Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Ivy
As we pass through the city gate in the midst of a stream of chattering revelers, the back of my neck prickles with apprehension. Two guards in a new uniform of crimson shirt and dun slacks stand on either side of the arched entryway, their hands resting on the pommels of their sheathed swords.
But the Order of the Wild’s version of the Crown’s Watch doesn’t appear to be monitoring the new arrivals all that closely. Their gazes slide over our humble cart without any more interest than they give the other folk around us.
Of course, Lothar’s new Festival of Freedom is being held in every city and town across the country. His people have no reason to think the small group of resistors he wants to stamp out would be here in Tupno.
As far as we know, Filip didn’t even pass on word that we were heading somewhere to the north. The men we sent to monitor the Order defector’s loyalty returned a couple of days ago, reporting that they’d seen no sign that Lothar was searching for us at the location we planted as a false lead.
Nothing else has gone wrong since we left Florian. I’m starting to think we weren’t betrayed at all, only had a particularly unlucky moment.
All the same, we didn’t invite Filip along on this particular mission.
I tap one of the horses’ flanks to direct it to the right where the street splits. From the map we studied yesterday, that should lead us to the city’s largest square.
It’s just a few blocks away from the palace I can already see, silvery spires rising above the nearer rooftops. Tupno is one of Silana’s largest cities and also the closest city to the Temple of Tranquil Skies that holds one of the royal residences.
Because of that royal presence, it’s a major hub for travel, trade, and all the communication that goes with those endeavours. We’re counting on a lot of people seeing our demonstration today—and spreading the word far and wide.
Even this street leading to the square buzzes with activity. Our trickle of visitors mingles with the flow of locals heading toward the main festival areas. Eager voices warble around us in a blur of words.
Crimson banners painted with the inverted All-Giver sigil dangle from lampposts and drape across building fronts. Streamers in the same color wave in the breeze.
Like streaks of fresh blood. After the carnage I’ve seen the scourge sorcerers carry out, the vivid color makes my stomach churn.
I restrain the urge to glance back at the cart, where our five companions sit in the shade of a canopy. I don’t know what Order members might be watching the crowd and whether they’d pick up on my nerves.
Beside me, Casimir takes in our surroundings with a thoughtful air. When he speaks, he keeps his voice low enough to pass beneath the clamor around us. “We should have a good-sized audience.”
I swallow a grimace. “All these people happily going along with a festival to celebrate murder. How can they be okay with it?”
The courtesan shrugs, his shoulder brushing mine.
“They aren’t necessarily okay. It’s been weeks of confusion and uncertainty, especially for people living so close to Eppun where the uprising started.
Lothar was smart—he realized they’d be craving a chance to put their fears behind them, to pretend there’s nothing to worry about.
But the worries will still be lurking underneath. ”
And I guess a fair number of Silana’s citizens have bought into the Order of the Wild’s rhetoric. They’re not worried at all.
We have to convince them they should be.
My back prickles with my awareness of the figure lying on the bottom of the cart beneath a blanket as if napping. Really, we wanted to conceal the man’s mutilated body so no onlookers would notice anything odd before we get into position.
The sacrificial accomplice who agreed to accompany us sounded nervous when we talked him through the plan, even though his loyalties to the scourge sorcerers have faded during his time recovering at a temple near Pima.
He thanked Casimir for the courtesan’s instrumental role in getting him out of the brothel where he and his few companions were held, but he also tensed up when we talked about speaking to the crowd.
In the end, he agreed. He was the steadiest of the four, according to Voleska—which is why she had her people smuggle him to us for this operation. But that doesn’t mean the task will be easy for him.
“Are you sure we should have pushed this role on Poltus?” I can’t help asking. “To have to tell a heap of strangers what he’s been through—he’s risking the Order capturing him again, and gods know what they’d do to him…”
Casimir aims a gentle smile at me. “I wouldn’t say we pushed.
We told him what we were hoping for, and he embraced the challenge.
How many times have you put your neck on the line to protect this country despite the horrors you’ve already faced?
We’ve got to give the scourge sorcerers’ victims the same opportunity. ”
He’s probably right about that too, but it’s hard for me to compare Poltus’s situation to my own. He was groomed from childhood and left a mangled version of himself. At least I’ve always had most of the control over my fate.
Possibly I should be more concerned about the other passenger we’re concealing. As the street opens up ahead of us to reveal a teeming swarm of festival-goers, Petra scoots to the spot right behind our driver’s seats.
The Melchiorek heir has tucked her smooth black hair beneath a mousy brown wig for the ride. A baggy wool dress covers the finer gown that indicates her actual station.
I still would rather our future queen was safe back in the temple while we carried out this mission, but she rightly pointed out how upset people were that she didn’t show herself properly when she spoke in Florian.
She wants her citizens to see how far she’s willing to stick her neck out to win them over.
“The river’s to the right, isn’t it?” she says. “Which building do you think will work best for our… presentation, now that we can actually see the options?”
We pull the cart over to the side of the square, and I take in the sprawling space.
More inverted All-Giver banners hang all around the square. Not far from us, several long wooden tables have been laid out with glasses of ale and platters of stuffed rolls, dumplings, and cut fruit. The mix of savory and tangy scents wafts through the air.
As far as I can tell, the attendants in crimson shirts behind the table aren’t charging for the refreshments. They smile and nod to the people who stop by, many gaping at the spread wide-eyed before plucking up some morsels.
A lot of the revelers look oddly scruffy in their elegant clothes. Most of the men are sporting embroidered tunics or vests, the women in brightly colored silks, but looking a little too loose or too tight. Their hair is rumpled and loose—some look as if they haven’t bathed in at least a week.
When my gaze snags on another table across the square, I understand why. This one is heaped with fabric that newcomers are snatching off it.
Casimir has spotted it too. He arches his eyebrows. “It looks as if the Order of the Wild is supplying the costumes too.”
And where did they get all those fine clothes? It’s not hard to guess.
“Looted from the noble estates they’ve taken over,” I mutter. “And probably the royal residences too.”
Or bought with all the gold the scourge sorcerers have looted as well. What is Lothar sacrificing of his own rather than giving away what he’s stolen?
“Come play the games of old!” an announcer is calling near the center of the square. “Let’s reclaim the heart of our heritage!”
A few older kids are already jostling each other between chalk lines marked on the cobblestones. It looks like one of the games Alek told us he’d found references to.
A game that often ended with broken bones when the revelers of the past got particularly caught up in it. For now, the children are simply giggling, but we’ll have to keep an eye on it in case it becomes more intense.
A woman in a deep red dress has gotten up on a platform near the games area.
She holds out her hands, her voice projecting over the crowd with magical amplification.
“The king can’t hold us back any longer!
We’re free to get back to our roots, what connected us to this world and the gods who made us. ”
Spirited music blares from a cluster of musicians behind the platform, and the woman whirls into a flailing sort of dance.
We were prepared for dancing too. I was hoping the civilians would be put off by the chaotic cavorting Alek described, that we could point to it as evidence of the Order’s ill intents, but I can already see an echo of the woman’s movements spreading through the crowd around her.
Oh, well. We can still challenge the Order of the Wild’s appeals to history. Something has to snap these people out of their stupor.
I return my gaze to the buildings along the right of the square. We want a position that puts us a safe distance above the crowd but still easily visible to the people below—and within easy reach of the river that’ll serve as our escape route.
I point to a two-story stone structure with a flat roof and a narrow alley between it and one of its neighbors. “That place looks promising. Let’s go around back and make sure it’s got everything we need.”
Rheave scrambles out, followed by the soldier and the devout who’ve accompanied us.
They help Poltus off the back of the cart.
Thankfully, the winter is chilly enough that the low hood and scarf obscuring most of his head don’t look all that unusual.
We’ve padded his clothes beneath the cloak so it’s less obvious how much of his body is missing.
Skirting the crowd, we ease through the milling bodies toward the alley. I scan the revelers around us—and nearly walk right into a little boy who steps in front of me as if unaware of anything except the scene he’s staring at.