, and cream burst across her taste buds.
She closed her eyes and moaned with delight before stuffing two more into her mouth.
They were almost as sinfully delicious as the sopapillas Fintan bought for her each year.
“You were right,” she said between bites. “These are outstanding.”
Aradia’s smile grew. “Everyone raves about our sugar twists, doesn’t matter where you’re from.”
“Well,” Cahira swallowed the thick dough. “They certainly don’t have these in the southern kingdoms. Even amongst all the spices in Vidrena.”
“What brought you up here?” Aradia switched the tray in her hands and leaned heavily to the right, balancing the weight of the foamed beer.
“We escaped our home just before Arkan trapped Vidrena in the bloody siege.” The lie rolled off her tongue.
Aradia frowned. “I’m sorry, Arkan has made refugees of many people.”
Cahira followed her sodden gaze around the tavern.
A mixture of Peraynia squeezed into tables and around bar stools.
A Zenobian family of six ate quietly in a corner.
Yellow skin flushed from the unfamiliar northern cold.
Bone straight midnight hair tied back in a long braid down each of their backs — men and women alike.
Their slanted eyes missed nothing as they kept watch over each other.
A group of rowdy miners drowned their worries in frothy beer.
Their hard Randale accent showing the lack of proper education.
Locals bundled in furs crowded near the roaring firepit, laughing amongst themselves and spreading town gossip.
Not many Vidrenians had made it from the siege but even their bright silks and mixed skin color were hard to miss.
Multiple languages and different accents filled the tavern in a hub of unique maunder.
“We are all indebted to Gail and the king’s generosity,” Cahira said.
Truer words had never been spoken. If only Arkan could have a fair and just king, perhaps this war would have never begun.
A crash sounded at a table and Aradia groaned under her breath.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, making her way to the table of men who threw drunken fists and shattered plates at each other.
“Finally, something interesting,” Cahira said under her breath.
She leaned forward, her hands naturally hovering over the twin blades strapped to her thighs.
A familiar and comforting weight. Would Aradia use her magic to stop the idiots?
Would she need backup? Cahira had gone days without a good fight.
Her muscles twitched and she bounced her leg underneath the table at the dangerous shift in the room.
“Enough!” Aradia stepped onto a bar stool, portraying a looming height and commanding the room. “Stop it.”
The room chilled as hazy gazes slowly turned at the order; eyes red-rimmed and bulging at her audacity.
“You leave your rage at the door. The Lazy Lunar has zero tolerance for blatant disregard to manners. While within the white walls you are a guest and you shall act as such!”
Cahira raised a brow in surprise.
If Aradia thought it would be enough to stop drunken men she clearly hadn’t worked here long.
Her grip tightened on her daggers and she slipped from behind the table to make her way behind Aradia.
Thick-headed proud men only reacted to strength and from what Cahira had seen so far, Aradia was anything but.
She pushed her cloak behind her shoulders, showing the multiple blades strapped against her leather.
She caught the eye of one man who raked his gaze from her long braid down to her black boots. He stepped back slowly as if contemplating who would win if he crossed blades with her.
You won’t.
She smirked and felt her magic pool in the pit of her stomach.
Fear pushed through the drunken haze as the man tapped one of his friends’ shoulders before sitting down.
“Apologies, miss,” a gruff man addressed Aradia. He sat with a squeak in the wooden chair.
Cahira shrunk back into her cloak as Aradia stepped down from the stool.
“Oh, didn’t see you there.” Aradia jumped at Cahira’s presence.
Cahira smiled, raising the persona of a merchant's daughter. “I didn’t know if you would need help or not.”
Aradia blinked but looked at Cahira, searching for answers she wouldn’t find until Cahira revealed them.
“Yeah,” she placed a hand on her hip and tossed a look behind her shoulder. “Us girls have to stick together.”
“Yes,” Cahira nodded. “We do.”
Idle chatter rambled throughout, now that men had been silenced, and the night continued to tick by. Cahira remained in the corner silently watching over Peraynia’s supposed savior. If Aradia could hardly contain a group of drunken bastards how was she ever to take on her father?