“From Ocruth. Our home was destroyed. We, ahh …” Ruslan clears his throat, reaching down to run his fingers through his son’s inky hair. “We barely made it down to the bunker in time,” he chokes out.
His woman steps close, setting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
Grimsley nods, jotting something down. “So you’re seeking to relocate?”
“Yes, sir. We are.”
“That’s fine.” He hands the paperwork back, then excuses Ruslan with a swift wave. “You may pass. Your family will catch a barge to one of the outer islands. Please follow Quill,” he says, looking at the pale-faced woman as he gestures toward the sailor standing sentry at his back. “He’ll take you to a temporary hold where you’ll stay until the next barge sails later today.”
My chest constricts.
He can’t be serious.
“Butsir,” Ruslan blurts, grip tightening on his child, his other hand tangling with his woman’s shirt in a possessive grip. “I have the paperwork—”
“Foryourself.That does not cover your kin. I’m sorry, there is limited space in the city.”
“B-but trade is best in the city! I need to sell our family heirlooms so we have enough coin to reestablish—”
“Then I suggest you do it fast,” Grimsley states, giving Ruslan a tight smile. “Either that or forfeit your heirlooms and join your family on the next barge. Your choice. Make it quick, we have lots of people to process.”
Ruslan’s screaming son is pried from his leg.
“Let him go!” the woman howls, clawing at the boy while the younger child—a girl—clings to her chest, howling.
“That’s not fair!” Ruslan cries, shoving the soldier and grasping the boy by his shoulders, holding him close. “Please be merciful.Please. We have nothing left. Without this, we’ll all starve—”
A soldier grabs his arms and holds them behind his back.
“Ruslan, if you don’t calm down,” Grimsley seethes, “I’ll tear up your papers.”
A dark surge rears inside me, slashing at my skin. A desire to step out of the shadows and stalk across the wide road, punch my fist through Grimsley’s chest, and feel his heart pulverize between my squeezing fingers. Or maybe I’d grip his ribs and use them to pry open his chest like a split book. Watch his lungs breathe their last breath.
I turn from the scene, seeking calm from the dimly lit innards of the tackle shop. The child’s screams continue to belt across the otherwise silent morning, and I close my eyes. Squeeze them tight. Crack my knuckles and my neck. Picture my lungs packed with the smell of amber and wildflowers.
“Next!” Grimsley hollers.
I force myself to turn and unclench my fists as I watch a familiar woman with dark skin and white, dreaded hair that falls to her hips push her cart up to the desk, her red merchant’s coat trailing through filthy puddles behind her.
There’s a scar that travels from the corner of her mouth to her ear, her stark eyes so brown they almost look black.
Grimsley frowns at Cindra after looking over her papers, uncertainty staining his features. “Merchant? How come I haven’t seen you before?”
“New to the trade, sir.”
Grimsley looks at her paperwork again, holding it up to the lantern light.
I grit my teeth so hard they ache.
“Something wrong, sir?”
One of the soldiers searching her cart flips the pelt back over the mound of leather satchels, chewing on something as he steps forward. “Black maple leaves, sir. It’s on the list.”
Grimsley nods and waves Cindra through.
She wheels her cart past me, and I wait until she’s halfway down the shop-lined street before I follow. Turning down a tight alley, we meet behind a stack of damp crates. “How many sailors on this one?”
“Seven,” Cindra replies through clenched teeth, flipping the pelt back and snatching one of the leather satchels off the top. Unbuttoning it, she digs her fingers through the innards and sneers. “If they all make it past thatrat.I wouldn’t be surprised if half of them get sent back up the Norse on the next barge.”
