It is said that the gods had no word for grief. They did not need one. Mortals invented the concept of grief — along with the idea that something beautiful could end.
When the Allmother's daughter was taken from her, she did not weep. Those who witnessed it said her face showed something they could not name. In the language of the river basin, the closest word is used for the moment after stepping off solid ground and before realizing that you are falling.
— Chronicle of the First Age. Ledger Archives. Transcriber unknown.
Morning’s first light had begun to spill into the streets, and a handful of people had stepped out of their homes to resume their lives as if nothing had happened. For Rhoren, however, it felt as though the same day had never truly ended. It simply kept going, without rest, without pause, without giving him so much as a moment to breathe.
As the sunrise stung his eyes, the thought that it was already too late to sleep kept echoing in his head, adding a fresh layer of irritation to a face that was already never far from displeasure. He stood smoking in the side alley across from the building’s entrance, on an empty stomach.
At that hour, there were few smells in the city better than fresh bread just out of the oven, and the scent reached him before the man he had sent to fetch food did. His stomach growled in answer, as if his body itself were begging for some small reminder of normal life.
“Your bread, Captain,” the man said at last, holding out the still-steaming loaf wrapped in a scrap of paper. “I had them add a little honey too.”
“Thanks, Sergeant,” Rhoren replied, reaching for the bread without even looking at the man’s face. Then, gesturing toward the rest of the loaves in the bag, he added, “Hand them out quickly. Don’t draw too much attention.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man saluted with a nod and crossed to the two figures at the corner who stood in plain clothes, pretending to be ordinary men in conversation. Without a word, he handed them their bread and quickly disappeared into the alley across from the building.
Once something warm had finally made it down his throat, a little color returned to Rhoren’s face. He ate fast, and the only thought in his head was of getting another cigarette lit as soon as he finished.
“Enjoying your meal?”
The flat voice from behind him came at exactly that moment.
Rhoren paused briefly with the last bite in his mouth, then kept chewing. Somehow the bread had already gone cold. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t answer. Instead, he let the man come to him while trying to finish the last crumbs of what little peace he had managed to carve out for himself.
When Tarr’en came up beside him, he glanced across the front of the building and asked, “Any luck?”
Rhoren had already managed to light his cigarette. After the first drag, he let the smoke out slowly, relaxing for a brief moment under the comfort of a full stomach and hot tobacco.
“A few more girls went in,” he said, “but none came out.”
“Our fugitive also lives—”
“The building across the block,” Rhoren cut in before he could finish. He already knew where Tarr’en was going with that and had no patience left for his slow, deliberate way of speaking. “No movement there. And after our bait went into her room, no light came on. Most likely she’s asleep.”
He took another drag, then finally turned toward him.
“Look,” he said, scanning the gaps between the buildings and the adjoining side streets, “it wasn’t a bad idea. But if she hasn’t come by now...” He left the rest unsaid and exhaled smoke instead. “And even if she did, she’d probably spot your men standing around the front in those same clothes and run the other way.”
Tarr’en kept his eyes on the block, the openings, the side streets.
“If I’m not mistaken, the inner side of these buildings—”
“The courtyard. Yes,” Rhoren interrupted again.
This time, Tarr’en’s eyebrow gave the faintest irritated twitch.
“My men are watching every access point that opens into it,” Rhoren went on. “I’ll wait a few more hours, leave two men here, and move the rest to the harbor. The only real place she can escape through.”
“I sent Ledger men to the harbor,” Tarr’en replied. “And I arranged for others in civilian clothes as well.” Then, lowering his voice, he added, “Even so, I expected her to come here. If not for the girl, then at least to see her home one last time.”
“Like I said,” Rhoren began again, cutting into his train of thought, “if she hasn’t come by now—”
Tarr’en never heard the end of it.
Something caught in his mind with the force of a blow. A sudden ringing filled his head, and his eyes widened as they fixed on the building.
“When,” he asked abruptly, “did you get here?”
Rhoren frowned, though he answered. “About an hour ago. It was still dark. My men got here maybe half an hour before that. Why?”
“She never entered the building?”
“No,” Rhoren answered, his teeth tightening.
“And no one came out?”
“Didn’t you just hear me say that?” His patience was almost gone now.
Tarr’en turned to him at last and asked the question that mattered.
“Did anyone check inside the building?”
That stopped Rhoren cold.
“No.”
For the first time, Tarr’en looked him squarely in the eye.
“So you never actually confirmed whether anyone was inside the girl’s room?”
Rhoren went rigid. His eyes widened, and in the next instant he spun toward the building. He hurled the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and started moving at once.
Tarr’en followed, and for once nearly kept pace with him.
“You check the bait,” Rhoren barked as they reached the alley mouth. “I’m going to the fugitive’s room.”
Then he broke away, running straight toward the building, while Tarr’en veered right.
“Come with me!” Tarr’en shouted to the two men posted by the inner opening.
He plunged into the narrow passage leading into the block, crossed the courtyard between the buildings at speed, and continued through the second narrow passage on the far side. The men behind him were almost at his heels, running with their hands on the hilts of the thin standard Warden swords at their belts.
The moment Tarr’en emerged into the opposite street, he pivoted and lunged for the building entrance. He took the two shallow steps in a single stride and burst inside.
“Search every room!” he shouted to his men. “You know who we’re here for.”
It didn’t take him long to notice that the names were written beside the doors. He swept his eyes across them while running up the corridor and climbed to the upper floor at speed until he found what he was looking for.
Without hesitation he seized the narrow hallway table—a plain thing with a vase and daisies standing on top of it—and lifted it bodily. The vase crashed to the floor and shattered, flowers and water scattering across the boards. Gripping the solid top of the table, he swung it forward into the handle of the door marked Kaelin.
The first blow produced a hard crack, but the door held.
He pulled back, gathered himself, and hit it again. This time the handle splintered and tore loose.
For the last strike he aimed higher, where the inner bolt held the door shut, and brought the table edge down hard. The bolt ripped free, and the door flew open.
By the time the other men reached him, drawn by the noise, they found Tarr’en standing in the middle of the room, breath coming hard.
No one was there.
Only the dark curtain, half lifted by the breeze coming through the open window.
At that exact same moment, in the building across the block, Rhoren was already storming up the stairs with his men. He had no intention of wasting time knocking—and still less of risking the girl’s escape if she happened to be inside.
He skipped the last stair, reached the second floor, and shouted to the others:
“Break every door!”
◈◈◈
Kaelin and Mayra were pulling on their clothes in frantic haste as the sound of doors being struck and splintering somewhere below drew nearer and nearer.
“Only take what you can carry. We have to get out of here now,” Kaelin hissed, her voice half whisper, half growl.
“Most of my clothes are under the bed,” Mayra said, but her expression made it clear she had already abandoned them in her mind.
Kaelin, now shrugging on her jacket, caught Mayra’s hand in a hard grip.
“We’ll get new ones,” she said, looking directly into her eyes.
She was frightened. That much was obvious. But there was something else in her face too—a sharp little brightness, the kind of hope that only came from knowing you were no longer alone.
The moment the door of the neighboring room was broken in, Kaelin understood they had no time left.
Still holding Mayra by the hand, she pulled her toward the window and cast a quick glance outside. When she saw two wardens entering the inner yard through the narrow passage, she realized there was only one direction left for them to go. Grabbing Mayra by the arm, she pushed her toward the sill.
“Come on. Up. To the roof.”
“The roof?” Mayra faltered in surprise.
“The next room has a balcony. If we can get across to it, we can climb up from there,” Kaelin answered, already gripping the window frame and lowering herself out.
She felt for footing on the old building’s warped outer boards, which bulged outward and had split in places with age, stretching her leg toward the next balcony. Behind her, Mayra leaned out the window and watched with open worry.
At last Kaelin’s foot found the edge of the railing. In one quick, athletic motion, she threw herself across and landed on the narrow balcony. When she looked back, she saw Mayra still hesitating at the window, trying to force herself out.
“You can do it,” Kaelin urged, though in truth she was trying to make her hurry. “Step on the ledge. I’ll hold you.”
Mayra carefully placed the tip of her foot on the strip of wood jutting out between the window and the balcony, slowly shifting her weight onto it while reaching one trembling hand toward Kaelin. At that exact instant, the room behind them exploded with a crash as the door gave way. Startled, Mayra lost her balance.
She would have fallen backward if Kaelin had not caught her by the arm and yanked her sharply toward herself. The two of them tumbled together into the narrow balcony.
They were still trying to scramble upright when Mayra saw the man climbing out of the window.
Kaelin, still facing away from him as she pushed herself up, noticed Mayra staring behind her in fear. When she whipped her head around, she saw Rhoren hauling himself onto the sill.
“Shit!”
“Hurry, climb!” Kaelin shouted, but while she said it, Mayra was still looking past her toward the opposite building. In the window of the farther house, she saw a flash. The instant she caught sight of the metal object being thrust outward from that window, she stopped thinking altogether. She threw herself at Kaelin, wrapped her arms around her, and twisted her to the side.
Then came the shot.
Bam.
The sound echoed violently in the space between the buildings. Kaelin and Rhoren both turned toward it by reflex and saw the figure leaning out of the distant window: Tarr’en. He had thrust himself halfway out of Kaelin’s room, holding the small pistol toward them in a grip so natural it looked like an extension of his own hand, its barrel still smoking.
The moment Kaelin understood what had happened, it felt as though all the blood drained from her body. Her hands went cold. Mayra, still clinging to her, let out a rough, broken sound as if she were trying to breathe through pain, and it felt to Kaelin as if something had seized her stomach and wrung it tight.
“No. No... no, no...”
When Mayra lost her balance and had to brace herself against the balcony railing, Kaelin saw the hand she pulled from her back come away bright red.
“We can still do this, please,” Kaelin said, tears already spilling from her eyes. “We’re so close. Don’t leave me.”
Rhoren, shaken for only an instant, had already recovered and was climbing fully out the window, searching for somewhere to plant his feet.
“Go. Get out of here!” Mayra cried, shoving Kaelin away from her.
Kaelin staggered toward the other end of the balcony, but managed to catch hold of the narrow rung of the crude ladder fixed against the wall and leading to the roof. When she looked back again, she saw Mayra, in agony, gathering all the strength she had left and climbing onto the balcony rail. She smiled, her eyes bright even through the pain.
“This was the most beautiful morning of my life.”
Then she turned, caught hold of Rhoren as he reached her, and threw herself backward off the balcony with him.
When both of them vanished from sight, Kaelin froze. Her ears rang so violently that she did not even hear the crash from below when they hit the ground. Still in shock, she lurched toward the edge of the balcony, but as the hand she had braced on the ladder slipped free, another hand seized her and dragged her sharply back.
When she turned, she found herself staring into a familiar face.
Veylith was half-slung down from the roof, one arm stretched toward her, her hand clamped around Kaelin’s wrist.
“Come on,” she said, hauling her upward. “This way.”
Before Kaelin could even understand what was happening, she found herself dragged up onto the roof beside Veylith. She could no longer think. She didn’t know what she should do. It was as though something in her had frozen in the instant Mayra disappeared.
Veylith still hadn’t let go of her hand. She pulled Kaelin across the rooftop to the side overlooking the street, and then Kaelin saw Ravah on the corner of a roof opposite theirs, a roof slightly higher than the one they stood on. Ravah was facing them, swinging a coil of rope in her hand. A moment later she hurled it with all her strength.
Veylith caught it in midair, then in one swift movement looped the rope twice around her arm and gripped it tight. Kaelin, still trying to understand what they were doing, suddenly felt Veylith’s arm clamp around her waist and pull her hard against her. For such a lean, long-limbed woman, her strength was startling, and by the time Kaelin grasped what she meant to do, it was too late.
“Hold on!”
Veylith tightened her grip on Kaelin and dropped.
Kaelin’s breath locked inside her throat; she was too terrified even to scream. Suspended on the rope, the two of them swung out over the street and shot toward the narrow alley Ravah had aimed them toward. They were moving too fast to stop, though, and after plunging down into the alley they swung upward again, then arced backward. On that second pass, Veylith managed to let them fall into a heap of rubbish.
Kaelin had kept her eyes shut the whole time. When she finally dared to open them, she realized she was lying sprawled across Veylith in the middle of the garbage. The adrenaline that had driven her through the last few moments now turned on her all at once. Her vision blurred, darkened, and she collapsed back against the woman beneath her.
“Come on. Open your eyes.”
As her sight cleared, she saw who was bending over her.
The moment she recognized Vaelra, something inside her gave way. Her whole body was still numb, but a knot in her chest broke open and she suddenly threw her arms around her, sobbing. Vaelra held her tightly.
“I know,” she murmured.
However much she tried to hide it, her own eyes were red. It was written plainly across her face how deeply she felt for her.
“They’re coming. We don’t have time for this,” Veylith said, standing over them. She had already seen the men emerging into the street from the building across from them. Turning to Vaelra, she asked, “Did you get the robes?”
Vaelra answered by tapping the satchel at her waist.
“As we discussed,” Veylith said, her face strained, “put them on and melt into the crowd. We’ll meet at the tavern.” Then, in a lower voice, she added, “Hopefully.”
When voices began rising from the mouth of the street, Kaelin, still half on the ground, turned her head and saw that the men chasing them had spotted them. Veylith stepped in front of her and pointed upward in the direction they had come from. When Kaelin looked, she saw Tivver standing on the roof of a low, one-story building. He lit the end of a sack he held with sparks struck from the stones in his hand, then looked down toward the men entering the street and hurled it.
The sack hit the ground with a thick, heavy pop, almost like a grain sack bursting when thrown down, and smoke billowed out at once. Then Kaelin saw another sack fly in the same direction. This time she spotted Darian crouched among a stack of wooden barrels. When his sack burst as well, half the street disappeared into smoke.
“Go!” Veylith shouted to them. “We’ll buy you a little time!”
At that, Vaelra grabbed Kaelin by the arms and hauled her upright. She reached into the bag at her belt and pulled out two robes, one a faded burgundy, the other black. She threw the burgundy one over her own shoulders and tied it quickly, then swung the black one around Kaelin and settled it over her shoulders as well. Kaelin found herself staring blankly at Vaelra’s hands as they worked. When she had tied the knot, Vaelra suddenly took Kaelin’s face between both hands and looked straight into her eyes.
“Are you ready?”
She was waiting for an answer.
Kaelin was not well. She was nowhere near ready. But she could not allow the people who had come for her to die because of her. So she nodded.
Vaelra pulled the hood up over Kaelin’s head, took her hand tightly, and began to run with her toward the far side of the street.
As they fled, Veylith turned back toward the smoke-swallowed road. Her coat flared behind her as she reached beneath it for the pistols at her waist. Through the dense smoke she could already hear the men advancing. With a pistol in either hand, she walked toward them, and the smoke closed around her.