Elara kept her pace steady until she was out of sight and out of earshot.
With each step she was certain the next would end with the sound of the gaining footsteps of the Highguards and a blade in her back. As she drew farther from what could very well have been her last breath, she knew good fortune was hers, and yet why did it feel as if death lurked at her shoulder?
This new and unexpected encounter with the thief novice who'd invaded the sacred temple of the Naiad had rattled her to the core.
Discovering he was a regular at Clova Dell's place was one problem that she knew she would have to deal with sooner rather than later, but to discover him here in the mid echelon, on this very tide, was a nightmare made real.
Everything about him made her mind whirl and eddy. He'd come to possess a space in her head she simply could not spare on a murderous, brutal creature such as he. She did not have the time nor the extra energy to exert on a Highguard who confounded her at every turn. The way in which he'd looked at her. How he'd stepped into the fray in order to take control of the exchange between Elara and his companion. She had no doubt that he'd done it to save his own, worthless skin, but that didn't mean she wasn't left reeling.
He could have revealed her true identity. He should have. And yet, he'd said nothing, bidding her farewell with that fake By Ban-Keren brogboar shit that seemed to lean towards an unspoken understanding between them.
Silence for silence. This had been their trade.
How could she ever truly believe such a thing was possible?
She should have felt gladdened that her secret remained just that, but knowing that it was held in the tight grasp of an apparently traitorous Highguard did nothing to lift her spirits. Instead, she felt hunted. Watched. As if the eyes of the entire Order, and their bastard murderous King, were upon her.
A shiver coursed over her skin and she cursed the other novice for slicing through her cloak, when the skies had muted the sun overhead and conjured a chill over the citadel. The wound on her chest throbbed a little from the Highguard's probing touch and she had to adjust her tunic higher than she'd have liked in order to cover it, but needs must. Now was not the time to look like trouble – not the kind of trouble that would concern the merchant with whom Sanus Vise had business anyway. She'd worked too hard to get assigned to this particular run, just to see the opportunity slip from her grasp.
When she was finally sure the novices had not followed, Elara took the next street and headed west towards her original destination.
She always hated it here. The tall, imposing buildings. The clean brick. The clear gutters. Each inhale of breath felt like a treachery to those who grafted and toiled in the slums just to survive another day. A treachery to all those who had died at the hands of the Serpent Order.
A treachery to the memory of her foremothers.
The pathways were wider in the mid echelon, the cobbled walkways smoother and cleaner, as opposed to the cracked, uneven and filth-encrusted roads of Grimefell. To walk these streets kept clean to appease the nobles, to breathe the same air as those who cast their disdain towards her as she passed, all the while knowing that if they knew – if they really knew – then her presence here would only not be tolerated, but they would ensure she was torn apart. Slaughtered. Just like all those who went before her.
And these people, with their unsoiled streets and immaculate lives would cheer for it. Celebrate her death like it was sport. Her body would hang outside the King's palace, entrails draped like festival flags, blood dripping onto the black rock.
Gripping the handle of the cart, Elara gritted her teeth and picked up the pace. She'd lost too much time already at the hands of the novices and couldn't risk it all now, not when she needed to make to make such an impression.
The homes on Guild Row would have each housed ten families in Grimefell. As magnificent as they were imposing, the stark bleached stone was water blasted to rid the surface of the black sand that regularly swept in on the sea breeze. The Dreynian imported water rationed in the slums was wasted on buildings in the mid and upper echelons. While the poor raised their children on mother's milk and tots of ale, while they washed with meagre rations that would barely wipe the day's dirt from their bodies, and while a bowl of nettle soup in the Seadog Inn would cost half a week's earnings, the rich made sure that the black sand did not tarnish their opulent dwellings.
She eyed one such residence with a contemptuous eye, but her heart beat harder in her chest, like the incessant beat of a battle drum readying her for war.
And it was a war – one that she'd been planning for some time now, ever since she'd met the bruised, broken thing that was Kelena Koh-Miralus and heard the tale of a husband with free fists and a taste for cruelty.
Crossing the street, Elara approached the entrance and pulled the bell lever. It was not long before her call was answered.
A young girl, who to Elara's dismay, had a hint of Kelena about her – pretty but with dullened eyes – looked at the visitor expectantly.
"Fair midtide. I am sent by the Trader Sanus Vise to collect a consignment of silk from the noble merchant Mica Koh-Miralus. By Ban-Keren," Elara said, knowing that she'd need at least two jugs of ale to rid her of the bitter taste saying that man's name left on her tongue. Maybe even three. The headache would be worth it.
"Fair midtide. You're late," came the girl's curt reply.
Elara uttered an inward curse. "My apologies to the noble merchant." She inclined her head respectfully. When you were naught but a slum-rat, talking to a member of a noble's household was akin to conversing with the noble himself, no matter where they had begun in this world. "There was a Questioning down by the King's Library. I had to take a different route to avoid it."
The girl's eyes widened. "Ah well, that would explain it then. Who was it? Did you know them?"
Elara shrugged, pretending not to notice the intimation that as a slum-rat, she should of course know every other person hailing from Grimefell, when in fact, she did her best to know very few.
"I'm afraid, I have no idea. I could not see for the noble Highguards blocked all view."
The girl pulled on the tie of her apron and brushed out some faint creases on her hips. "Then I shan't imagine the outcome was promising for them, although I am sure, by Ban-Keren, the Order did prevail over dissent this tide and for that we must be grateful." Her gaze swept over Elara once more, her lips pressing thin. "I suppose you must come in then."
Stepping to one side, the girl gestured for Elara to enter, closing the door behind her as soon as she stepped into the waiting hall.
"You'd better come with me," she said, looking at Elara's trader cart with a dubious eye. "Are you quite sure you can manage this? The consignment is no feather weight, you know."
"Of course," Elara replied with a smile the girl did not return. "Just yestertide, I had to collect a consignment of turnips from the port that I swear weighed more a whole pack of Dreynian mountain wolves. I'm stronger than I appear."
And much more besides.
The girl shot her a look that told Elara she doubted that very much, before glancing at the cart. "I trust that's been scrubbed clean if you were running turnips yestertide? We cannot have the silk contaminated with filth. Whatever happens to it once it reaches the hands of the merchants in Grimefell is not his noble Koh-Miralus' concern, but until then, you keep it spotless and unspoiled, do you understand?"
Elara gave a perfunctory nod, while imagining what it would be like to dangle the girl over the edge of the black rock until the ends of her braids brushed the surface of the Setalah. No doubt her screams would soon rid her of that scornful look and cold tongue.
"I take great care of every consignment; I can assure you of that. My service to the noble merchants of Druvaria is second to none. Sanus Vise will vouch for that."
The girl raised a brow. "A pity then he could not coach you on suitable attire. What happened to your cloak?"
She bent to retrieve it, but Elara got there first. She couldn't let the girl see that the clasp had been sliced through.
"It's an old cloak. The clasp broke, is all. Not good when the weather has turned so."
"Indeed," the girl replied. "Very well. Follow me, but I warn you, I will need to consult with his noble Koh-Miralus about demanding a discount from Trader Vise for your tardiness."
Elara's heart sank, the warring drumbeat dropping to the base of her gut. Sanus would have her arse for this and take the discount from her earnings. She'd be lucky to finish the cycle with her job, let alone any coin in her pocket.
Calm, naiadani. Sanus Vise is not your concern now, neither is your job. Let the tide lead you.
Following the girl along the sleek marbled hallway, Elara pulled the cart behind her, the grind of its rolling wheels the only noise to accompany their journey, save for their footsteps. As grandiose as these dwellings were, Elara had yet to step foot inside one that had even a fraction of the life that filled the cramped abodes of the slums. Of course, one could suggest that the sheer number of people crowded into Grimefell would always eclipse any sense of vigour of the mid and upper echelons of the citadel, but Elara knew that beneath the toil and hardship, away from the cruel back alleys and cutthroat corners, there was something in the lower realm that Ban-Keren could never crush.
And it was something that the rest of the citadel could never dream of possessing.
Reaching an archway, where the mouldings glistened gold overhead, the girl bade Elara to wait and she continued down the hallway, her steps quickening as she neared the end, disappearing into a room. The scent of wild violets filled the hallway, bouquets of perfectly arranged pale plum flowers crammed into bronze vases half as tall as Elara. Done delicately, the mountain petal was sweet and gentle on the senses, but this created a pungent, choking aroma that grazed the throat as she swallowed. It was all so damned suffocating.
From the end of the hallway, the murmur of voices arose.
Soon, a boy appeared, not much older than Bazel but holding a desperation in his eyes that her vagabond friend never did. His steps were light and nimble as he ran the length of the corridor to where Elara stood, taking the cart from her hand and running back with it. Alone again, she gave herself one final check over in a mirror to her right, adjusting the drape of her hair over her shoulder to cover her wound fully.
In her reflection, she saw Kelena and wondered how many times her blood had been scrubbed from these marbled floors. How many times had she been dragged along this very hallway? How often had this corridor carried her screams? Mica Koh-Miralus had cared not for privacy within the walls of his own home. No one would dare to question him or prevent him from venting his rage and disappointment on his young wife. Who would risk everything for a mere girl?
The rolls of the cart's wheels roused Elara from the mirror. The boy was dragging the wagon, now heaped with reams of heavy silk in hues so bright they could rival that of the dragon's gold in the Naiad temple. Despite her assertion of strength, Elara wasn't looking forward to dragging the load back to the slums, nor was she best pleased to see that the boy had left the silk uncovered. It would be hard enough to dodge the threat of rainfall, without having to display the merchandise for all to see. She'd be leading a trail of thieves and bandits behind her within moments of stepping foot within Grimefell and she had no time to tussle with the slum gangs. Not this tide.
"I can't possibly take it like that," she said, as the boy reached her. Sweat beaded his brow in pinpricks of perspiration. "I'll be dead in a snap and this silk will be as if it never existed. Please get me a covering."
The boy gaped, his mouth opening like a fish attempting to breathe out of the blessed waters. He glanced back down the hallway, that look of desperation piquing to the point where Elara felt almost guilty for being the cause of his obvious panic.
"Anything will do," she said. "A piece of sackcloth if you have it?"
The boy squirmed.
"What is the problem?" A voice called out. The girl was back, her face thunderous as she realised Elara was still there. The boy uttered a faint whimper only Elara could hear. He would be pissing in his pants soon if she did not do something.
"It is not the boy's fault. I was just enquiring if he had a piece of sackcloth so I could cover the silk and protect it from the rainfall to come." Elara held up her cloak. "I can use this but it will not be sufficient. Please, would you mind?"
"Really this is most unregular," the girl huffed, her attention distracted by a voice from behind her. She turned abruptly, her jaw slackening, that look of haughtiness replaced with a submissive downcast gaze. "My apologies, my noble Koh-Miralus, it's just the trade runner..."
When the man appeared, his tall form reaching almost to the height of the archway, Elara's hatred spiked hard in her veins.
Mica Koh-Miralus was everything Elara had imagined him to be, and more besides.
She had listened intently to Kelena's tales of her husband, drinking in every detail, no matter how small, no matter how horrific, in order to prepare herself for this moment. But standing here now, looking at the creature that had caused so much suffering, she realised that nothing could have primed her for the darkness that swelled in her throat when she finally saw him for herself.
By my foremothers, how did your father ever sanction this, Kelena?
The silk merchant was older than even she had imagined – or at least, looked it – handsome in a cold, cruel way, eyes that could bore through the black rock itself, his silver hair reaching to his shoulders and tightly braided at his temples. His black tunic was loose, displaying strong arms, and his feet were bare.
Standing in the archway, he surveyed Elara, his stare dark and weighty.
For a moment, Elara was certain he would turn on his heels and decide this situation was not deserving of his time, but as the silence prickled over her skin and the scent of the wild violets swarmed her senses, Koh-Miralus began to approach, his strides, long but steady paced.
Elara's drum thudded in her chest as she did exactly what was not expected of her.
As the boy took a step back, his body trembling, his gaze fixed to the floor, Elara straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and never let her attention waver as the noble walked towards her.
It was a bold, brazen move worthy of Clova Dell and she knew it.
Parting her lips, she wet the fullest with her tongue, noting how Koh-Miralus' eyes widened with amusement.
Come on, you bastard.
"What appears to be the trouble here?" he said, in a voice that was surprisingly smooth, yet Elara knew with even the sweetest of honey, there was always the risk of a sting.
"I'm s-sorry, my noble Koh-Miralus," the boy stammered. "The girl demands a cover for the silk..."
"I was not asking of you, boy." The noble's gaze had not left Elara's face.
Elara inclined her head, a respectful gesture, yet weighted with intent. "My apologies that you have been disturbed from your business, my noble sir, however I would request a simple piece of sackcloth for the consignment. The skies are heavy this tide. I wish not to damage the silk. It is quite exquisite." She met his stare with her own again, fighting the urge to smile when the direction of his gaze drifted downwards, in a slow, but blatantly lustful move.
"Get the girl what she requests, boy," Koh-Miralus said, his expression only changing when he realised the boy had not moved. A storm gathered in his eyes. His lips pressed thin. "Are you rendered immobile, boy? A servant unable to move is no good to me, so I would suggest you will your feet to move before you lose the next tide's meal as well as the one you will lose this eventide for your failure to do as I ask when I ask."
As the boy fled, Elara was sure to remain centred solely on the merchant, even though she inwardly cursed herself for the boy's punishment. To go hungry in the slums was one thing, but to be denied food in a house in which there was plenty, seemed the cruellest price to pay.
Left with naught but the cold, watchful stare of the girl at the end of the hallway, Koh-Miralus reached down and ran his thumb along the surface of the topmost silk, closing the distance between himself and Elara.
"You think it exquisite?" he said.
"I do."
He smiled. "You are new, I think? Sanus has not sent you to me before."
"That's correct, my noble sir. That is, I am new to this particular run, but not to Sanus. I usually work the port routes. Turnips, ale, nettle crops, that kind of thing."
Koh-Miralus' frowned. "Sanus assigns you to the port?"
He moved closer still. Waves of forest sage and smokeroot drifted over her. To some, she was sure it would be intoxicating, but to Elara, the nausea swelled deep and strong.
"You are wasted on the seafarers, girl." His hand found her forearm, his fingers tracing the silkiest of touches up to her shoulder. "These are not the arms to drag turnips through the slums. What is Sanus thinking?"
His knuckles were clean as he brushed them along Elara's jawline, but she saw the blood on them. Imagined it leaving a trail across her skin. Copper tanged upon her tongue.
By her foremothers, she wished she could drag her blade along his gut and open the bastard up.
But a dagger was too merciful for this one.
He deserved more. So much more.
"Business is plentiful. Demand is great. I go where I am needed."
'Do you?"
"I do."
He held her chin lightly with his forefinger. "Then I may need to counsel Sanus on where his runners are best suited, for it seems his decisions are somewhat detrimental to his business. I will compose a letter to him and would have you return this moontide to collect it. I presume that will be satisfactory?"
There was to be no letter and they both knew it.
The intent was clear. His desire plainly stated. His demands were to be of her and her alone and Sanus Vise would never be any wiser to it. Koh-Miralus was not a man who felt the need to explain himself to anyone. He took what he wanted, whenever he wanted, and on this occasion, Elara was banking on it.
Again, silence for silence. Except this was to be a trade of a different kind. Not one where secrets were to be closely guarded, but one that would end in blood and revenge. One where Elara gave whatever she was required to give, in order to avenge her friend.
"As I said, my noble sir, I go where I am needed."
"Perfect," he replied, his thumb brushing over her mouth. "Then I will expect your return on the cusp of moontide."
"As you wish, my noble sir."
She was all honey now, but Mica Koh-Miralus would soon discover this girl could sting.
Fuck, would she sting.