The injustice of it curdles in her gut.
“We’ll take supplies in for a job I’m doing in the Eastern District,” Laryn continues. “Sealant. Mortar. Pipe segments. We can get a supply cart through—hide the weapons in there, get you through legitimately so you can move freely.”
His gaze lands on Elyssara. Sharp, assessing. Not unkind.
“You’re my new help. Both of you. I’ve got a lift I can’t manage alone. Got it?”
Kael nods tightly.
“No one can carry weapons?” Elyssara asks simply. But the room hears what she’s really asking:are the people of the Outside really expected to remain defenseless?
Laryn purses his lips and gives a tight shake of his head.
“Not if you’re coming in from the Outside. Maireth won’t risk a revolt.”
Elyssara hisses an exhale between bared teeth, praying for patience to any deity that will listen.
But Laryn doesn’t let her rage build. “We’ll hide them in the supplies and pray to the Stars they’re not inspected,” he soothes easily, as if all this were standard.
Kiva folds her arms. “You do not speak unless spoken to. You do not look guards in the eye. You let Laryn do the talking.”
Her gaze snaps to Kael.
“And you do nothing heroic.”
Elyssara laughs to herself.
Kiva really does know Kael.
Kael inclines his head. “Understood.”
Kiva snorts softly, unconvinced.
She steps closer to Elyssara, fingers closing briefly around her wrist.
“If you make it through,” she says under her breath, “you go to Rhaema. Weavehouse. Lower eastern quarter. She’ll hide you while you build a plan.”
Elyssara covers Kiva’s hand with her own. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Kiva mutters. “Just survive. That’s all this place ever asks of anyone.”
The wallsof Azhareth loom as they approach—pale stone, smooth enough to reflect the undying light. They do not feel like protection. They feel like judgment.
Laryn walks first, posture loose, steps confident.
Elyssara and Kael walk either side of the cart being pulled by Laryn’s horse, loaded with supplies and tools—weapons strapped to the inside of a pipe. Elyssara sucks in a steadying breath, sharing a quick glance with her Starbound, his jaw clenched too tight, like he’s barely holding onto restraint.
The guards at the gate straighten when they see Laryn.
“Evening,” one calls. “Late run.”
“Pipe collapse near the Eastern cistern,” Laryn replies easily. “Crown wants it fixed.”
The guard grimaces. “Always does.”
They wave them forward.
The horse moves calmly, hooves steady against the stone. Elyssara keeps her head bowed, hands folded into the wide sleeves of her wrap. The linen brushes her skin with every step, whisper-light.
