Neris’s brows furrow. “Are you having those visions again?”
“I—Well, I was drawing. Then suddenly, I’m staring at …” I turn the canvas to face her, wincing in advance. I’m prepared for Neris to ask me what horrors I’ve committed to canvas, but instead, she simply stares at it, puzzled.
“Winnie, it’s blank.”
“No, it’s not. There’s?—”
She snatches the canvas from my hands and holds it up so it’s facing me.
There’s not even one brushstroke.
“But—” My eyes dip down to my dress. There’s no paint smeared on the violet silk. Squinting at the canvas, I try to make sense of how it’s a white ground rather than the horrifying image of the icy-eyed old hag.
Neris sets the canvas aside as I scrub my hand down my face. “Come on,” she says. “Our carriage awaits. We have a delivery to make to Lord Owen.”
Owen is our oldest and most loyal book collector. The old man always appreciates personal deliveries from Neris and I rather than having us send it via a delivery service. Normally, I look forward to witnessing the old man’s excitement for a new book, but right now I cannot get my mind away from the images I swore were on the canvas. Hopefully this trip will distract me enough to collect my sanity.
The fresh air is a welcome distraction as Neris and I walk through the city after our delivery. It’s a tad warmer today, allowing us to leave our coats in the carriage, but the gentle breeze that blows through our hair every now and then is on the chilly side. So strange for midsummer.
The atmosphere in Barr na Cahar is austere. Peacekeepers are posted on almost every corner, black uniforms standing out against the grey and red stone of the buildings around us. Their swords and crossbows are a loud warning. Nervous energy runs through me, making my palms sweat and my legs shake.
“I hate this,” Neris whispers beside me. “Walking in the city used to be fun. Now …” She glances around, her hands firmly clasped in front of her as though she’s some demure highborn. Perhaps I should do the same.
I grip the strap of my satchel with both hands as we walk. “Do you think things will ever return to normal?”
Neris scoffs. “Winnie, things weren’t normal in the first place.” She’s quiet for a moment before speaking again, her voicea mere whisper. “Are you going to answer the sovereign’s call for Mages?”
My head whips to her. “Of course not.”
If she notices the quiver in my voice, she doesn’t say anything. “What if Sovereign Rheon truly does give you immunity?” she asks. “You could be rid of this lifestyle. Rid of your Gruff husband for more than just a few nights.” She smirks at her ownGruffjoke again, and my gut clenches with a mixture of revulsion and uneasiness.
“I don’t know if it would be much better than Gruffud.”
“Exactly. Youdon’tknow, Winnie. When are you going to stop being afraid to step out of your comfort zone?”
I halt in the middle of the pedestrian walk, but I wait to speak again as a couple of women in long gowns walk past us. “When are you going to stop lecturing me? Living with the Pendrys is not a comfort zone, it is a safe zone.”
She purses her lips, skepticism painting her features. “You’re telling me you feelsafewith Gruffud.” Her tone is more sardonic and definitive than it is a question.
“Safer than walking into an unknown situation beneath the damnsovereign. Did you forget the mass floggings five years ago by his hand, Reneris?”
“No, but?—”
“Butnothing.” I start walking again, though Neris doesn’t follow. Eventually, I hear the pounding of her shoes against the stones as she catches up with me. We walk in silence, stopping to look in a few shop windows as if we didn’t nearly get into a big argument.
In one window, a gaudy necklace with square-cut emeralds set in gold rests in a velvet box interior. It’s either brave or foolish of the shop owners to leave such a worthy piece of jewelry temptingly visible for thieves. Or perhaps they’re willing to take the risk in hopes of luring in more affluent customers.
Another window displays pottery that looks no different from the dishware I’ve seen in other households around here. Unimaginative, like everything else in this godsforsaken city. Not like the beautiful vase Murtagh once brought as a gift, a piece he acquired from traveling tradesmen.
As we walk past a small alley between two shops, a cry of pain meets my ears. Neris glances around and another cry twists my gut like a knife. I peer into the alley where a plump man is slumped against the wall, clutching his chest with one hand and his head with the other.
Before I can say anything to Neris, she peels off, running into the space between the two buildings and dropping in front of the man. His skin is nearly as pale as the cloudy sky. Sweat sticks his dark hair to his forehead and a stream of ruby red flows from his nose, down his neck. His eyes are bloodshot … or bloodied?
Breathing becomes a challenge for me, and Neris’s words only make it harder. “Winnie, I think he’s had the Cleanse.”
I cannot stop my mind from skidding into the past. I grapple with myself to stay in the present, but I’m pulled away by the memories, and it’s as if I’m the one lying there on the cold ground, bleeding out, bleeding within.
“Winnie!” Neris’s voice snaps me back to our surroundings. I drop down beside her.
