Elora nodded again, stuffing the coins back into her satchel. “Thanks.”
The man hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he said nothing more. Instead, he turned back toward the docked ships, his boots clunking heavily against the weathered wood. Elora took her first deep breath, her fingers loosening their death grip on her bag strap.
Rainy Duckling Inn. She repeated the name silently as she made her way toward the steps leading up to the market. Above her, an archway loomed, the words ‘Ravenpoint Harbor’ burned into eroded wood, each letter blackened and cracked.
This was exactly where Tehvan said she would end up. A flicker of hope stirred inside her, but it was doused just as quickly by the urgency of what came next. She needed to keep moving to make it through The Whispering Woods and reach Kilfaire in time to meet him.
The city unfolded before her in layers of disorder. Its buildings rose like precarious towers, leaning against one another as if they’d collapse without support. Rickety bridges and walkways crisscrossed above, creating a tangled web that creaked and swayed with every gust of wind. A lone child dartedacross one of the higher platforms, and Elora half-expected the whole structure to give way beneath their feet.
At street level, shadows pooled thick between the leaning structures, their foundations sinking unevenly into the cobblestones. The facades were battered and grim, paint peeling in streaks to reveal warped wood beneath. Between the buildings, ropes hung heavy with laundry that fluttered weakly in the wind. The damp air carried the smell of mildew and stale water. Ravenpoint felt alive, but in the worst way. Like an old, weary thing, struggling to keep itself upright.
Elora tugged her hood lower over her face as she slipped into the crowded market. The press of bodies closed in on all sides, the buzz of conversation blending with the shouts of merchants hawking goods from battered stalls. But it wasn’t the noise or the crowd that made her heart hammer—it was the imperial guards stationed at the market's perimeter. They stood in stiff clusters, sharp-eyed and alert, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. Their uniforms gleamed spotlessly, a stark contrast to the city’s grime.
Elora ducked her head even lower, biting back the panic clawing at her throat. She didn’t belong here. Even in this city of weary faces and threadbare clothing, she stood out like a scar. Her salt-stiffened dress and haggard appearance made her seem utterly wretched, compared to the locals who, while far from pristine or prosperous, seemed leagues better off than her. One glance too long, one wrong move, and the guards would have all the reason they needed to haul her off into some shadowy corner for questioning.
She pressed her thumb into her palm, the familiar gesture grounding her as it always had. It was something she used to do to steady her heartbeat, back when she didn’t want Tehvan to know what she was feeling. She knew he wouldn’t have removed the enchanted ring, and she hated the thought of him feeling the erratic rhythm of her fear now, miles away, unable to help. So, she pressed harder, willing her pulse to even out, trying to convince herself as much as him that she was okay. She wasn’t. But he didn’t need to know that.
Two blocks down the main road, Elora spotted the alleyway the dockworker had described, a narrow corridor cloaked in shadows that defied the midday sun. The first building on the corner had a weathered facade streaked with filth, its wooden sign creaking softly in the thick, humid air. A scruffy duckling etched into the wood huddled under carved raindrops, perpetually caught in a downpour, giving theRainy Duckling Innits peculiar name.
Inside, the air felt close, thick with the mingling aromas of aging wood, stale ale, and the faint tang of mildew. Timeworn tapestries hung limply from the walls, their once-vivid colors now muted and tired. Sturdy wooden tables with mismatched chairs were scattered haphazardly across the common room, and though the fire in the hearth had long since died out, the heat lingered, trapped beneath the low, sagging ceiling.
Patrons slumped in their chairs as they nursed mugs of watered-down ale. A few had dragged tables closer to the windows, trying to catch the occasional wisp of air that drifted in from outside.
Conversations, already low and subdued, fell silent as Elora entered. Eyes turned toward her with fleeting interest, theirguarded curiosity dissolving into collective disappointment. It seemed they were expecting someone else.
Phew.Elora exhaled and made her way toward the bar. “How much for a room?”
“One silver a night.” The innkeeper, a stout woman with streaks of gray in her tightly bound hair, barely glanced up from the mug she was cleaning. Her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, revealing arms damp with sweat, and the rag in her hand worn as thin as the patience on her face.
Elora placed a silver round onto the counter, and the innkeeper snatched up the coin without a glance before sliding a tarnished key across the bar. "Up the stairs, second door on the right," she muttered, her attention already drifting back to the mug in her hand.
The door to Elora’s room hung slightly askew, its hinges groaning as it creaked open. Inside, the faded wallpaper peeled from the walls, curling at the edges to reveal patches of discolored plaster. The worn floorboards protested underfoot as she stepped inside, their creaks loud enough to make her wince. A solitary window sat on the far wall, its moth-eaten curtains barely filtering the dim light of the humid afternoon. The bed was modest, a narrow frame with a lumpy mattress and thin sheets, but she knew it would be a hundred times better than the thin mattresses the wards slept on.
The faint scent of dampness hung in the air, a reminder of the storms that frequently drowned the city. But she barely noticed. She needed to wash away the remnants of the Institute and the bad memories that clung to her skin. She could almost still feel Thorn’s hands around her arms and throat; just thinking about it made herstomach churn. She dropped her satchel onto the bed, her fingers trembling as she fumbled for the washroom.
Once inside, she wasted no time stripping off her dress. The uniform that had classified her as worthless to The Empire clung to her skin, stubborn and unyielding, until she finally peeled it away.
Well, notcompletelyworthless,she thought bitterly.Thorn and Gerard had certainly found use for me, hadn’t they?Her chest tightened at the thought, memories clawing at the edges of her mind. She shook her head sharply, refusing to let them surface.Not now.
Elora turned her attention to the tub, the water warm and waiting. She slid into it with a shuddering sigh, the heat sinking into her muscles and washing away the grime and salt of the past few days. For the first time in a month, she felt a whisper of peace. The weight of the Institute and its inhuman practices was gone, if only for a moment.
She closed her eyes and let herself sink deeper into the water’s gentle embrace. Yes, she was on the run, constantly under the threat of capture, of being dragged back into Thorn’s cruel hands. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, she was free.
Chapter 3
Elora
Elora had barely made it to the bed after her bath, her body surrendering to exhaustion the moment she collapsed onto the mattress. She hadn’t bothered to dress; the cool air dried her damp skin as she drifted into a dreamless, heavy sleep.
When she woke, the sun had dipped low, its fading golden light slipping through the thin curtains. Elora blinked groggily, momentarily disoriented, before reality crept back in. Her freedom was a fragile thing, and every second she lingered here chipped away at the time she had to stay ahead of Thorn.
She pulled herself upright, wincing as her stiff muscles protested. Her bag sat where she’d left it, slouched at the foot of the bed. She rummaged through it, fingers brushing against fabric that wasn’t the dull gray of the ward uniform.
The dress was clean and practical; a loose cream-colored skirt paired with a dark blue bodice that laced snugly at her waist. She tugged it on, the soft fabric brushing against her now-clean skin, and cinched the belt firmly around her middle. Over it, she clasped her brown cloak at her throat, its edges frayed like a child’s well-loved blanket, but sturdy enough to shield her from prying eyes.
She saw her reflection in the cracked mirror on the far wall. Her dark hair, freshly washed, hung in soft waves over her shoulders,free of the tangles and salt that had matted it for days. Freckles dotted her cheeks, more pronounced now against her sun-kissed skin, and her pale blue eyes shimmered with the ring of gold around her pupils. The only hint of the magic that flowed through her veins, thanks to Thorn’s latest experiment.
The sight gave her pause. She looked… herself again. Not a ward of the Institute. Not property. Just Elora.
