Of course, it would be him.
Lorien was already three sheets to the wind, a flask swinging loosely from his hand. His loud, raucous laugh echoed off the stone walls as he barked at something one of his comrades had said, slapping his thigh like a damn fool.
Maybe he wouldn’t notice her. His eyes were already glazed over; he probably couldn’t see a foot in front of him.
With each slow, steady step closer in the line, Elara's heart thrashed violently against her ribs. She kept her eyes firmly on her shoes, daring not even a fleeting glance upward. But then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted boots approaching—boots that unmistakably belonged to one of the guards.
She was so fucked.
“Look sharp, you lot, or I’ll have you emptying your pockets faster than you can say ‘thief,’” Lorien’s words were thick withdrink and he staggered slightly. “I wouldn't put it past any of them to sneak a silver cup or two under their rags.”
The other guards cackled like idiots, obviously too drunk on equinox cheer to realize they were still on duty. It was the harvest, sure, but one would think they'd at leastpretendto be sober until they staggered out of the Sanct. Elara could practically hear Edgar’s head exploding from here. His idea of a slap on the wrist usually involved less wrist and more slap. Yet, oddly enough, these men seemed utterly unfazed by the prospect.
Lorien sauntered closer, his hand reaching out to toy with the tassel on a Soothsayer's robe in front of Elara. The woman stiffened visibly.
“So, any visions about tonight, love? Think you can predict our chances together?” Lorien snickered, a sneer tugging at his lips as the Soothsayer yanked the tassel from his grasp.
Undeterred, he sauntered up to Elara. “No matter, I suppose my odds with a pious seer are slim at best. But a greenie,” he slurred, stepping close enough for Elara to feel his boozy breath. She lowered her chin, a bead of sweat trailing down her spine. “Everyone knows greenies are accommodating. Healers have such tender hands, after all.”
Elara's heart leapt to her throat as Lorien reached out toward her. Her instincts screamed for her to run, to duck away and disappear. Maybe he wouldn't notice it was her if she bolted; maybe she try again once he had left his post.
She spun on her heel, but Lorien was quicker, his grip firm on the back of her arm. “Where do you think you're going?—”
“Ah, there you are.”
Elara's breath hitched, her heart pounding as she looked up to find Dario before her, his expression stern. He glanced at her briefly, his concern palpable, before his eyes fixed sharply on Lorien.
“I was just coming to relieve you of your duty.” Dario's voice was calm yet carried an undeniable authority.
Lorien grunted, his grip on Elara’s arm tightening painfully. “Captain, I was just ensuring this greenie hadn’t pocketed any forbidden herbs or potions.”
“That is utterly unnecessary. Release the Greenheart, Lorien. Now.”
Elara sensed the conflicting tension in Lorien's grasp. His hold tightened, then loosened, clearly struggling with obedience, before finally, begrudgingly, he let his hand fall away.
“Yes, Captain.” Lorien's response was clipped, his frustration evident as he stormed off, slapping a comrade on the back before disappearing through the barrier and out of sight.
Elara’s body trembled uncontrollably, sweat beading on her forehead. That had been close—too damn close.
“May I have a moment of your time, miss?” Dario asked, his gaze fixed ahead, not meeting her eyes. Mother save her.
Dario's hand was firm on her arm as he swiftly pulled her out of line. They moved quickly across the bailey, dodging between clusters of chatting guards and busy servants. Without a word, he steered her behind the ancient stone wall that marked the boundary between the noisy courtyard and the gardens, hidden from prying eyes.
“So, when was I supposed to find out you were making a run for it? After you'd vanished, or when Edgar inevitably caught up with you?”
“I don't see why you'd suddenly start caring now. You haven't bothered to see me in days.”
She knew her words were petty. He had promised to check on her, a promise he hadn't kept, and it stung more than she wanted to admit.
Exhaustion etched into his features. “I tried to see you, El. But you were right, Edgar had the Sanct locked down tight.No one could get in or out except for Beatrice.” Elara’s brow furrowed. She knew Edgar was overly cautious, but this was extreme. “After that, he tasked me with overseeing the city’s patrols.” Dario’s explanation was casual, but his eyes told a different story.
“What happened?”
“Nothing significant.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But it’s clear Edgar's preparing for some kind of threat. He heightened security measures, tripling surveillance on the festival to mitigate potential risks.”
A knot of dread twisted in Elara’s stomach. Could Edgar possibly know about her plans? No. If he did, he would have already stormed into her room and sealed her away indefinitely. This had to be about something else… “Has he given you any reason for his nerves?”
As Captain, Dario would typically be the first to know of any external threats. But he simply shook his head. “I believe it’s more intuition than evidence driving his caution. His ravens have taken to perching in every corner of the city, and he’s dispatched an additional flock to scour the Hartling Forest just to be safe.”
