CHAPTER NINE
The High Priest is safe, and none of your concern.
—Correspondence from General Calvus to Lord Pavel.
The twelve-year-old version of my brother winked as he trotted past on his gelding, my father clomping alongside me on his black stallion. I squeezed my old mare into a trot, heading toward the summer solstice celebration along the streets of Aedrialis.
“Stay with Aeriden, Badger,” my father called.
A look at his guard and I knew I’d have an unwanted escort, but even at elven years old, I could outmaneuver them.
I launched the mare into a lope, weaving between carriages and wagons until I caught sight of Aeriden sneaking into an alley. I hopped off my mount and slunk into the side of the building, where he thrust an oversized shirt and a pair of trousers into my hands.
“Hurry up. Van and Drys will be here soon,” he whispered, ushering me behind an unused cart.
I swiftly changed clothes and pulled my hair into a little cap. Aeriden smirked when he turned around.
A tall, lanky form rounded the corner and skidded to a stop, his mouth spreading into a wide grin. “Tynan’s Hell, you look like a boy!” Vander exclaimed.
My cheeks reddened at the curse, but I tucked it away for use during my training with the young colt my father had gifted me.
“Shut up.” Aeriden punched his friend playfully in the shoulder as Drystan’s dark head bobbed around the cart. His lips stretched into a broad smile.
“I didn’t offend her. Right, Lyvi? You’re tough.” Vander’s bony elbow caught me in the ribs.
I suppressed a giggle.
The four of us snuck through the winding avenue of carts that led to the sectioned-off avenue housing the traveling festival. A large man with a bristly beard stepped in front of us, raising a brow.
“We’re ‘ere ta muck the stalls,” Aeriden said, pinching his words with a dialect of the slums of Aedrialis.
“Nag master din’t say nothin’ ‘bout a buncha urchins comin’ this way.” The man’s mustache twitched as he looked us over, eyes narrowing on the stray strands of long black hair poking out of my cap.
“Who else is gon’ shovel their shit?” Aeriden clapped back as he took a step forward, shoving me to the side.
The man took a long drag of his pipe before jerking his head behind him. “Three streets down,” he growled. “And if I catch your snoopin’ eyes or sticky paws anywhere else, I’ll box yer ears.”
“Yes’sir,” Van mumbled as the four of us scooted past the barrier.
Festival workers lined the street, all dressed in an array of costumes and painted faces. Drystan and I chased after Aeriden and Vander, who shot past the horse stables and ducked into an alley. Aeriden paused and placed a finger to his lips, lifting the flap to a large tent.
I stifled a gasp as we stepped inside. Rows of elaborate wagons and cages lined the great tent. Bleating, roaring, and hissing sounded from all around, the potent scent of shit, piss, and loamy musk surging into my nostrils.
We crouched behind a water trough, and Aeriden’s sapphire eyes darted between the various cages, searching for the infamous bear. He pointed to a set of cages in the corner draped with long black curtains.
“One of those,” he signed to the three of us.
A spike of excitement buzzed in my veins as we crept along the tent’s edges. Aeriden stopped before the first cage, pulling the back of the curtain to peer inside.
“Let us see!” I whispered, doing my best to shove between the two older boys.
Aeriden elbowed Van to make room for me and Drys.
“It’s just a box,” I murmured.
My heart leaped into my chest as mumbled talking reached us. I whipped my head around to spy three workers rounding the corner.
“Dammit!” Aeriden whispered. “Quick!” He fumbled with the latch on the cage for several long seconds as Van shoved him aside.
