Chapter 4 Marked
MARKED
The market crawled with Runecloaks.
They stood at every corner like vultures waiting for something to die. Twice as many as usual.
My eyes felt like they’d been rubbed with sand. I’d gotten maybe an hour of sleep for the second night in a row—kept jerking awake to phantom footsteps. Each time I’d checked that Rheya was still in her hammock.
The scent of blood hung thick—no amount of frost could scrub it clean after an execution. The sacrifice rune in the Square still glistened, its grooves spiraling toward that greedy drain in the center. Tomorrow, during the Rite, the cobblestones would be painted red. My empty stomach clenched.
We’d spent the night planning our escape, but when morning came, Taryn had sunk her claws into Rheya with a list of tasks that absolutely couldn’t wait, the witch.
“Go without me,” Rheya had insisted, pressing coins into my hand. “Get what we need.”
The baker sold me three loaves—day-old, but they’d keep.
I counted the coins with trembling fingers, hyperaware of the Runecloak stationed across the Square.
Always watching. The clothier parted with wool socks for half their worth.
Dried meat from the butcher, wrapped in paper.
A sparkstone. Two water skins. Each purchase from a different vendor, everything tucked deep in my bag.
A Runecloak passed close and my burned palm throbbed. I focused on breathing normally, and he moved on.
I exhaled slowly.
A few more stops. Then we could leave this godsforsaken city and never look back. But everywhere I turned, more guards. Stationed at corners. Marching in pairs. Their eyes scanning faces, hands resting on sword hilts. They were looking for someone.
With the satchel heavy on my shoulder, I slipped inside the foundlings hall. The hearth in the infirmary crackled with low flames, warming the rows of sagging cots. Children too thin for their ages huddled under patched blankets.
“Should’ve known that was you,” Brisa muttered, hunched over a bed. “Only fool would be out on a morning like this without boots worth a damn.”
I held out the bundle. “I brought bandages.”
“About time. We’re down to scraps.”
I followed her to where a woman lay groaning in her sleep and helped unwind the old wrappings to give her fresh cloth. I’d boiled it the night before.
We worked in silence, the others barely glancing at me. I came now and then to sweep the floors or whisper stories to the little ones, but no one knew I’d been slipping coins under Brisa’s ledger. Or that half the herbs in her pantry were stolen.
A shriek of laughter broke the hush.
“Miss Aelie!” a small voice shouted.
A boy with a runny nose and wild curls launched toward me, tripping over a cracked floorboard. Kavi barreled into me, his skinny arms flinging around my waist.
“You’re late,” he grumbled.
I knelt to his level. “I’m early. You’re just impatient.”
“You said you’d bring me something.”
“I did.” I fished in my cloak, then grabbed a hawk carved from bone. “He’s yours.”
Kavi’s mouth fell open. “Is it magic?”
“It is, but only a bit. He keeps nightmares away, but only if you don’t brag.”
“I never brag.”
I laughed. “You bragged about killing a rat with your boot for two weeks.”
Kavi puffed out his chest. “That was a huge rat.”
I tousled his hair, and he beamed.
I stayed a few more minutes, memorizing Kavi’s gap-toothed smile as he drew stick figures with wings.
How could I explain to a six-year-old that the world was too dangerous for people like me to stay in one place?
Time was running out, and I was about to break another promise to a child who’d already been abandoned too many times.
I hugged him. “I have to go.”
He frowned. “Are you coming tomorrow?”
“No.” I forced a smile. “I—I’m going away for a while.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere far.”
“Can I come, too?”
“No, little man.” I smoothed his curls back. “But you’ll be brave, won’t you? You’ll help Brisa. And you’ll take care of the hawk for me.”
Kavi nodded, then he leaned forward and kissed my cheek.
“I’ll miss you,” he whispered.
I swallowed hard. “I’ll miss you, too.”
I gave Brisa a nod on the way out. She didn’t glance up from the poultice she was stirring. The infirmary door creaked as I stepped outside, and the wind cut sharper. I walked faster, but mist began curling around my boots, too thick for morning fog.
My skin prickled.
I thought of amber eyes and brutal smiles, and my pace quickened. I glanced over my shoulder, but the alley was empty. I headed home, passing the fountain where merchants’ wives gossiped.
Two Runecloaks stood near it, their voices carrying.
“—they think it’s a servant. Lord Arathi insists someone inside helped.”
My fingers trembled as I hurried past. Of course they suspected one of us.
We were always the first to blame. The crowd thickened near the wine merchant.
I squeezed through, desperate to get home.
Someone shoved past me—a man with a basket of fish.
The impact sent me stumbling into a cloaked figure.
I stepped back, looking up at Lord Arathi’s steward, a female with long blonde hair, the tips of her ears poking through. Her nostrils flared slightly.
My blood turned to ice.
“You smell familiar.” Her eyes narrowed with a predatory focus. “Like jasmine and…cherry blossoms.”
That stupid magical courtyard. The jasmine that had clung sweet in the air. Two nights ago, the scent had seemed like nothing, but it had burrowed into my clothes. My hair. I’d been marked the moment I stepped into that garden, and I hadn’t even known it.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I’m late,” I said, stepping sideways. “My mistress is waiting.”
She moved to block my path. “I asked you a question. That scent is from my lord’s private garden. You don’t have permission to be there.”
I bit on my lip. “You’re mistaken.”
Her hand shot out, gripping my wrist. “You were there the night of the robbery.”
The market noise dimmed. People were turning to stare. A Runecloak swiveled our way, hand moving toward his sword.
“Guards!” she shouted.
I yanked free and ran.
Shouts erupted behind me. I darted left, diving into an alley that reeked of rotting fish. My boots slipped, but I kept running. Another turn. The servants’ entrance to a tavern—I burst through, past startled cooks, out the front door.
I reached our street, lungs burning. The side gate was open. I stumbled through, hurtling up the servant stairs.
Rheya looked up from folding linens. “What—”
“They know,” I gasped. “Pack everything. Now.”
She blanched. “How long do we have?”
“Not enough. They’re coming.”
We grabbed what we could—the jewelry box, spare clothes, money we’d hidden. Our hands shook as we stuffed it all in canvas bags.
A distant door opened downstairs.
Rheya froze, her eyes locked on mine.
We both held our breaths as footsteps echoed. Too many for only Henrik and Taryn. Voices rose underneath us. Powerful. Controlled. The kind used to giving orders and being obeyed.
Runecloaks, Rheya mouthed.