I breathe a sigh of relief as I notice no immediate movement around me. But as I unfurl, I nearly give myself away at the pain suddenly ripping through me. I muffle the sound, burying my face into my knees as I bring them back to my chest. I shudder, forcing myself to go slower this time. My shoulder screams and I clutch at the misshapen joint, pushing back tears as I recognize the ailment.
I take a deep breath through my nose, letting my eyes flutter closed as I lift the aching arm over my head and reach it behind my back to the opposite shoulder, a maneuver I’ve learned to master over my years. It protests at first, but I push through the pain, guiding it back into place.
At last, I feel the pop of the joint righting itself. I bite down on my lip, a mixture of aching relief radiating through my body. I drop my arm down to my side and swipe away a tear that has escaped. Not even a moment later, I hear the chatter of two nearby guards. I duck behind the rose bush to my right, hoping the foliage is enough to cover me despite the thorns tearing at my skin. I clasp my hand over my mouth in an effort to mute my breathing, watching helplessly as they stroll by.
They chat casually about their shift as they walk, discussing their duties and whispering a few choice words about my father that would have me smirking any other night. I balance on the balls of my feet, squatting within the thorns of the bush surrounding me and wait for them to pass. They do so, completely unaware of my presence. Evenstill, I wait several minutes after they leave to ensure they are completely out of sight when I finally make my escape.
What feels like a hells-filled lifetime later, I carefully push myself to my feet and take off in the direction of the ungoverned district. My body cries out in protest, but I don’t have time to tend to any more ailments. I need to be free, need to get away from this place, before it’s discovered that I am gone.
I can feel the trickle of blood down my arms and legs from the thorns of the rose bush, feel the bruises blooming along my body from the jump out of my window. But it doesn’t matter. They are but small sacrifices to make in order to get away. In order to find salvation from the life I’ve been subjected to. So I push forward, forcing down the pain and panic swelling inside of me and focusing on nothing else besides the feel of freedom just before me in the moonlit open air.
It’s later than I want it to be when I finally enter the Market. The fact that I’d gotten away at all had been a true miracle. But even if I believe the gods exist, I’m sure they aren’t helping me sneak out of my father’s grasp and into the singularly most sinful district within Requiesse’s borders.
I’d found a restroom to clean up in upon my arrival, washing away the blood staining my arms from the small cuts and scrapes the rose bush left behind and running my fingers through my messy waves. It had done little to help with my appearance, but I had to hope the occasional disheveled look wasn’t all that uncommon for the Market Ebon.
I take a deep breath, keeping my head down as I navigate through the crowd, which despite the late hour is still bustling with music and activity. My mind is reeling, my hands shaking as I try to calm the nerves wrestling within me. Despite the treatment I recieved—had that been earlier this day?—I feel the dark power that taints my soul brimming beneath my skin, asking to be released.
I shove my trembling hands into my pockets and shoulder my way through a particularly congested stall within the Market. There’s a bar several paces away, and there’s nothing I want more than to lose myself in the darkness within its walls. To not be perceived as I allow myself the freedom to spiral from the day’s events.
A thick gold ring dangles from the nose of the male guarding the door, but what catches my eye more are the horns protruding from his head. I cast my eyes downward and see that he has hooves rather than feet. A bull shifter. He leans proudly against the doorway with his arms crossed over his broad chest.
An abomination, as my father would say. Such an act would get him immediately exiled within the city center, if not executed on the spot. But as I pass through the entrance, I can’t help but smile to myself at the statement he’s making by unapologetically existing in his shifted form. The statement they all make by not shying away from their power. To stand up proudly against the Watchers and choose to live a life exiled from our society rather than forfeit their power.
It’s a strength I wish I could say I possessed.
The bar is packed. The smell of sweat and alcohol is overwhelming, but at least the bass drowns out my thoughts. Over the top of the crowd I can see a band tucked into the far corner, heavy, distorted music raging through the bodies pressed together in the tightly packed space. I spot an empty stool at the bar and immediately snag it. I tuck my hair behind my ears as I look up and down the bar, checking that I don’t recognize the patrons beside me. I know I won’t, but the fear still lingers.
“What can I get ya, darling?” The voice startles me as I turn forward and see the bartender leaning over to hear my order.
He’s broad, the ebony curls of his hair and chin scruff matching the tone of his skin. He’s wearing nothing more than a simple white tank top and black slacks, with a bar towel thrown over his shoulder. My eyes trace over thesprawling ink working its way up his left arm and dipping below the material of the tank top.
“Oh, um . . .” My eyes fly over the bottles of liquor lining the mirror-backed wall, but fail to land a target. “Whatever you like is fine.”
The bartender raises a pierced eyebrow at me, his gaze sizing me up. “You sure about that? I have a feeling you may not enjoy the kind of drink I have an affinity for.”
I furrow my brows, making eye contact with him just as his lips quirk up into a smile—and reveal a pearly white, needle-sharp fang.
I try to suppress my shock, but I can tell by the way he snickers that it’s not lost on him.
“How about I make you a vodka soda? Seems to be the drink of choice for a lot of the females like you that come through here.”
“Like me?” I ask hesitantly.
“You know, the ones trying to lose themselves in a place like this?”
I’m taken aback, but he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’d be surprised how many stories I’ve collected over my years here. You’re not the first to try and disappear within the Market Ebon. It’s a beacon of hope for many, as well as a harbinger of darkness for some. But if you’re running away from something or someone? You’ve come to the right place.”
I gape at him, shifting in my seat as he saunters away to prepare my drink. I shake my head, trying to gather myself as I lean against the bartop, elbows on the wood, and bury my head in my hands. Perhaps coming here wasn’t the right choice. Perhaps there’s stock in my father’s warnings, Tamiel’s paranoia over my spiritual devotion.
No,I think to myself, taking a deep, steadying breath. I force my wheels to stop turning, halting the spiral in its tracks before it can begin to take root. I will not give on this. No matter what truth exists about our world, about the gods, nothing changes the fact that my father has kept me as a caged bird for too long. He’s gone too far, increasing my treatments to reckless levels and doubling down on his efforts to reform me. Taking away the one constant I’ve had in my life, in relieving Dina of her duties. I don’t know what I’m going to do now, but at least I’m doingsomething.
A drink slams down in front of me, the sticky liquid splashing on the bar top.
“One vodka soda for the lady.”
I look from the drink back up to the bartender. The liquid is an odd pinkish-red color. He smiles at me again, flashing his fangs without a breath of hesitation. I take the drink in my hand, lifting it to my lips. “There’s not . . .” I hesitate, unsure how to voice the question barreling through my mind.
“No blood,” he says through a huff of laughter. “Just club soda, vodka, and cranberry syrup.” He throws me a winkand I find myself smiling back at him as I take a sip and feel the immediate relief of sugar and bubbles brightening my wearied mind. It's delicious, similar to the bottled drink I had out by the fighting rings the other night, but somehow even better. I set the drink down, swallowing the sugary liquid. “Thank you—”
