The man walked on, ignoring her.
There was a woman approaching from the opposite direction, basket in hand. “Hey,” Thia tried again, louder this time. The woman stopped. “I need a healer.”
She shook her head and brushed by.
Shit.Thia was no good at this. She wasn’t assertive enough. She’d done her best to avoid people most of her life, and now that was going to get Oskaren killed.
There was a man on a horse rounding the corner, his clothes bright and luxurious. Thia waved her good hand, and when he didn’t acknowledge her, she lurched forward and touched his boot. “Please,” she started.
He peered down at her with a disgusted yelp and kicked his horse into motion. It trotted away from her, and he did not spare a backward glance.
Deciding people at the gates were too focused on their destinations, Thia set off deeper into the city. She turned left and knocked on the first door. No answer. Another door. This one opened, but was quickly slammed in her face by a woman with a child on each hip, a third clutching her leg.
Urgency clawed Thia’s throat. She pushed her way down street after street, but no one would help. Few were polite; one man was kind but only told her that healers never worked without pay, and the likes of her couldn’t afford the fare.
She walked until her feet ached, until her throat was raw from screaming over the city noise to get people’s attention. She was thirsty, and her stomach rumbled painfully. She prayed Thran had fared better.
But when the sun was gone beyond the walls of the city, and the sky began to darken, she returned to the gate to see that he hadn’t. He was waiting with a furrowed brow that relaxed when he noticed her approach.
“No luck?” he asked, as she halted in front of him.
“No one would help. No one would even look at me.”
“They’re afraid.”
Thia’s gaze jumped to his. “Of me?”
“Of everyone. They’ve lived too long in the shadow of the Lightning Tower.”
Thia shivered. She couldn’t let herself dwell on that tower, and the king within. She had to focus on saving Oskaren.
“We best get off the streets.” His sight was on the horizon. “Come. I saw an inn that way.” He set off in the opposite direction, leaving Thia to fall into step behind him.
To her relief, the inn wasn’t far, perhaps ten minutes or so. They reached it just as the Lightning Tower lit up. This close, the pillar of energy was terrifying. It flashed for only its usual second, but it cast the city in an eerie yellow glow, and the boom of thunder that accompanied it nearly sent Thia to her knees. Heat washed over her, hungry and strange, and then it was gone, leaving her panting.
Thran was grim as he ushered her into the alcove of the inn’s entrance. “That’s curfew. Hurry.”
The inn was a decrepit place, wooden beams damp and rotting. The sign above readThe King’s Command,and Thia wondered if that was its original name or if they had been forced to change it at some point upon King Caradoc’s rise to the throne. Thran pressed the creaky door open, and Thia scrambled after. She was short but still had to duck through the arch to enter.
Inside was dim and musty, a hearth on the far wall empty of flame. There was a bar to the left, only one patron seated at it, his face obscured by a hood. After the noise of the city, it was eerily quiet, the only sound the creak of wooden steps as a young woman in a plain brown dress descended. She had white skin that looked as though it couldn’t remember the touch of sunlight, her hair a pale gold swept into a bun.
She glanced between Thran and Thia. “You cut it close.”
Thran nodded. “We was lookin’ fer a healer.”
Thia’s attention flickered to the older man. His accent had definitely changed, the words clipped, more tentative. He flashed her a meaningful look, and she hoped her face was clear of surprise.
“Hard to come by these days,” the woman said. “I’m Mara. How can I help you?”
“Need a room fer me ‘n’ my daughter, if you’ve got it,” he said.
“Oh, we’ve got it,” Mara replied. “Few spend the night in Cyning, if they can help it.” She sounded bitter. There were purple circles under her eyes visible even in the dim, a weary stoop to her shoulders. “Letter of entrance?”
Thran showed her the parchment the guards had provided and she nodded. “Thank you.”
“Do you run this place by yourself?” Thia asked.
Mara glanced at her. “Since my father was called in the last conscription.” She bowed. “A great honor to serve His Majesty.” It was hard to tell, since she was a stranger, and her tone was light and airy, but Thia thought there was a hint of sarcasm in it. She straightened. “I’ll show you to the room.”
