Something rounded the corner behind me. I turned my head just enough to catch it in my peripheral vision. A man, wearing a dark half cloak, heading in the same direction as me.
He crossed the street to my side.
It could’ve been a coincidence, but it probably wasn’t.
I picked up the pace.
He did, too.
Anxiety splashed me in an ice-cold rush.
Ahead, the alley bent to the left. I turned the corner, clenched Everard’s money in my fist, and sprinted, squeezing every drop of speed out of my body. The money bag slapped against my chest as I ran. Houses flew by.
Behind me heavy boots pounded the cobblestones.
The street spat me out into a large plaza. In the back of it, a big stone building stood, four floors high and lit up like a Christmas tree against the dark backdrop of the city. There was no time to take it in. I saw rows of windows with ornate bars glowing with a welcoming yellow light, two solid rectangular towers in front connected by a third-floor loggia, and between them arched doors standing wide open, leading inside. Two men guarded the doors. They carried maces on their hips, and they looked like they would brain you with them if you glanced at them the wrong way.
I ran to the doors.
Behind me the man burst out of the alley.
I braked in front of the guard on my left. He held out his hand. I dropped Everard’s silver noma into his palm.
The guard bowed and indicated the open door with his hand. The entrance waited in front of me, a long narrow hallway lit up by lanterns.
My lungs burned. I sucked in a breath and glanced over my shoulder. The asshole who’d chased me had turned around and was walking away, back toward the alley.
A swarm of glowing golden butterflies flowed out of the entrance, as if the building had exhaled light and beauty into the night. The butterflies bounced on the draft, trailing tiny gold sparks, swirled toward me, and melted into the night air. Like magic.
No, not like. It was magic, not distant like the Mage Tower zapping the lorsses, but right there in front of me. A wonder. It was impossible back home, but here it was real. It existed and it was beautiful.
I caught my breath, swallowed, and walked unsteadily into the Garden of Soft Blossoms.
CHAPTER3
Three steps into the hallway, my legs decided they’d had just about enough of my nonsense and tried to fold under me. I stumbled and caught myself on the stone wall. My head swam.
The hallway had to be about forty feet long and only about twelve feet wide, just enough for two swordsmen to defend it standing side by side. Right now, it might as well have been a mile long. Getting through it felt impossibly hard.
The doors at the other end stood wide open, and I could see a hint of the main floor. It was all light and bright colors. The sound of laughter and the scents of cooked meat and spices floated in with the draft. My mouth watered. I had never been so hungry in my entire life.
Standing here and drooling, as fun as it was, wouldn’t get me any closer to food and rest. I wasn’t out of the woods yet.
I pushed from the wall, took a test step forward, and didn’t faceplant on the floor. So far, so good. Small slow steps. No rush. I started toward the light.
A beautiful melody echoed through the building, fast and compelling, with a rapid beat.
The hallway ended. I stepped onto the main floor.
I stood on the edge of a huge square room, with tiled floors and cream-colored stone walls that rose two stories high. A colonnade wrapped around the perimeter of the square, supporting a second-floor balcony guarded by a wooden rail. Most of the floor and the balcony was taken up by wooden tables and chairs. Here and there patrons dined, laughing, talking, and getting drunk. Waiters, dressed in white tunics with dark red trousers and matching sash belts, flitted between the tables delivering food and drinks.
In the center of the room, under a chandelier of glowing orbs, a round stage stood, encircled by a shallow moat about three feet wide. The water in the moat was the color of rubies, and it shone, reflecting the light. The line in the book said,The red dye in the water stained fabric and skin, keeping drunk patrons from storming the stage, which had made me think of watered-down red Kool-Aid when I read it. The liquid in the moat didn’t look like Kool-Aid. It looked like red wine, rich and almost purple.
On stage, ridiculously beautiful women danced, clad in dresses of bright green veils. They twisted and turned in time with the music, the diaphanous fabric flaring just enough to hint at the bodies beneath, but never offering more than a glimpse. The light of the chandelier played on their dresses, and when they raised their arms and bent their bodies, the veils shone with metallic gold.
So pretty . . .
The music sped up and so did the dancers, all but flying around the stage. They were so graceful, their movements mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. I had never seen anything like it. After days of rain, mud, and hunger, it didn’t seem real. Maybe I was really dying on the street, and my brain was hallucinating, trying to offer me something beautiful before I finally kicked the bucket.
