As we stand on the edge of the market, I struggle to mesh my memory of this place with what lies before me.
There are no market sellers set up with overflowing stands. No one exiting a ship or lining up to board another. Children aren’t racing through the streets being yelled at as they haphazardly knock things over.
A memory surfaces of a boy with a toothless grin stealing anapple, his wide eyes terrified that I was going to rat him out. I didn’t, of course. But that boy, wherever he might be, isn’t here.
In fact, there’sno onehere. Not a single soul.
It’s deathly silent. So quiet that I hadn’t noticed we’d arrived.
I have to see more—have to understandwhythe once-overflowing market town now looks like a tornado came through and swept everything and everyone away.
My feet are moving before I can stop them, ignoring my name being called out behind me as I dash into the rows of empty stalls. I’m faintly aware of Soren quick on my heels, his fur brushing against my hands.
Feet patter behind me, but all other noises fall away—muted beneath the sound of my heavy breaths.
Carts with broken wheels lay stranded near the docks as if people couldn’t take the time to come back for them, rotted fruit smashed around their base as if trampled.
I spin around, half-sprinting as my stupid dress starts to get wrapped around my ankles. I grab fistfuls of the fabric and yank it up, my jog turning into a full run.
The tavern that always saw at least one fight a day in front of it had its shutters closed, thick strips of wood nailed in an X over them. The door of the madam’s house, where my guard would often disappear, hung off its hinges, glass scattered beneath its windows.
Allof the shops are boarded up.
This isn’t the market I grew up in.
I take a sharp right, going deeper into the heart of the city. My pace doesn’t lessen, my feet carrying me in a light jog past stall after abandoned stall. Soren stays at my hip, matching every step.
Movement catches my attention from the corner of my eye, crates teetering atop what looks like an old bread stand—spoiled leftovers scattered around its base. I skitter to a stop, Graylen’s footsteps close behind me as he catches up.
I slowly peer around the table. Soren sniffs the air as he creeps past me.
The moment his giant snout crosses to the back side of the crate-filled stall, a scream pierces the air, followed by a plea.
“Get back!” a panicked feminine voice squeals. “I’ve got nothing for you here.”
My muscles tense, hand reaching for my dagger—but then Soren jumps back, giving a wide berth. Graylen is at my side in an instant, heat rippling off him as his magic seeps from his pores.
“Lu—”
The wail of an infant fills the air.
Graylen and I freeze.
Soren looks back at me—and IswearI can see the message in his gaze:they aren’t a threat. He bounces away, pacing behind Graylen and me.
Slowly, I walk around the crates, my lips parting when I see what Soren found.
“Fucking Divine,” Graylen murmurs beneath his breath as he closes in behind me. Then, louder, to the approaching soldiers—who likely heard the scream—he shouts, “We’re good here!”
The words barely reach my ears.
My body numbs—lungs seizing and breath caught.
A sickly, thin woman in a tattered gown crouches against the ground, a baby wrapped in dirty cloth clutched to her chest. She shushes its cries. Her face is smeared with dirt, but her eyes blaze with the fierceness of a mother prepared to protect her child.
My hands fly up in surrender, and I rush out, “I won’t hurt you.”
Her eyes dart to the dagger on my thigh, then back up to my face.
