Page 24 of Heart of the Raven Prince

“I’m Siobhán,” she says as we continue down the dusty dirt path. “I don't know if you recognize me, but I served your mother—”

“I know,” I cut her off quickly. I’m not ready to reminisce just yet. I don’t think I ever will be. “I’m Aoife,” I say pointedly, and she nods, catching on. “Are you taking me to the others?” She frowns, shaking her head as she hoists the bolt of silk and nods at it.

“We’ll be expected at the workhouse. But later, when we are back in the Barracks, you can reunite with most everyone. All except those that work during the night.”

“What happened while I was gone?” I ask. It feels as though an eternity has passed since seeing my people.

“Shortly after you were dragged off, we were chained and piled into a caravan and brought through some…I don’t know how to describe it, it was like a—”

“A rip in the world?”

“Yes, exactly,” she says, turning down a side road. The houses are denser in this part of town, smog hanging thick in the air. The resounding clank of a hammer on iron fills the street as we pass by a blacksmith, smoldering fires belching great clouds of black smoke into the air. My attention is snared on the pile of swords being forged, more teeth for the maw of that insatiable army. That’s when her words strike me. Reaching out I grab her arm, halting her.

“Wait, they brought you here the night of the attack? You weren’t still on Gaelynn the following morning?”

“We left shortly after you did,” she breathes, hurriedly blinking away a sheen of tears. “It all happened so fast.” Her voice hitches and she takes a steadying breath before continuing, “The bodies of my sisters were still bleeding into the snow, and then suddenly we were just…gone.”

That asshole…that motherfucking asshole.

It wasn’t enough that he took so gods-damned much from us. He had to go and fuck with my mind as well. Caden had led me to believe that if I had obeyed his barked command to drink that drugged beverage, then he would have let me travel with the rest of the prisoners. But they were already gone by then. Unless…

“Are there more of us? More than those that survived the taking of Castle Windspire?” I ask, releasing her arm. Maybe there was a second caravan of survivors.

“If there are, I have not met them,” Siobhán says, chewing on her bottom lip as she leads us down another side street, leaving behind the sweltering heat from the blacksmith’s fires.

So, he just lied.

A cold, hollow laugh leaves me. Of course, he lied. He wasn’t trying to be benevolent; he was trying to teach me to obey. Like he’s training a dog. Gritting my teeth, I breathe heavily through my nose as that fiery rage courses through me.

“Where have you been? How did you survive?” Siobhán asks. “After weeks without seeing you, it was impossible to believe you could still be ali—”

“Wait.” I’ve stopped in the middle of the road, my mind refusing to catch up with her words, absolutely refusing to believe what I just heard. “How long have you been here?”

She stills, furrowing her brows in concentration before saying, “The first few weeks bled together so thoroughly it’s hard to tell exactly, but I think today makes it nearly two months.”

I sway, lightheaded, a ringing noise growing loud in my ears. Two months. It’s impossible. “Siobhán, the attack happened yesterday.”

“That can’t be,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “Believe me, I wish this nightmare had not lasted this long, but I remember painfully every minute in this realm.” She furrows her brows, whispering, “Unless…”

“Unless time moves differently here,” I finish. My head twinges, the first prickling of a headache throbbing in my temples. My mind is so overloaded with new information that it is bursting at the seams. We’re beginning to draw attention, stopped in the middle of the road, so I give myself a shake, and together we continue on.

“What happened in the time you’ve been gone?” she asks.

“Later, when we are around the others, I will tell you all then,” I say. I don’t particularly want to have to relive the events of the past few days multiple times, besides…I glance around, looking beyond the humans that weave their way around the moving throng, landing on the red-eyed guards posted on most corners or patrolling the walkways. I do not wish to speak openly around any of them.

We stop talking then, walking in silence, lost in our own thoughts. Glancing up at the shining red moon, I can’t help but wonder what time it is. There is no telling in this strange realm. It feels like night, with the sky wreathed in maroon-tinged shadows, but Caden brought me through that tear in the world when it was barely mid-morning. I understand what Siobhán means about feeling like I have been here an eternity. Has it only been hours?

We leave behind the more derelict part of the city, the dirt street changing to a simple stone road. It’s not nearly as intricately designed as the part of the city I saw earlier, but it’s nicer than walking through grime and mud.

“This is the Alley,” Siobhán says. “This is where the majority of the others have been placed. Only humans that serve within the city are allowed out of the Alley, so all of our work is done here.”

No wonder I stood out so intensely earlier.

She points out a few of the different buildings as we pass, rattling off the names of the survivors that work within. A bakery perfumes the air with the scent of baking yeast, yet somehow my stomach remains sour. Beside the bakery is a butcher, with great hunks of meat hanging in the window next to an apothecary, displaying dried herbs and potions. As we’re passing a cobbler, a man walks out and waves to Siobhán when he catches sight of me and freezes, disbelief clear across his face. His mouth falls open as he takes us in. Recognition strikes me. He’s another survivor, though I can’t remember his name. Seemingly reading my mind, Siobhán says, “Bryan and his son Seamus both work there.”

I do not attempt to give him a comforting smile. There is no comfort to be had in this cursed realm, and I’m only too aware of that. Instead, I nod at him, and he simply closes his mouth before heading back into the shop.

“This way,” Siobhán says, hurrying into a shop. The inside is filled to the brim with humans—mostly women—seated at tables piled under layers and layers of material. Baskets filled with needles, threads, and scissors litter the tables. They’re speaking quietly amongst themselves, only a few glancing up when we enter. I don’t recognize anyone else.