6. Mouths Gaping
Mouths Gaping
Something in the foreign darkness twisted my stomach. Hurrying after him, I rubbed my bare arms and cursed the chill. He led us away from the water and ducked down a narrow alleyway with walls that pressed far too close. Only a sliver of the night sky peeked between them.
Gritty laughter broke the stillness. The man swung his arm suddenly, pushing us back into the shadows closer to the buildings. With slurred voices, a man in a tweed flat cap stumbled into his companion as they weaved through the intersection ahead before disappearing down the street.
Glancing back at me, the man’s eyes traveled down. “You look like a bloody lighthouse in the middle of the ocean.”
I looked down to see my white shift. “Yes, well, I didn't exactly have time to pack my inconspicuous escape wardrobe.”
He made a startled noise in the back of his throat before sliding off his overcoat. “Cover up,” he said, handing it to me. “We want to go unnoticed.” He paused. “And hide your potens lock.”
I pulled the coat over my shoulders, the heavy material warm from his body heat. Looking up, I stiffened. He had an entire arsenal strapped to his torso.
The straps running over his shoulders, which I grasped when climbing onto his back, were just a small part of the complex leather chest holster he wore.
Tucked into a row of slots were half a dozen throwing knives.
The two daggers, with black leather-wrapped handles, sat in sheaths horizontally on each side of his waist, their hilts within easy reach.
And most interestingly, the dagger with the green stone handle was strapped to his left thigh.
When I wrapped the enormous overcoat around myself and pulled the hood over my head, it engulfed me in that crisp, resinous smell I now associated with him.
He turned to walk again. It wasn’t until I looked up that I unraveled the mystery of where he kept the short swords. The scabbards were positioned upside down in an X shape across his back, with the pommels down by his waist.
Big Scary Man was deadly. I made a mental note to avoid being on the receiving end when he pulled those blades. Actually, scratch that. I made a note to stay on his good side entirely. Assuming he had one.
My stomach twisted at how quickly my life had just changed course. Hair fell into my eyes as I shook my head. My monotonous routine existence was gone in a matter of an hour.
Our footsteps echoed off the stone as we turned down similar sooty alleys until the next turn took us to a much broader thoroughfare.
Oil lamps flickered at regular intervals, illuminating the narrow stone facades and their gable dormers trimmed with gingerbread detail.
The air smelled of hot oil. One of those lamps sputtered as we passed.
It made the shadows jump across the stained-glass panel of a tracery window.
And gargoyles. I flinched at the grotesquely carved creatures peering over the rooflines, mouths gaping and veined wings outstretched. Nothing makes a city more welcoming than stone monsters poised to eat your face. Cringing, I hurried to walk a little closer to the man with all the weapons.
I shook my head at the delusional assumption that I could just go on my way once we made it into the city.
Where would I go? What was I supposed to do?
My entire skill set consisted of reading ancient texts and looking contemplative while staring at the flames in fireplaces.
I didn’t know how to acquire food or even find a place to sleep.
We made another turn. At this point, I couldn’t have found my way back to the sea if I tried.
The sheer size of Trilatera was overwhelming.
And confusing. And downright terrifying.
Until now, my entire world consisted of the interior of one building.
I didn’t know how this new world even worked.
Wiping my sweaty palms across the material on the inside of the excessively long sleeves, I struggled to loosen the tightening in my chest.
Our brisk walk took us into what looked like a shopping district, the stone exteriors now interspersed with large shop windows.
We passed a dress shop; the elaborate high-waisted gowns in striped silk and patterned muslin on forms made it look as if they were headless women standing in a row.
We passed a cobbler, a haberdasher, and a confectioner—but no confections.
If only catastrophic life changes would come with complementary chocolates instead of anxiety and empty black and pink displays.
My steps faltered the moment I saw it.
Far in the distance, over the haphazard jumble of narrow, slanted rooftops and the lingering acrid haze of wood smoke, the imposing mass of white marble dominated the skyline.
The Stella Noctus Citadel.
Something settled in my chest in a way that startled me.
For the first time, I saw my home from the outside.
I felt a little reverence. Some disbelief.
But most of all—freedom. I didn’t know whether I could trust the feeling yet.
But amidst all the strangeness of this world, that sight steadied me. At least a little bit.
Before I could truly contemplate what I’d actually traded that big white building for, we turned down a cramped alley where he led me into the pitch blackness between two buildings. I tugged my lumin shard free and found the man standing in front of a large downspout pipe.
“Can you climb this?” he whispered.
I followed the pipe up the side of the building to a window three stories up. There were brackets attaching it to the brick facade every meter or so.
“Sure.” How hard could it be?
“I’ll take the coat so you can climb.”
I unwrapped myself and handed it over. He snaked up the pipe with his usual grace, slid the window sash open, and climbed inside. I scowled. He even made scaling buildings look effortless.
A light went on before his head popped back out. Then he waited.
Right. My turn to perform death-defying gravity negotiations. No pressure. It would just be really nice to get something right for once. Being useless was wearing thin.
Grasping the rusty pipe, I placed my foot on the first bracket. As I transferred my weight, the bite of the metal threatened to slice into the juncture between my big toe and the pad of my foot through the leather of the soft slipper. I gritted my teeth and kept going.
Pain I could handle. I always made it through the pain.
The larger problem, however, was that the architects of Trilatera had designed their buildings for people with reasonable limb proportions. I couldn’t reach the next bracket, no matter how high I lifted my other foot.
So instead, I grasped the bracket above my head and pulled myself up.
Sliding along the gritty exterior of the building, abrading my skin with each inch I gained, my foot attempted to find purchase on the bracket.
Once. Twice. I hooked my toes on the third try.
My leg shook with the effort to push my body up to do it all over again with the next bracket.
One agonizing rung at a time, I ascended the wall. The metal dug into my feet and pinched my fingers. Sweaty, muscles screaming, and wishing I was part mountain goat, I carried on with my casual three-story midnight climb.
“Finally.”
I pulled my eyes away from the pipe to find the annoyed man within reaching distance.
“Give me your hand.” He grabbed me and, as if I were no weight at all, yanked me through the open window.
My feet landed on a worn, wood-planked floor. “You’re welcome for the entertainment,” I muttered, catching my breath.
The man turned and stalked over to the washstand to rinse his face while I closed the window.
A large bed with burgundy-striped bedding over a dark floral rug dominated the space.
With the shiny red brocade wallpaper, the room was a busy jumble of dark patterns, florals, and stripes.
It looked like several fabric shops had engaged in a territorial dispute, and this room was the casualty.
There were various feminine details and no personal effects.
Unless he had a secret passion for decorative throw pillows, the man didn’t live here.
“I have so many questions.”
“You’ve got three,” he replied while toweling off his face.
“Five.”
“Four,” he squinted at me in challenge.
“Fine,” I sighed. Though really, four questions to understand my entire upended existence seemed a bit stingy.
He spun the wooden desk chair around, settled into it, and crossed his arms.
“What’s your name?”
“Griffon.”
“Griffon.” I tried the name on my tongue and nodded. “Now I can stop calling you ‘Big Scary Man’ in my head.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Why were those men after you?”
“Because I left my assignment with no intention of returning.”
His words hung in the air as I waited for more. I finally huffed. “Well, that answers the question about whether you’re Sideri. But you could expand on that a bit.”
He shrugged. “It’s the answer to your question, regardless.”
Taking a deep breath, I groaned in frustration. Why did he have to be so difficult? I knew the answers I needed most. The question had to be worded correctly this time.
“Based on our shared experience of being raised in the Citadel, what misconceptions would you expect me to have about the Kingdom of Volantia?”
He nodded his approval.
Look at me, learning to navigate conversations with cryptic men.
“The people of Volantia,” he began, “do not know that there are Sideri still in existence and that there is something different about the young ones who are born during the alignments 200 years after the fall. If they did, they wouldn’t celebrate us. They’d fear us and likely hunt us down.”
“The Order of Altrix,” he continued, “the midwives, kidnap or use wolfsbane to slow the heart and fake the deaths of the young ones born during the alignment.”
Wolfsbane…bundles of it drying in the apothecary.
“So no fancy culling gala.”
His brows lowered. “What?”