Fantasy novel | gay romance sub-plot| poc main character.
An heir to a monarchy threatened by a popular revolution forges an alliance with an amnesiac man who could have forgotten links to the rebellion.
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Her...
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Amyra Ore Alerin | 73rd day of Sprout season
They planned the operation to get inside the secret academy away from the gathering of the northerners, in Wylmon's house, a single-floored noble house standing in pure contrast with the rest of the buildings in the eighth borough.
Amyra had understood Wylmon had broken into the house as they mounted the stairs leading to the upper floor. Portraits of nobles, probably dead and burned hundreds of years ago hung on the wall. No fiery head, freckles, clear eyes, or brown skin were present among their regal features. All had the typical nut-brown skin of most nobles, with fuel-dark hair.
"Welcome to my quarters." Wylmon's attitude had completely changed. From the adversity he had shown toward Bjon, to a cheerful demeanor. Of course, Amyra thought. You have forty silvers on the bag and the promise to leave Ceres for a country up north.
On the other hand, Bjon was less joyous. He didn't lose time, tackling the task at hand right away. "Here's what we have." He spread a wide map over the couch. After scanning the rooftops beyond the windows for a moment, he ordered, "Amyra, pull the curtains shut and light a lantern."
While Amyra executed his order, Wylmon approached Bjon and scanned the map intently. You could at least wait for me. She didn't voice her frustration, quickly lit a lantern, pulled all curtains shut, and approached the men. By then the white light was burning bright.
It had been a moment since Wylmon hadn't spoken. He was reading the geometric shapes on the map like one would a scroll, moving his fingers along lines and muttering things to himself.
"The academy doesn't appear on this map," Wylmon said. "But that was to be expected." He pointed to the entrance of the first borough. "That is where the barricade around the borough starts." His finger ran along a wide straight line that departed from the southernmost point of the ramparts of the borough. "This avenue starts in the second borough and keeps the same name once it crosses over to the first one. About five hundred gallops ahead." He stopped at a roundabout. "Three other avenues depart from here." His finger drifted rightward. His brows furrowed. A moment of hesitation? "I am not sure."
"With all the silver you cost me, sure you can allow yourself to be unsure," Bjon huffed.
The comment didn't seem to faze Wylmon who paced to his drawers, to retrieve a pencil. He drew a square that covered about twenty edifices. Bjon whistled. Amyra noticed Wylmon's brows were twitching.
"This is where the academy should be."
"Right," Bjon said flatly. "We'll go over each of the edifices?"
Now Wylmon was nibbling at his lower lip, one brow still twitching. "Most of the edifices here aren't real," he said.
"This is the most updated version of the noble boroughs," Bjon argued.
