She sent the melody into the kitchen, filling her voice with as much soothing sleepiness as she could.
Peter touched her arm. “I think you’ve done it.”
She opened her eyes.
He was already stepping into the large room. Sticking to the shadowed areas, they quickly made their way past the two girls. One was leaning over the counter, her hands—and now face—buried in flour. The other had fallen asleep standing against the wall with a broom in her hand.
Aizel hoped they woke peacefully before their taskers found they had nodded off.
The kitchen opened to a large, ungated courtyard. Moments later, she and Peter were speeding down the open road.
He was breathing heavily, so she wrapped her arm through his. “We did it,” she whispered, hoping to hearten the old man. “Let’s put as much distance between us and that marble monstrosity as we can.”
Peter nodded, not bothering to waste his precious breath on speaking.
Aizel had no idea where they were going, but they turned onto the nearest side street and walked quietly in the shadows of the nearby homes and fences.
She helped Peter move along as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to rush the old man, but she was also anxious to get as far away as possible.
“Here.” Peter pointed down the back of a rundown alleyway.
“You know this area?” Aizel couldn’t see much in the darkness, but this particular street was definitely leading them away from the finer homes in the city. That felt like a good thing.
Peter nodded. “I have friends close by.”
Aizel moved forward with a renewed energy of her own. They had been walking for less than an hour when Peter finally indicated a wooden building up ahead. Its metal sign hung from a post. Three large letters spelled out “Ale.” A metal bird with large, sharp claws sat atop the sign.
Aizel wasn’t particularly fond of taverns, but she trusted Peter’s friends more than she did Erich’s.
“Back door,” Peter wheezed.
She led them around the building and they finally stopped, catching their breaths in the darkness.
“You’re sure this is safe?” she asked. “Even... for me?”
“It was safe two years ago,” Peter responded. “I can’t promise more than that.” Reaching out, he tapped on the door, knocking out a specific rhythm on the wooden surface.
Aizel glanced around the alley. She hoped it was loud enough to wake the owners of the establishment but quiet enough not to wake anyone else.
Finally, she heard footsteps on the other side of the door.
Peter pulled back his hand and stepped protectively in front of her.
Appreciating the gesture—even though he was in a far worse condition than she was—Aizel placed her hand supportively on his shoulder.
The door creaked open quietly and a woman’s face peered out. She was wearing a fluffy nightcap and had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “What is the most powerful weapon?” she whispered.
Aizel couldn’t make out her face in the darkness, but she imagined the woman was squinting at them.
“Harmony,” Peter whispered back.
The lady stepped back into the house, pushing the door open for them to enter.
When they were safely inside with the door closed, she lit a small lantern.
When she could finally see them properly, her face went as white as the nightcap on her head. “Peter? Is that really you?”
“Aye, Doona, it is.”
