Page 3 of Veil of Web and Ruin

It is certainly not compassion that stays the king’s hand, though perhaps it is simply that, as far as he’s concerned, the city of Wrohelm ends at the sixth ring.

Does he consider the people who exist beyond the concentric walls to be as repugnant as the Torailian or the Issen?

I push my way through the crowds, tuning out the usual curses at King Korvane and the back-and-forth pleas of desperate bartering.

Our lives here are a refrain of pleas with other Morathkians, and with the Gods and Goddesses, though I have long since ceased wondering if they hear us here.

They don’t. No one does.

As I squeeze my way past a woman grappling to keep her three children in tow, someone grabs my arm. I swing around, ready to knock the person off, only to be struck with the stench of alcohol, which spills from every pore of the haggard man’s frame.

Anger surges through me that he is this drunk this early in the day; it reminds me of Father, forever drinking away what little coin we managed to scrape together. Drinking us into desperation and destitution.

‘There will be a Retterheld soon,’ the man slurs. ‘One a century. Etta will take me. Wait and see. I’ll show that fucking Korvane.’

He all but falls into me as he stumbles, and I suppress a snort of pure derision. He may be right about a Retterheld coming, but only nobles and knights may enter, and this man is neither of those. Etta’s great gifting is as far from him as a full stomach is for me.

‘Sure,’ I say, patting his shoulder and pushing him gently to sit on a crate where he continues mumbling about the Gods andhis impending – albeit delusional – triumph as I make my way to Rula’s stall.

At a glance, the racketeer looks like a motherly matron with her rounded figure and flushed cheeks.

But her appearance alone should be warning enough.

Only the unscrupulous are fat here, and with the wealth she has extorted and squirrelled away, she could easily afford a place in the inner rings, but she chooses to remain here, queen of the desperate.

She would rather be someone here than a no one within the rings.

As I approach, Rula is talking to a young couple standing in front of her stall, which on the surface appears to be selling wooden utensils. But no one goes to Rula for what’s on display. No, it’s what’s hidden under the fabric that matters. That’s where my tonics will go.

I drop into line at the back of the queue, although it only takes a moment before she looks in my direction and catches my eye. She jerks her head, summoning me forward. Unease causes me to falter. She usually makes me wait, keen to indulge in any opportunity to exercise her power.

‘Come back later,’ she says bluntly to the couple.

‘But we?—’

‘I said later,’ she repeats. Her words are clipped, and there’s a glint in her eyes that says if they don’t obey, she’ll make sure they’re sorry.

Muttering, the pair slink off, leaving me space to step forward.

‘I’ve got six for today,’ I tell her. ‘And they’re good. Potent stuff. I refined my mother’s recipe a bit to balance out the lack of magic.’

‘Don’t care how it works, as long as it does,’ she grunts.

‘It does,’ I say, pulling them from my pockets. But I don’t pass them to her straightaway. ‘I know you’re selling the vials for more than when we started,’ I say, my throat dry. I force myself to continue. ‘And they’re better now than they were back then.’

She arches an eyebrow. ‘And your point is?’

‘You’re making more money off my tonics now,’ I state simply, ‘so I should be getting more too.’

‘I’m sorry, were you under the impression that the world was fair, kid?’ I bristle at the term. I’m nineteen, not nine. She continues, gesturing between the two of us. ‘That’s not how this works.’

‘I know, I know. But you said, when we first arrived, that you would try to find something for Kay.Suitablework.’

Despite my best tutelage, Kay’s potion-making is worse than hopeless, and like everyone in this life, her options remain limited.

‘Kay?’ Rula repeats blankly.

‘Acacia. My sister.’