29. Deceit & Belief
Deceit the woman raised her chin at the crowd, accusing them with unflinching eyes.
A smaller, dark-haired girl stood huddled apart from them.
She was the one who’d cried out. The one Larissa had left behind in the forest. Acid surged in her stomach.
“Let’s start the bidding,” the thraell said.
Disgust fermented in Larissa’s mouth as the citizens called out numbers. These were their neighbors. How could they treat each other like this?
Burning fire raced along her veins, just as it had when she’d fought the draugr . Larissa realized then what it had always been: her galdr . Her fingertips tingled, almost painfully so. She glared at the thraell who stood center stage, feeling the heat rising inside of her.
This was wrong. Larissa had been wrong to let it happen. They had to do something. She had to do something. She took a step forward.
A hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her mid-step. Darien’s eyes were gentle, but his fingers locked around her wrist were firm. He shook his head, even as his own body leaned toward the stage. With enormous effort, he tore them both away from the spectacle.
“There’s nothing we can do,” he whispered into her ear.
“This is wrong,” she said, but in her heart Larissa knew he was right. Halla stood behind them, her face paling as the proceedings continued.
Like a match dropped into a bucket of water, the anger inside Larissa sizzled out.
They could not publicize their presence, especially not with Halla.
She looked too young. Sentries, if not the slavers, would demand proof of her status as first-born.
Technically, the sentries could make that demand of any of them.
Though Larissa had such papers, she’d left them in the truck as they were useless outside the Safír commonwealth.
Any one of them could be seized at any moment.
Larissa slumped against Darien in defeat.
“Come on.” The reassurance in Darien’s voice could not soothe the regret that poisoned Larissa’s stomach. He tugged her away from the stage.
“Sold to the gentleman in the glasses!” the thraell announced. “You may retrieve your merchandise behind the stage once you have paid in full.”
Larissa stood rooted, unable to look away as the mother and son who had tried to escape their prison were sold to a man near the front of the crowd. She noted his graying hair and half-moon spectacles before he was swallowed by the crowd. Only the little girl remained on stage.
My people, Lovisa’s voice wept in Larissa’s mind.
She clenched her teeth, closing her heart against it.
Allowing Darien to lead her, they cut through the crowd, keeping Halla tucked firmly between them.
They traveled far enough that the sounds of the auction buzzed uncomfortably in their ears, but not so loud as to make out the bidding prices.
Ducking into an alleyway, Larissa slumped onto a broken wooden crate, pushing back her hood and inhaling muck-filled breaths.
Halla sat beside her, leaning a trembling head on Larissa’s shoulder.
Even Darien looked shaken as he stood at the mouth of the alley, checking to make sure no one had followed.
A blur of feathers consumed Larissa’s vision as Anara glided down. She shifted in midair then stood before them with arms crossed over her chest. “I tried to warn you.”
“I didn’t hear you,” Halla whispered.
“It’s not your fault, kiddo.” Darien rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t hear her either.”
Anara leaned against the wall. “The deeper we go, the more dangerous this becomes. Between the thraell and the sentries performing random identification checks—”
“Identification checks?” Darien shot Anara a glance. “We haven’t seen any sentries.”
“That’s because I’ve been guiding you away from them as best as I could.” Exhaustion laced Anara's words. “Unfortunately, that took you closer to the thraell .”
Darien narrowed his eyes in her direction. “Anara, are you alright?”
“Never better,” Anara quipped, but her words didn’t erase the deep pockets under her eyes or the way her shoulders slumped forward. Larissa couldn’t remember when Anara had last slept. Had it been before the draugr attack?
Darien only stared, one eyebrow raised.
“ Galdr feeds off our energy,” Anara said. “I’m just tired.”
“We can rest for a moment,” Darien offered.
“No, we’re too close to stop now. You’ve been quiet, Larissa. Are you alright?”
My people , Lovisa’s voice repeated, directing her anger at Larissa.
There’s nothing I can do , she argued. But shame rose up within her regardless.
Larissa rose from the crate, dragging Halla up with her. “Let’s find this physician and get out of here.”
Anara stared at her a moment more as if she could see the internal struggle in Larissa’s mind. She sighed. “You’re only making this harder. Follow me.”
With their hoods concealing them once again, they wound their way around the auction, although Larissa swore she could still hear the bidding.
Even through the haze in her mind, recognition of these roads returned unbidden.
She remembered these streets, the Jóltide Festivals, the cherry blossom trees, and the market square decorated with golden streamers.
The memories left her with a confusing double vision and a headache.
Yet there were marked differences as well.
Even before the Empress, every kingdom had a patron god; that had not changed in either of Larissa’s memories, but she didn’t remember it quite like this.
Statues of Vor, the goddess of wisdom, were plentiful around the city, but there were many other relics and paintings as well.
Runes for safety and luck were painted on walls, even etched into doors.
Charms jangled on the wrists of people passing by.
It was the same sound that the medallions around Halla’s wrist made.
The streets grew more crowded as they entered a large open square.
Shops lined the four walls of the market.
In the middle of the square, stalls had been hurriedly thrown together on plywood, held together by strings as shop owners called out products ranging from food to clothing to amulets they swore could bring back the dead.
Everywhere that Larissa turned, she noted the presence of the gods.
A small icon here, an amulet there. One man had shaved his head and tattooed it entirely with runes.
A large metal symbol made up of three intersecting triangles and attached to a thick chain sat just below the man’s collarbone.
Leaning toward Anara, Darien let out a low whistle. “You weren’t exaggerating about the worship of the gods increasing.”
Anara nodded. “We all believe in something.”
Larissa’s dream of the red-headed child-goddess flashed before her eyes. The gods, or what remained of them, existed. But that didn’t explain where they were. The people of Perle were crying out; why did the gods not answer back?
“I get that, but—” Darien eyed a shop owner as he passed off a bottle of sludgy liquid to an ill-looking woman. “I don’t believe that has any healing capabilities whatsoever.”
Anara’s eyes darted to and from the bottle. “You don’t want to know what’s in there.”
Halla tugged on Anara’s jacket. “Why? What’s in there?”
Although the market held a more joyous atmosphere than the auction block, there was still a glaring absence of children. Subconsciously, Larissa reached for Halla’s hand.
“No,” Anara snapped. “That will just draw attention. Let her be.”
Larissa snatched her hand back. “Where are all the children?”
“Children’s identifications are checked more frequently than adults’. Most parents keep their children indoors, even if they are first-born. It’s less hassle.”
Anara strode into the square, leaving the others little choice but to follow.
The smell of food wafted across the air, and Larissa’s stomach rumbled.
Hours had passed since their canned meal in the forest. They passed by a shop that advertised meat pies.
The scent was enough to cause Larissa’s mouth to water, though she did her best to hide her hunger.
As they walked, Larissa was grateful for the crowd that surged around them.
Many of them walked with their hoods or collars up and their heads down, allowing their group to blend in without too much effort.
People came for a specific purpose, an intentional shop, and then they were on their way.
Few stayed to browse or mingle with the crowd.
Anara was one of those few. She scanned the stalls and shops with a curious gaze, but Larissa could see that her eyes were sharp.
Anara stopped in front of a shop built into the actual perimeter of the market square. It was one of the few shops without customers. The door was made of wood instead of glass and lacked any identifying name. The Ehwaz rune with its pointed edges was etched in the wood and promised protection.
Pushing the door open, Anara stepped inside.
Apart from a counter and a large bookshelf behind it, the shop was empty of any other furniture.
Bottles of various liquids and books covered in a fine layer of dust sat at odds on the bookshelf.
On the counter, a small statue of Eir, the goddess of mercy, smiled at the man who stood in front of the bookshelf, writing in his ledger.
At the sound of customers, he held up one finger and finished his writing before looking up at them over his half-moon glasses.
“How can I help you?”
Anara settled her elbows on the counter. “I’m looking for the extract from the dwarf cornel blossom.”
“We don’t sell that here.”
“Are you sure? We can pay any price.” Anara’s voice oozed confidence.
The old man pushed up the glasses that slid to the tip of his nose. “I told you—”
His eyes drifted from Anara, freezing on Larissa. Though wrinkled around the corners, his eyes were a bright, undiluted blue that pierced straight through her. Larissa looked away, turning to examine the stain on the wall to her left, anything to break his stare. He felt oddly familiar.
The old man cleared his throat, his eyes returning to Anara. “That is an extremely rare extract. I’m afraid I don’t have any here.”
“Will you be getting any in soon?”
What on Evrópa was Anara talking about? Larissa eyed Darien. He shrugged and shook his head in similar confusion.
The old shop-owner cleared his throat. “Actually, a shipment is coming in tonight at sunset. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to pick up any until tomorrow. You could go directly to the seller. I could provide you with directions to the warehouse.”
“Perfect.”
He ripped a sheet of paper from the book in front of him, scribbling the directions.
Larissa shared a glance with Darien. The man held out the paper, but not to Anara.
He offered it to Larissa. She hesitated, then stepped forward, intending to snatch the paper and step back, but when she grabbed it, he held the other end tightly between his fingers.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
Larissa yanked the paper from his grasp. “No, I don’t think so.”
His eyes skimmed thoughtfully over her before passing over Halla and Darien, then back to Anara. Could he feel the tension in the air? Larissa’s hand inched back toward the gun at the small of her back. She would not kill him, but she would knock him out if she had to.
Smiling, he returned behind his counter. “An old man’s mistake. My apologies.”
Larissa hesitated, her fingers itching to grip her gun. Anara drew a handful of folded paper bills from her pocket, setting it on the counter. “For your trouble.”
Before they could leave, the noise outside the shop shifted. What once had been the murmur of the market transformed into the rush of frantic, fleeing feet accompanied by demanding shouts.
“Identification papers! Up against the wall, papers out.”
Darien pressed his face against one of the windows. “Sentries. A whole squad of them.”
Without thinking, Larissa grabbed Halla, pushing her behind her back and searching for another exit that did not exist. There was nowhere for them to go.
They were trapped.