14. Beautiful Chaos
14
BEAUTIFUL CHAOS
WREN
W alking through Mora’s gates is like entering another world. The throngs of people coming up to the city were bad, but they were nothing compared to the pandemonium inside the city walls. The gate opens into a large courtyard unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Even the busiest market day in Grenbloom doesn’t compare to the chaos around me.
There are so many people milling about that I can barely sort through them. A young woman with a baby strapped to her chest is gesticulating wildly as she speaks to a man who looks to be her father. A trio of elderly men are loudly arguing about the weather to my left. Apparently, today’s warm weather is an omen. Good or bad, I’m not sure.
People are streaming out of houses and businesses, all of them too preoccupied to notice me. Keeping my cloak wrapped around me, I move away from the gate and press my back against a brick wall.
Gods, this city puts an entirely new perspective on the meaning of the word “busy.” To be honest, I didn’t even realize there could be this many people converging in one place at the same time.
I’ve never felt more like a small-village girl than I do at this very moment. It’s not that I didn’t know Grenbloom was small and isolated. It’s just that, until this moment, I hadn’t realized the extent of the isolation.
You need to keep going , a small voice at the back of my head urges me. The Hunter is coming for you.
The voice is right. Lingering out in the open is unwise, especially with so many people milling about. Just because I made it past the guards at the city entrance doesn’t mean I’m in the clear.
Five minutes.
That’s how long I’m going to give myself to take in the sights. After that, I’ll keep going. It’s not long, and I probably shouldn’t even give myself that, but I can’t help it. Curiosity about the city is stronger than my panic, stronger than my urge to get out of here unseen.
Hoping I’m not making a foolish mistake, I lift my head just enough to take a better look around. There are buildings everywhere . They’re crammed together, most stretching three stories high, while a few climb even higher. Some are made of colorful bricks, while others are sparkling white with thick brown beams running up the sides. Storefronts occupy the base of most buildings. Even though it’s early, merchants are flipping signs from closed to open , organizing displays, and getting ready for the day.
And the sounds. The city is a wonderful cacophony of noise. People are talking, children are screeching, and parents are yelling. Someone is playing the violin on the street corner across from me, and the faint strains of piano chords lilt through the air from an apartment above the bakery to my right.
There’s so much life that, for a long moment, all I can do is lean back and appreciate the city.
It’s so much. So loud. So busy.
So beautiful.
The panic I felt in the line walking into the city is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by an intense feeling of rightness. I never truly felt at home in Grenbloom. I used to think that my Mark made it so that I didn’t belong, but maybe it was the village itself.
The longer I stand here, letting the city seep into my bones, the more I realize that this is what I was always meant for. Maybe I was never too much, never too curious. Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I was meant for this. For a city. For people. For loudness and laughter and life.
I inhale deeply, and the scents of the city wash over me. Notes of freshly baked bread mingle with flowers, covering up the less delightful aromas that come from so many people living in such close quarters. Even the scents that have me wrinkling my nose don’t stop me from appreciating the city’s beauty.
My gaze snags on a well-dressed woman in a bright blue dress standing on the balcony of a third-story apartment. She’s smiling, her raven hair braided over one shoulder, as she sips from a mug. I’m not sure how long I spend watching her before someone bumps into my shoulder.
“Move, lady,” snarls a man who smells like he’s never met a bar of soap before.
Rude. A retort rises to the tip of my tongue, but Esyn must be on my side, at least for the moment, because I miraculously hold it in. The man is probably right. Beautiful chaos or not, I’m still on the run. I can’t stay here any longer. My five minutes have surely come and gone.
You’re going to get yourself killed if you’re not careful , I chide myself as I start moving down the worn cobblestones that replaced the dirt road from outside the city.
I need to work on blending in, which means I can’t be a tourist any longer. Acting out of place is precisely the type of behavior that will get me caught.
I have to focus and remember the plan.
Find a map. Get out of Mora. Live .
Those three steps cycle through my mind as I follow the crowd down the street, moving into the city proper. More people stream out of their homes, and soon, my ears are ringing from all the noise.
A far cry from the forest, the atmosphere is chaotic. For a while, I enjoy it. I walk through a commercial area, then a residential one.
But then, when I’m deep inside Mora, my eyes catch on a black shape high above me. My heart races, and I stumble.
Up high, partially hidden by the clotheslines that stretch across the buildings, are men and women dressed in clothes the color of ink. They stand on the rooftops, their stern gazes sweeping over the crowd as we shuffle past.
Watchers.
Swords are sheathed on their backs, the hilts rising above their heads like beacons of death. The soldiers stare at the streets with stern expressions, and auras of violence radiate from them.
Suns help me. My chest tightens, and I trip on a raised cobblestone, barely managing to stay upright. Someone slams into my back. Another person bumps into my elbow.
“Watch where you’re fucking going,” a guttural voice mutters.
I suck in a sharp breath and drop my head, frantically tugging my hood down. My tongue is heavy, and I trip over my words. “S-s-sorry.”
A gruff inhale is the man’s only reply as he shoves past me and stomps down the street. His rudeness should bother me, but I don’t have the energy to care about it. Not when there are gods-damned Watchers stationed above me.
Have they been there the entire time? The guards at the gate were just a warning—one that I didn’t understand until now.
Balling my fists, I force myself to keep moving to avoid attracting unwanted attention. No one has yelled at me to stop, but that doesn’t mean I’m in the clear.
Far from it.
My eyes flick from one rooftop to the next, cataloging the soldiers. Now that I’ve noticed them, they’re all I can see. It feels like each of them is staring directly at me. Paranoia is a creeping mist, sweeping over my mind. It pushes out all my other thoughts until the king’s soldiers are all that I can think about.
We had Watchers in Grenbloom, of course. They’re soldiers whose primary role is to ensure everyone is obeying the king’s laws. Watchers are His Majesty’s eyes and ears, reporting to the Enforcers if anyone breaks the law.
Like I did when I ran from my Giving.
My chest tightens, and the world warps the longer I remain beneath the Watcher’s heavy gazes.
The city’s beauty has vanished. Did it ever exist?
The roads are too narrow. Every shoulder that bumps into me feels like a battering ram. The buildings are closing in as if they’re about to topple on me. The children’s shrieks have become ominous shouts of warning.
They’re going to find you.
It’s too much. Mora is no longer a sprawling metropolis. The mountains on either side of the city are giant arms reaching for me, ready to snatch me out of thin air and present me to the king’s soldiers.
And from there…
A stark white temple. Ominous flickering candlelight. Priestesses in crimson robes. A sharp dagger. Prayers. A cackling laugh. And then…
Death.
I stumble and gasp for breath, my lungs refusing to draw air. No longer do beauty and peace reside in the chaos. There is only death.
Death and the Watchers. In my mind, they’re one and the same.
Oh, gods. I’m going to die here today. Maybe they won’t even bother returning me to Grenbloom before they kill me. The suns will shine brightly on me as my blood is spilled.
A fist wraps around my heart and squeezes tightly. Cold sweat trickles down my spine, and my hands are clammy. The sounds of the city vanish, replaced by a panicked hum in my ears. A low moan rises in my throat.
I’ve made an awful mistake. Lifting my feet is the greatest of struggles, as if I’m dragging my feet through mud. I’m aware of every whisper of fabric, every person who brushes against my cloak, and every eye that falls on me, no matter how briefly.
I want to stop, but I can’t risk it.
Death is here, and it’s coming for me, just like it came for Amelia.
I glance at the next rooftop, and sure enough, there’s another Watcher on patrol. May the gods have mercy on my soul.
The Watchers remain. My panic grows. Time marches on.
It feels like I’ve been walking beneath the soldiers’ gazes for hours, even though it was probably a few minutes, before a small alley appears between two buildings up ahead. As I get closer, my eyes water from the unsavory smell coming from the murky yellow stream running down the middle, but there doesn’t appear to be a Watcher stationed on the rooftop.
Breaking away from the crowd, I walk briskly towards the alley. My heart is hammering as I lift my skirts and avoid the nasty liquid, trying hard not to think about what it might be. I make it to the other side of the alley, slipping out onto a less crowded road.
I don’t see any Watchers, but now that I’m aware of their presence, there is no peace to be found. I move into a steady jog, desperate to get away from danger as fast as possible. My grumbling stomach quickly reminds me that running without having eaten recently is a bad idea, but at this point, it’s my only option.
I’m such a gods-damned idiot. Why did I ever think coming into Mora was a good idea? My foolishness will likely get me killed faster than the iridescent whorl on my forehead, which is a fucking feat in and of itself.
But I’m trapped here, and all I can do is run.
So that’s exactly what I do.
* * *
Living on the wrong side of the law is exhausting.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of city streets, Watchers, and alleyways. Forget finding a map—right now, all my energy is focused on keeping my head down, literally and figuratively, and staying alive.
I stumble through the streets, trying to find the exit so I can leave this cursed place. Theoretically, it shouldn’t be difficult. One would think a city this size would have well-planned streets that were easy to navigate, but since my luck is terrible, that’s not the case.
Mora is a gods-damned maze. The streets seem to go in circles, and I can’t find the exit.
Even if I could locate the gate I used to enter the city, I don’t want to risk running into the same guards as before.
Fear of getting caught has me avoiding everyone, so asking for directions is out of the question. By the time the suns are setting, my stomach is audibly growling as I trudge through the streets. Everything looks the same as it did hours ago, and I’m forced to admit a terrible truth: I’m lost.
As if that isn’t bad enough, the warmth of the day has been replaced by a chilly breeze. Weariness is clinging to my bones, and I can’t put off sleeping for another night. I’m still human, after all. I need a proper night’s rest. I slip my hand into my satchel, feeling the three coins from Alba.
A frown pulls at my lips. I don’t want to spend the money yet, but I might not have a choice. If I don’t see something soon…
My eyes widen, and my thoughts trail off as a splash of green catches my eye. Even in the grey haze of dusk before the moons rise, the color stands out from the rest of the city.
The Moran Gardens.
This feels like a sign. Wrapping my cloak around myself to ward off the chill, I hurry to the gardens. The air is filled with the scent of life, and as I get closer, a sense of awe bubbles up inside me.
No wonder the Moran Gardens are so well known. Even from the outside, they’re stunning.
An enormous, moss-covered stone wall separates the green space from the rest of the city. Vines creep along the stones, and beautiful flowers with cerulean teardrop petals hang in clusters from the greenery. The floral scent is pleasantly strong but not overpowering, and it reminds me of the perfume Amelia’s mother used to wear on temple days.
Is it a sign?
I crane my neck up, gasping at the flourishing oasis hidden behind the walls. It truly is a wondrous sight. If it weren’t for the mountain range rising above the city, I’d think the gardens stretched on forever.
Even now, with the giving season coming to a close, the garden is incredibly lush. Almost unimaginably so, although I’m not sure how that would be. I don’t know of any royals who live in Mora, so who else could be feeding magic into the land? The richness of the soil must just be a remnant of times past, when magic was plentiful throughout Myreth.
I step closer to the wall, peering through a crack in the stones. Trees that seem tall enough to touch the suns are next to plants with leaves the size of my hand. Bushes grow beside streams, and paths weave through it all. A symphony of birdsongs rises, and tiny white squirrels sail across branches.
It’s a virtual treasure trove of life, filled with an alluring beauty that is both breathtaking and awe-inspiring. I’ve never seen anything like this.
For a moment, the beauty of the gardens allows me to forget about my lot in life. Right now, it doesn’t matter that I’m a gods-blessed on the run or that the Hunter knows my name. Even the homesickness that has been plaguing me more with each passing day doesn’t seem as intense as it did earlier.
If I lived in Mora, I would never leave this place. This is where I’ll spend the night, I decide. It seems tranquil, and I’m not ready to leave it yet.
I follow the stone wall to an entrance a few blocks away. An arch constructed from green and blue stones stretches across the path, and a vacant guard post sits on one side. The gate is open, and I hurry through it. When I don’t see anyone else around, I exhale.
“Praise Esyn,” I murmur under my breath, hurrying up the path.
The moment the prayer hits my ears, I freeze. Wait one gods-damned moment. Why am I praising Esyn after everything that has happened?
Fuck that. She doesn’t deserve my praise. The Mother is the reason Amelia died, the reason I’m Marked, and the reason I’m being hunted.
Suddenly, all the problems I momentarily ignored when I stumbled upon the garden come flooding back with increased clarity.
Fuck Esyn.
Fuck the gods and the temples and the murderous priestesses.
Fuck this damned swirl on my forehead.
Fuck it all.
I kick a rock on impulse, and a shooting pain reverberates through my foot.
“Suns fucking help me,” I groan. Can’t I even have a tantrum in peace? Is that too much to ask?
I don’t feel like crying now, nor do I think I’ll ever feel like doing that again. Anger is an ember burning deep in my chest. The longer I focus on how extraordinarily awful my life has been of late, the hotter that fire burns.
Soon, a torch lights in the depths of my being.
I never asked for any of this. I didn’t want a Mark that glows at the most inconvenient of times, nor did I ask to be destined for death. Life has thrown me into shitty situations since the day before my Giving Ceremony, and I’m over it.
I stomp down the path, carefully avoiding the other people enjoying the garden during this late hour, until I come across a small waterfall. It’s tucked away from the rest of the grounds, and I don’t even see the stone walls anymore.
Perfect.
Kneeling on the damp grass, I cup my hands and taste the water. It’s slightly sweet, cool, and refreshing. I quench my thirst before filling my canteen. Only then do I sit back and look around.
This part of the garden is so thick that it’s practically a forest. If I hadn’t come from the city, I would never have believed one existed nearby. I’m surrounded by wilderness. Vines hang in thick canopies from trees, moss-covered stones are scattered about, flowers bloom in clusters, and tall bushes line the paths.
A chittering comes from above me, and I tilt up my head. My lips tug up into a smile at the small white creature balancing on a branch above my head. Its coat shimmers in the silver moonlight, and two tiny black eyes seem to follow me as I tilt my head.
“Hi,” I whisper. “Is this your waterfall?”
The creature stares at me solemnly, turning an acorn around in its paws.
“I’m just going to sleep here tonight if that’s okay with you,” I say.
Two minuscule, fluffy ears twitch.
“I know you can’t understand me.” I smile sadly, wishing Truffle was here so I could cuddle her. “But it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”
A long moment passes before the creature chitters again and leaps away. So much for our conversation. Even the garden’s tiniest inhabitants want nothing to do with me.
My stomach gnaws at me, reminding me that I still haven’t eaten, but it’s too dark to try and forage for something now. With my luck, I’d pick something poisonous and make myself violently ill or die.
No, the water will have to be enough for tonight.
Hunger is my companion as I crawl beneath a large bush. The night is cold, and I try to imagine that Alba’s fire is nearby, warming me. I’m a bad liar, though, and I can’t stop myself from shivering. Keeping my cloak around myself, I curl into a ball and pull out Father’s knife. I clutch it to my chest, shutting my eyes and praying for sleep to claim me quickly.
I’m going to rest for a few hours, and when I wake, I’ll find some food, get a map, and be on my way.
My last thought before my nightmares claim me is that I hope the Hunter isn’t nearby.