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“The Lost Jewel has been missing for almost four months now. Our Sun and Light wants his daughter back now more than ever.”
“All the nation bleeds for her return,” Valdus grumbles, finally sliding his hand away from the disguised holster. “As do my brothers and I.”
The captain sighs, spotting his guards returning from the back of the car. If only he knew that the most searched for person in the desert was only a few feet away, he would have insisted, but even he must be tired from the endless tasks piling up in his office.
The captain returns the tags, but my skin prickles from all the adrenaline still rushing through my blood. I have to force my fingers to unlatch from my trousers before I risk tearing the fabric.
“What were you thinking?” Numair mutters when he has made sure the soldiers have climbed down from the car.
The glare Valdus throws at Numair makes him throw his arms in the air with a snappy retort forming in his throat. Before we launch ourselves into a senseless argument, two girls stop next to our compartment with a bouncing giggle.
“Is it here, Papa?” one of them asks, tugging on her father’s hand.
As he nods, curls of deep brown fall over his eyes. He struggles to stow two large bags he has been carrying under the lowest bunk before he helps his daughters climb onto theirs. All the while Valdus, Numair, and I glare at each other. As the man finally turns to us, Numair sighs and climbs onto his bunk, and I rush to close my eyes and sink into mine.
“Good afternoon,” the newcomer says.
Numair grumbles a greeting, which I echo. Valdus must have nodded, as the newcomer keeps on with the exchange of pleasantries until men and women boarding the car have claimed their bunks with only minor scuffles erupting in a few nicer compartments, which have access to open windows or are furthest from the lavatory.
The chatter dies as we roll out of the train station. It takes a while for the train to resume its previous rumbling race through the desert. Numair spends it pretending to sleep while I dig through my backpack in search of sustenance. Valdus has resumed drumming on the table, and the newcomer unrolls his mat, draping it with a set of sheets as grubby as of the others.
“I have to ask you this,” the man says, finally settling down. “Have we met before?”
I struggle to swallow the too big of a bite I’ve chomped of the cabbage patty. The way the bunk above me squeaks tells me Numair is also listening to the conversation and isn’t pleased with the way it turned.
“I doubt it,” Valdus answers.
“You look so familiar, though. What are you? Twenty?”
“Twenty-two.”
“I’m twenty-seven myself. Our paths might have crossed when we were younger.”
Valdus sighs, and even if I don’t see it, I can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose.
“We couldn’t have met,” he says in a taut voice. “You come from The Veiled Rock. I’m from The Broken Sands and it’s the first time I’ve left that town.”
“My family lived in The Broken Sands for a while,” the man says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was a child back then, but I remember the city.”
I would think Valdus would have cut his next attempt at conversation short. Instead, I see him stretch his arm over the metal table. “Maybe our paths have never crossed before, but they did now. My name is Valdus. I’m here with my brothers to try my luck in The Shadow City.”
“Same,” the man answers, giving Valdus’s arm a good shake. “Kir is my name. My daughters are Nada and Sol.”
It’s the last thing he says before settling in his bunk, and my heart finally calms.
Over the next week, we exchange but a few words with the newcomers in our cramped compartment other than the brief introductions, mine the least truthful of all three. I doubt Kir believes I’m a boy no more than he believes we’re all brothers, but he doesn’t pry and only shares some of his food in exchange for sweets I had stashed away at the bottom of my backpack. It’s enough to distract Nada and Sol from nagging their father.
When the last day of the trip dawns on us, we exchange a few details of our prospects in the city. Numair had a silly plan stowed in his mind just for a moment like this and narrates it with great detail and elation. In exchange, Kir tells us about the tavern he wants to open. His father had moved to the capital and had departed into oblivion a month ago. Not having spoken to the man for more than a decade, Kir didn’t expect to inherit his house close to the Northern Bridge, right at the border between The Noble Quarters, The Eternal Enclave, and the Slums. A perfect meeting place free of constrictions of society for any priest indulging in sins, a woman with enough freedom craving to escape the gossip-riddled society, and shady characters of the city dealing in all kinds of vices.
“If I ever get all the permits necessary, and your thing doesn’t pan out,” Kir says as The Shadow City grows larger on the horizon. “You all would be welcome there.”
Valdus nods and shakes Kir’s hand. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll keep that in mind.”
I wonder if Kir would receive us as gladly in his home if he knew who he had offered a refuge in case of a storm we wouldn’t be able to shoulder. As I see the palace loom over The Shadow City, I wonder if that storm is closer than we might think.
I left four months ago, assuming I would never return. When the rebels attacked the train and I got shot, I hoped to never see the palace again. And now, I’m on my way to its dungeons of my own free will.
The bustle of activity in the car reaches a nerve-breaking point, and I drop back on the pillow with a sigh so filled with dread that Numair leans over his bunk.
