Chapter 47 #2
“Most people only remember my older portraits from when I used to glow. I doubt anyone could identify me now, especially if I’m wearing a cloak and covering my hair with a scarf. And if Drakka went, the villagers would wonder why orcs are at Borealla Academie and come poking their noses around.”
“All right. We’ll do it your way.” Rett looks skeptical for a minute before he steps closer to me, taking a breath. “This might not be the best timing, but I need to admit something to you. Something that you need to hear.”
“What is it?”
“When I first arrived in Alexandria, I saw you in the market on the day of the Bidding Ceremony. You looked ready to tear apart anyone who talked to you, let alone bid on you. I’ll admit, I was a coward.
Pretending as if I didn’t know who you were seemed the only way to get your attention.
That’s why you should know your fierceness is what makes you stand out, not some glow. ”
Something gets caught in my throat, and I sputter, “I’m not—”
Emerald and silver flash as he passes me his Achlys Dagger. The cold metal settles into my palm. “Your fierce spirit is never dead. Take this just in case.”
* * *
Cautious of any wagons on the road, Beatrix and I walk the footpath instead of taking a horse. As we trudge through the glen and woods, mud cakes six inches up our hemlines until we finally reach the quaint yet modest Borealla Village.
“We’ll stop at the baker’s first and chat up old Molly like usual,” Beatrix murmurs beneath the hood of her woolen cloak. “She loves to gossip.”
I finger-comb my braid to obscure my identity further, making sure to tuck and hide the heavy metal of my circlet.
She forms a list out loud. “And the farm stand always has an ear for traveling whispers.”
We meander through the alley on the outskirts before we casually join the crowd shopping at the market. Navigating the major thoroughfares, we return the curious glances from the villagers with friendly greetings and pause at a fabric merchant to feel the silks.
“After we gather the ingredients for Verity, we should order a pint at the inn,” I whisper sideways. “Men are never able to hold their tongues when they drink.”
She agrees as we make our way toward the bakery. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafts over the street, warm and inviting.
A bell tinkles as we move through the shop doorway. Once inside, Beatrix cheerfully catches up with Molly while she purchases more sourdough starter. I linger nearby, pretending to peruse the strawberry tart displays.
“Don’t be out late, dearie. There was another disappearance yesterday. Such a shame what this realm is becoming.”
I freeze, pulse quickening.
Beatrix lightly clutches at her throat. “Who was it this time?”
“A priestess passing through on her way to visit family,” Molly says, her voice dipping. “They got her in the alley behind Bartdom’s Inn.”
“But Billy Bartdom never lets dangerous people stay in his establishment. It’s always been safe there.”
“Times are different, I’m afraid. Hard to know who to trust.” Molly wraps the purchase in brown paper and pushes it over the counter. “Be sure to head straight home, ya hear?”
Beatrix clears her throat, slipping the crinkling parcel into her cloak pocket. “Did anyone see which direction they were headed?”
The shopkeeper raises her eyebrows. “The village men followed them toward the Hetaira River, not toward the academie. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but I’d get home just the same.”
Beatrix gives her a respectful head tilt and joins me at the door. As we exit, I clutch her arm, trying to process how someone could kidnap a priestess. Nobody ever assaults their kind, or the Spirit-Fae Cathedral becomes involved.
“Should we still go?” I squeak.
“Molly said they took off toward the Hetaira River, so it’ll probably be okay to have one quick drink.”
Beatrix’s reassurance does little to calm my pounding heart as we approach the dimly lit inn. My hand rests on the hidden dagger in my cloak. I whisper, “Keep your head down and don’t make eye contact with anyone.”
We enter, the air stagnant and sour. Suspicious eyes follow us to the empty table. I sit with my back to the wall, viewing the entire room. Shadows pool in every corner, the dingy lanterns doing little to pierce the gloom.
The barmaid brings two cloudy mugs, slopping ale onto the already sticky tabletop. As I take a sip, the bitter liquid steadies my nerves, keeping me occupied. Beatrix drinks hers heartily while subtly gazing around.
“Vennisa would hate it here,” I say, looking at the commonfolk in their drab colors and rough linen fabrics.
A hint of pity sparks in Beatrix’s quick glance. “I hope she’s safe with all the upheaval and changes Balor Black has made.”
“Snakes always survive.”
Beatrix looks doubtful, and I immediately regret my words. I bite my lip, wondering how dangerous Alexandria has become with Balor on the throne.
In the corner, a gruff voice rises above the dull chatter. “Bartdom’s boys chased the damn wagon nearly ten miles before they lost the trail at the river. They said they’ve never seen horses gallop that fast.”
My pulse jumps.
“Useless, the lot of them. Can’t even catch a few louts dragging off some lass,” another patron gripes. “Probably too scared of the royal consequences.”
“Damn the consequences! None of this would be happening if the king were still alive! He’d keep his brother in check!”
Beatrix’s hand finds mine, squeezing tight.
“It’s only a matter of time before they circle back around to snatch those who are left. I won’t even let my wife leave the house until this clears up.”
“Ralph, don’t be stupid—this problem isn’t going to clear up on its own. We’re headed for dark days, we are…”
After the disgruntled men leave, we finish our ale and drop a few copper coins. Once outside, Beatrix exhales shakily. “Goddess above. We shouldn’t have left the girls alone.”
“They aren’t alone. The orcs are there.”
“Yes, but—”
An icy wind whips through the narrow alley, biting through my layers. I tighten my cloak’s fastening when Beatrix’s eyes widen. I whip around to find a hulking form blocking the threshold. My heart lodges in my throat as a weathered man in a tattered and stained overcoat steps forward.
“You two shouldn’t be out here,” he croaks as the lamppost’s light reflects off his scraggly head.
“Haven’t you heard? It’s not safe for little girls anymore.
” My fingers grip the hidden dagger, my body going rigid.
He takes a long look at us. “The priestess had silver eyes just like yours, witchblood. You’d better be careful, or they’ll take you next! ”
An eerie whistle echoes between the leaning buildings as Beatrix’s long nails dig into my arm, spurring me to move.