Page 35

W e rode southeast for two full days and crossed the Gravesend River early on the third morning.

Mist still hung over the cold waters, seeping through the trees on the other side.

The horses’ hooves thumped on the wooden beams of the high bridge, high enough for merchant ships to pass beneath on their way to Avanis.

Rolling hills decked in lush summer greenery lay beyond, the road winding up through them.

The city of Avanis came into view, wrapped around the shoulders of a tall hill like a gray shroud.

It was a living creature, a breathing, moving mass of human life that I could hear, smell, and feel as we approached.

At the base of the hill, a harbor was built into a wide natural bend of the river, with rows upon rows of docks busy with ships.

On the hill’s pinnacle squatted the Temple, hunched and hulking like a stone gargoyle, surveying the city beneath.

The wolves dissolved into the misty woods as the road brought us nearer to the city walls.

“Put your hood up,” Byrgir ordered, his voice low, as we approached the city gates.

I glanced back at El. Her wide hood was already up, easily concealing her curled horns.

I saw only the tip of her sharp nose, slim mouth, and jawline beneath its shadow.

I obeyed Byrgir, pulling my own charcoal hood over my light hair, shading my eyes.

I didn’t appreciate his tone, but I understood.

Byrgir led the way to the main gate of Avanis.

Wooden doors thick as tree trunks and nearly as high, braced with iron beams, stood open in a gap in the stone walls that hemmed the city in.

Two guards stationed at the gate looked over me and El with suspicion, but after a reassuring smile from Byrgir, a normal looking human, they nodded us inside.

People bustled about, merchants announcing their wares and prices from carts and storefronts.

Wagons laden with goods thundered by, and music carried out through the open doors of a large pub.

Laughter echoed from inside. A man argued loudly with two city guards while his dog barked at them.

The sounds of our horses’ hooves clacking against clean cobblestone were lost to the rest of the din.

The smell of baked bread, old straw, horse manure, brewing beer, and many other scents I couldn’t untangle from one another filled the streets. The air was still, the morning sun already warming the stone streets beneath us.

The familiar, comforting thrum of nature was suppressed, drowned in stone, muffled by the weight of civilization set squarely atop it.

Soil, plant life, and the soft flow of nature was angled and organized, shaped by refined edges and sharp building blocks.

I felt my anxiety rising, along with the pull of an unfamiliar, unnatural tide.

I had never seen anything like this before.

I could feel the energy of the city around me, thick and chaotic, like swimming in mud.

This is what Eilith had meant when she’d said I needed to learn to filter, to shut off my energy channels.

I had not realized how casual I had become with my energetic awareness in Rhyanaes.

Nearly everyone there had some level of training in the flow of Source.

I was so used to being surrounded by other magic practitioners and warriors, people adept at staying over their own mental center of gravity, that I rarely had to manage it myself.

Even the land there was a comfort, a friend.

But I would drown in this energy if I didn’t take precautions.

I took a deep, grounding breath, then another. I narrowed my focus, brought my awareness back within my body, reeled my sensing in to a tight bubble around myself, Byrgir, and El.

I felt a gentle push against my energetic edge, akin to a calming hand on my shoulder.

The same weight and feel of El’s hand. I glanced back at her again, but she was surveying the contents of a bakery window as we passed, always on the lookout for baked sweets, giving no outward indication that she had reached for me at all.

Byrgir glanced at me with a smile, and his energy shifted to comfort me. Their gentle reassurance was steadying.

We wove through streets, climbing uphill toward the looming Temple.

It grew quieter as we ascended. Where the other city districts had buzzed with life and the sounds and smells of daily human routines, the Temple district was immaculate, spotless, and austere.

Everyone we passed carried themselves with confidence and importance.

El found us an inn in the district, where we had the horses boarded, ate a warm meal, and found the bath house to clean ourselves up.

I opted for the deep ocean-blue dress El had purchased for me from a clothier in Rhyanaes.

It was detailed with silver thread twisted in a simple knotwork pattern that complimented my platinum hair, and laced down the front.

Simple to most, but it was one of the most beautiful garments I’d ever worn.

Both flattering in the bust and loose beneath the cinched waist in case I needed to move or fight.

“Wow,” El whistled, half teasingly, as I stepped out from behind the divider in the bathing room of the inn. “Look at the village kid all cleaned up.”

I gave her a sarcastic curtsy. She wore a beautiful, fitted lace top with flowing sleeves, paired with tight leather pants.

Over the lace top, she wore intricate ring mail that clasped around her throat and fit tightly over her chest. It looked like a delightful mix between light armor and extravagant jewelry.

"Ring mail for a meeting?" I asked.

"Can never be too careful," she said with a wink.

Byrgir was dressed the same as usual when we found him waiting outside the inn for us.

Clean black linen shirt, no leather armor in sight.

Yet his huge sword hung strapped across his back, the hilt visible over his shoulder, gleaming like it had just been cleaned and oiled. A few more daggers hung from his belt.

“You couldn’t look more fae if you tried, El,” Byrgir grumbled.

“Is that a problem?” El challenged.

“Here it is, yes,” he answered. “Keep your cloak on and your hood up.”

“You could’ve tried a bit harder,” El mumbled as we began to wind our way up through cobbled streets to the Temple.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Byrgir asked.

“Nothing, you just didn’t make much of an effort to look like a professional emissary,” El said.

“I’m not a professional emissary,” Byrgir retorted. “I’m just a fighter. Glorified bodyguard. Nothing professional about it.”

“You look like a glorified bodyguard with all that steel,” I said, eying his weaponry.

He shrugged. “I have only one skillset, one job. Not so fancy with the words like the two of you.”

El’s tone became more serious. “Remember what the councilman said, Byrgir. No force. The plan is to deescalate.”

“Didn’t think you’d be the one reminding me of that,” Byrgir answered. “But I know. Just felt wrong going without it all, you know? You brought one too.” He gestured to the small dagger on El’s hip.

“One, Byrgir. I brought one. Not four.”

I watched El as we walked through the streets. I had spent my whole life hiding who––what––I was, and here was El, flaunting it in a place where hostility lurked in every alleyway.

∞∞∞

Four armed guards were posted at the entrance to the Temple grounds. Thick, squat stone walls separated the Temple from the rest of the city below. The guards at the gate stood straight, focused, watching us as we approached.

As we drew closer, I felt a familiar pull.

There was a spark beyond the door, something radiating Source.

It flowed continuously, controlled and directed.

I closed my eyes briefly and reached my awareness for it, but was met with an invisible barrier at the edge of the wall that I could not sense through.

The wards Crow had mentioned. Yet I could still feel pulsing energy on the other side, Source emanating from water and stone.

It was reminiscent of the Arcaena River in Rhyanaes, like its gatestone fountain in the center, but muted somehow.

I was snapped from my metaphysical probing by the guards.

“What is your business at the Temple?” Two stepped forward to meet us, positioning themselves between us and the door. Their tunics beneath were maroon, a yellow sun emblazoned on their breastplates and shields. The symbol of the Paragons of the Light.

“We wish to arrange an audience with the High Deacons,” El answered confidently, smiling sweetly at the younger of the two guards. “Our business is peace.”

From beneath his heavy helmet, the older guard eyed Byrgir’s weaponry, then looked El up and down. His gaze hooked on her eyes, then mine, and his eyes narrowed, brow furrowing into a glower.

“You’re mighty armed for the business of peace,” he said.

“Can never be too careful these days,” El replied. “Shadowfiends are everywhere.”

“Public prayer days are twice a week, no fae-touched allowed. You”––he looked at Byrgir––“can speak to a Deacon after the service. Come back then.”

“I’m afraid we can’t wait,” Byrgir said.

“And I’m afraid I can’t let you in without a scheduled appointment,” the older guard said.

“How are we supposed to schedule an appointment if we can’t get in?” Byrgir asked, and the older guard glared at him.

“Come back for the service. Now shove off,” the guard snapped.

The air stirred around me and there was a tingle of Sourcery. I glanced at El, but she was smiling sweetly at the young guard, who shifted on his feet. His eyes fell to her and he smiled a strange, dopey grin. His cheeks flushed.

“Wait… I’ve seen you here before,” he said to El. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Go on in. Apologies for the inconvenience, Miss.”