A pair of curtains in the kitchensmayhave caught fire. Whether it was the result of my sudden, and short-lived, interest in learning to cook or Eve’s distraction, I’ll never know.
There were no injuries or deaths… aside from the curtains themselves.
A sleeping wraithmayhave found its way into Ollora. Whether it was because I mistakenly thought it an abandoned cloak left near the city walls—debatable. Eve is the one who noticed it first.
Clearly it was friendly… toward me.
My lessons on the other hand, those are pure neglect—on no one’s account but my own. I would much rather hang myself by my toes from a tree and be left through the night than listen to Lilith lecture me on yet another fae holiday.
Just a few weeks ago it was the summer solstice. Nowin a week it’s the autumnal equinox. It’s like fae cling to whatever reason they can contrive to celebratesomething. Is there truly that much to celebrate? Do peoplehaveto congregate every few weeks?
I think not.
“Gods, you make me sound like a demon,”I reply with a curling grin as I link my arm with hers.
She glances around, taking in our surroundings with an emphasized swing of her head before pinning her eyes against mine. I can already tell she’s about to give me sass and my grin grows.
“I’m not sure if you know this,”she says in a low whisper despite us being alone.“But you’re not a demon.”
My brows furrow as I start to laugh.
“You’re a terror,” she says, smiling. “An often well-intentioned terror, but a terror nonetheless. A terror that sneaks from the castle before nightfall to watch stupid ships come into their stupid port, after a stupid miles-long run when all her stupid mate wants is to keep her hidden. A stupid terror with the stupid audacity of dragging her friend around through it all because she, too, is stupid.”
Laughing to the point of tears, I wipe at my face with the heel of my palm.
“Then you admit you’re stupid,” I manage through my laughter.
Again, her glare turns venomous, but lasts mere seconds as she tries, and fails, to suppress her own laughter.
Loud chatter and laughter from below draw my attention to the street. A few merchants walk in the opposite direction, their conversation as unbridled as our own. Carrying large sacks or pulling small carts, they leave behind stalls devoid of wares and goods. They breeze past shops doing the same—signs flip in windows, shopkeepers close and lock doors behind them, and everyone moves south—away from the North Docks. Lights begin flicking on in second- and third-story windows.
Most of Ollora doesn’t venture out past sunset anymore.
Not since the night of the eclipse.
Night has never beensafein the living realm. Too many creatures lurk in the dark. Within cities like Ollora, there are protections in place, but even those have been put to the test lately.
Following Netharis’ assault, the veil lies weakened. It’s easier for souls to slip through and creep among the living. With the abundance of fresh corpses, undead constructs plagued the city until new wards were put into place.
Ryc established gravewardens—a special sector of Royal Guard posted at each cemetery, graveyard, and mausoleum within the city. Wards were raised around them and a nightly curfew went into effect. Gravewardens ensure both the wards and the living remain standing.
Even with the new protections, the occasional errant undead will find its way into the city. The numbers aren’t as staggering as they once were, a small comfort come the reports in the morning paper.
All Ollora can do is wait.
Wait for the god of death to mend the veil.
The living being at the mercy of one god or another is nothing new. But Vaelyn is a new god, and he is the one tasked with the responsibility of the veil. Netharis ensured the veil remained viable, his successor should be able to as well.
Until Vaelyn does what he’s supposed to, Ryc will do what he must to protect his people.
Eve unwinds her arm from mine and leaps across another gap before us. She turns to face me, extending a helping hand.
“It’s been a month, almost two.” The note of defeat in her voice takes me by surprise as my hand lands in hers seconds before my feet meet the rooftop.
Confusion pinches my brows. “Since what?” I ask.
She releases my hand and turns toward the docks. “Since I’ve heard from Druka.” She crests the pitch of the roof with a backward glance.
