CHAPTER ONE #2
His irritation was, no doubt, caused by his impeccable scruples.
While Evylin didn’t necessarily find bribery to be altogether honorable, she did accept it as a useful tool.
However, she understood that Deckard wasn’t likely taking issue with the bribe and the violence used to facilitate their escape so much as the gray morality shown by the Alliance in their limited acquaintance.
This was the group of individuals they were supporting in the takeover of their government.
Deckard was an upstanding Allorian; he would desire to serve an authority beyond reproach.
But Evylin had to wonder if an organization with his impeccable moral standards could even exist. Was such a governing body possible in the face of such a ruthless adversary?
Unable to speak for fear of being heard by others, Evylin brushed her thumb against Deckard’s stomach, hoping to soothe his concern for the moment.
Immediately, he grabbed her hands and jerked them higher on his torso. “As much as I appreciate such affection,” he whispered, the words rumbling against her chest, “that’s making it a bit difficult to focus.”
Looking over his shoulder, Evylin could only see a slight flex of his jaw beneath the reddish-brown stubble. She only had to wonder at his reaction for a few spare seconds before realizing how low her hands had unintentionally drifted. Her cheeks heated even as she fought to maintain her poise.
“My apologies,” she breathed against the hood of his cloak.
The city was a buzzing hive of sound and activity around them.
Hundreds of people milled about the dirt-packed streets, running, pulling carts, shouting, laughing, slamming doors, hammering, cheering, arguing, buying, selling, and living their lives.
Evylin found the scene jarringly similar to the hustle and bustle of Trollenston on market days, albeit on a far grander scale.
Jarrad and Isla led them through the first sector, evidently the poorest one if the ramshackle houses and citizens’ dingy clothing were any indication.
The narrow streets made it so that Ethenn and Emmaas practically had to herd Auden and Ilain’s horses to ensure strangers didn’t jostle them.
Shortly, they arrived at a secondary gate.
The guards there knew Jarrad too. This time, he didn’t bother to toss them coins but exchanged a quick word with the head of the outpost. Evylin wondered if their easy passage was because they were friends or if the man was a member of the Alliance too. She assumed it could be both.
The next sector of Mouroc was nicer, though infinitesimally so. The houses were of a sturdier build, and the streets weren’t as narrow, but the residents looked little better off. On they went, through the next gate—Jarrad did toss out another bag of coin there—and into the third sector.
The improvement was immediate. Fewer people crowded the streets, which, though unpaved, were in much better condition.
The buzz of noise was deadened to a pleasant hum.
The houses gradually rose in size and respectability.
All the buildings were arranged in groupings, with small alleyways cutting alongside each one.
Business began to cut in amongst the abodes, reminding Evylin again of Trollenston but on a far grander scale.
Then they reached the center of the sector.
The buildings grew tall, rising three and four stories above their heads.
Their gray stone and brick facades were designed with a sense of refined architecture, giving the groupings the appearance of a single massive structure rather than individual premises.
It looked remarkably like the Loclight District in Ephria City, and Evylin gaped with wistful awe.
She thought back to the townhouse she and Deckard left behind, three barren stories that they intended to make a home.
She wondered if they’d ever get that chance.
Jarrad led them to their final stop in front of a four-story triangular building that appeared to be a conglomerate of businesses.
The light rain still pattered against the iron-cased windows.
Trees and vining vegetation climbed portions of the tall walls.
People drifted in and out of shops on the far end while a young boy sprang forward from the shadow of the alleyway.
“Aye, yeh needin’ stablin’ fer yer herses?
” the lad said in quite a fierce Waulden accent.
“Aye,” Jarrad replied good-naturedly.
“Ah, Highlerd Hoult, I’s wanderin’ when yeh’d get back.”
Jarrad flipped the boy a coin and said, “Let’s keep my arrival to ourselves, eh, Coalum?”
“Aye, milerd!” Coalum quickly snuck the coin into his pocket while they dismounted.
Emmaas stepped forward, helping the boy gather the horses together with a kind greeting. Auden helped his sister down from her horse, then patted the Warrior on the shoulder to acknowledge that their steeds were clear to be taken away.
Deckard carefully assisted Evylin, their comrades blocking their action from the view of the street.
His continued silence was surely due to the extended taxing of his magical reserves.
Evylin remained close to him, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm to continue the sharing of her magical strength.
“This way,” Jarrad summoned, leading them around the corner to the entry of the establishment. Clay planters sat on either side of the door, bright white and yellow flowers welcoming them. A metal sign hung above them, announcing that they had arrived at the Crimson Clover Hotel.
“What’s a hotel?” Ethenn whispered to Rafferty, and Evylin leaned closer, curious as well.
“It’s a really big inn,” Rafferty explained, tone confident.
“They’ve got ’em in Loclight too.” Though he’d grown up in a village just as small as Evylin and Ethenn’s, his work as an “entrepreneur” (in his case, a smuggler) provided him ample experience with individuals who had explored far more than the small settlements of Estshire.
Holding the door open, Jarrad ushered Isla in first; then, with a murmur of coaching from Deckard, Auden, Ilain, and Evylin entered while the rest of the group followed.
The Crimson Clover was good to its name, the walls covered in deep red damask wallpaper and dark wood paneling wrapping around the lower half.
In the foyer, a large fireplace crackled, two chairs and a sofa facing its warmth.
A lantern-like chandelier dangled above their heads.
To the far right of the room, a staircase twisted out of sight.
And to the left, a reception counter awaited their arrival.
A man stood behind the tall wooden desk, head dipped over a book.
Seeing his customers, he marked the page, shut it, and straightened his posture.
His eyes shimmered brightly as he smiled.
“Good day, Highlady Freye and Highlord Hoult,” he said.
“A pleasure to have you in our walls once again. Who are your companions?”
At the front, Isla returned the clerk’s smile. “Good day, Maurus. These are our Ephrian friends.”
The clerk, Maurus, nodded. He was a pleasant-looking man, somewhere in his early fifties, should his soft wrinkles and silvering temples be any indication. Pale as most Wauldeners were, he bore a smattering of freckles all over his skin. “Wonderful. We’ve been expecting you,” he said cheerily.
Jarrad leaned against the polished high desk with lazy ease, gave his greeting to the man, and turned to Deckard. “You can drop the shroud now.”
With a relieved sigh, Deckard’s shoulders relaxed. The haze around Evylin and the Calders disappeared, yet the clerk showed no signs of surprise at their sudden appearance.
“Ah!” he exclaimed instead, eyes twinkling. “If it isn’t the Calders. Been a long time since I’ve entertained your family. Now, my rooms are filled with them.”