Chapter 1 #2
It isn’t just the reek of sweat and smoke that puts me on edge though, it’s the chaos of the streets.
Everywhere I turn, there’s someone looking to prey on the weak or the desperate.
Madame Cruella’s girls linger on every corner, seducing men, women, and even boys barely grown.
Peddlers shout, desperate to bully passersby into buying whatever they’re selling, while thieves and vagrants lurk in every shadow.
There’s a strange sense of camaraderie in it all, I suppose. After all, where else can an assassin feel more at home than in a city full of people just as wretched as I am?
Still, walking through these streets always puts me on high alert. My muscles tense, my eyes scanning constantly as I make my way toward the apothecary. I’m not dumb enough to be caught unawares.
All it takes is the slightest brush of air by my hip to trigger my instincts. My heart lurches and I snap my hand down, catching the wrist of the child trying to lift my coin pouch.
I click my tongue and look down at the little urchin. “I don’t think you want to do that.”
“Let go of me!” he hisses, struggling weakly.
He’s small, the top of his head barely reaching my chest. Thin, too. His thick hair is so oily it looks practically damp from where it sits heavily across his tanned brow.
“If you tried this in the proper part of town, the King would have your hand for it.”
“Let go of me, you bitch.”
My, what foul language for such a young boy.
Had it been anyone else, I might have taken a more physical approach to teaching him manners, but even I draw the line at hurting a child.
“Okay,” I say with a shrug, releasing his wrist and watching him fall backward into the mud. His clothes are already filthy, so a little more splashing on him doesn’t make much of a difference. With a grimace, he rubs the back of his hand across his brow to wipe it away.
Rolling my eyes, I pull open the pouch on my waist and flick a gold coin towards him. “You try that on the wrong person and they might not be as nice as I am. And I won’t be as nice as I am now if I ever see you call another woman a bitch.”
He stares up at me, wrapping his tiny fingers around the coin. Despite his frame, I’d guess he's around fourteen summers. You wouldn’t know it from a distance though. He hasn’t eaten in too long. Based on how slow he is to stand, the hunger is taking its toll on him. My own stomach clenches.
It’s a feeling I’ll never forget.
“Thank you,” he mutters, staring at the coin in his hand with wide eyes.
I point towards the baker across the street. “Go over there and buy yourself some bread. Tell them Huntyr sent you and ask for a job. The owner owes me a favor.”
His face splits into a grin, and with another breathless word of thanks, he sprints away. I watch him go, waiting until the bell on the door chimes closed before I turn on my heels and make my way towards the apothecary. Hopefully that good deed negates the atrocity I committed this morning.
I do love an opportunity to balance out my karma.
“Afternoon, Joneson!” I call politely, announcing my arrival, as I step into the shop and cough against the sudden aroma of herbs and medicines.
Joneson’s head pops up from behind the counter, where he’s busy sorting through tiny glass jars. “Ah, Huntyr. Come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
We have a routine, Joneson and I. After all these years, he has my usual tonics ready in advance. I’m one of the few customers he trusts enough to allow a tab, and I pay him handsomely for his discretion.
With a grateful smile, I place the three vials into the pouch on my hip: a fertility suppressant for me, a pain tonic for Tyla, and a sleeping draft to chase away the nightmares that plague both of our nights. He watches me carefully, chewing on his bottom lip.
“I’ve got something new for you this week,” he whispers, reaching under the counter, grabbing a fourth tonic, and sliding it towards me.
There’s a sudden chill in the air between us.
I eye the amethyst-colored liquid suspiciously. “What is it this time?”
Every so often, Joneson experiments with new herbs, brewing up some new concoction that he hopes will cure Tyla’s illness. None have worked and I gave up hope in them a long time ago.
His expression darkens and on quick feet he moves past me to lock the door and draw the blinds, his movements rushed and furtive.
“What the hell is going on?” I demand, as he grabs my arm and begins pulling me towards the back room. I rip my wrist from his grasp so sharply he stumbles back a few steps.
“You cannot tell anyone about this.”
He folds the vial into my fingers and closes my fist over it.
“What is this, Joneson?”
“I got it from a smuggler. From the Fae lands.”
No.
My grip tightens instinctively, my fingers twitching with the urge to crush the vial right there. There’s no way I’m giving Tyla anything touched by those creatures.
“Are you out of your mind?” I hiss.
Joneson grabs my elbows, holding me steady even as my glare promises violence. “We’ve tried everything else, Huntyr. Say what you want about the Fae, but their magic keeps them alive for centuries. Tyla doesn’t have much time left.”
I want to shove the vile potion down his throat. Glass and all.
And yet...
“Will this cure her?”
He smiles at me sadly. “I doubt it. The Fae themselves might have something strong enough to cure her illness, but this was all I could get. It should give you a few more months with her.”
My heart sinks.
I stare at the vial in my hands.
A few months with her is better than nothing.
So, for Tyla, I let Joneson add all four tonics to my tab and leave the shop without another word.