Breathe …
Blinks heavy, I glance over my shoulder at a merchant’s cart tucked against the far wall. A swirl of people fawn over the various goods laid out on tables, but my attention’s drawn to a wooden rack crammed with clothes, snagging on a velvet cloak the color of blueberries.
I wobble forward.
Easing it off the hanger, I caress the material—thick and buttery.
Heavy.
I check the price on the label, then extend my coins to the young, weary-looking merchant, murmuring a thank you as I drape the garment across my shoulders. I huddle amongst it, sweep the deep hood over my head, and relish the comforting gloom.
The security of beinghidden.
Then I walk, letting my feet carry the weight my heart is too numb to bear, every step nothing more than a distraction.
I’m barely aware of the men, the women, the children jostling around me, their chatter buzzing in my ears like flies. Barely hear the booming voice of a guard shouting through a cone before a huddle of people, saying words like oil shortage, restrictions, and conserve our resources.
I barely notice the sun setting, the sky dashed with ribbons of purple, peach, and blood red by the time a familiar building dawns in my peripheral, its rocky wall lit by the blazing glow of an overhead streetlamp.
My feet still. So does my heart.
Slowly, my gaze climbs three stories up the masonry work—the very same path I clambered down yesterday while smothered in Rhordyn’s scent, the ugly threat I spat in his face chasing me like a rockslide.
My chest tightens at the sight of his window. Closed.
Empty.
I look away so fast my head spins, plucking more light from my dimming insides and reinforcing that crystal dome, using the wall as a crutch while I battle the responding wave of lethargy that chills me to the bone.
It seems to be getting worse …
Clamping my jaw shut to contain my chattering teeth, I edge around the building, regaining some sense of composure by the time I reach the front door that’s capped with an awning, its lip pierced with a swaying sign.
I grasp the tarnished handle and pull.
Struck with a puff of warm air rich with the smell of baked bread, I step into a room swollen with gruff, black-haired men bearing dark eyes and olive skin. Their collective baritone tackles me, and the door claps shut as I lean against it, taking in the sea of blood-red merchants’ cloaks haphazardly worn, boasting peeks of dark territorial garb beneath.
“Shit,” I mutter, gaze dropping to the floor as I make sure my cupla’s hidden, sucking air that suddenly feels too thick.
Ocruth men.
Rhordyn’smen.
The ones he was smuggling into Bahari, ready to sail the ships the moment they were secured. The ones loyal tohim—who answer tohim.
They’d kill me in a blink if they knew what I’ve done.
Stab me through the chest. Burst my heart. Watch the light bleed from my eyes, their victorious chants tainting the air along with the smell of my traitorous blood.
I frown, realizing I find a small comfort in the knowledge that if I scream my transgressions to the ceiling—right here, right now—Rhordyn’s men will dish me the same fate I dished him. Part of me even …wantsto. Like some morose itch begging to be scratched.
The door at my back shoves open, catapulting me between two bar tables surrounded by men whose heads swivel in my direction. The chatter dims, and a dark sea of eyes burn into me.
I tug my hood lower, straightening.
Aware of my bare and filthy feet, I beeline toward a couple of empty mismatched stools on the left end of the bar, dragging one back, the wooden legs scraping along the stained and dented floorboards. I slouch forward on the seat, leaning all my weight against the smooth slab of mahogany, inwardly cursing the persistent stares that prickle my skin.
A woman with a long, messy side braid the color of corn approaches me in a spill of blue fabric, an apron tied around her waist. She offers me a tight smile, but there’s wariness in her raised brow as she appraises my shrouded face. “Can I get you anything?”
