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“We do with what we can.”
Before Valdus can kiss me again, a whistle pierces through the air, and the train slows down.
We push back to our bunks through the car that’s a cacophony of activity with men and women struggling to gather their belongings. As we stumble back into our compartment, we find that the other three men have left to take a place in a long queue, even if The Veiled Rock is only a growing speck on the horizon.
Glazed tiles on rooftops twinkle at us as we ride closer. Build from black stone, the Household of the Governor of The Veiled Rock is a majestic building with swirling columns, holding a heavy rooftop straight. A cliff of tumbling stones rises high above, housing a building of pure blackness. It looms over the city and stays in sight even as we break into the streets. The House of Oblivion. The only temple to Livith in the empire. It’s home to all the Wraiths who have completed the training that’s a mystery to every man but those chosen few who become the warriors of the oblivion.
Before I can see anything else, high rooftops of the houses leaning over the rails hide the sky above and throw a shadow over the slick train. Pumping smoke from its ravenous engine, it presses forward over curving train tracks soon joined by another parallel tracks that must lead to the factory of this town.
When the train finally comes to a rocky halt in the railway station built of metal and glass, I can still feel the world sway around me, and nausea rises high on top of the endless list of sufferings this train has brought me.
“The Veiled Rock,” announces the conductor as if there was a soul on the train who didn’t know the destination of this train.
Men and women shuffle toward the exit, but those close to the platform don’t seem to be in a hurry.
I lean from my bunk and take a glance outside. A dozen soldiers invade the train station. Their shoulders are taut with an invisible thread, their sharp gazes search for an imminent threat, and their hands itch with the desire to release the trigger of the guns on their belts. It’s subtle for anyone who can’t see the signs, but they follow me wherever I go. These are not ordinary guards, but those from the palace.
When I look down and see Valdus rub his lower lip, I know he has come to the same conclusion.
The captain’s green sash is the only splotch of bright fabric on this side of the wall of glass. His back straight, his gaze sharp, he steps to the conductor. No matter what power his position grants him, the conductor still wouldn’t win in an argument with a captain, so he doesn’t try. With a nod, he turns back to the car and lets the passengers trickle one by one onto the platform.
The guards check all passengers’ tags and tickets and bar the passage to the town to a few.
“What’s going on?” I whisper.
I’m not sure what I expected as an answer, but it’s not the stunned silence that lingers. When the man who has been nothing but a nuisance from the beginning of this trip steps to the captain and points back at the car, I want nothing else but to chase him down and run my swords through him.
The captain waves him away, and the man walks toward the train station through a corridor of armed guards where another soldier drops a few silver coins in his outstretched hand. When the captain’s gaze runs over the windows of the car, I know this is not over.
“They’ll be coming up the train,” Numair says from above, where he’s as intent on observing the proceedings as I am.
As sure as eternity, the captain picks four guards and motions for them to follow him into the car.
“Get your tags and tickets ready now,” he shouts as soon as he has climbed inside. “Anyone who gives us any trouble will be enjoying a stay in a holding cell.”
Two guards stomp to the back of the car, the other pair stay with the conductor while the captain starts his thorough inspection.
“Do you still have the tags?” Valdus mutters as he leans toward the corridor.
I pull them from my neck.
“Name?” he asks.
“Caleb.”
“Parents’ names?”
“Kellian and Helen.”
“Date of birth?”
“Do we really have to do this?”
Valdus’s glower is his only answer.
I sigh. “Twentieth of Mercy.”
The captain advances to the next compartment, and Valdus adds, “If they ask, we’ll be staying with our cousin Elin while we search for work, understood?”
