Chapter 12 Eveera
Eveera
My head feels like someone has jammed a thousand pins into it, and while the two men hovering think they’re being quiet, their voices might as well be two knives spearing into my eardrums.
“Is she dead?”
THWACK! “No! She’s not dead… at least I don’t think she’s dead. What would we do if she were dead?”
“I’m not dead, and your whisper volumes are fucking loud.” I groan, tossing my arm over my eyes, the heavy weight of the shackle pulling my wrist down with the motion.
That hurts too. Everything hurts. Why does everything hurt?
“Pity.” I hear the deeper voice say before the sound of retreating footsteps comes. I slowly move my arm down to lay across my chest, then crack an eye open.
The pure brightness streaming into the room draws a hiss from my lips. “How long?” I grumble, my throat raw.
“Oh, well, er– you fell asleep on the shower floor. Or maybe you passed out. Either way, we found you… indisposed,” great, “on the ground, and so we brought you in here. You’ve been asleep for about two days.”
I lift the sheet and find myself still partially wrapped in the towel they must have haphazardly put me in. Gross.
“I would have washed your clothes for you, but they were pretty torn up.” There’s a tremor in his voice, he’s nervous, and I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t get a thrill from it.
A slight remembrance of how so often people couldn’t look in my direction without shaking, let alone speak with me.
“There are some things at the foot of the bed, for you instead.”
I crack open the other eye and prop myself up to look at the end of the mattress. Sure enough, there’s a small stack of clothes in an assortment of beige and brown. “Thank you…”
“I guessed your size,” Devlen replies, quickly ducking out of the room, and leaving me to figure out if I can even move. My limbs are a strange mixture of lead and liquid.
Pushing the sheet back, I pull my legs over to the side of the bed and brace the edge of the mattress.
My wild curls spill out in front of my face like a curtain, as my head hangs between my shoulders.
It takes me a moment to gather my bearings, while I decide if I want to move any further from this spot.
I stretch my arm out and reach for the clothes lying there.
Pulling the tunic over my head was taxing, but trying to tug on the tight-fitting pants knocked whatever breath was left in me, right out. I cinch the waist of the loose shirt with the wide leather belt and adjust the collar around my throat, the lace edging tickling the underside of my chin.
There’s a skirt here as well, but if I am planning on any kind of traveling, skirts should never be a part of the picture.
I grab the knee-high boots and secure my mass of hair up with a rogue piece of ribbon. I don’t bother checking my appearance and head straight out into the main area of the home.
Both Caz and Devlen are in deep conversation when I walk out of the hall, Devlen’s head peeking around his companion once he catches sight of me. “Ah – there she is.” He chirps, bringing me a glass of water. “Feeling more up to it?”
“I feel like I’ve been lobotomized.”
His tongue clicks in response, backing away to take in my full appearance, eyes catching on the manacles.
He motions me over to the counter, where Caz is sulking, and pulls out a stool for me.
“Ah-hem. So… apologies for the accommodations, it’s not exactly fit for royalty.
” Devlen says, breaking the brief silence.
I take a long gulp of water and prop my elbows on top of the counter. “It’s fine – I haven’t exactly had ‘royal treatment’ the past few… however long it’s been.” I quip.
His mouth parts a little, and he turns back to look at Caz, who remains stoic and unimpressed. “If that’s true, we should be bringing you to the Consulate, not the edge of the city.”
My shoulders lift nonchalantly. “Sure, if you want to alert the entire fucking realm that I’m here, go right ahead.”
“There have to be people looking for you… right?”
Gods, I hope. I think to myself, but there’s a pang of uncertainty in my chest. It’s not that no one would try to look for or send someone after me.
It’s whether or not anyone was left alive to even make that order.
I don’t know what Eiser and Baelor are up to, and it’s not as though Ezra kept me politically informed during our lovely little escapade.
“If they’re alive. Then sure, someone is probably looking for me.” Devlen’s eyes widen more, and he takes a step into Caz. I choke down another swig of the water, my fingers flexing around the cup.
“Why don’t you want people knowing that you're here?” Caz cuts in, his tone a touch accusatory.
“How aware are the people of Sabel of the happenings outside of your territory?” Neither of them answers past a grunt of uncertainty coming from Devlen, and I set the cup down. “Does the name King Baelor do anything for you?”
“We know he’d be foolish to come after Suram.”
Ha. I bob my head up and down, “he’s foolish, alright. The man’s already invaded four kingdoms outside of his own.” I say, cocking my head at them, while Caz places a possessive hand on Devlen’s shoulder. “Suram will be on his chopping block at some point.”
His eyes roll, “so you don’t want us to take you to the Consulate because… you’re afraid of alerting this King Baelor?”
“I am not afraid of Baelor.” The two of them raise their brows at me, and I blow out a frustrated breath. “You really don’t understand the gravity of what’s going on, do you?”
“We don’t pay much attention to the drama of Wielders.” Caz snaps.
I smile, my finger circling the edge of the glass. “See, that’s the thing. Baelor has no Wield. Hadar is a Wieldless kingdom just like yours, as was Peverell, as was Mellant. Still think you’re safe?”
Their faces pale, and their mouths press into firm lines.
“But my issue doesn’t truly lie with Baelor, though he certainly is annoying.
My issue, unfortunately, lies with Vellar.
If I go to your Consulate, I’ll have no idea what loyalty they’ll have to offer me.
Whether or not they’ll choose to sympathize with King Eise, I’ve recently made him a widower. ”
The two of them sputter for words, and Devlen mentions that he needs to sit down. “This is why we don’t bring home strays.” Caz gripes, storming away.
“Caz–”
He whirls on his heel, face beet red. “You’ve brought a murderer home!”
“If it helps – she deserved it.”
Devlen throws me an incredulous look, and I clamp my lips together.
“We leave now. I want her out of our home.” He throws his hand out, pointing at the door before, before disappearing again down the hall. Devlen gives me a weak smile that resembles more of a grimace than anything before standing up and trailing after him.
When the two of them returned, they returned with a few packs on their shoulders. Caz doesn’t acknowledge me, but Devlen waves me on in front of him.
Sandwiched between them, we walk outside. The alleyway they live in isn’t very packed, but I can already hear the noise coming from the streets around us. The buzzing of voices, the horseless wagons, and the overall noise of a bustling city have my nerves shot.
A loud drumming above our heads has my head snapping up and my eyes squinting against the sun. Coasting over the buildings is an odd flying object, made of the same patchwork metal of the architecture around us. “What is that?” I breathe.
“Hot airships. Keep moving.”
“Air… ships?” I mutter to myself. Should have paid better attention to my tutors. The thought muses as I glance up again in awe at the contraption. I guess these Wieldless have a few secrets of their own.
The alley spills us out into the swarm of people, and I feel Devlen’s calloused hand lock around the crook of my elbow.
Instinctively, I flinch at the contact and try to take back my arm, but he only tightens his hold, leaning in.
“You’re going to have to stay with me. The streets can be madness.
” Begrudgingly, I let him keep a handle on my arm and guide me through the crowd.
The sharp smell of salt floats through the air, mingling with a myriad of other scents the further we wind down the road, and as if Devlen can hear my thoughts, he turns and says. “Ocean.”
“Ocean?” I ask.
He nods. “We’re on the portside of Sabel. We have at least a day’s worth of travel through the city to get you to the western desert side.”
Wonderful.
He wasn’t kidding. Most of the day we spent maneuvering to and from multiple busy “bazaars” as I learned they were called. And finally, at the crest of dusk, Caz dragged us away from the crowds and into an unassuming building.
I held my breath until I realized that it was a small inn.
Had it been another abandoned structure, I was going to throw a fit.
The rooms Caz got were adjoined, which gave them the option to leave me alone.
Once Devlen slid the connecting doors shut, I made fast work of shedding off the leather belt, pulling the tunic out of the waistband of my pants, and shucking off the boots.
The belt leaves a disappointing thwump! When it hits the ground, rather than the usual clatter from all of my weapons tucked in the notches.
I flop backwards onto the mattress, Devlen’s words dancing around in my mind.
“Well, there have to be people looking for you…right?” Gods, this is such a mess.
A mess that never would have happened if you hadn’t agreed to help, Rorin.
My conscience snarks. I pull my lip between my teeth, the chapped skin splitting with the motion, copper hitting my tongue.
After all our trekking today, the headache I woke up with has worsened, sweat’s collected underneath the mage shackles, and the itching has become unbearable.
Not able to take it anymore, I shove off the bed to start whipping open drawers. After turning over every item in the first three, I find– “A-HA!”