Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
ALLIE
T he city felt different.
Perhaps I was different, no longer a creeping cadence to my steps, a scheming tightness to my shoulders, or a suspicious glimmer to my gaze.
There was still apprehension.
Guilt.
Shame.
Underneath that hesitation, there was something else. A tremor of wanting things I didn’t feel I deserved.
This city’s inhabitants had let me be. Let me skulk and plot and hide behind stinky barrels to my scared heart’s content.
Yes, the hounds had raced after me, fangs poised for my neck or Nadya’s.
The memory of those lights and hum still rattled me, my steps unsure as I left the fortress, under the same watchful eyes of the warriors. But the ones guarding the entrance today were different–a tall, burly fellow usually narrowed his eyes at me whenever I slunk outside.
I shook my head, readjusted my fur-lined coat the thirtieth time since leaving my room, and rolled my shoulders back.
Instead of hurrying toward the closest back-alley behind the thorny bushes, I took a right, walking right past the archery grounds tucked inside the pine clearing guarding the fortress.
The main road was cobbled with the same weathered stones, but devoid of icy patches.
The fronts of the buildings were clean and crisp, little ribbons of pine branches adorning the doorframes, as if to ward off evil spirits.
Unlit red candles stood straight behind their small windows, like soldiers, cocooned by thick curtains which looked to have been stitched by hand with many jagged symbols I didn’t recognise.
And those windows were small –barely big enough to shimmy through.
Maybe it was to keep the cold out and the warmth in.
Maybe it was a defense against something different. Something more sinister.
But everything was clean and orderly, from the pruned pine trees to the scrubbed water trenches flanking the sides of the road.
I’d only seen the backs of houses that towered over me, judgemental cats watching me as closely as the warriors.
Another being also kept its eyes on me.
I stopped in the middle of the curiously empty road and looked toward the sky, the sun already starting its descent.
“I know you’re out there,” I called out.
No reply.
“You probably love making me feel like a fool, talking to the sky in the middle of the street, but I want to tell you something,” I tried again, actually feeling more foolish by the second.
Luckily, nobody peeped behind the curtains and the street was eerily silent and devoid of life. No carts, no children screaming, no people rushing for the day’s labour like back in Aquila.
But there was a familiar echo drumming up ahead–where I needed to go and show my face. Properly this time.
Just as I began to walk away, the flutter of wings resounded up behind me.
I turned to the filigreed eave of the nearest house, only to see Sylvester perched on it, looking down at me with all the attitude in the world, like he’d done on that first day.
The first glimpse of his dark feathers brought back shards of violent memories from that heinous night. My hand flew to my neck, now bruise-free, but still tender.
Suddenly, the pressure turned suffocating, closing my throat, as a sickly blue tendril danced in front of my eyes.
Sylvester squawked loudly, bringing me back to this sunny day.
I was in the crater.
I was safe.
“I wanted to thank you,” I called out, hand shaky, but lowering, as fresh air flooded my lungs. I was safe . “For protecting me that night.”
The raven cocked his head to the side, blinking at me lazily.
“You don’t seem to like me,” I said, twirling my fingers in the hem of my coat sleeves. “But I appreciate it nonetheless. I won’t do anything stupid anymore, you don’t need to waste your time following me.”
I swore on Lunara’s magic arrows that the raven huffed a laugh as it opened its shiny beak.
“Well, then, tire your wings if you want.” I shrugged. “But come down to say hello once in a while. I like the company.”
Even from a judgy, dramatic raven.
But as someone who’d grown up in a big, loud family, in a big, loud city, the silence wasn’t comfort. It was the absence of all the things I’d lost.
I still hadn’t found my place in this strange, remote crater, which might have been named Solkar’s Reach or not.
In some weird way, both the crater and I had been ripped from this world, in bizarrely different ways. The crater had thrived, it seemed.
I was still unsure of my footing. My place. My purpose.
The only glimmer of hope was that Dax would be successful in his mission, so this brain of mine that obviously couldn’t stop searching for answers could have something to do other than lament what I wasn’t anymore.
For a long time, Sylvester didn’t seem too convinced of my offer. He kept staring at me with those ancient, bottomless eyes.
We remained in that silent staring contest for the longest time, the sky starting to turn a deceptively warm purple above us.
Finally, Sylvester righted his head, gave a flutter of his wings, and flew away.
The soft breeze swept my sigh away. Being rejected by a bird hadn’t been in my cards for the day, but here I was.
But just as I turned back toward the market, Sylvester reappeared. He did a majestic swoop around me, his wings grazing the air beside my cheek. It felt like a hug, one I didn’t know how badly I needed until now.
For a moment, I felt like my old self again.
Alive.
He soared back up ahead of me, like he was waiting for me to catch up.
A huge smile spread on my face as I began to race after him, legs pumping, coat flapping behind me.
I ran like I did when I was a kid chasing butterflies in Grandpa Constantine’s gardens, charmed by the thrill of exploring, still free from the constraints life had instilled in me.
With Sylvester hovering, massive wings spread above me, we raced straight into the market. He might’ve been the one flying, but I felt like a bird freed from its cage–one I’d built and closed myself.
So caught up in the moment, I burst into the market gracelessly.
Heads turned as soon as I froze to a stop, the momentum almost careening me into the well standing in the center. Sylvester perched on top of its shingled roof, unbothered. If anything, he looked smug at winning the race.
The tang of smoking dried juniper stung my nose. A baby cried, then hushed–or was shushed. A meat cleaver thudded once, twice against a wooden board.
Then silence.
My cheeks instantly heated up and I ran a hand through my hair, trying to seem normal.
To these people, I was an outsider.
Worse, I was an outsider who’d preyed on the freedom I’d been given here.
My smile morphed into a soft one as I sort-of met their gazes–looking in their direction, but not really meeting their eyes.
So many gazes snapped to me, the attention turned even more overwhelming.
These weren’t the warm, reverent stares from Aquila, either. They were blue, icy, and detached, born out of curiosity, not familiarity.
Not exactly hostile, but cautious.
Their movements slowed, children were huddled behind wool skirts, whispers erupted, too low to hear.
But they beat against my bones.
My smile wavered as I walked around the market, trying to seem as unthreatening as someone named The Huntress could. I focused my attention on the little wooden shop price signs, the carts of searing fatty cheeses, and the leather goods put on display every other stand.
But the whispers increased, ghosting across the back of my neck, no matter how straight my spine stood.
I needed to blend into this city, my new home, but my presence pulsed like a splinter under a nail.
I didn’t know what I had been expecting, perhaps cool indifference, but the attention was making my skin crawl. Coming here had disrupted the slow, crisp rhythm I’d observed from a distance all those days.
Running away wasn’t an option now, but I felt too exposed. Too seen.
So I turned my head and pretended I’d just noticed the sweets shop I’d carefully scouted, and rushed toward it, all those eyes hounding me just like the wolves had. But they didn’t have teeth.
They judged.
Only when the shop bell rang and the door closed behind me did I loose a shaky breath.
The smell of cinnamon, apples, and honey instantly flooded my senses, craving and disgust fighting each other deep in my belly.
An entire rainbow of parchment-wrapped sweets, sugary apples, and rolled pastries stuck out in small mounds from weathered barrels.
Everywhere I looked, a new temptation beckoned me closer.
My senses were so consumed by the array before me, I didn’t notice the short shop owner at my side until I turned.
“Oh.” I flinched back, almost knocking into one of the overflowing barrels. The mighty Huntress, all grace and agility, in all her might. “Hello.”
“Hello, dear.”
Mrs. Mallowmere was a pint-sized Mrs. Thornbrew, with softer features, chubbier cheeks, and fluffier wool skirt, made out of mismatched patches in one big colorful tapestry, with a pink shawl on her shoulders.
Her smile was warm, but her eyes were as cautious as the ones which had run me into her shop.
She might’ve been a full head shorter than me, but her presence was big.
I’d expected a scowl. Maybe being run out of her shop.
Instead, she stood there, looking up at me with the same sweetness surrounding us.
I cleared my throat and yanked my courage out of the depths of guilt where it had huddled. “I’m sorry.”
“For what, dear?” she asked. Not moving. Not blinking. Staring .
“For starting a fire near your shop.” Grandpa Constantine always told us not to do deeds we couldn’t fess up to, no matter how hard it was.
And this was hard . Because the action had been born out of desperation and misplaced hope, and it had almost cost me my life.
“Your business was in no danger of catching fire, I made sure of that, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t selfish of me. And I’m so very sorry.”