13. Healer Kalemon #5
Their cover story took root quickly: Allora was a burn victim from the western ranges, her body wrapped against the elements, her skin too fragile to be exposed.
She kept her dark skin hidden beneath layers of fabric, scarves wound tight around her hair and neck, gloves covering her hands even in warmer weather.
The wraps made her blend into the crowd of bundled travelers seeking refuge from the cold.
People believed it. Why wouldn't they? No one suspected a goddess-kissed fugitive lived just down the lane, growing heavier each week with a child that should not exist.
She had even stopped flinching at the sound of boots passing outside the door.
Until today.
The market smelled of smoke and spices, the air thick with frost. Allora slipped through the stalls as she always did, her hood pulled low, scarf wrapped high, her bag heavy with vegetables and dried meat.
A stallkeeper offered her that peach-like fruit, the one with golden skin and blood red flesh from the southern coast. She bit into it, and juice ran sticky down her fingers.
She'd been craving this fruit for months.
For a moment, just a moment, she let herself savor it. The sweetness, warmth wrapping around her at the sheer pleasure of the juice hitting her tongue. It made her feel human. Free.
And then she heard them.
Two soldiers, close behind, voices carrying easily over the market bustle.
"The Silver Fox is sweeping through the province next. Another town, another sweep. He won't stop until he finds that Canariae."
"The dark one?"
"Yeah. They say he doesn't even sleep anymore. He's gone full predator now. Burned down an inn last week for refusing him entry to search the rooms."
Allora's hand clenched around the fruit.
The pit dug into her palm as bile rose in her throat.
It wasn't the pregnancy making her stomach twist. It was fear.
Fear that twisted her gut and made her insides burn.
The fragile calm she had built for herself cracked and shattered like thin glass underfoot.
He was coming. Ever closer with every passing day.
The panic hit her like ice water flooding her lungs.
She turned, her heart hammering, fumbling for her bag, her scarf, ready to run.
And slammed into someone.
Tall and cloaked. The figure loomed above her, wrapped in deep velvet blue. A dark scarf concealed the lower half of their face.
Her breath caught. She stumbled back. "I'm sorry," she stammered, eyes wide.
The stranger didn't answer at first, letting the moment hang well past the point of comfort. Then, with deliberate slowness, the figure bent, picked up the fruit she'd dropped, and held it out to her.
The voice that followed was soft. But threaded with a quiet dread that made her blood turn to ice.
"You should watch where you bump into people, little dove."
A pause. The weight of their gaze pressed down on her.
"Not all of them are as kind as I am."
Allora froze.
The cloak. The constellations embroidered in gold along the hem, ancient stars, planetary symbols, maps of things older than kingdoms.
Her blood ran cold.
By the time she found her breath, the stranger was already turning, walking into the crowd with a slow, unhurried gait. Their cloak shimmered faintly with each step, vanishing into mist and movement like a ghost swallowed whole by the market.
Allora didn't wait. She dropped the fruit, clutched her bag tight to her chest, and ran.
The door to Kalemon's makeshift clinic slammed open so hard the hinges rattled, the sound echoing through the cramped little shop.
"Allora, what in the name of the seven hells?" Kalemon barked from the back room, her voice lancing with alarm.
Allora stumbled inside, panting, her hood half-fallen, scarf loose around her throat, eyes wide and wild. Her chest heaved as though she'd run the whole length of the province.
"They're here," she gasped, clutching the strap of her bag like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.
"He's coming. The soldiers are talking about sweeps in this province.
And there was someone watching me in the market.
A cloaked figure wearing dark blue velvet with gold constellation markings.
It looked exactly like the cloak Malec gave me. "
Kalemon froze. For the first time since Allora had met her, the woman's practiced calm fractured, just slightly. Her hands went still over the mortar and pestle, her storm-colored eyes cutting toward Allora like steel.
She crossed the room in three long strides and seized Allora by the shoulders, grounding her. "You need to breathe, girl."
But Allora shook her head violently, curls falling loose, panic spilling over. "You don't understand. That cloak was the same one I saw in the last town. Same astronomy patterns and gold thread. They're tracking me."
Kalemon's face hardened, her lips pressing into a hard line. Her wordlessness carried more force than shouting would have.
Then, finally, her voice dropped to a low, grim rasp. "We're out of time."
She turned instantly toward the back window, her body already in motion. "We need to disappear before the Silver Fox arrives."