Gold, page 15
Even with the hooded cloak, rain pours down my face and soaks through my clothes. It’s the sort of rain that pummels you from every direction and blinds your eyes with its density.
At the sidewalk, more people are huddled beneath storefront eaves, their distress clear as they look ahead. But the press of the crowd starts to ease when a few fae notice me. Within seconds, everyone starts to give us a berth, whispered Lyäris falling from their lips. Now, instead of fighting against the throng, they’re moving us like a tide, smoothly ushering us out of the rain, helping to hide me until we’re brought to the door of a shop. Gratitude bubbles through me.
“In here, Lyäri,” a female fae whispers.
She brandishes a key, pops the door open, and rushes us inside. As soon as she has the door closed and locked again, she starts yanking the shutters closed.
When she finishes and we’re bathed in the darkness of the shop, I shove back my hood, and her eyes go wide. “Goddess grieve. It’s really true,” she breathes, placing a hand over her heart. “Golden one.”
She has a cherry-red braid that hangs all the way down to her knees, twisted over her shoulder in a heavy drape. She’s wearing trousers that cinch at her calves, a studded piercing through one cheek, and she continues to stare at me, not even blinking.
“You got searched this morning, Rillo?”
Nenet’s question makes the fae jump, gaze cutting away from me as she shakes her head. “Yeah, and they weren’t gentle about it, were they?” she says bitterly.
I take a moment to look around, and see destruction the Stone Swords wrought in nearly every corner of her shop. There are freestanding shelves along the floor, but three of them have been knocked over. Shattered glass litters the place with shards of every color, liquids and powders left in puddles.
Everything on the wall shelves has been knocked down too, and it smells like cedar and pine, with a hint of burnt paper. Now that the shutters have been closed, the only source of light comes from a window on the ceiling, but it’s warped by bubbled glass and streaming with rain.
Rillo sidesteps the worst of the broken vials and heads for the counter in the corner of the room. When she comes back, she hands us both handkerchiefs. “Here. I’m sorry I don’t have anything bigger.”
“This is perfect, thank you,” I say, and I start to wipe the water from my face. Nenet uses her cloth to squeeze out the raindrops that have stuck to her hair like dew.
“Do you know what’s going on?”
The shopkeeper sighs at Nenet’s question, tension caught at the corners of her downturned mouth. “They’ve been at it all day. Barely dawn, and they were here, banging away. Woke me up straight from bed. I came down to open the shop door for them, and they burst inside. Searched all over. Even my upstairs. Under my damn bed. And apparently felt the need to look through my shelves too, breaking open nearly half the tinctures in my shop,” she says with a glower.
“Did they say what they were looking for?”
“Not specifically. Asked plenty of questions instead. Wanted to know where I was a week ago. If I heard anything about any insurgents. If I’d ever heard of the name Wick.” Rillo pauses and steals a look at me. “If I knew anything about a stranger appearing in Geisel or a mark in the sky.”
Nenet curses beneath her breath. “My grandson was right. Someone must’ve talked.”
“Or the Stone Swords are getting better at eavesdropping.”
“So now they’re stopping everyone riding down the street?” I ask, hating to see such destruction brought onto anyone in Geisel because of me. Hating the fact that my presence is having such consequences. I need to get away from here before anyone else is hurt.
Rillo nods. “And still searching all the buildings. Even doubling back and going back through ones they’ve already checked.”
Nenet’s eyes flick to me, understanding bouncing between us. “We need to get out of the city, but I don’t think we’ll be doing it in a cart.” She reaches behind her and pulls up her hood again. “But that’s okay, I always liked walking in the rain.”
“Use the side door. No one is out that way,” Rillo says, and she leads the way through her ruined shop, each of us careful to avoid stepping on the glass.
We walk down a dark hall and past a tucked-away staircase, and then Rillo opens a door, peering out both ways before giving us a nod.
“Thank you,” I say, handing the shop owner the handkerchief.
She gives me a small, sad smile. “You keep it, Lady Lyäri. And be careful.”
When we step outside, Nenet wastes no time. “Come on.”
We slip down a narrow path, the rain appearing to fall down and leap right back up again. But our path leads to a broken carriage, slumped and crooked, taking up the entire side street.
We retrace our steps and then turn left instead of right, but just as Nenet is about to round the corner, I snatch her sleeve and haul her back. I point, and her breath catches when she spots the five soldiers standing with their backs to us. A crowd of people are packed in front of them, expressions tense and disgruntled, voices lobbing back and forth as they argue about not being able to get through.
“You have to go to the main road! Turn back!” A guard shouts.
They’re socking everyone in, keeping them herded to the main street.
Nenet and I share an uneasy look before quietly turning around. Doubling back again, we try to head down the other two alleys that veer away from the main street, but one is blocked with horses, and another is a dead end.
Dammit.
We stop beneath a back door vestibule, only getting some reprieve from the rain as we loiter beneath the low-hanging eave. “We’re too close to the square,” Nenet says in obvious frustration. “All the shops circle around it this far down. We can’t get out. We’re going to have to go back to the road.”
My mind whirls and my muscles tense. I don’t like feeling like we’re trapped. “How long until we make it out of the city?”
“Normally? About twenty minutes. But with this crowd, longer.” She reaches up to swipe the water dripping from her nose. “We’ll be discreet. There’s plenty of people out there for us to blend in with, and Geisel will help you.” She reaches up and tucks some of my hair beneath my cloak, pulling my hood further down my face. “There. Ready?”
I look up at the sky, gauging the time. It’s hard to tell with the storm, but I should have another hour of daylight.
“You need to stay here,” I tell Nenet. “I can make my own way out of the city. I don’t fear them.”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“It’s dangerous,” I tell her. “At the very least, we should split up…”
She gives me a fierce look. “Enough of that. Are you broken-winged or broken-eared? I already told you, I’m coming.”
“You’re stubborn,” I grumble.
“And you’re hard of hearing—much too young to have that ailment. You should talk less and listen more.”
A smile crinkles my cheeks. Her words make me think of Digby. Her matter-of-fact personality makes me think of Milly. “You know, you remind me of someone.”
She arches a brow. “Well, did you listen to them, or did you talk more?”
A little laugh escapes. “Definitely talk.”
“Hmm. A bad habit then.”
“Probably.”
Even though I’m smiling, I kind of want to cry, because I miss everyone—my entire cobbled-together family who’s now a world away.
“I’ll not be leaving you, Lyäri. That’s that.”
“But you just met me,” I say, trying to get her to see reason, to turn back. “Why put yourself at risk?”
She cackles, like I’ve just made some great joke. “Whys are for eyes, but you don’t have to show to know.”
I blink. “What?”
Nenet sighs and taps her ear. “Listen. Stop hearing.”
“Right. Of course. I’ll just…do that.”
“Good.”
She abruptly spins and walks away, and I have to jerk forward to keep up with her. She maneuvers us through the dizzying paths of the alleys until we find a break between the buildings. Ahead, there’s a group blocking the way to the main street, but Nenet manages to shove her way through, tugging me along.
The main road is blocked with carts and carriages and people, even more congested than it was before. Through the pounding rain, I can see Stone Swords searching systematically. They’re tearing open carriages, checking carts, shoving their weapons through barrels and stabbing through sacks, more of them pounding on shop windows or kicking in doors.
Just in front of us, one Stone Sword yanks open the back of a cart, letting hundreds of sacks tumble out onto the wet ground. They split open like a festering wound, grain bleeding out all over the road. Another pair of them has a fae male pinned to a shop post, mocking him and punching him in the gut.
This seems like more than just a search for me or some rebels. The royal guard is being destructive. Acting like tyrants. I don’t like it.
Nenet pulls me forward, but something up the road catches my eye, and I lean around people in the crowd to get a better look. Squinting through the rain, I strain to see, and when I do, my stomach drops.
Up ahead, Estelia stands in the middle of the street. Her clothes are soaked through, sunset dress plastered against her skin. Her hair has come undone and now hangs in soaking tendrils, and I can see her shouting, though I can’t hear her words.
I tug against Nenet’s grip, and when she looks back at me, I hiss in her ear. “It’s Estelia!” Wrenching free of her hold, I dart forward, surging ahead with a single-minded purpose.
Thunder cracks above as I push myself through the crowd. I make my way forward as fast as I can, slipping through the gaps of people until I reach the front, where everyone has stopped like there’s an invisible line drawn across the street that no one wants to pass.
I see why.
The servette is just ahead on the right, the dainty hand-painted sign dripping with rain where it hangs over the door. Flowers line the front of the building, and it would normally look just as cheery and welcoming as its neighboring buildings, except for the windows that have been smashed, the shutters sagging crookedly, the front door kicked in.
My heart pounds in my chest like a warning bell.
Immediately, I see why Estelia was yelling, why a Stone Sword is now holding her back by her arms.
Thursil has been shoved down and forced to kneel in the street, knees buried in a puddle, surrounded by the royal guard. Dripping wet, held down at the shoulders by a pair of them, he’s glaring at the fae who’s holding Estelia. Barely paying any attention to the male that’s circling him.
But I pay attention.
Outrage stirs in my gut as indignation winds and slithers up my torso until it constricts in my chest. I watch like a serpent peeling both eyes open, pupils dilating, tongue flicking out to taste the air.
The male walking around Thursil has his helmet off and tucked beneath his arm, and no rain touches him. Not a single drop.
Water magic. Or perhaps some sort of shielding ability. I squint, and…there. Right above his head. The faintest outline of a disc hovering over him, rain pelting off it. So it is some sort of shield, but I wonder how thorough it is.
His black hair has a tinge of green that looks like algae running through it, and it’s slicked back behind his sharp ears. His chin is wide and square, holding all the angles of arrogance, and the edges of his mouth are bordered by frown lines.
He stops and I see his lips move as he says something to Thursil. My ears strain to listen, but I’m too far away to hear. I do, however, notice the way Thursil’s jaw works, the stoic look that crosses his face, and the adamant, stubborn shake of his head.
Algae Hair smirks to himself and then turns toward the crowd, speaking loud enough for us all. “This fae is accused of harboring an enemy to the crown!”
Everyone watches with a grim disquiet, but one of them shouts back at him. “Where’s your proof?”
The Stone Sword tries to locate the voice, but whoever it was is lost in the surrounding group.
“The royal guard doesn’t need to give proof to the public. We answer only to our king!” he shouts back at the sodden crowd. “He’s not our king!” someone else shouts.
Everyone seems to collectively suck in a breath at whoever dared to say it.
My eyes dart around, but again, I can’t find who spoke, and neither can he. The anger on his face is evident by his pinched lips. The rest of the Stone Swords are glowering, eyes scanning, tension mounting. The bystanders glower right back.
There’s hate here. It volleys back and forth between the royal guard and the people, soaking through them all even more than the rain does.
Lowering my hand out of the sleeve of my cloak, I let the tiniest drop of gold gather. It slinks to the ground and rolls toward Algae, the barest glint that nobody seems to notice. The small pebble reaches him, leaping up like the splattering rain and landing a hit against his pant leg.
So his shield doesn’t cover his whole body. Good to know.
“The treason and conspiracies of the city of Geisel have gone on too long!” Algae shouts. Then he delves into his pocket and thrusts up his hand, showing off what he’s holding in his fist.
Gold rocks.
Five of them, all with little black lines coursing through. Bile sloshes in my stomach, and the look on Thursil’s face is one of daunting dread.
“This is your price for rebelling against your crown! Gold from the hands of traitors!” He spins around the middle of the street, looking at everyone gathered. “Give us the gilded one, or we will destroy your precious city.”
The crowd’s fear spikes.
“Turn over the one you are hiding, or we will kill you all.”
The rain falls in sharp pellets, but it’s the fae’s threat that pierces through.
I expect them to give me over. I wouldn’t blame them in the least, and like I’ve been telling Nenet and Estelia, I don’t fear the Stone Swords.
But no one shoves me forward. No one starts pointing. And when I look around, I notice something.
Small glimmers through the rain. Flashes amidst the dismal drear.
Dozens, maybe hundreds, of broken-winged bird sigils hidden in plain sight.
It’s a tiny painted emblem in a shop window. It’s in a carving on an eave. It’s branded into a doorknob. A button sewn on somebody’s cloak. A tattoo inked into a neck. Chiseled into a lantern post. Hanging from someone’s earlobe.
It’s everywhere. Surrounding me. Flooded through this city, and I think for the first time, I really understand what broken-winged bird means. It’s not just the frayed dress that flapped with Saira Turley’s fall. It’s not just my ribbons that burst from my back in the air as I dropped through the sky.
It’s them.
It’s these fae who feel trodden. Clipped. Their way of life yanked out from under them while they were shoved aside and left to plummet.
I understand that more than most.
They believe if a broken-winged bird can fly despite her fall, then maybe Annwyn can too. Maybe a rebellion can rise up, lifting their realm back to where it should be.
It’s not about me. It’s not even about Saira Turley.
Like Nenet tried to tell me, it’s their hope that they see when they look at me. It’s their symbol come to life. And just like when Slade first believed in me, their belief helps embolden me, too. Helps remind me of exactly who I am, in that other world and in this one.
The Stone Sword’s face darkens with anger. He doesn’t like that no one is cowering beneath his threats, that nobody is giving me up. He turns around and marches back over to Thursil with menace.
“Fine,” he growls out, hand suddenly fisting Thursil’s blond hair. “I’ll start with you.”
Estelia screams.
The fae yanks out the sword from his scabbard and swings, aiming straight for Thursil’s throat.
And gold erupts from my fingertips.
The clang is so loud that it rivals the thunder.
His blade of stone meets the whip of my gold that’s wielded from my clenched fist. My magic wraps around his sword, freezing it in place just a hair away from Thursil’s neck.
The royal guard’s head snaps to me, his furious gaze locking on my face, algae hair flung into his eyes. “Who dares interfere with the crown’s justice?”
“I fucking do.”
I step forward and toss my hood back, still gripping the strap of gold like a taut rope. Determination holding its grip on me. I’m not going to let him harm Thursil or anyone else on this street.
His eyes rove over me from head to toe, as if he can’t believe his luck. As if coming face-to-face with me could actually end well for him.
Idiot.
“Speak your name, golden one, so the justice of the crown can be exacted.”
I open my mouth to answer, but another voice beats me to it.
“This is the Lyäri Ulvêre,” Nenet spits, suddenly stepping up beside me. “And she is more of the true crown’s justice than you could ever be.”
“Subtle,” I murmur as I slip the bag of supplies off my shoulder and let it drop to the ground.
“There’s a time for subtle and a time to kick ’em in the balls,” she mutters back. “This is the latter.”
“Right.”
Following her cue and taking advantage of the stunned silence, I yank on the cord of gold, sending the male’s sword flying out of his grip. It crashes to the ground, but unlike normal stone, it doesn’t crack or crumble. It lands with a heavy thud, unbroken, yet too far away for him to reach.
My gold whip melts onto the ground and starts circling the fae like a bullseye. He looks down at it before that gaze flicks back to me, as if gauging the threat. Assessing. For a second, a wary look crosses his face, and I think maybe he’ll make a smart choice.
