Chapter 35
thirty-five
The darkness never responded, and I despised it for that. I hated the shadowy corners as I came to, cracked my eyes, and waited expectantly where the flicking candlelight refused to reach. I didn’t know what I thought would happen. Recompense or revenge?
The darkness wouldn’t save me.
He wouldn’t come.
I was met with a bitter silence and a cold, flaking table.
It came away in my hands as I forced myself to my elbows and pulled in a shuddering breath at the soul-seeping pain.
It radiated down my spine and into my thighs where my legs adhered to the stool by a rotten mixture of piss and clotted blood.
I thought I might crumble as I tenderly pulled my coverings over them, yet somehow remained upright, if only out of spite.
Sneers, smiles, and mocking glares followed me as I was ushered to a stand and wandered to the window.
No one stopped me as I grasped the vast dark and unfeeling night that fell over the shoddy structures of the quarter.
It seemed no matter what happened, the world wouldn’t stop turning. The cycle of day and night was unbound by human suffering.
Tennith closed the distance, rushing across the room to meet me.
“I’ll leave in the morning,” I said, willing my voice to remain steady. “Upon first light.”
“You’ll leave now if you want to keep breathing.”
I sucked in a breath. “I won’t make it back if I leave now.” The guardhouse would be swarming, I wouldn’t make it two steps inside before they cut me down. And then this, the suffering, the tears, and even returning would all be for nothing.
“She wants you out, so you’ll go.”
I stepped toward him and gritted my teeth, keeping my voice low.
“I thought we were friends.” My words shocked me, and from the look on his face, he felt the same.
Since I came here with a knife to my throat, I hadn’t dared to utter it out loud, but it was true all the same.
I thought we were friends, and I’d returned to Ilyatria out of fear for his life, and everyone else in the Underquarter.
Only for them to torture me.
His tired eyes left mine and traveled to his feet. “You’re a liability to the survivors,” he whispered, so low only I heard. Then he met my gaze with a sadness I’d only ever seen in the mirror. “You’re a liability to me.”
I parted the curtain again to reveal a few guards traveling down the road, their lanterns held high and illuminating the filth and horror. Just as quickly, I dropped it and pretended I didn’t hear the blood thrumming in my ears.
“There are too many guards there. They’ll kill me.” I wasn’t expecting such a brutal reminder so quickly.
“There are more guards on the street during the day. You have more of a chance right now than you would then. Take it.” The edge to his throaty whisper said everything I needed to know. He meant run.
He didn’t want me to return, with or without food.
“Why are you offering this now?”
He lowered his voice. “You saved my life from the Knights once. Now we’re even.” Now, the man who had dragged me in here with a blade and had me carved like an animal urged me to flee. I wasn’t going to question it, not twice.
But I wouldn’t run out the front door. Not until I had answers. There was no doubt in my mind I’d never see him again.
“Then why did you choose hers over mine? You let her brand me like livestock —”
The kindness faded from his voice. “This world isn’t what you left.
I don’t know where you’ve gone, nor do I care.
The reality is she provides… things.” He let the word hang on his tongue longer than necessary.
“I couldn’t spoil you, that’s the job of some uppity noble.
If I could, I would have done it when you were wafting about these walls like a common whore.
I’m not the type to owe favors. But make no mistake, we were never friends. ”
That cut deeper than Arlein’s dagger and smothered me harder than the accursed everwinter of Eltide. It was fucking brutal. No friends. No family.
No him.
I pushed past him and ignored the burning at my back and the one behind my eyes.
He kept close at my heel until I grabbed the door handle.
Before I shuddered it open, I took one last look over the tavern.
I had to believe I’d survive, but I’d never see this place again.
I’d returned to standing on that stage, kneeling, but at least this time I’d get to say goodbye.
The ground floor had long since emptied, now no longer filled with excited onlookers, but tired peasants.
They clung to each other in groups along the walls, surrounded by buckets and sorrow.
One woman leaned against the wall, another in her lap.
Most everyone else was asleep, but not her.
She stroked the raven hair of the sleeping woman in her lap.
Asleep—I hope. Pale, emaciated, and unmoving.
Yet every stroke of her pitch-black hair against the pallid skin brought back a flood of memories.
It was so vast, deep, and sudden that I thought I might drown.
The door was right there. I could run and never look back. I could and should. But I’d never be able to look at myself in the mirror again. And I hated to admit it, but he was right. Shame was a heavy burden to bear, and I didn’t need anything else weighing me down.
So when Tennith peeked through the hung fabric, and beckoned me out, I began planning how to make it to the guardhouse. It was only a few blocks away, but I’d have to be smart. I’d need a weapon.
I leaned as close to him as possible as he urged me toward the threshold, digging my boots in. “I need a weapon to make it past the guards. Anything.”
His lips straightened to a line. “You’re not possibly considering going.”
“I have to.”
He shoved me forward, knocking me against the wood. “Then you’re more of a fool than I thought. I had a higher opinion of you.”
“Give me—”
He grabbed me by the nape and yanked me so close his rancid breath stung my nostrils. The force of his arm on my spine ached. “You’re lucky I don’t rat you out right now. You get nothing. Get out and don’t look back.”
Without another word, he shoved me through the thin gap in the door, letting the uneven wood scratch any exposed skin.
It shut behind me with the softest sound and the small roll of the lock.
That clink was barely audible, but it punctuated my future.
The curtains didn’t move; the tavern remained dark and silent.
And I was alone with no way back. So the only way was forward.
I slipped to the side of the road, keeping to the darkest parts of the street.
The starless sky stretched before me. Small flecks of snow drifted in the wind, slowly tracing their way through the darkness.
I followed suit, moving just as silently.
The streets were a maze, now filled with broken towers and collapsed stalls. Every time I had to climb over one, I cursed under my breath at the wave of pain in my back.
Bodies still lined the gutters. Every time I had to step over a decomposing corpse, my stomach dropped and bile rose. The further into the quarter I got, the worse the carnage became until the streets were unrecognizable.
By the time I approached the guardhouse, my boots were slick with the seepage of decomposition. Disgusting, but lit a flare of hope in my heart. It hadn’t yet frozen over; that was a small light in a dim, endless void.
I carefully considered the building, and a small pit formed in my gut.
Many moons ago, far before the dragons darkened the sky and Deldren still had a head, this was the meeting hall.
One of the nicest buildings in the quarter, most of the streets were cobbled around the large stone structure.
It explained why the survivors were holed up in a tavern.
Ovatar’s brutal guard had forced them out.
But before I entered, the doors slammed open. I slid back into the darkness and counted the pounding in my ears as guards poured out. Another patrol clanked through the quiet and shattered any brief fantasy of entering through the front.
The stone quarter wrapped around the building, encasing the back and providing a ramp and stone stairs across the side.
Up there were more shacks and stone structures.
But on the second story, where the stone melded into the foundation, were a few windows cloaked in darkness.
When I was certain the band of guards wouldn’t round the corner, I darted toward it.
The guards had left the windows wide open, and before I met them, a warm heat greeted me, flowing out into the bitter night. I swallowed as I climbed through, ducking into the small pane, and silently dropping to the floor.
The savory aroma of roasted meat assaulted my senses and filled my mouth with water that dripped down my chin. My stomach roared and I begged it to quiet, lest it awaken every sleeping guard. They hung off bedrolls, cots, shoved in every corner, fitted together like half-dressed puzzle pieces.
Getting to the far door would prove difficult—if not impossible.
But looming by the window wouldn’t get me anywhere, not to mention the allure of the seared scent was too much to fight. If I got them food, I’d eat too. I could focus on nothing but the pitting ache that rapidly formed in my stomach, beckoning me inside.
I answered, stepping through the guards instinctively. I nearly sent up a prayer to Ovatar but stopped myself before I communed with the bastard god. The last thing I’d want was for him to know my intentions while actively infiltrating his warrior’s sanctuary.
Step by step, I inched through them until one warden rolled and wrapped a hand around my ankle. My pulse shot up as I stared silently at my foot, and briefly considered cutting it off.
His fingers tightened momentarily, but then released with an adjoining snore. I used the noise to release the breath, but the tension remained, roiling in my chest until I thought I might vomit.
I stood there for far too long, staring down at the sleeping man until I reminded myself that if I didn’t continue, I’d die here. The sun would rise, they would awaken, and slaughter me like the cattle roasting downstairs. I need to move on.
So, after shoving my nails deep into my palm’s flesh and inhaling the mouthwatering aroma, I did. Only three more steps, and I’d be at the door.
Three more.
If I made it through a packed guardhouse, I could get over the river to confront him.
That spiked the flare of heat and the lust of vengeance in my chest.
With that pushing me, I slipped between the writhing mass until I was safely within the threshold. I exhaled, but the tightness in my chest didn’t ease. It settled deep into my sternum as I headed down the slotted hallway, following my nose and the flickering candlelight.
It led me through the tunnel until I reached a larger room and froze in the doorway. A disheveled woman with greasy golden ringlets reclined in the corner against the wall.
With her gaze trained on me.
Her torn and muddied chemise marked her as an Underquarter resident, along with the hollowness in her eyes.
The only thing that didn’t match every person dying in the tavern was the layer of fat that clung to her limbs.
She was missing the frail frame and jutting sternum. They’d been feeding her—but why?
A metal clang across the room caught my attention. Some guard fumbling with a cauldron boiling away in the hearth. Every tap of his ladle knocked into my soul. I’d practically made it through the building. It would be just my luck they’d catch me right before my prize.
I sniffed the air and pulled back against the threshold. The woman’s eyes widened, but never left me. Sweet—it was strangely sweet, not the savory aroma that permeated throughout the building. Whatever he was cooking wasn’t the source.
So what was?
It must have been the darkened doorway, the one with the guard hanging beside it. I was so close, and yet so far.
But when he straightened his spine and mumbled something in his turn, my heart faltered. I saw my bloody future lay before me in those few seconds, ticking down to my demise, until a cough stopped him.
She cleared her throat again, catching his attention.
“Marketh,” she said in a soft voice veiled in forced seduction.
Her gaze finally left mine and traveled to the gruff man.
When his attention was fully affixed on her form, she slid onto the rotting dresser beside her, reclining and tugging down her chemise enough to expose her breasts.
He took a tender step toward her, muttering something I couldn’t hear. But the woman mouthed something to him, and when her gaze flicked to me, she tugged up her skirt and slid her legs open.
I had to fight to keep my jaw shut as I slid against the wall into the doorway. Before I closed it, she wrapped a lazy arm around him, mouthing GET OUT.
My fingers fumbled with the door as I rushed to shut it.
The darkness ate away at my vision, and I felt around in the dimness.
My hands brushed against something—some hanging meat, similar to a large slaughtered hog in size.
The savory scent of dried meat and salt burned my nostrils and ached in my gut. I was starving.
I felt around in the darkness until my hands grazed what must have been a table. I followed it, touching jars and containers of salt, until I felt something waxy—a candle.
But there was nothing that might give flame—except perhaps my own hands. My fingers left the candlestick and traveled to my chest, feeling the roil of magic beneath.
I pinched the wick, inhaling slowly, and on release, my desire for warmth flooded into the cord.
It caught with a bright flash, singing my fingertips but painting the world in a flickering glow. When I finally released a shuddering breath, I swung to face my prize.
But it wasn’t hanging butchered hogs, or long roasted and dried suckling pigs.
Dried, desiccated men hung from the rafters, most of them split down the middle and eviscerated.
All had sharp, pointed ears.
They had slaughtered, dried, and roasted I’phri.