Chapter 34
Time is moving impossibly slowly, and the city I thought was so close is still evading us, even as night falls. I try to stop the blood from flowing, try to keep Kyor talking with question after question, but at some point the answers stop coming.
Kyor’s weight slumps fully against me, his breath frighteningly shallow but still there. That’s what matters. He’s still breathing, and as long as he’s doing that, there’s a chance.
By unspoken agreement, Elska and I continue on through the night. There will be no stopping until he is dead or we are in Galreck.
My arms ache and my eyes become desperate to close, but I stay awake, praying with every part of me that his heart keeps beating.
As dawn rises, Elska stumbles, and in my own sleep-deprived state, I struggle to keep Kyor on her back. She turns a little and looks at me with apologetic eyes.
‘It’s okay,’ I murmur to her. ‘We’re both exhausted. But we can’t be far from Galreck now. We have to keep going. If we stop … I don’t think he’ll make it.’
She gives me a weary nod and starts to propel herself forward again.
I believe what I say. We have to be close.
We exited the forest hours ago. We’ve been on a main road ever since, wide and flat, worn smooth by carriage traffic.
We have to be near Galreck now – we just have to be.
A rhythmic thud begins to sound in the distance.
Drums! Galreck is the city of drums. We must be close.
It’s near midday when the four towers of Galreck rear into sight, and tears fill my eyes as a tremble of relief rushes through me. Not that we’re out of the dark yet. Not even close.
‘We’re nearly there,’ I whisper as I clutch Kyor to my chest, praying it’s my imagination that is telling me his body has grown cold. That’s all it is. My imagination. Maybe that’s also why his skin looks grey. Because my eyes are too tired to see properly.
Unlike Wrohelm, Galreck is not built in rings. Within its city walls rise four towers of black rock, jutting starkly from the earth. Each marks a point of the compass – north, south, east, and west – though, like Wrohelm, the true wealth of the city lies at its heart, or so I’ve heard.
I’ve never left Wrohelm to journey to other cities. Never had the desire before, nor the means since we were stripped. Austere black walls loom above me, intimidating and fierce. It looks strong, and that’s something all Morathkians can appreciate.
While the structure is unlike Wrohelm, the presence of slums outside the city walls is depressingly similar.
For some reason, I convinced myself that the dark underbelly of Morathka was unique to Wrohelm.
After all, it’s not something Benny ever mentioned about the Isles.
But it appears that crippling poverty is a language spoken everywhere, and knowing that breaks something in me.
Strangely, though, the sight of the feeble lean-tos brings me comfort. Slums, I know. Streets like these shaped me. Honed me. I do not fear them.
We’re within walking distance of the ramshackle shanties of makeshift homes when I carefully lower myself from the wolf’s back, boots crunching softly against grit and mud.
Once my feet are firmly on the earth, I manoeuvre Kyor until he’s lying flat on Elska’s back.
His weight is heavy and unresponsive as I ease him down, and the wolf shifts beneath him with a low, uneasy rumble, but she holds steady.
Her fur is thick and warm under my palms, her breath steaming in the cold air.
The roll of the drums and the stench of the slums hit as soon as we cross an unseen threshold.
Smoke, rot, damp wood, old piss, and desperation are all layered together so thick it coats the back of my throat.
Fires burn low in broken barrels, casting jittery orange light over leaning buildings and narrow alleys choked with shadow.
Eyes follow us from doorways and half-collapsed stoops.
No one approaches, but no one looks away either.
I walk beside Elska, one hand gripping Kyor to keep him in place, the other resting against her flank as I murmur directions under my breath. She moves with surprising care, massive paws placing themselves delicately between debris and sleeping bodies.
That’s when I spot him: a man planted on a corner like a sentinel. Broad shoulders, thick arms, belly filled out in a way that marks him as someone who eats far better than most. His eyes are sharp, constantly moving, weighing every passerby.
Muscle like that comes from privilege here. Or power.
I don’t know him, but I know his type. An enforcer standing watch. Either to stop trouble or to wade into it.
Either way, he’ll know exactly who I need to speak to.
‘Oi,’ I say, because manners are weakness here. ‘Who do I need to see to get shit done?’
He grunts, his eyes running over me, taking in the blood that clings to my hair and clothes, to the weapons at my side.
When he’s finished his inspection of me, his gaze drifts over the unconscious Kyor, swiftly dismissing him, and then he grimaces at Elska and the rings around her eyes that mark her as bonded.
‘The wolf’s going to attract attention.’
‘No shit,’ I say flatly. ‘So get me out of the street and where I need to be.’
He pushes off from his street corner. ‘You got coin?’
‘Enough for what I need.’ I reach into my coin purse and produce a few silvers as proof before tucking them away again and drawing my sword. ‘And I’ll be keeping it, too.’
‘Didn’t mean nothing by it, little girl.’
I bare my teeth at him. ‘Call me that again and see what happens,’ I growl.
He smiles faintly. ‘Follow me then,’ he instructs, and we do.
I can feel the prickle of wary gazes tracking me as I follow him down one turn and the next. It’s a coin flip. Heads, he takes us into a trap to try to rob us and steal Elska. Tails, he takes us to this slum’s equivalent of Rula.
If time wasn’t of the essence, I’d be curious to see what happened if he tried to so much as speak to the wolf, but as it turns out, it’s tails. He bangs on a door and pops his head in politely. ‘Got a woman here asking for you. She’s got coin.’
I appreciate the upgrade from little girl.
‘Show her in, Gret,’ a quiet voice grunts from inside.
‘She’s got a dire wolf.’
‘Does she now?’ The voice is speculative. ‘Well then, show them both in, I suppose.’
For a slum house, this one is positively decadent. It has a single window and a door wide enough that Elska can get inside. There’s a table and a bed, and a fire burning that kicks out enough heat that the warmth is noticeable as I cross the threshold.
The man inside is almost as great a shock as the fact that Sannings are real, and I struggle not to show it. Because the truth is he’s no man at all, but a kid. He can’t be much older than William. Fifteen, maybe – sixteen, tops.
‘Name’s Lofty,’ he introduces himself with a smirk, showing he clearly read my initial surprise. ‘On account of me having lofty aspirations.’
His young age means nothing, I remind myself.
I’ve seen people far younger than him kill for far less motivation than what he currently holds.
His age doesn’t make him less dangerous.
If anything it makes him more so. Because to have risen to this position so young shows ruthlessness.
And no doubt, with his youth, he still feels he has something to prove.
‘Name’s Bryony,’ I lie. ‘As you can see, my friend is injured. And he needs a healer.’
‘Yes.’ Lofty leans forward. ‘He does.’ He looks me up and down with a salacious leer. ‘And what exactly would a beautiful woman like you do to heal a man like him?’
I glare. I managed not to prostitute myself the entire time I lived in the Wrohelm slums, and I don’t intend to start in the Galreckian ones.
I draw my dagger. ‘I’d slit your throat, and steal your coin and position, and use it to find and pay a healer.’
He stares at me for a beat, then throws his head back to laugh. ‘I like you, Bryony,’ he says, still chuckling. ‘I like a woman with fight in her.’ He admires me again. ‘You surely have that.’ A beat later, the smile is gone. ‘You have coin. Why don’t you head into the city?’
Because Prince Kyor would be recognised; his whereabouts, his injuries and – most importantly – his choice of companion would instantly be reported back to his prick of a father.
‘Discretion is needed,’ I say nonchalantly.
He nods. ‘Discretion I can do, but it comes at a premium.’
‘I expect nothing less.’
He names a price that makes my jaw drop.
‘Oh fuck that,’ I snap. ‘I don’t care that much for the idiot.’
Elska lets out a low growl, which I try to ignore. I wish I could tell her I am negotiating. Only an idiot expects the first price to be the true one. Paying it without arguing would put a target on our backs, so I argue, even as every word from my mouth feels like an unconscionable delay.
We both ignore the wolf and haggle for a few minutes, but my heart isn’t in it. I want a healer for Kyor now. But revealing that could seriously screw this up, so I do my best to play my part.
We settle on a price that is just the right side of outrageous, but I force him to throw in some plants I need, some food, a flop for us to stay in overnight and, finally, a lookout to keep an eye out for when our friends reach the edges of the slums.
He agrees to all of my extras and shows me to a hovel not too far from him. It’s cold, has no window, and what feels like rocks for a bed, but it’ll do.
‘Healer’ll be here in half an hour,’ he tells me.
‘If they’re not, I’m sending her after you,’ I say with a nod to Elska. ‘And she doesn’t take kindly to excuses.’
Lofty purses his lips but sees sense. Rather than responding, he retreats to leave Elska and me alone with Kyor. The wolf lowers herself to the ground with relief, with her rider still splayed over her back.
‘Should I lift him off you?’ I ask, like she’s going to answer. But in the end, I don’t move him. At least on her, he’s being kept warm.