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Bring justice to the righteous
And solace to the suffering.
Offer life where there is none left
And we will honor you till the last of days.
We sit in silence, letting the divine presence calm our minds if only for a moment.
I’m not sure how much time passes before the Priest stands up and offers me his hand. “The House of Eternity will always have its door open for anyone who seeks a moment of peace in the eternal cycle.”
“Thank you, Priest.”
“Call me Damen,” he answers with a hint of a smile.
He turns to Valdus and brings three fingers to his heart with a bow of his head. He’s gone to greet men and women for the evening prayer before I can decipher his gesture I’ve never seen before, and Valdus pulls me toward the streets and deeper into the city.
I’ve always wanted to see the desert outside the palace, and I’m here now. Yet it all feels out of place, wrong in every way from what I’ve been taught. Tutors rambled about how grateful the folk of the desert were to the emperor, but I don’t see how it could be true when there is so much despair on the faces of the people in this city. Some have features sunken from hunger, others have clothes mended so many times that there is nothing left of the original fabric, and I wonder how hard my father will push these people before they break.
Valdus stops, and I run into his back, rubbing my nose through the scarf.
“All right there?”
“Just lost in thought.”
“We can go home,” he says, searching my features.
I’ve seen more things today than I did in eighteen years living in the palace, but I’m not ready to go home yet.
I glance around. A narrow alley is ahead of us and it looks abandoned. A shop devoid of any customers at this late hour is the only place that shows signs of life.
Valdus still waits for my answer, and I rush to reassure him. "I’m fine.”
With a nod, he lets me inside the shop of useless trinkets and knickknacks. A man is dozing with his head on his arms, propped on an old table. Behind him, a sagging shelf holds an odd assortment of men’s clothing, a comb missing a few teeth, an enamel kettle, a vase with bright violet lavender drawn on its surface, and even an old oil painting. The man lets out a snore but doesn’t open his eyes as we make our way to a cupboard full of tarnished brass boxes overflowing with useless baubles.
“She can’t come in.”
I turn to see the man observe us from behind hooded eyes. His posture hasn’t changed a bit, which makes me doubt my assumption that he was asleep in the first place.
“Then it’s a good thing you haven’t seen her.”
Valdus doesn’t wait for the man to resume his act as he presses on the side of the shelf and, with a click, it swings open. As per habit, he motions for me to go first, and pulling my scarf down, I walk inside. The cupboard closes behind us as soon as Valdus follows me, leaving us in utter darkness. I can feel his breath on my neck, and my heart beats a tad faster.
“I can’t see anything,” I murmur as the silence grows louder.
“Give it a second.”
I close my eyes, unable to think about anything but the closeness of his body. When I can’t stand it any longer, I open them again. A sliver shines at the end of the stairs, offering enough light for us not to trip on the stairs that guide us to a cellar hidden deep under the city.
As we approach, we hear muted voices then loud conversations and full-hearted cackles, and the light grows to a shimmering brightness. A woman walks by with a tray overflowing with drinks. She brings three fingers to her heart, bowing her head with a smile, and pushes through the room packed with men and women deep in cheery conversations.
Valdus steps next to me and motions toward the bar with his metal hand. “Welcome to The King’s Refuge.”
18
Aman with an easy smile on his wrinkled face slides a glass over the polished bar to a girl with freckles dotting her cheeks. She picks it up and sips on her red drink, but when her gaze falls on us, she jumps down from her stool and has to dry a few droplets that spilled from her lips.
“You came,” she says, offering Valdus a hug. I don’t have time to process why it makes my skin crawl before the girl turns to me, and I have to force a smile on my lips. “I’m not sure you recognize me.”
