Chapter 1 #2
As I made my way through the bustling market, I couldn’t help but steal a glance at the pouch clutched tightly in my hand.
It was more than enough to sustain me for a few weeks, perhaps even months if I were wise with my spending.
The weight of the coins eased some of the urgency that had been gnawing at my insides as I tucked it away into my pocket.
The guards were still standing at the entrance of the bridge and I forced myself to move past them, even though my muscles ached with every step that drew me closer to them.
Once I stepped over the threshold of the fine pavers and onto the dusty cobblestones that lined the streets, I allowed myself to glance over my shoulder only once to make sure that no one had noticed me.
That the man hadn’t realized my thievery.
When the guards didn’t spare me a glance, I picked up my pace and navigated through the narrow streets. The farther from the bridge I got, the less grand the homes and shops that lined the streets became.
And the people who lived in those houses? They became less and less important as well.
You only got to be that close to the king if you had something to offer him.
If your magic was something he might need.
The stench of garbage and decay filled the air, mingling with the distant scent of spices drifting from the run-down food stalls that were scattered along the streets.
It was a stark contrast to the opulence of the palace and its bridge, but the farther away I got from them both, the more I felt like I could breathe.
As I walked through the dilapidated streets, my eyes scanned the faces of those passing by.
Many wore expressions of weariness and resignation, their spirits crushed by the weight of their daily struggles.
The world outside the palace was a harsh reality, one that constantly reminded me of what I had left behind.
I mourned parts of the life I once lived while simultaneously praying to the gods that I never went back.
I kept my head down, blending seamlessly into the background of poverty and desperation.
The ragged cloak that concealed my identity did its job well, lending me the illusion of obscurity among these forgotten streets.
Survival has taught me to be invisible, to become a ghost drifting through the shadows.
And that has served me well.
I turned right down an old forgotten alleyway and passed the old house with vines creeping up along the crumbling red bricks. The old woman who lived there rarely left or had visitors, and she checked the small alcove near the back of her gardens even less.
I took a seat there, in the spot that had become my home, and pulled the bread and apple out from beneath my cloak. It was moments like this that I wished I had a blade, but Micah would be here soon enough.
As I savored the first bite of the stolen bread, I heard footsteps growing louder from the end of the alley. I stowed the food away at my side, just in case, and remained quiet as the footsteps slowed. Micah emerged from the shadows, his lean frame blending seamlessly with the darkness around him.
“Any luck today?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes scanning our surroundings for any potential danger before he leaned down and took a seat beside me with a groan.
“I did pretty good,” I replied, pulling out the bread and tearing it in half. He took his piece greedily, and it would be impossible to miss the hunger in his eyes. “How about you?”
He nodded approvingly and handed me a small pouch that felt far too light to contain any coins. “I managed to snatch these from a nobleman’s carriage near the palace.”
I pulled the pouch open gently and saw several folded pieces of parchment all with the royal seal holding them closed.
“It’s correspondence for the king.”
My fingers trembled as I reached inside the leather pouch, but his words froze me in place. Fear pressed down on me, suffocating me as I dropped the pouch to the ground.
“We can’t keep these,” I said firmly, my voice barely above a whisper. “If they catch us with these letters, it’ll be more than just our lives on the line.”
I shook my head, my mind racing with the implications of what Micah had just said. Correspondence for the king meant that these were important documents, potentially containing information that could be used as leverage against those in power. It was a risk we couldn’t afford to take lightly.
It was a risk that put me in far more danger than the coins I had just stolen.
If the king and his guards weren’t already looking for me, they would come looking for this.
But that was the thing that unsettled me the most. If he had come looking for me, no one knew.
I was the lost princess who everyone still thought was locked away in her tower.
I was the flaw to the king’s perfect reign, and he was still hiding me as much as I was hiding from him.
Micah looked at me, concern etched in the lines on his face. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice tense. “I never would have taken them if you weren’t leaving.” He ran his calloused hands through his light hair that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight.
Micah was the only person I had confided in since leaving the palace, but he also only knew what I allowed him to.
He had shown me kindness on the streets when no one else had, and I did not return the favor by keeping my identity from him.
But my father would kill him if he ever found out he was helping me stay hidden.
To Micah, I was a girl with a past who was on the run, but to my father, I was a liability.
And anyone who knew about me and my lack of power fell into that same category.
“But look.” He pulled open one of the parchments, one whose seal had already been broken, and he quickly unfolded it as his eyes scanned over the contents inside. He pointed down the page, and I looked over the edge of the paper to see what he was pointing at.
“We didn’t get the rebellion mark just right.” He took my left hand in his and pushed up the sleeve, revealing the simple black rebellion mark he had given me.
He ran his thumb across the sensitive skin of my wrist, where the mark had been carefully etched with his magic, and chill bumps broke out along my skin.
The mark was two simple arrows intersecting to form an X.
We had both heard of it so many times before, but Micah was right, it was slightly off from the mark listed in the correspondence.
The feathers on the fletching weren’t the same, and anyone who was already a part of the rebellion would be able to spot the difference easily.
They would also be able to spot that I was nothing more than a traitor trying to impersonate one of them, and they would kill me as quickly as the king would.
But supporters of the king didn’t leave the royal coast unless they were joining the rebellion. Not since the raid.
It was too dangerous otherwise.
If one of them were to find me when I ran from here, the only way I would be able to survive would be to make it clear that I was on their side.
They could never know the truth about who I was.
No one could.
“We need to fix this.” His fingers moved gently over my mark, and my stomach clenched as I watched the movement. “They’ll know you’re a fake the moment they see it.”
A fake.
Gods, I couldn’t think of a better word to describe me .
“Do it.” I nodded to the parchment still in front of him and swallowed. I could still remember the way his magic had burned into my skin the last time, and I knew it would be no less painful now. But pain was a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things. My fate would depend on it.
Micah’s face contorted with concentration as he channeled his magic into his fingertips. The air crackled with energy, a tangible anticipation that filled the narrow alleyway. I took a deep breath, steadying myself for what was to come.
Gently, Micah pressed his thumb against the mark on my wrist, careful not to disrupt the existing lines. His magic flowed from him into me, mingling with my flesh. Heat radiated from his touch, searing my skin and etching new details onto the mark.
I bit my lip, enduring the agony as he meticulously adjusted the feathers on the fletching. Each stroke of his thumb felt like fire, branding me with a new identity. It was a reinvention born out of necessity, a desperate attempt to survive in a world that demanded loyalty and allegiance.
As the pain intensified, I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Micah’s touch grew lighter, his focus unwavering as he studied the parchment.
Finally, Micah withdrew his touch, and a wave of relief washed over me.
I examined the altered mark on my wrist, the lines now crisp and rimmed with my red, irritated skin.
The feathers on the fletching were perfectly aligned, each delicate detail etched into my skin as a permanent testament to who I had to become.
“You have to be careful with this,” Micah warned, his voice laced with concern and the same disapproval he had the first time I asked him to give me the mark. “The rebellion is a dangerous game to play.”
I nodded solemnly, fully aware of the risks I faced.
It was rumored that the rebellion had been gathering strength in secret, driven by the injustices committed by the king and those in power.
They fought for freedom, for a world where everyone had an equal chance at life, regardless of their magic.
But they also operated in shadows, their tactics as merciless as those they opposed.
And I had seen the proof of that when they raided the palace that had previously been thought of as impenetrable.
“I know it is,” I replied, my voice steady. “But hopefully, I don’t have to use it.”
We both knew I would never be able to afford passage onto one of the ships in the kingdom’s harbor, but if I could travel far enough south, then I might have a chance.