The woman, Ida, harrumphed but didn’t argue. Anders lifted his mug to hide the smile that tugged at his lips.
The other man drained his ale before wiping his face on his sleeve. “What about the shoes? Worn to pieces every single night, I heard. You’ve got to admit, that’s more than a little strange.”
Ida nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, what about that? Eh?”
The bearded man held his hands up. “Shoddy workmanship? I can’t say. But there’s nowt magical going on here. Just rambunctious young girls with little care for their belongings. You take it from me,” he said, lifting his mug to his lips and slurping loudly. “He wants to marry ‘em both off soonest, that’ll put an end to all this twaddle.”
The barkeep, a man built like an ox, carried three more mugs of ale over to the table and set them down. His voice was low and rumbling. “Whatever it is, it’s catching. I heard at least three local girls have fallen victim to the same sickness. Disappearing all night long, turning up in the morning pale and exhausted,with worn-down heels.” He shook his head, brows lowered. “All this dancing. It’s a plague, I tell you.”
A plague? Perhaps that explained the presence of so many guards, if Orovia had been struck down by some mystery illness?
A young lad burst into the tavern at that moment and slapped a piece of parchment onto the table in front of Anders. He darted off before Anders could ask him what it was, dropping identical leaflets on a few other tables, before being chased out by the barkeep with a snap of his towel.
Anders turned the parchment towards himself and studied it. It was an advertisement for a performance that evening of the Royal Orovia Ballet. The Tale of Asterina and Cethin; one of his favourites. It depicted the tragic story of two star-crossed lovers from rival families and their ill-fated plan to be together, despite it all.
Memories of watching the performances each year on the eve of the Longest Night flickered to life in his mind. He closed his eyes and music swelled in his ears, making his pulse race and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
He could spare a few coins to see his first ballet in over five years, couldn’t he? Something familiar, something that would remind him of home and his youthful innocence. If he stood at the back of the yard and kept out of sight, he’d be fine. What could go wrong?
Chapter 2
Anders
Anders kept his hood up and his head down as he followed the crowd through the old town towards the theatre that evening. He’d swapped his gold coin for a room at the inn, leaving him with just a pair of silver coins and a few coppers. That should cover his ticket, and a boat to get him across the strait to D’Argentis. He’d get a few more days out his battered, old boots—no point risking blisters from a new pair when he still had so far to go.
The narrow streets had begun to form a bottleneck, Anders was jostled by southerners pushing to get to the theatre and snag the best positions in the yard—the standing area at the front of the stage. He forced his way to the edge of the crowd and slipped into a side street to wait for the surge to ease; he didn’t need to be at the front, he’d be better off away from the crush of bodies clamouring to see the performance. The last thing he needed was for someone to bump into him and accidently pull his hood back and expose his pale hair.
Standing in an alley between two tall buildings, he watched out of sight as the crowd made its way down the hill towards the theatre.
A rattling cough came from behind him, and he realised he wasn’t alone in the alley. What looked like a heap of blankets lay against the wall, and on closer inspection he found three young children huddled together beneath the tattered and filthy rags. Eyes as big and bright as the full moon stared up at him, fear swimming in the dark of their pupils as they took in the hooded stranger before them.
Anger burned bright in his heart. In a city as wealthy as Orovia, what cruelty could have forced these children to live on the streets? How was it right that they felt safer here than in whichever home or shelter they had come from? Anders had heard the stories of the dark, unseemly side of the Southern Isle, but he hadn’t anticipated coming face to face with it so soon after arriving.
In the Northern Isle, the entire community had a responsibility to care for those with less—orphaned children, widows and the like. This was just another glaring example of the greed and selfishness he’d heard about in the South. He couldn’t turn a blind eye to these children, not when he could do something to help.
He crouched down so their faces were level, hands held out with the palms up. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He looked around at their meagre belongings. “Are you hungry?”
They looked at each other, unsure. The oldest nodded.
Anders took out the crusty bread cob he’d bought at the inn and pocketed, planning to eat it while he watched the performance. But these three children appeared to need it more than he did, their skin was pale and wan, pulled tight over their bones like a drum.
“Here.” He held out the small loaf, but the children only stared at it, wary. “Go on, it’s alright.” He stretched his hand out further, but the children just looked at each other, and the eldest shook his head.
Anders sighed and took out his coin pouch. He could spare the coppers; the silvers would cover his passage to D’Argentis. He tipped the small coins into his hand and held them out to the children, who hesitated, before lunging forwards and snatching the coins. Anders smiled.
“Get yourselves something to eat. And find somewhere safer to sleep, this is no place for children. Go on.”
The children ran, trailing their dusty blankets behind them, vanishing like rats into the cracks of the city. He hoped they’d do as he said and find a good meal and a roof for the night; he might not be able to do much, but he could help them to survive one more day at least. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he made his way back to the main street.
Re-joining the now thinned crowd, he cursed under his breath. He’d given his ticket money to the children. If he wanted to see the ballet, and still have enough coin for his passage to D’Argentis, he would have to slip in unseen. The thought made his throat constrict. The sights, sounds and smells of war flooded his mind, smoke filled his nostrils and the screams of his comrades drowned out the sound of the crowd.Coward, hissed the voice in his head.
He gritted his teeth. He should just go back to the inn and get a good night’s sleep, ready for the remaining journey tomorrow. He had a long way still to go before he reached D’Argentis.
But that would mean giving in to the horrors in his mind, and he’d already lost too much to those dark, painful thoughts. He felt his nails biting into his palms as he fought against the memories, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.
He could do this. He just needed to be strong. He clenched his jaw, put his head down and kept walking.
As the flow of townsfolk approached the magnificent, marble-columned building at the foot of the hill, gold, silk flagsdraped from roof to ceiling, he felt his earlier anger return. So much prideful ostentation. The Golds had no shame.
