I want justice. Not just for the little boys looking for their mother, but for the girl running from the soldiers, for the people on both sides who have been pulled into a fight that will cost them everything, all so we can argue over who wears the crown.
Ronan squeezes my hand, feeling all of my thoughts and affirming them. “Let’s go,” he says, leading Taran and me up to the shack while Larus, Octavia, and Prima stay behind to guard a still-unconscious Seth.
Taran leans down to the boys as Ronan approaches the door disguised as Soren. “Want to see something neat?”
“Mama says not to talk to strangers,” says the younger boy, although he spots what Taran wants to show him. “Is that a tattoo?”
Taran pulls back his tunic to reveal the geometric tattoo on his neck done in black ink. It’s calligraphic, I now know after asking him about it following one of our days of light torture with my brother. It says “water-born” in the Orsan language. Taran’s people were slaughtered by my uncle before his magic settled, but he returned to one of the other tribes near Pyka after the war to have it done.
“You’re an Orsa?” says the older boy. “Are you dangerous?”
“Not as dangerous as he is,” says Taran, pointing to where Soren waits at the door. Taran bends down on one knee and whispers. “Keep quiet. We’ll get you back into the city.”
I don’t say anything to them. I worry that if they hear my Nithyrian accent, I’ll frighten them. And I’m thinking about my last encounter with a boy around this age, Ronan’s shadow-born Nico that I stabbed in an alleyway after he pulled a knife to my throat.
I’m not great with kids.
“Open up,” says Ronan, rapping impatiently on the door.
“Toll?” says the voice again.
“Since when has there been a toll?”
“Since Spurius has been in charge. No toll, no passage.”
Ronan sighs, reaching in his pockets and coming up empty. “I can’t pay.”
“Then no passage.” The man moves to close the door, but Ronan wedges a boot inside it before he can.
“Oh, we’ll be taking the passage. There’s six of us. Seven, if you count my unconscious—well, I’m not sure what he is to me exactly. Enemy? It’s been a strange couple of days. And the boys, too.”
The man at the door laughs and tries to kick Ronan’s foot out of the way. “Oh, yeah? Well, there’s ten of us in here that say you’re not going anywhere.”
I understand once he says it what Ronan is doing at the door. He’s feeling behind it, finding out how many people we’re facing so he can decide what our next move will be.
“There are two other people in the room with you. Another one or two in the passage beyond, but I’m fairly certain they’re unarmed travelers. And yes. They’re moving away. So there are three of you, and six of us. I’ll give you one final chance to change your mind.”
“I—no. There’s ten. Wait, how do you know that? Who are you?”
Ronan shrugs. “Just a merchant with a good ear.”
“Well, I don’t care how many of you there are. You’re out there, and we’re in here, and the only way through is to pay the toll.”
“Very well,” says Ronan.
Then he lowers his disguise. I’ve seen him change his face several times now, and I know he’s capable of it without doing anything else, but for these men, Ronan makes a show of it, flexing his light magic into a swirl of sparkles to accentuate the transition.
“Holy lady of light. You’re the fucking king. Ren, Mino, get over here. It’s the fucking God-King of Selara! Come right on in, your majesty. Why didn’t you say it was you?”
“Because it shouldn’t have mattered. Taran, arrest them.”
“Wait here with Aunt Sylvie,” says Taran, rubbing the boys on the head.
The boys and I look at each other warily. It’s as if they can tell I’m not a real adult. They know I’m just pretending, acting like I know what I’m doing when I have no idea. I don’t know how they know, but they know.
“Wait,” yell voices from inside, but Taran is already repurposing the bindings we used on each other during our journey to tie the hands of the toll collectors. “We didn’t mean anything by it. Times are hard, sir. We need to eat too.”
The boys and I approach cautiously, wanting to see what’s happening.
