Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
“Okay, I look amazing in this dress! You have to pick this one!” announces Royah, exiting the dressing room in the most beautiful dusty-rose chiffon dress, her dark braid pouring over her shoulder like a beaded river of ink. She walks in front of the mirror, doing a turn for everyone’s benefit.
“Okay, yes!” Serra agrees, pointing at Royah as she sets down her wine. “That colour is perfect!”
“I’m loving it too!” Emilia blushes as she walks out of the changing room, fingers pulling the dress hem off the floor as she gives us a twirl.
“I’m not sure,” Michelle says, biting her lip and looking to Giulia who is nodding.
“No, I think the dusty rose is perfect!” Giulia encourages. “It suits everyone here.”
Michelle sighs, unconvinced, and throws a look at Serra and me. We’re drinking, surrounded by discarded dress options.
“You haven’t tried it yet,” she says. To us. Pointedly.
“Then we’d best get to it, Serra,” I say, setting my wine down.
“I’ll just go and get them in the right sizes,” says the shop aid gently before racing away.
“I think we scare her,” Tahira says with a snort and she empties the dregs of her wine.
“It doesn’t help that you and Royah brought your Dolks,” I reason.
“We had to make sure they match the dresses!” Royah argues. I throw up my hands.
“A weapon is a weapon, even if they’re pretty ones,” Emilia answers. “Yours looks newer, Royah.”
“Royah’s isn’t inherited like mine,” Tahira says. “We had it made for her when she passed her Nakari, what, four years ago now?”
“Just about,” Royah agrees. “It was right before we met Idris for the first time.”
“Okay, that is a story I want to hear!” Serra says, leaning forwards but we’re interrupted by the return of the dress lady with our sizes. She hands them to us and Serra and I head for the changing room.
“Okay, dress number eight,” Serra whispers under her breath, dark eyes flashing with amusement as we pull the curtain behind us.
“If you think we’re getting out of here before trying them all, you’re deluded,” I say. Serra shrugs as we slip out of the previous dresses, trying on the slightly ill-fitting sample sizes. The smooth material flows over our skin like water.
“Delusion can sometimes be helpful when turning concepts into reality,” Serra says. “Lace me up?”
“Sure,” I say, spinning to pull on the ribbony laces at her back. “How are you feeling anyway? I’ve been meaning to talk to you privately about … everything.”
I look up, meeting her dark eyes in the mirror as she flashes me a knowing, almost sombre smile.
“I think both our heads have been through the ringer these last months, haven’t they,” she whispers, her fingers coming up to her shoulder. I cover them with my own and give her a comforting squeeze.
“Are you feeling any better?” I ask her tentatively. Serra nods.
“It feels good to … be creating again,” Serra answers honestly. “To feel the joy in my work again. For so long it was tainted. I felt robbed of a fundamental piece of my being. Picking up the quill was just so…”
She trails off but then sucks in a sharp breath.
“And you?”
“I feel like … I’m either flying or falling.
Constantly. There rarely seems to be a middle ground, and I never stay in one State for long.
” I sigh. “When I’m flying everything is urgent, nothing is small, I can’t turn my brain off.
Everything cracks like lightning in my head, my very thoughts are buzzing.
And when I’m falling … I’m numb and empty and void of everything.
Everything is exhausting. I have no motivation to do anything, even think. Nothing matters, particularly me…”
I sigh, letting the words fall off.
“It hurts, doesn’t it, when the thing we love becomes the source of such acute pain,” Serra whispers. “It’s a strange kind of grief. Like we’re mourning ourselves and no one can see it.”
I nod, reaching around to give her a hug. I drop my chin to her shoulder.
“But we’ll get through it, right?”
Serra smiles.
“Exactly. Besides, we have a wedding to celebrate. Let me get your laces.”
I turn around and Serra tugs on the ribbons at the back of my dress.
“Next time you’re falling or flying and it all becomes too much, you come to mine, alright?” Serra says quietly. “We can sort it out.”
“Thank you. Actually, I find Idris’s presence really helpful,” I admit. “That Soulhate bond just … burns through everything. I can’t think about anything else because he’s all consuming. I can’t be apathetic because I’m so filled with rage.”
“I don’t know how you manage that,” says Serra. “I mean, I thought his very touch physically hurts.”
“It’s strange, like a phantom in my own skin,” I admit. Serra shudders as she finishes with my laces.
“I don’t know, between you and the drama out there”—Serra juts her chin to our friends—“I think I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to meet my Fated.”
“Oh, don’t let him hear you say that.” I chuckle and point up at the sky like the gods are listening. Serra gasps, arm around my shoulders as we walk to the curtain.
“This is Halice. Haven’t you heard? The gods have no power here.”
Then she throws back the curtain with a flourish to the group.
“Okay, we’re absolutely stunning!” Serra announces. “If you don’t pick this colour, you and I are having problems.”
“Wow, you girls look fantastic!” Giulia beams. Michelle is nodding.
“Absolutely, you both look great.”
“So we’re decided, dusty rose?” I say, as Emilia twirls to show it off. Michelle bites her lip.
“Okay, accented with sage … but what metal?” Michelle frowns, as Giulia turns her head away to take a steadying breath beside her. “Silver feels too weak. Gold feels so overdone.”
“Bronze,” Royah suggests, picking some bracelets and pins from the side and holding them towards her. “Warm, a lovely balance against the lighter rose and sage colours.”
“Yes, I love that!” Giulia says, gripping Michelle’s arm happily. “What do you think?”
“Bronze … yeah, I like that,” Michelle says, a slow smile breaking over her face.
“Yes! We are decided!” crows Royah in delight.
“Excellent, which means venue number two, right?” Tahira practically cackles with delight and rubs her hands, the rings on her fingers catching the light.
“Is that a good laugh or should we be worried?” Giulia asks Michelle in a stage whisper.
“Worried. Definitely worried,” Michelle teases, wrapping an arm around her fiancée and giving her a sweet kiss.
The City Guards march into the shop, feet stomping all over the peach-tiled floor. All our heads turn at once as they waste no time swarming around me.
“I asked you to wait outside—” I start as one stands to attention before me.
“Signora, we must get you to safety immediately. There’s been an attack,” he says formally. I blink in shock, heart throbbing in my throat.
“What?” I ask in horror as the men immediately flank me and attempt to shuffle me out the door.
“Where?” demands Tahira, jumping to her feet.
“The Watchtower, signora. I believe it was set on fire by agitators,” answers the City Guard, turning towards me. I press a hand to my mouth.
“But it’s made of stone, isn’t it?” asks Michelle.
“The main building yes but the rectory at the back is a mixture,” says Emilia, going pale.
“Otta!” I gasp, guilt curdling in my stomach. “She’ll be there—”
“Right, I’ll check on her. See what information I can gather,” Serra says firmly.
“You get somewhere safe.” Then she runs for the door before I can argue.
I try to take after her to ask, plead, command, whatever will make her come with us, but the guards hold me back from stepping even another pace away from their protective circle.
“I’ll go after her.” Tahira bolts out of her seat. “Royah, get everyone home, then make sure Kaz is safe.”
“Heard.” Royah morphs instantly into the insanely effective soldier she is. She takes Emilia’s hand and beckons for Giulia and Michelle to follow as she gets us all moving towards the door.
“We’ll go with them,” I say to the City Guard.
“We’re supposed to take you home—”
“Then that’s where we’ll go!” Royah says, eyes cutting left and right for movement. “Plenty of room for us all.”
“There isn’t enough room in this carriage,” announces the City Guard. “We’ll take the Maestrus first, then you can follow.”
“No, we can’t leave them!” I argue.
“We’ll be fine, Renza. I promise,” Giulia says, her words dropping off and eyes going wide as she looks up, mouth falling a moment. I spin around, looking to the sky. My stomach bottoms out at the huge plume of black smoke gushing into the violet sky.
I’m having flashbacks of that awful day when everything changed. The heat of that dirty fire on my skin, the memory of finding Father and then Giulia amidst the devastation.
“We have to go now, signora!” the City Guard insists, holding the carriage door open for me.
“We leave no one,” I say. “We stay together. I don’t care if I sit on someone’s lap, we don’t split up.”
Michelle, Emilia, Giulia, Royah and I all pile into the carriage.
To say it is a squeeze is an understatement.
Michelle sits on Giulia’s lap, pressed against Royah’s side.
Emilia and I try to wedge ourselves in the other way, the middle a mess of knees that nobody has room for.
It’s dark as there is no time to light a candle in the small space, let alone the room.
I brace myself as much as possible against the cold wooden walls as the carriage starts rocking, the wheels clattering over the cold cobbles as we hurry to safety.
The horses’ hooves clap like thunder. No one says a word; breathing is the only permitted sound in the quiet.
Royah perches on the edge of her seat, and that’s when I realise we’re all still wearing the bridesmaid dresses, including her – though she had the sense to grab one of her short blades along with her Dolk before we piled into the carriage.
I let out a shaky breath and drop my head as I peer through the slats of the window. The cold night air whistles through the small openings, planting frozen midnight kisses on the bare skin of my nose and cheeks.
I see a soldier on a horse riding alongside us, the pace fairly quick. Then I see the arrow sink into his neck as he spills backwards into the night.
I gasp and clasp my hand to my mouth. Shouts and the screams of horses erupt from all around us. The carriage comes to sharp stop. Royah braces herself, Dolk in one hand, blade in the other, as she gets ready to surge at whatever is waiting on the other side of that door.
My heart is thumping in my throat, my mouth dry as the world goes entirely too quiet. There isn’t a sound. The five of us exchange a look but Royah keeps her eyes on the door handle, waiting with gritted teeth and a terrible face to dive into this fight.
Heavy boots stamp towards us, then a hand on the other side jolts the door handle.
“Come out, Maestrus! We have you surrounded. No games or our archers will take you down.”
Royah narrows her eyes and swallows tightly, body coiling to strike. My hand flies out to catch her arm.
“They’re not bluffing. They have archers, I saw it,” I whisper quickly. She nods sharply, turning over that calculation again in her head. She looks at each of us and mouths one word.
Run.
The door handle of the carriage turns and Royah throws all her weight and strength into her elbow, dark braids flying through the air as she slams the door into the assailant, shouting as she strikes out with her blade.
“Go, go!” Royah shouts. Emilia piles out first, hitting the stone outside as an arrow whistles past her shoulder. She shrieks, covering her head as she sprints for the cover of a nearby alley. Royah is a frenzy of action, surrounded by three men with weapons slashing for her.
Two men come to the other carriage door and yank it open. Their hands grab hold of me.
“No!” screams Giulia as I’m hauled brutally out into the night. The door is slammed in her face, as they drag me away.
“No! Let go! Let go of me!” I scream, thrashing as I try and break free of the wall of muscle.
“Renza! Renza!” shouts Giulia, who’s opened her side of the carriage and is making to follow.
Michelle grabs hold of her and yanks her back as three arrows sink into the wood where she’s just been standing.
I’m hauled gasping and screaming into the night, my pulse like thunder in my ears.
Every nerve sparks frozen lightning as I thrash and try to break free of these brutes’ vicious hold.
One turns around and slaps me so hard, the world starts spinning. I gasp for breath, unable to make sense of anything except the sensation of blood in my mouth and the pain stretching over my face.
“Hands, quickly!” hisses someone and I feel rope go around my wrists. I kick and lash out wildly as I try to orientate myself. Then something soft is pressed against my mouth, and then a familiar bitter taste coats my tongue.
Red Root.
No. No. No.
The world spins again, empty exhaustion clawing at my vision as the strength leaves my limbs.
I’m thrown unceremoniously over someone’s shoulder, and I sag against their back as all ability to control my limbs evaporates.
I try to fight it, desperately clawing for a semblance of control over the drug.
But the Red Root wins as a thick bag goes over my head.
“Move, move, quickly!” comes a gruff voice that I know but can’t place. My eyes feel so heavy as they close and I’m lost to the unending, inky darkness.