The Archshade

Twenty-five

As I crouch at the top of the dark staircase, the glint of the morning sunrise from the gaps in the boarded windows snaps me back to the moment. A vague chorus of muffled city sounds begins to swell outside the Healing House's thin walls as the city wakes up.

Creeping down the stairs on my tiptoes, I wait until the woman has her back turned, then I sprint for the front door, banging it open and tearing off down the alleyway. I try to reverse Daynar's path through the city, retracing his steps. I hold my breath every time I careen around a corner, half expecting to catch a glimpse of a black robe hobbling along the street, but I never catch even a trace of him.

As the morning sun continues to rise, more and more people take to the streets, beginning the day's work. Some stare as I run by. Others completely ignore me, indifferent to a hooded woman rushing through the streets. My feet move quicker as uneasiness settles in my gut. The buildings around me grow so dense that any trace of the palace on the horizon is lost and the morning sunlight is snuffed out behind their massive statures. I keep running until my legs are aching and my lungs are burning.

I only stop when my breathing grows so heavy that the air burns as it goes down my throat. Stumbling into an alley and collapsing against a rotting crate, I huddle against the wall. The slums have a sickening scent I know too well—a scent both hauntingly repulsive and oddly comforting as I heave in strangled pants. I just need to catch my breath.

I draw the edges of the black robe tighter around my shoulders, but as I do, something smooth and hard knocks against my palm. Fumbling with the fabric, I plunge my hand into a hidden pocket sewn into the seam. My fingers close around a familiar shape and pull it free of the robe. I stare at my palm, blinking in disbelief.

It's my vial of zindagi extract.

Already shocked by the first realization, I frantically hold the vial up to the sky, hoping my second observation is mistaken. With the dim morning sunlight illuminating the dark glass of the vial, I confirm my own suspicion.

It's empty.

My hand shakes as I turn the vial over in my palm. There's no mistaking it—that shimmering dark liquid that I once took comfort in is gone. Why does Daynar have an empty vial of poison in his robes? Out of habit, I check the alleyway is clear before I pull the leather pouch from beneath the neckline of my dress. I slip the empty vial in next to the bundle of herbs from the Emperor's favored woman, tighten the cord, and slip the pouch back into its hidden place.

Perhaps Daynar just poured out the poison to be rid of it. But then why keep the vial? Why not dispose of that too? I frown at the ground as my mind turns over the possibilities. Maybe he poured the poison into a different vial. But why would he do that? It makes no sense. The only possibility that clicks into place is...

Daynar used the poison.

My heart starts to pound in my chest again as if I'm still tearing through the streets of Jannah. Daynar tried to kill someone and possibly succeeded. I push against the thought, desperate for it not to make sense, clawing for some other reason. But there isn't. Daynar used the poison on someone, and the vial is evidence. He had to place it somewhere no one would go near—no better place than the robes of a cursed prince. Even Aria stays away from Daynar's personal things.

But why would Daynar want to kill someone? The question of 'who' comes to me as almost an afterthought. In that moment, just believing Daynar is capable of something like that... My mind wanders back to the way he softly took my hand when we first met, his assurances of safety in his chambers that first night, the warmth in his eyes when we spoke, the way he pulled in close when we danced... Could he—?

"Hey, pretty lady, you lost?"

The voice sounds friendly enough, but when I look up, a sharp face with a cold smile stares back at me. He's a tall man with stocky arms and pale scars decorating his face. Back in the Lower, I saw thugs every day, but compared to this one, they now all seem like petty pickpockets.

"Um... no." I say, hurriedly rising to my feet. "I was just leaving."

Suddenly, another thug appears behind me, grasping my arms in his meaty hands. "Why the rush?"

"Yeah," the tall one agrees. "We're pretty nice gentlemen, and it's dangerous for a lady like you to be wandering the city streets. It'd be rude not to offer assistance." The urge to vomit surges in my stomach as a sick grin spreads across his face.

"Really, I'm fine. I just—"

"I'll tell you what I think." The tall one cuts me off. "I think you look like a noble. Never done a single day's work in your life, have you?"

"No! I—!"

"We don't want all that soft skin going to waste, now do we?"

The realization that these men have no intention of mugging me grasps hold of my lungs, squeezing all the air out. I struggle against the thug holding my arms, twisting and pulling, but his grip only tightens.

"HELP!" I scream. "PLEASE!"

The tall thug pulls a knife from his belt and places it at my throat. "Shut up!" he hisses in my ear. "If you want your face to stay pretty, shut your mouth."

I swallow back my screams, and the blade at my throat scrapes along my vein, threatening to slice through it.

"Smart girl. Now, get on the ground."

The bandit with the meaty hands pushes me to my knees then flattens my face against the packed dirt. I squirm and thrash and struggle, but I'm no more than a ragdoll compared to the huge man. Helplessness floods my veins—a writhing, burrowing helplessness that burns like venom. The meaty-handed thug presses down on me. It hurts to breathe. Dirt enters my mouth. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I accidently bite my lip. Blood mingles with the dirt.

Though my face is pinned against the ground, a dark cloaked figure steps into view, lingering at the mouth of the alley. My heart leaps into my mouth. Despite the threat of the knife, Daynar's name tries to tear from my throat in a straggled scream, but there's no breath in my lungs. The sound comes out as a guttural, animal howl. The thugs take no notice.

Excitedly, Meat Hands mutters to his partner, "We'll get paid double. Her being a palace whore and all. She'll fetch the best price we ever had!"

"Of course, she will!" the tall one snaps. "But we can have our fun first." There's a vile grin in his voice.

As bile rises to the back of my throat, Daynar comes closer. His limp is gone, keeping his steps agile and silent as a shadow. He creeps up behind the tall thug.

"Go stand guard," the tall one orders.

His partner whines. "Why do you get her first?"

"Because I just do! Now, get over there!"

"No, this time I go first!"

"Like hell, you big—!"

Something heavy cracks against something hard, and the tall thug's body hits the ground, a lumpy bruise already forming on his scalp.

"What the—!?"

Another crack and another thud as Meat Hands hits the ground. All the weight lifts from my body, and I suck in desperate breaths, coughing and sputtering into the dirt as air rushes back into me. My entire body shakes with the threat of what might've happened, and I squeeze my eyes shut as silent, torrential tears gush out of them.

"Daynar..." I gasp. "I'm—"

"Are you alright, miss?"

I continue coughing as I push myself onto my knees. "I didn't mean—"

Wait...

I snap my eyes open. My moment of relief is erased as my heart jumps back into my throat. That's not Daynar's voice. Looking up, I watch the black cloaked figure drop a heavy chunk of wood on the ground beside the knocked-out thugs. Then, my rescuer removes his hood.

"Baden!"

***

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Any support or feedback is greatly appreciated.

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