The river seemed larger from above. The edges were still thick and snowy, but further into the center they got dark and glassy. She could almost see the river flowing wildly beneath it. A channel had fully melted at the center with patches of ice flowing quickly by. Casually, she noted how difficult it would be to climb out of if one were to fall in.
The simplicity of that danger almost made her laugh again, but she forced herself to focus.
When she finally reached the other side and stepped onto the solid wood floor of the tower, stumbling slightly at the sudden stillness, she felt off. Queasy. For one moment, one crossing, she had been absorbed entirely. There had been nothing but the wind, the river, the rope, and the possibility of falling. It had almost been peaceful.
Sometimes the threat of death did that.
Now standing on the top floor of the tower, she could see the pitched ceiling and a ladder in the center of the room that led up to what was likely a smaller viewing desk of sorts at the tower’s peak. The rest of the room was mostly bare. A few benches, several unlit torches secured to the walls, and not much else.
“You almost look disappointed you made it across.”
Her scowl deepened. Pyetar was breathing hard, lips parted, his body lounging against the wooden wall. She’d missed his crossing entirely. His long legs were braced on either side of him, his hands untying the harness from around his chest. She noted the obvious strength of his body, even in this exhausted state, carefully; she would not be stupid enough to underestimate him.
He must have practically run across the ropes to reach her so fast, and Iryana pondered what could have motivated him to do so. Still eyeing him carefully, she watched as Pyetar exhaled long and slow, tilting his head back and exposing his neck.
Iryana looked away, an uncomfortable tension in her muscles.
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he sighed.
She crossed her arms. Despite her own doubts spinning in her head, Iryana refused to let Pyetar see them. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure.
With a sigh, he pushed himself back to his feet. “Follow me.”
Climbing down the steep staircase, the smell of dust hit her as they entered a dimly lit room.
If the space wasn’t well used, could Iryana dare to hope that the river crossing wasn’t either? It would make meeting Hadima and sneaking out much easier.
Pyetar held one of the makeshift pelt curtains aside, revealing a door, glancing back at her impatiently. Iryana forced her eyes straight ahead, hoping to not appear too interested in the space lest Pyetar catch on.
They came out on the wall walk, the wooden platform that stretched around the walls of the fortress, a roof above to protect from the sun and weather. The fortress was massive, shaped like a star cut in half by the river. Her early guardian education had covered the defensibility of such designs, but the details mostly escaped her now.
The walls were a feat of architecture, but it was the inside of the fortress that captured her attention. It was not what she had pictured from the books she’d read and the fragments of memories from her life before.
Tidy fields almost ready for crops covered the corner before her, stretching across most of the land along the river wall. Wooden-brick roads abruptly ended where they met the fields—as if the town had once dominated the fortress but had since been ripped up. Some buildings were like the ones from her village, only finer and larger, but most were foreign to her. There were great, multi-storied buildings of white stone and fine wooden craftsmanship, buildings with their own towers and small stone walls. She couldn’t count them all; there were so many. Dominating the area to the right was what she could only imagine had once been the governor’s mansion.
It had been over a decade since Iryana had been in a guardian’s fortress, but she could tell this wasn’t one. It felt different, even half ripped up as it was. There was too much variation in the buildings. Her home in Klees had a more militant feel to it, like a complex. There wasn’t the same separation between who was clearly in charge and everyone else. This city had been ruled by the Istrin court, probably a baron or lord acting as governor. One of the queen’s cities.
And there were people. Standing beside buildings, preparing the fields, training in some yards she saw further off, walking along the streets. It looked so… normal. But she knew it wasn’t. There was nothing normal about this town, these people. They were dangerous. Criminals. Killers.
“Where are we going?” she asked, now that she could see the layout of Myura River before her.
“I am taking you to the major. That’s what your coin will buy you. It’s up to him what happens to you after,” Pyetar answered stiffly.
Iryana swallowed.
They descended the stairs from the wall walk, heading through the fort. People noticed.
Tense faces, hostile eyes, and suspicious frowns followed them. Iryana forced herself to meet their stares, to keep her eyes up. Her guardian armor was a dead giveaway, but she couldn’t show weakness.
He led her right up to the imposing mansion. Two heavily armed soldiers guarded the massive double doors. The tall, slender windows stretched twice as tall as she was, the wooden trim mimicking flowers and icicles dripping over the glass.
Pyetar paused, looking down over his shoulder at her. “Once we enter the hall, you’re on your own.”
“Good.” That would be an improvement.
She focused on calming her anxiety as she turned away from Pyetar. She didn’t know what to expect, how she would be received, but it was too late to worry much now.
Walking through those doors, despite the carved figures dancing across the panes, felt like entering the lair of a dakya.
