Page 62 of The Awakening of Essensia

Two guards stood together by the gates, heads bowed in quiet conversation. As she approached, one of them looked up.

The guard was tall, her body lean with muscle. A golden pin fastened her cloak at her neck, the Royal Crest gleaming in the midday sun. Her ashy hair was cropped short and swept back, her blue eyes framed by buttery lashes. She held out a hand and Vaelira took it, her arm throbbing as the guard gave a firm shake.

“I’m Erryn,” the woman said. “I’ll be your patrol partner for the duration of your training.”

Vaelira tried to hide her surprised.

Erryn laughed kindly. “I see no one filled you in on the details,” she said. “First years are assigned to active guards for patrol. I’m yours.”

Vaelira glanced at the younger man beside her. His head was slightly bowed, but he gave her a quick nod.

“Makes sense,” Vaelira said, turning back. “I’m Vaelira.”

“I know.”

The rain had stopped. Sunlight poured over the stone walls, turning the wet cobblestones to shining silver as they stepped onto the main street.

“We’ve been assigned to the western edge of Old Town,” Erryn explained. She was almost a head taller than Vaelira, and she had to crane her neck to look up at the woman as they walked closely through the crowded street.

Vaelira had been disappointed to learn standard patrol wasn’t done on horseback. She had only managed to see Millie twice since moving into the barracks and wondered when she’d get to ride again. It seemed like she was losing her grip on anything that once felt like home.

Erryn scanned their surroundings as they walked. A calm, almost relaxed expression softened the sharp lines of her jaw and cheekbones, but her eyes told a different story, tracking every movement in the crowd.

“What’s on the western side of town?” Vaelira asked.

“The residential district and the chapel,” Erryn said. “We’re starting off easy.” She looked down at Vaelira, offering a tight-lipped smile.

Erryn seemed nice enough, but something about her set Vaelira on edge.

People bustled in and out of shops, others dragged small carts behind them, or heaved baskets filled with bundles of freshly baked breads and strong-smelling cheeses, fabrics, or whatever else they had ventured out to buy. Children ran screaming down alleyways, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. There must be more citizens in Old Town than in the whole of Anhaven. Patrolling these streets wouldn’t be like it would have been back home.

A turquoise tiled spire rose around the next bend, towering above the rooftops ahead.

“Eyes sharp, recruit,” Erryn said. “Your presence should be enough, but if you don’t look like you’re paying attention, people might take advantage.”

Vaelira nodded, straightening her spine and scanning the thinning crowd.

“It’s prohibited to carry weapons in the streets, but a knife or dagger can be easily concealed,” Erryn continued.

Vaelira’s fingers twitched towards her belt, but her brother’s dagger was long gone, taken from her so easily by the raider in the woods.

A large square opened before them. Evergreen trees had been planted between the flagstones, their narrow silhouettes mirroring the spire above. Wide, shallow steps led up to iron double doors set into white walls. Citizens filtered silently in and out, heads bowed.

Stained glass windows arched high above, each individual shard depicting sunrays, mountains, rivers, and three figures, all glowing in soft green, blue and amber. The First Three, lording over Eastvale. Compared to the modest chapel in Anhaven, this was a palace. It could have been described as excessive, but it wasn’t. It was beautiful.

“Patrol starts here,” Erryn said. “We’ll loop the square, pass through two residential streets and return to do it again. Stay alert. No needless conversation. Any questions?”

Vaelira shook her head and they set off.

They’d barely made it halfway around the square when a loud gasp rang out. Vaelira whirled, reaching for her sword.

“Easy,” Erryn said, placing her hand on Vaelira’s arm. Despite the word, her posture had stiffened.

Two women hurried down the chapel steps, skirts of pale blue and green brushing the stone. Rows of pearls hung at their necks, and their identical golden hair was twisted into elaborate designs. Pink powder coated their cheeks, and their eyelids shimmered like seashells.

They had to be nobles. No one in Old Town dressed like that. She had expected to feel small at the sight of them. Instead, all she felt was mild irritation.

“Do my eyes deceive me, Otti?” said one of the women, her eyes round in exaggerated surprise. Her voice was shrill, each word over-enunciated.