Grumbling, he climbed aboard, and I followed suit. Seraphim tossed various crates and rolls atop us, burying us in goods. My vision darkened when a long roll of textiles fell upon my face, and then something heavier weighed me down. The young man walked over, adjusting the cargo to ensure we were hidden.
Gods, it wasn’t easy to breathe under here. I couldn’t tell if I was touching one of my companions or an errant sack. Sealing my mouth closed and ignoring the urge to kick around until I hit Seth, I listened as the young man retook the driver’s seat and our wagon started rolling back toward the city.
The wagon jolted over a bump in the road, and a crate shifted, digging into my shoulder. Great.
The ride was as uncomfortable as expected. The silence was irritating, the urge to call out to someone overwhelming. Steadying my breathing through the thick pile of fabric, I tried to close my eyes and relax, remembering the sole time Ainwir and I had left a city in a corpse cart.
That journey had been much worse. Covered in heavy bodies, I’d wanted to bawl and wretch, overwhelmed by the stench of decay. Ainwir had held my hand, promising that getting caught would be worse.
Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember what we’d been fleeing, and why our desperation had led us to lie among the dead. Ainwir had only just taken me under his wing at the time. . .
Pushing aside the unpleasant memories, I recalled the night after, instead. Cozy in a blanket beside a mantle, he’d poured me tea and asked if I knew how to play cards.
That was the Ainwir I liked to remember.
The wagon rolled through the outskirts and eventually stopped at the city gates. I heard footsteps around us, the sound of armored boots on cobblestone streets, and someoneexchanged a few words with our driver. A moment passed, and we started moving again, rolling onto a solid road.
Exhaling quietly, I counted each turn we made, trying to map our route in my mind. Half an hour of discomfort later, the wagons slowly came to a stop, and I heard our driver dismount, tapping the wagon a few times to signal the all clear.
Seraphim burst from the pile first, followed by Seth. I struggled to find where the textiles covering me started and ended, and felt someone eventually pull them off me. Seth looked down on me, hair frizzed and frayed from its time buried under a rug.
“Thanks.” I croaked, running a hand through my destroyed locks.
“That rug,” he choked, “was worse than the dungeon.”
Giggling, I took his hand and stood, bruising myself off before dropping out of the wagon bed. We’d parked in a small warehouse, the rickety wooden shelves lined with similar crates and barrels.
Percy and Eleos emerged from the second wagon, the bard looking relatively calm as he seated his hat back over his white locks. “That wasn’t so bad.”
Eleos looked at him like he was mad. “What did you get buried under?Silk?”
“I think so.”
Rubbing his nose, Eleos flipped open his journal and pulled out his map. “We still have a ways to travel. How are we going to reach the lord’s manor unseen?”
Seraphim twirled her hair, tying it into a taut bun and shoving it under her hood. She pulled out her mask and fitted it over her face before pulling her cloak tightly around her, shrouding her figure entirely.
“Keep close. Do as I say.” She said quietly.
Pulling my hair up, I tucked it inside my hood.
“Well,” Percy said, fitting his mask over his nose. “Now we look like a proper band of thieves.”
Grinning, Seth touched my shoulder, asking me to walk ahead of him. Drawing his blade, he stuck close to my side.
I followed Seraphim outside onto a quiet alley and, for the first time, beheld the city of Cynthus.
Stone buildings, centuries old, rose from thick foundations to protect them from the sea’s wrath. Unlike the slums, these buildings were well-maintained, their stone polished to a bright white rather than a faded brown.
Built upon a sloping hill, the streets cascaded downwards toward the sea, and the lord’s palace loomed above them. Aqueduct bridges fanned out from the center, streaking past my head toward the sea.
A lighthouse peeked out above the cluttered streets, once a beacon for trade ships traveling to Duath Nun and nations that no longer existed, from a time no one remembered.
This street was dark. I could see the glow of lanterns in the distance, but Seraphim kept to the shadows. We pressed ourselves against the walls as we navigated through the maze-like streets.
The relative safety didn’t last long. Our destination was the lord’s estate: guards patrolled the streets in greater numbers as the homes became more lavish. Eleos served as our guide, searching the streets for guards and their thoughts, informing us when their backs were turned or when we needed to hide.
My heart thumped in my chest every time we ducked behind a wall and raced across a corner. Eventually, Seraphim held up a fist, instructing us to stop under the awning of a public bathhouse.
