Her braid whips behind her, lashing and snapping on the night’s breeze like a serpent ready to strike. Her dagger is still palmed, the hilt warm and molded into the shape of her.
She strides toward the line of wagons awaiting inspection before entry inside The Barrier, the district chaotic and organized simultaneously. People haggle for goods at The Black Stream Markets, guards shout orders, patrols recite checks and clearances along the perimeter, and the sounds that escape the taverns and whorehouses make her gut reel in disgust.
She does not care to hide. She will not lock herself away, or stick to the cloak of shadow any longer. She does not plan to be here for long, but she does plan for her visit to be effective.
She strides forward, chin lifted, jaw set.
“Oi!” a man’s voice calls from behind.
Seren’s stomach flips, belying her conviction.
Fuck.
She ignores it, quickening her pace, every nerve sitting on edge, her pulse hammering in her ears.
Faster. Just get there.
Lara steps up beside her gracefully, her lithe frame moving through Virellin with complete ease, her ragged skirts trailing behind her, boots laced all the way to her knees.
“You are not pushed for cruelty’s sake, little witch. You are pushed because the world will always push harder,” she says.
The words don’t quite make sense, but Seren does not slow.
“Stop right there!” the guard bellows, steel rasping as it’s unsheathed.
Seren does not turn—she charges toward the line of wagons. She just needs to get to the wagons.
“Is this the world’s cruelty, Lara? Is that what you’re saying?” she snaps.
Lara ignores her.
“No one prepared me for the cruelty of this world. And I won’t make that same mistake with you.” Lara says the words without meeting Seren’s gaze.
What does that mean?—
She doesn’t get to ask—Lara answers for her anyway.
Lara’s hands grip Seren’s shoulders, firm, unrelenting. She spins her, pushing her into the path of the pursuing guard, his blade already raised. And Lara’s boot collides with Seren’s back, launching her forward.
Seren stumbles, falling toward him.
Their eyes lock.
For a heartbeat, nothing happens.
Then his mouth twists into a snarl.
His eyes are bloodshot. His corded forearms are too muscular, too large.
A Bloodbond.
He shouts something Seren doesn’t hear, too focused on the sheer size of him.
Then, he charges.
Training escapes her. Every lesson evaporates like it never was. Fear fills her legs, weighing them down like she’s wearing lead boots. Her hands tremble, but she holds the dagger out, pointing it at the man like it’s enough.
The guard laughs like it’s a joke. Likeshe’sa joke.
