He smiles. “You as well.”
She returns her gaze to mine and offers me a soft smile. Her face is so similar to Yara’s that I can’t help but feel sadness, knowing that in years to come, Yara’s face would have looked the same—beautiful, aged, and soft.
“When the ship arrives, if you would like to seek shelter in Silas’s house, you are welcome,” I offer.
“I have been asked to assist with healing the wounded near the pier. I will do what I have been asked, and I will fight. Even if I am the only civilian who shows up, I will be there. Yara would have done the same,” she replies, sternly.
I know there is no arguing with her.
“Very well.” I smile. “I will be happy to fight alongside you, and I will feel safe knowing that you are there, healing.”
Pia points to the axes on my back. “I would love to have a weapon like that,” she says with a wink. “Just in case.”
I chuckle, softly. “I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Thank you,” she replies. “I am heading back to the king’s cliff house momentarily. I came to town only to gather a few more supplies for your friend’s healing. She is lucky, Your Majesty. She has many months ahead of her for healing, but with my help, she will be just fine.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask.
She shakes her head and turns away to take her leave. “Just fight like hell. We need you to win this war.”
“We will.”
She smiles, and Warrick steps forward. “Would you like me to walk you home?”
Pia shakes her head. “That’s okay, boy. I can make it on my own.”
Warrick dips his head in respect.
“Please be careful,” Pia says.
“Always,” Warrick responds.
The woman moves gracefully through the crowd, and they don’t hesitate to part for her. The civilians treat her with respect, and I can tell that she has been a long-time advocate for them. They trust her, and they listen to her words. Without her, I fear this would have gone terribly wrong. Some of the crowd stay in tight circles, likely deciding what they will do, while others return to their daily chores.
I glance toward the dark alleyways, and tucked beneath the shadows, the prominent, cloaked figures remain.
Larkin moves closer. “You okay?”
I nod. “I’m okay now that things have died down. We owe a lot to Yara and Pia.”
“We will repay her one day.”
I angle my head toward the shadowed alleyways, trying not to be too obvious about whom I’m speaking about.
“Who are they?”
Warrick and Larkin merely cast their eyes toward the darkness that the sun seems to overlook. The fog continues to spill out of the alleyway, as if the shadows are so thick that they have nowhere else to go but billow out.
“Did you think the rebels and criminals were referred to figuratively?” Larkin asks.
I shrug. “I thought it was more of a group name for Andorwood.”
Warrick laughs, and I turn my head sharply in his direction.
“Those are the ones we speak of,” Warrick says. “They keep to themselves, hide in the shadows, and to our knowledge, they are an army in themselves.”
“Did Malachi know about them? How were they not punished?” I ask.
