She finally made her way toward the Goldoka bridge and the wealthy palace district with its man-made canals and pleasure boats for the Kraelian court to enjoy. Those of lesser status weren’t allowed on the canals, but they could watch the spectacle of pleasure boats illuminated with decorative lanterns and crowded with Kraelian aristocrats as oarsmen rowed them through the water.
The boats lived up to their names as the wealthy who occupied them drank fine wine, ate expensive food, and sometimes swived each other for all of Domora to see. It was no wonder the Goldoka bridge was the most crowded and most popular place to be during the summer nights.
Already the bridge deck was filling with spectators claiming the prime viewing spots, and it was still late afternoon with at least another two hours before the sun coaxed the twilight in. By the time the first oarsman lit the first lamp to the cheers of those waiting on the bridge, it was a sweltering press of people and the perfect scenario for every cutpurse and pickpocket in the city.
Siora didn’t have any money on her person, but she held tightly on to her satchel of hoarded food, prepared to brawl with anyone who’d try and snatch it from her hands.
She shoved her way through the mass of bodies until she reached the end of the bridge on the side leading away from the palace district. She would never spot Gharek, or he her, if she remainedin the middle of that crush. Time passed on a crawl as she waited for him, peering into the mottled light cast by the lamps lighting the bridge deck. Full dark was upon them now as the boatmen slowly rowed their passengers under the bridge’s archways.
Strong fingers suddenly wrapped around her arm and held tight. Siora jumped and just as quickly cocked her free arm back to strike whoever had hold of her. She squeaked out an odd noise of relief mixed with startlement at finding Gharek right beside her, scowling at the sight of her upraised palm ready to slam into his face and break his nose.
She lowered her arm. “It’s you! Thank the gods! I feared you wouldn’t come back. Did you see it?” The words tumbled past her lips like a river’s fast current.
He snorted. “I can count on one hand the number of times someone has actually thanked anyone at all, much less the gods, for finding me at their side.” He pulled her along with him farther away from the bridge. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve already broken the fingers of two pickpockets who thought themselves faster than I was. The odds will only stack against me if I stay and wait for someone who is faster to rob me blind.”
She didn’t need to be coaxed, and they were soon far enough away from the teeming crowds and the shadowing light that did more to hide than to reveal and allowed the thieves to easily tag their marks.
Gharek answered her questions once they found a spot thinned of people. “I saw the Windcry. The ward is still in place and guards loyal to General Tovan now stand watch over the chamber in which it’s housed. That’s in our favor since the chances of one of them recognizing me is much smaller than if it were any ofHerself’s guards on watch. What did you learn from the market gossip?”
Things he likely already knew about the city. Still, she repeated what she’d overheard from merchant talk. “Wagers exchanged in secret for how long this new emperor will hold the throne. Word is out that Zaredis has arrived on these shores with his army. Everyone knows he’ll march this way soon and lay siege to the city. People don’t seem concerned, as the river ports are still open, and Tovan’s ships control Kraelag’s harbor. Trade goods are still getting through from territories within the Empire and without. There are whispers of stranger things. No one trades in the Maesor anymore.”
He tapped his bottom lip with a finger, a double row of frown lines creased into his brow. “Why not? The latest usurper is but a puppet more concerned with holding the throne than enforcing the sorcery laws and punishing offenders. The Maesor would thrive under such a ruler.”
“Rumor has it those who once traded there have disappeared.” She’d never visited the Maesor nor walked among Domora’s elite to understand their thoughts and machinations. “There are whispers growing about those who enter the Maesor but never come back.” Until today, Siora had been curious about the Maesor. No longer.
A queasy feeling settled in her stomach when Gharek said, “If we can’t find what we need at the library, we may have to visit there ourselves. For a price, a vendor there with his thumb in every deal taking place in the Maesor can tell me who might sell a ward breaker as well as something to hold off whatever tried to consume Kalun and lure me into the cursed city.” He gave her ameasuring look as if he saw the growing dread she tried hard to conceal. “Or I’ll go alone. I’ve been to the Maesor many times. I don’t need a companion to hold my hand.”
Siora returned his frown. She’d likely be in no more danger there with him than by herself in Domora waiting for him. If she repeated it to herself enough times, she might believe it.
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “When does the Maesor close?” If it was like the regular market, merchants would close their stalls as twilight rolled in.
One corner of his mouth lifted in the hint of a smirk. “This is the Maesor. There’s no day, no night. Just an orange sky without a sun. People who trade in the forbidden market aren’t ruled by the hours or the seasons. You can do business there at any time.” His words didn’t reassure her, but she didn’t hesitate to grasp his fingers when he held out his hand once more to her. “Come, we can stay at an inn halfway between the library and an entrance to the Maesor.”
They hadn’t gone far when Gharek’s demeanor gradually changed. Siora noted the way his features seemed to freeze, and he did something so surprising, she almost choked on a gasp.
He lifted her hand, bringing it to his mouth as if he meant to kiss it. Instead he whispered around her fingers. “We’re being followed by two men,” he said, the tight smile pinching his face a twisted parody of the real thing. “I’ve been recognized.”
The news vaulted Siora’s heart into her throat. She resisted the urge to spin around and see this pair. She knew exactly what he meant when he said he’d been recognized. Those who followed hadn’t come to say hello. They’d come to kill.
“If you panic,” he said, squeezing her hand hard, “we’re both dead. Follow my lead and keep up. Understood?”
She nodded, and soon their leisure walk turned into a quick stride, then a jog and finally a dead run. Gharek led her through a labyrinth of gloomy streets that hugged the palace district like a crescent, his grip on her hand unyielding as she struggled to keep up with him. They raced past windows lit by candle and lamplight that gathered in pools of anemic luminescence on scattered cobblestone and hard-packed dirt. Those pools surrendered to shadow, and Siora struggled to find sure footing. Gharek suffered none of the partial blindness she did, his steps sure and quick. The cat’s-paw must also have cat’s eyes when it came to seeing in the dark.
They hugged the edges of Domora’s seedier side where the buildings weren’t quite hovels but were still ramshackle, and the streets weren’t cleaned of horse manure like those in the wealthier districts. They tramped through ankle-deep muck whose smell was so strong it made her eyes water and her stomach curdle. Figures lingered in doorways, watching as they passed, or darted between narrow alleyways. More darkness and fewer lamps obscured the faces of those still roaming the streets.
Siora held on to Gharek’s hand so as not to lose him and gripped her small knife at the ready with her other hand. She’d wandered into this area when she’d first come to Domora after Kraelag fell. While this was a far more genteel city than the old capital, it still had its underbelly, and she’d been quick to flee and do her begging and shade-speaking in a less dangerous place. Now she’d returned, running through its filthy streets and in the company of a man who was likely the most lethal denizen here now. Or so she hoped.
They finally halted before a building that reminded her of the Blue Rat, though it stood in disrepair, its front dark and uninviting. And abandoned. No lights shone from the windows, and the windows themselves were empty eye sockets that stared back at her and Gharek, the glass long broken. Tattered remnants of curtains fluttered through the openings like lashes in the night breeze. The front door hung askew, giving brief glimpses of shapes inside as it creaked and swayed on its hinges.
The glimmer of metal under moonlight caught her eye. Gharek held a slender knife, one much larger than hers with an elegant, slim blade and a double edge. An efficient weapon easily hidden in a sleeve and quite good at sliding between ribs. “What in the gods’ names...” he said in a low, frustrated voice. “What happened here?” He didn’t take his gaze off the entrance.
The night hung thicker than lamp oil and the corpse of the building in front of them seemed a far more sinister thing, especially with assassins behind them.
A shape suddenly hurtled out of the darkness at them, caught the edge of a light pool, and became a man wielding a dagger.
Siora had no time to scream before she was violently shoved to one side. She almost fell, managing at the last instant to right herself with a clawing grip on one of the building’s decorative lintels. The precious contents spilled out of her satchel and into the street’s muck. She hardly noticed, gaze frozen on the scene in front of her as she balanced on the balls of her feet, prepared to jump out of the way.
Gharek and his adversary faced off, each wielding their knives. The attacker feinted, then lunged, swiping at Gharek’s torso. “I thought it was you I saw at the gate, cat’s-paw. Your head will bringme a lot ofbelshas.” He lunged again, and once more Gharek dodged the attack.