It was midday before she finally found what she was looking for, her feet hurting and her stomach rumbling, exhausted from constantly scanning for danger. A gloomy pawnbroker’s shop stood on the street corner, its rough sign of three golden spheres swinging in the light breeze.
She waited until no one was watching and then darted through the narrow doorway. The dark-skinned proprietress watched her with narrowed eyes, the plum-colored scales flickering on her arms betraying both her Tarasque heritage and her distrust of Nim.
Nim forced herself to lower her shoulders and smile, keeping her hurt wing tucked well back, and stooping a little as she made her way to the dusty counter.
She took out Val’s ring and put the heavy gold band on the counter with a small click. “I would like to trade this.”
Damn. It hurt. More than she was prepared for, even knowing she had to do it. More than the moment she flung herself into the burning roof knowing she could die.
The broker flicked a glance at her wrists, and Nim shoved them behind her back, thankful she had laced her jerkin up high to her neck.
The old woman’s eyes grew even more suspicious, but she lifted the ring in her gnarled fingers and held it up to her eye before putting it between her teeth and biting.
“It’s gold,” Nim stated firmly, offended, squashing down her wish that she could climb over the counter and snatch it back.
The woman assessed it once more, shrewd eyes noting the distinctive family crest of a wyvern, wings spread in flight, tail curled around a gleaming sapphire. “What do you want for it?”
“Your best cloak, water bottles, and five hundred groats.”
The old woman laughed. “Fifty groats and a cloak, and take the satchel.” She gestured to a worn leather bag displayed against a wall.
Nim swallowed down the acid burning her throat. “The satchel, cloak, and bottles, and two hundred groats.”
“Eighty.”
“One hundred and fifty, throw in a good blade, and you forget to sell the ring for at least a week.”
“One hundred, no more. I can keep it until tomorrow.”
Tears burned at the back of her eyes, and her throat was so tight that she could hardly breathe. But she knew what Val would have wanted. She could almost hear him, ruffling her hair and chuckling at her.It’s just a ring, Nimmy.
She nodded, not trusting her voice, and turned away so that she didn’t have to see the greedy satisfaction in the old woman’s eyes.
She strapped her new dagger to her thigh, secured her new coin pouch in her pocket, and swung the satchel onto her back, wincing as it scraped at her wing, then covered everything with the slightly stained—but thankfully clean and warm—woolen cloak. Then, pulling the large hood up to cover her hair, and shadow her face, she stepped cautiously out of the pawnshop, back into the dusty, teeming road.
With money in her pouch and her hair covered, she decided to risk returning to a small apothecary she had passed a few streets back.
The sharp scent of pungent herbs mixing with warmer notes of lavender and geranium filled her with a deep longing for her stillroom. Half of her wished she could stand there, surrounded by the reassuring scents of home and safety. The other half wanted to get far away from the hurtful reminders of everything she’d lost. The need to escape won, and she hurried to purchase her honey and thyme poultice and leave.
Finally, exhausted, she made her way down the main street, looking for something to eat.
A hawker stood beside a large iron firepot, calling out his hot fried fish and cups of green peas. It smelled fantastic, of hot grease and fresh fish, and Nim’s mouth watered as she paid for her first meal since her entire life had collapsed around her.
The hawker was handing over her bundle of paper wrapped fish, its heat scorching the tips of her fingers, when Nim heard movement behind her. The tread of booted feet and the telltale jingle of buckles and weapons.
Her heart raced hard in her chest, but she managed not to flinch. Managed to smile her thanks. To slowly take the greasy parcel. To stay calm as she turned away, doing everything she could to avoid attention.
Keeping her face deep inside her hood, she stepped carefully around the soldiers, flicking her eyes up only for a moment to check their uniforms. Black. Thank gods. Not the palace guards. Nothim.
The younger of the two soldiers was speaking as she passed, and she almost stumbled right into his arms as she heard his words. “You mean they didn’t actually hang him yet?”
Her hands started shaking so badly that she could hear the paper around her fish rustling, but she held it tightly and slowly eased into a deep alcove next to the hawker.
“No,” the second soldier answered. “Apparently the king is enjoying spending a bit of time with him.” They both laughed maliciously, and Nim’s stomach dropped with a sudden rush of churning nausea.
“But surely he won’t take much longer? Aren’t we all being posted north? It’s been weeks, and we still haven’t declared war.”
“Well, what I heard is that they’re gonna do him on Thursday, no matter what happens. And then we ready for war. The king’s spent all this time gathering the troops back after his father released all the conscripts. My mate said that he’s been fortifying the palace….”
