Rueen always had a reason for what she did, said and believed. She wasn't one to blindly tread on someone's heels and she wasn't one to lash out against others and answer brutality with violence until pushed to her extremes. Patience had been carved into her during her studies, driven through her soul since the death of her mother. Unlike Sapphire, her decisions were never impulsive; that woman had a knack for hurling headfirst into danger's claws without any plan and still came out victorious.
Rueen thought it was what happened in families. People balanced each other out. Some qualities were similar while some were such a drastic contrast from each other that at first glance it would seem that those family members would never get along. That was not the case with her and Sapphire, but at that moment as she stood on the dark street of Medlar, looking out at the gate through the window of the inn, she could do nothing but feel anger rise up in her chest. Her father paced behind her, twisting his fingers around each other.
Their plan had seemed to have gone awfully awry. Sapphire should have been able to sneak into the city two hours ago and yet there was no sign of the woman walking in through the gates or round the bend in the street below. Every time Rueen caught a glimpse of a ruddy head down below, her heart would leap and a gasp would leave her mouth only to be turned into an "Oh!" of disappointment the moment she realised it was not her cousin she had seen, but a man.
She turned around and settled herself in one of the beds that seemed to have been cleaned months ago as a plume of dust rose around her and she wrinkled her nose.
"She's not coming," Rueen said. "Something's gone wrong."
Something's gone awfully wrong. I'll kill her when I get my hands on her.
"I'll head out," her father said, turning towards the door. "See if I can spot her somewhere near the periphery."
He was gone before she could stop him. She settled herself on the window sill, looking at the empty streets below, plucking the petals of a daisy in the pot on the sill. She sat there for another two hours, not willing to sit on the dust-ridden bed, with heaven only knowing how many bugs hid between the sheets. Restless, she pulled her cloak close and covered her head with its hood. The stairs of the inn creaked beneath her feet. The sounds below told her people were still awake during the late hour. Her skirts rustled as she walked, keeping her head down so as to not draw attention to herself.
She walked past a party of three men delving into the watery stew; soup would be a better name for the concoction. She had barely reached the entrance to the inn when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She forced her mind to relax and whirled around and raised a brow at the brown haired man who had demanded her attention. She had to turn her head up to look at him.
"Are you..." he seemed to choke on his words and Rueen's brow rose higher still. "Are you the witty eight-pound healer?"
Her brows disappeared into the curls peeking beneath her hood and her mouth opened in affront.
"I beg your pardon?!"
The man had the decency to look ashamed as he fumbled in a small pouch around his waist. A young boy appeared over his shoulder.
"Are you related to a Blake?"
Rueen froze and narrowed her eyes at the young boy. "I don't see what that has to do with you."
The boy huffed and punched the older man's shoulder. "Don't tell me you lost it."
"Shut your peanut hole, Drew," the man muttered under his breath, before pulling out a leaf from his pouch. "This is for you."
Rueen took the leathery leaf the size of her hand and stared at the words that had been scratched into the green tissue with a blade. Her heart leapt.
I've headed to where the ring endS. I MANaged to get away. Follow the tRail. ~ thIrd Blake
It clicked in her brain.
"Witty eight... I'll strangle her," she grumbled under her breath when she recognized the insult the man had thrown at her earlier; something from her childhood, something Jacinth liked to call her when he had the brain of an earthworm. The man in front of her hadn't even apologised!
Git!
"Who gave you this?" she said stiffly and saw some alarm pass over her pursuer's faces.
"A lady outside the city," the boy said. "She threatened us. Said she'd run us through with her blade if we didn't deliver her message to a woman with a burgundy travelling cloak. Asked us to call you that. Said you'd know."
Rueen wanted to punch Sapphire.
"Thank you," she finally clipped out. "That will be all. And I would rather you don't bother me or any of my companions anymore. Or I shall be forced to clap you in chains."
She let the metal of her heavy bracelet clink behind her and saw the man's gaze harden. "What are your names?"
She saw a vein jump on the man's forehead. "Sander Parth and Freint Jos. We'll do well to stay out of your path."
She wondered for a moment why the first name sounded familiar to her but shook it off. A curt nod was all the two got before Rueen stepped back and headed up the stairs. In the confines of her room, she sat back to stare at the leaf. At the very least Sapphire had managed to get away with her life. As to where she was headed... Rueen had no clue whatsoever. She knew nothing about the ring she was talking about, the trail, however, made sense to her. She remembered their way of tracking each other in the Bathran. They used to leave small trails of bones or sticks on the forest floor, hidden behind shrubbery and bushes for the other to follow.
She jumped half a foot in the air when the door opened behind her and slammed shut as her father entered the room.
"I didn't see a single sign..."
The worry in her father's voice was apparent and she got up and led him by his shoulders to the bed, handing him one of their waterskins. She then shuffled around to get the leaf she had put beneath the pot.
"I received this," she handed the note to her father. "Sapphire managed to frighten a man into handing this over to me. She just told him the colour of my cloak," she added quickly when the old man's head turned up sharply. He nodded. Rueen had to give Sapphire some credit. The colour of her cloak was considered a luxury. It wouldn't have been hard to spot her.
She settled beside her father as he observed the writing.
"She's headed towards Smanri," he said after a few moments. She turned to look at him in confusion.
"How'd you get that?" she snatched the leaf from his hands and skimmed it once again.
"She's highlighted some letters," he said, tracing a finger over one such figure. "We'll have to wait a few days. They know there's three of us. They'll be searching for us." A long-suffering sigh escaped his lips. "We better head to bed. And close the window."
***
The four day ride to Medlar had worn him and Andrew out and he was glad Thomas had managed to buy a mule. The animal was rather odd-looking, with its half black coat and slightly crooked ear, but it had served them well, and that was all that mattered. The beds at the inn teemed with bugs and Lysander hadn't expected much at a cost of half a Biral for one night. The bugs and the mule were not what he was troubled about. The ambush by the woman in the forest had left him perturbed. The threat by the cloaked lady had left him reeling with anger and fear. The sound of the chains still rang in his ears.
He slept uneasy, eyes snapping open at every creak outside the door and when they stood in front of the intricately designed gates the next afternoon, under the sweltering heat of the sun, Lysander felt fatigue creeping up his senses like a poisonous vine.
"It'll be easy getting in," he said, shielding his eyes from the sun. "What was his name again?"
"Derk," Andrew said, stepping onto the cobbled path leading up to the doors of the mansion, barely dodging a woman who rushed past him, unseeing. He rearranged the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "We better get going if we need to finish the job before nightfall."
Lysander knew they'd need some days to complete the task but he refrained from mentioning it. The interior of the building was lavishly decorated and the hallways remained empty as they snuck in. He heard a door slam shut, overhead and his eyes went to the wide stairs on the opposite side of the room. He saw a well-polished boot come into view and he pulled Andrew's arm to pull him close and the two stood in the centre of the room, shuffling awkwardly.
A man came forward and narrowed his eyes at the two, hands occupied with a tray in his hand.
"Who are you?" he said and Lysander cut off Andrew when he opened his mouth.
"We're here for the plumbing," he said and Andrew nodded vigorously at his side. "Someone reported a leak."
"I'll have to ask the steward," the man was apparently a servant. He turned around and pulled a string attached to a torch. "He'll be here in a few."
The steward turned to be old and grumbling as he appeared from a narrow door fitted beside a towering case half an hour later. He gave them a narrow-eyed scrutiny.
"What do you need, boy? I'm too old for running around the place."
"These men here say they're here for plumbing service," the servant said, pointing at them with his thumb, an expression of distaste on his face.
The steward whirled around at them and Andrew lifted his chin. "I don't know who reported the leak but they did well to do so. There's one in the old master's bath and then one in the Mistress' rooms. Been driving her insane. Follow me."
And they did, burning each and every turn in their memory as they were led forwards towards their prey. Lysander only hoped their plan would succeed. Derk was an old man and seemed oddly familiar to Lysander with his hooked nose and white unruly beard. His clothes screamed out his wealth, the velvet coat perfectly tailored and the cane in his hand topped with a globe that Lysander was sure was made of gold. The man barely gave them any notice as they were led to the bath. Lysander had rarely seen anything as luxurious. The steward left them to themselves after indicating the cracked enamel through which a steady drip of water continued. Lysander closed the door a bit, and keeping one eye on the man lounging lazily in his twin-sized bed, he started speaking under his breath to Andrew.
"We'll have to knock him out," he mumbled and much louder he said, "Did you bring a spanner?"
"You think I don't know that?" Andrew whispered back incredulously. "How do you plan to move an unconscious man without someone seeing you?"
Lysander narrowed his eyes at the boy and Andrew's mouth went round as realisation spread over his face.
"I'm serious. Do you have a spanner?"
"You're going to knock him out with a spanner?"
"No! I'm going to ask him to fall into oblivion. Obviously, I'm going to knock him out with a spanner!"
Andrew rolled his eyes before giving him an iron rod. Lysander took it and moved back into the bedroom. The steward sat on a couch beside the door.
"Would you have some ceramic enamel with you?" he improvised as quickly as he could, trying not to draw suspicion. This was harder than Donovan had made it look.
The steward got up growling under his breath and moved out of the room. Lysander waited a few moments before turning around and heading towards the bed. Derk was knocked out before he could lift his eyes from the book in his hand. Andrew rushed out and the two forced the old man out of his bed, balancing his limp form between them. For a moment, Lysander felt guilty at having assaulted a man who was old enough to be his father, but then the image of Harfen swam in front of his eyes and he pushed forward. They managed to make it out of the room and down the first flight of stairs. Then they heard footsteps closing in on them and they pushed into a broom cupboard and waited till they passed. They stumbled out of the cupboard and rushed down into the main hallway but their luck seemed to have run out.
Lysander felt the sharp point of a blade on his neck and froze as a man materialised out of thin air in front of him. Lysander mentally kicked himself for not double-checking the place with Draedech. One of the King's closest advisors was bound to have some kind of protection. Now that he thought about it, he should have been wary of the lack of guards outside the manor.
"Drop him!"
Lysander had no choice but to obey the command and the man fell onto the floor in a heap. More people had started to appear and the last thing Lysander knew before he blacked out was the cold touch of Dorha Draedech washing over his senses like an unwelcome clasp, burning each and every fibre of his being.
***
Medlar was a city unlike Pyropa. The smell of leather blew strong in the wind, making Rueen pull the hood of her father's cloak over her nose to guard it from the acerbic scent. Where Pyropa was renowned for its vast harbours, Medlar was celebrated for its tanneries and mills. Rueen moved fast through the brick lined streets, dodging carts and vendors, her skirts rustling around her boots.
She tried not to draw attention to herself, looking ahead and keeping her pace placid. The bag in her hands weighed her down and the hilt of her dagger was cold against the inside of her arm. The strands of her hair waved around her face in the faint breeze. She almost ploughed right into someone in her anxiety. She did not stop to apologize.
She found the apothecary in a desolate street. It was a small building, boxlike and surrounded by a cluster of vines and ivy, pots of herbs and tangles of oddities hung to the roof with a thick rope. It was an eyesore for the two lavish dwellings between which it stood. The well-kept gardens contrasted heavily with the ragged collection of the apothecary plants. Where the air was sweet with the perfume of jasmines and roses in full bloom by the small mansions, it was bitter at the apothecary gates.
She trudged carefully on the path cleared between the herbs growing on the ground, her footsteps soft on the loam. Wormwood, valerian, calamint and centaury were the few she recognized. Others, she knew were too vile to be associated with the noble art of healing. She ignored the unease that curled in her gut. The door was rough against her palm as she opened it, a large scorpion nailed above runes at the top.
The sharp stench of alcohol and bile assaulted her senses the moment she stepped into the shop. It was lit by a lone flame perched in a pricket at the counter. Her gaze swept over the jars full to the brim with dark murky liquids, bright coloured potions and to her horror, the eyes and tongues of animals. The owner was nowhere in sight.
She tried to locate the things she needed, finding none. She hesitated and then moved deeper into the shop, surveying the contents of the jars and trying to recognize them. She did not. Her eyes caught on a small basket, full to the brim with bright coloured shards. They seemed to be made of ceramic. They glinted under the swirling flames, coming to life when the light fell on them right.
"Saluran scales," a voice spoke up from behind her and her heart leapt. Her hands shook and the scales rattled as she almost dropped the basket. "The most beautiful possession I own."
The man moved out of the shadow, his hair lank around his face, cheeks hollowed, back hunched and hands webbed and veined. One eye, a burning orange, stared at her without blinking. Rueen gulped.
Dezols!
A being between a man and a demon. A person with greed. A man with gluttony and pride. A crow sat on his slumped shoulders, quivering side to side, studying her.
"Saluran scales?" she asked and her voice trembled slightly. Salurans were a race older than the humans in Afsan, descended from the sirens of the Infari Soceana. She put the basket back, her heart nervous.
"Saluran scales, indeed," the man stepped forward and circled to the counter and leant on his elbows. The crow gave a loud caw. "One of the prime ingredients in trick essences."
Rueen's throat was dry. She said nothing, simply put the valerian powder, mugwort and clover onto the counter. The man latched onto her wrist, his fingers digging into her flesh. She cried out, feeling her own pulse under the calloused hands as they turned her arm. The man took ran a finger down her palm, tracing the lines, making her shiver.
"One for the laughter,
Two for the vile,
Three for the hate,
Four for the smile,
Five for the ever-cursed gold."
With each count, he caressed the tip of her finger. His lips curled and she tried to pull away. Something stronger than his vigour held her where she was. The crow shrieked twice and gave a musical note. Her hand was flipped over.
"Six for the brave,
Seven for the poor,
Eight for the life,
Nine for the war,
Ten for the ever-cruel hand."
He repeated the pattern and Rueen shuddered. Her free hand twitched at her side and she reached for the dagger under her sleeve. Her hand was dropped and she staggered back, chest heaving, pulse drumming in her ears till it was all she could hear.
"A special one, you are. Isn't she, my dear?" he stroked the crow's head and the bird clicked its beak. "You'll be leaving indelible stains. Cursed. Destined. Doomed."
"How much will this be?" she choked out, shoving the packets of herbs forward.
"Take them," the man grinned. His crooked teeth glinted in the dim glow. His eye burned brighter. "You'll be needing them a lot more than I do."
His hand shot out and plucked a hair from her scalp. It stung and she pulled out her dagger. She had slit his palm before it had retreated completely. The man grinned wider and the crow sang. Rueen took the herbs and all but ran out of the apothecary.
.·:*¨༻ ༺¨*:·.
The meeting you all were waiting for! I'm really excited to give you the next chapters. The updates will be coming a lot more rapidly, now that the only thing I've got to do is edit the chapters one last time.
I absolutely love all of you readers. Thanku for all your support and love, your votes and comments. I would never have reached 580 views without you.
All the love ~ Amelia ♥️