But no creatures lumbered out of the shadows, and no assassins emerged to slit our throats. Octavian backed me slowly toward the busy street, keeping his sword raised and himself between me and the rest of the alley.
Suddenly he stopped, looking down at something near the toe of his boot.
I followed his gaze. There, in the dirt that lay thick on the cobblestones, someone had drawn a symbol—three interlocking triangles. Around the symbol was a series of short slashes and lines at different angles, like the same someone had drunkenly tried to make tally marks in the dirt with their finger.
“Change of plan,” Octavian said. “We’ll meet up with them later at the Hill.”
His shoulders had relaxed somewhat, but he kept his sword out and at the ready until we reached the mouth of the alley, and only then did he slide it back into its place on his belt beneath his cloak. Then he slipped his arm through mine once again and guided me down the busy street.
“What’s going on?” I glanced back over my shoulder toward the entrance to the alley, but it was already out of sight, blocked by the curve in the street and the crowds of people.
“They saw something, and they’re looking into it,” he said. “For now, I’m to get you somewhere secure, just in case.” He must have noticed the worry on my face, because he added, “I don’t think there’s an immediate risk, but my brothers and I would rather be cautious. Too much has changed since we were last here, and even back then there were many who wanted us dead.”
“Why?” It was the question that had been simmering inside me for a long time. I kept my voice low when I continued, “Why do so many want you dead? Why did Laitha and the Circle of the Hidden Stars curse you in the first place?”
“They were worried that my brothers and I had become too powerful.”
“Wait, you guys are too powerful for the most powerful sorcerers in Therador?”
“Not in essence,” he said, then hesitated. “I’ll explain more later. This is not a conversation we should be having here.”
Oh, right. Giant crowd around us.Instead of trying to hold a conversation, I shifted my attention to the town around us as Octavian led me down the street.
The buildings were even brighter up close, painted in shades of sky blue and canary yellow and spring green, with here and there something orange or pink or even violet. The handful of buildings that were simply plain stone or timber stood out like sore thumbs, and even they had brightly colored shutters and doors, and many had window boxes bursting with bright herbs and flowers. There were also ribbons and banners everywhere—hanging from doors, dangling from the lantern poles, flapping in the mild breeze. Garlands of flowers were strung across doorways and archways, filling the air with sweet fragrance.
The crowd was just as colorful. While some people wore shades of brown like Octavian and me, others were dressed in bright, patterned clothing—cerulean dresses with embroidery along the neckline, or russet-colored tunics with stripes of green along the hem, or shawls woven from threads of a dozen colors. There were lavender scarves and straw hats tied with red ribbons, mustard-colored cloaks and fur-lined patchwork vests. Some people had flowers in their hair as well, braided right into the strands or resting in a crown above their brow.
The people themselves were as varied as their clothes, their skin and hair and eyes in every shade I’d ever seen—plus a few I hadn’t. We walked by a couple of men with milky-pale skin that took on a greenish tint when they passed beneath the shadows of a building, and later I spotted a woman with red-orange eyes peeking out from beneath her hood.
I was so busy gawking at everything around us—and so used to people falling out of our way as Octavian led us through the crowd—that it took me by complete surprise when we rounded a corner and I slammed right into someone.
“Ooof!” The other person fell backwards from the force of our collision, collapsing into a pile on the street in front of us.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, holding out my hand. “I wasn’t looking.”
“It’s all right.” The person’s hood fell back, revealing a girl perhaps a couple years younger than me. She had brown skin, dark curls, and big, friendly eyes.
But though she took my offered hand, those big eyes were not focused on me. Instead, they were locked on Octavian. And once she was back on her feet, she ignored me completely, dropping my hand and grabbing Octavian by the cloak.
“Iknewit was you,” she said.
Octavian had stiffened, and I could tell by his stance that he had his hand on his sword hilt beneath his cloak, ready to strike the moment it became necessary.
“You have me mistaken for someone else,” he said in his low rumble. “I am not from this place.”
“Of course you aren’t.” The young woman’s tone was light, and her eyes still shone with open, friendly wonder. “You’re from Riversend, on the far side of the Snowcrowns.”
“I’m afraid we must be going.” Octavian’s hand was still on his sword, and with his other, he took my arm once more. The crowd was still parting around his big form, but it was clear he didn’t like being out in the open.
“Wait!” The girl reached up, grabbing either side of his hood. “I know people who can help you.”
“Again, I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”
“No, I don’t think I have.” Her voice was more serious now, but she was still practically glowing with excitement. “You’re the Mighty Oak.”
I felt Octavian’s arm tense. “I don’t know who that—”
“Of courseyou know.” The young woman smiled, and she leaned closer, adding in a hushed voice, “There have been whispers about your return.”
