14 Worthy #2
They’d barely made it halfway around the square when a loud gasp rang out. Vaelira whirled, reaching for her sword.
“Easy,” Erryn said, placing her hand on Vaelira’s arm. Despite the word, her posture had stiffened.
Two women hurried down the chapel steps, skirts of pale blue and green brushing the stone. Rows of pearls hung at their necks, and their identical golden hair was twisted into elaborate designs. Pink powder coated their cheeks, and their eyelids shimmered like seashells.
They had to be nobles. No one in Old Town dressed like that. She had expected to feel small at the sight of them. Instead, all she felt was mild irritation.
“Do my eyes deceive me, Otti?” said one of the women, her eyes round in exaggerated surprise. Her voice was shrill, each word over-enunciated.
“I don’t think so, Cassi,” said the other, more timidly.
Erryn straightened. “Cassivelle. Ottelienne. How can I be of assistance?” Her voice was polite but edged with iron.
“Oh, Erryn dear, we simply could not believe it when we heard,” Cassivelle trilled. “You, here? Among the… practical folk?” She glanced around, wrinkling her pointed nose. Ottelienne stifled a smile.
Erryn tilted her head slightly but said nothing.
“If our chapel was open, we wouldn’t have come, of course,” Cassivelle added, placing a manicured hand on her sister’s shoulder. “But we needed to pray.”
“Why isn’t your chapel open?” Vaelira asked.
Cassivelle didn’t spare her a glance. “You should already know. Unless they’re just handing out uniforms these days.”
Erryn clasped her hands behind her back. “Vaelira is a recruit,” she said more firmly, and turned to Vaelira. “Her Majesty has been using the noble chapel daily. It's been closed to others indefinitely.”
It didn’t surprise Vaelira that Queen Mairese was devout, but claiming the chapel for herself was bold. It would anger many people.
Cassivelle’s lip curled. “I do hope they aren’t making you scrub the latrines,” she said sweetly. She tapped a finger to her lips. “Perhaps if I speak to Father, he might be able to secure you a transfer. You remember our parents of course, Lord Beredain and Lady Viondrella?”
Erryn inclined her head. “Of course. We are all grateful for Lord and Lady Dorevanne’s continued commitment to keeping Caerthalyn safe.”
Cassivelle and Ottelienne looked at Vaelira.
Vaelira cleared her throat. “Yes. Very grateful.”
Cassivelle’s eyes dropped to Vaelira’s boots, her simple plait. She didn’t bother hiding her disdain.
“Mother and Father refuse to visit the town,” Ottelienne said, attempting her sister's sneer but falling short. “They insist the air makes them congested.”
“I think I must agree with them,” Cassivelle said. She brought her fist to her mouth and let out the most ridiculous, high-pitched cough Vaelira had ever heard. She had to bite the inside of her cheek not to laugh. As far as she could tell, the mountain air was the same in every part of the city.
A muscle twitched in Erryn’s jaw, but her face remained unreadable.
“We must retire,” Cassivelle said airily. “Mother will be inconsolable if we return any later.” She linked arms with her sister and swept away, offering no farewell.
Erryn exhaled, turning in the opposite direction to continue their patrol. Vaelira jogged to catch up.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“An insufferable reminder of my past.”
“You’re noble?”
Erryn’s stride faltered, but she kept walking. “Not anymore. I left that life a long time ago.”
“That must have been difficult,” Vaelira said gently. She didn’t want to push. She didn’t want to talk about her own past either, but she couldn’t help but wonder how a noble girl had ended up as a member of the Royal Guard.
“Easier than you’d think. My father…” Erryn trailed off as they turned down a narrower street into the residential district. “Let’s just say, he’s worse than those two.”
Vaelira laughed quietly. “They were terrible. Why are we grateful to their parents again?”
“Their father donates gold to the Guard. It’s bought him the King’s favour. Not that he uses it for much besides—”
Erryn stopped. Her hand went to her sword, head on a swivel.
Vaelira scanned the empty street, but she saw nothing.
Then the stench hit her.
Smoke, but not woodsmoke. Something worse. Her stomach twisted.
Ignoring the panic that rose in her chest, she drew her sword and followed Erryn. A few houses down, an alley glowed faintly with orange light. Smoke clung to the walls, escaping through the strip of sky between the buildings.
“Keep watch,” Erryn ordered, hurrying towards the fire.
A metallic tang coated Vaelira’s tongue. She knew what was burning. Her stomach churned, but she held her post, her back to the alley. People began to gather but one look at her guard uniform and sword was enough to keep them back. For now, at least.
More guards arrived, golden pins glinting at their throats. Two passed Vaelira and three joined her at the mouth of the alley. None of them had drawn weapons, so she sheathed her own.
One guard stepped forward. “Move along!” he barked.
A few people scattered, but most lingered. They were outnumbered three to one. Vaelira imagined the crowd surging forward, and her heart hammered against her ribs.
The guard’s hand went to his sword. “Move or be removed by force!” That did it. The crowd turned. Some muttered as they drifted back down the street.
Vaelira exhaled slowly. She closed her eyes, waiting for her heartbeat to settle.
“First day?” said the guard beside her. He looked close to her age, maybe a few years older. A mop of blonde hair stuck out beneath his hood. Vaelira nodded and he raised his brows. “You held your own. Good work.”
Vaelira huffed. “I was only here a few minutes before you showed up.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes a few minutes is all it takes.”
Footsteps sounded behind them and Erryn returned with the others. “Hold position,” she told the guards. “I want to show the recruit what we’re dealing with.”
Vaelira followed Erryn through the alley. The fire had already burned down to a smouldering mass. She pulled her cloak over her nose, her eyes watering from more than just the smoke.
The body was small. A woman her size, or maybe a child. It was hard to tell.
Vaelira covered her mouth with a fist and gagged. Everything was a charred mess of flesh and bone. Shrunken black muscles stretched along the legs, mottled grey at the ankles. Only the tops of the feet remained mostly unburned.
It was there that she saw them. Thick, dark veins, stark against the skin. Vaelira’s breath turned shallow, sharp pain shooting through her ribs with each inhale. Was this how Jon had looked on the pyre she’d lit for him?
She looked away.
“What do you see?” Erryn asked, voice low.
“A young woman, maybe?”
“What else?”
Vaelira tried to breathe through the cloak. “Her feet.”
Erryn looked.
“There are veins there,” Vaelira said. “Black. I’ve seen them before.”
Erryn’s expression sharpened. She stepped closer and raised a finger to her lips. From her pocket, she withdrew a flat, circular plate of metal. Swirling patterns sank into its surface.
“Take a right out of the alley,” she whispered. “After the park, you’ll find the western noble gate. Show them this. They’ll let you through, no questions asked.” She placed the disc in Vaelira’s palm.
“I don’t understand,” Vaelira said.
“Go to Axel’s townhouse.”
Vaelira took a step back. “You know Axel?”
Erryn sighed. “Yes. Go. I’ll follow as soon as I can.”
Vaelira wanted to ask more, but a guard came running towards them. Vaelira concealed the disc beneath her cloak.
“We’ve sent for the coroner,” he said. “But a crowd is gathering. We need more swords.”
Erryn stepped forward. “I’ll escort the recruit back to the barracks and send reinforcements your way.”
The guard nodded, and they hurried out of the alley.
Once they were out of sight, Erryn stopped. “Don’t speak to anyone about what you saw,” she said quickly, turning and striding back towards the barracks.
Vaelira stood alone on the street corner, the cold disc heavy in her hand as she watched Erryn turn a corner and stride out of sight.
Who was this calm, unreadable woman? She knew Axel, which meant she knew Willem, which meant… Elijah.
With the taste of death still on her tongue, she gripped the disc tighter and started walking.