The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Eighty-Six

As Hope hurried through the streets, the weight of her child heavy in her arms, she wondered if her mind had run to madness. The girl should be in a bed and allowed to rest, not jostled about, hiding in the shadows of tight alleyways, trying to avoid the rioters. If she had any self, she should be trying to get back to Dakley, back home, but instead she was heading deeper into the city. The truth was, that while a bed might help prolong her life for a few more days, what she needed, was something in the nature of a miracle.

"Hush, darling," she whispered as Lake whimpered in her arms.

The child was drifting in and out of consciousness. The fever had taken hold, so that even when she was awake, she was in a dreamlike state, unaware of what was happening around her. But by the sound of her whimpers, it was more like a nightmare.

She hefted up Lake back onto her hip. She was small for her age, but even so, carrying a five-year-old child was tiresome work. Especially when she was hot enough to boil soup.

"Not far now," she said, as the walls of the citadel rose up before her. She licked her lips, her gaze running down the wall. There were men posted on the gate, but they were not what worried her. The citadel was protected by more than just the guards.

When Hope was a child, her family's carriage had travelled through the great gates with ease, waved through by the liveried soldiers. But even so, she remembered the apprehension of returning to court at the end of the summer during which she had been named. She'd pressed her forehead against the carriage window, watching as the gates floated past, her heart hammering with nerves.

Her father had tried try to calm her by telling her that the name magic, which lay like a foil on the stones of the citadel, was only to keep traitors out, not valued members of the court. But even so, she held her breath until the horses slowed to a standstill in the courtyard, and footmen would run up to help them out.

They would not be helping her now though. She was no longer a member of the court, valued or otherwise. She did not know what curse would fall upon her when she tried to pass through the gates, but knowing the masters, it would not be something that may easily be walked away from.

Her only hope was that her name had not been removed from the list of those able to enter the heart of Serrador, and that she would be able to pass through the gates without almost certain death befalling her.

At least she didn't have to worry about the child. Or at least, she didn't think so. Her pace slowed to a halt as she considered the myriad of punishments the masters may have come up with. She had once seen an army demonstration of the powers of gunpowder. They had used a small chicken as the subject, and it was a sight that would stay with her for many years to come.

Lake curled slightly in her arm, nuzzling against her neck. Her breath was shallow and rasping. Hope swayed slightly where she stood, trying to think while all the while her child was dying in her arms. There was nothing for it. She must press on.

Moving towards one of the empty buildings lining the square, she kneeled, and pulled the kerchief from her neck. "Here you go, sweet one," she said soothingly as she wrapped it around Lake's neck, pulling it up so that it covered her sweet face. "Let's keep those awful marks hidden, shall we?" She smoothed down the delicate linen, checking to see her cheeks were covered before staggering back to her feet. "Off we go then."

The guards paid her little interest as she approached. One stood either side of the gate, staring straight ahead. Unlike the citadel guards of her memory, they did not wear the gilt and shiny buttoned uniform that looked so smart on parade. Instead, they were dressed like soldiers, with buff jerkins topped by worn breastplates.