To overthrow the cruel King who brutally slaughtered her foremothers, the last surviving water witch Elara Consuli must team up with novice warrior Juda Vikaris from the Serpent Order and realise an ancient prophecy, before the blood-thirsty ruler d...
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Elara kept her pace steady until she was out of sight and out of earshot.
With each step she was certain the next would end with the sound of the gaining footsteps of the Highguards and a blade in her back. As she drew farther from what could very well have been her last breath, she knew good fortune was hers, and yet why did it feel as if death lurked at her shoulder?
This new and unexpected encounter with the thief novice who'd invaded the sacred temple of the Naiad had rattled her to the core.
Discovering he was a regular at Clova Dell's place was one problem that she knew she would have to deal with sooner rather than later, but to discover him here in the mid echelon, on this very tide, was a nightmare made real.
Everything about him made her mind whirl and eddy. He'd come to possess a space in her head she simply could not spare on a murderous, brutal creature such as he. She did not have the time nor the extra energy to exert on a Highguard who confounded her at every turn. The way in which he'd looked at her. How he'd stepped into the fray in order to take control of the exchange between Elara and his companion. She had no doubt that he'd done it to save his own, worthless skin, but that didn't mean she wasn't left reeling.
He could have revealed her true identity. He should have. And yet, he'd said nothing, bidding her farewell with that fake By Ban-Keren brogboar shit that seemed to lean towards an unspoken understanding between them.
Silence for silence. This had been their trade.
How could she ever truly believe such a thing was possible?
She should have felt gladdened that her secret remained just that, but knowing that it was held in the tight grasp of an apparently traitorous Highguard did nothing to lift her spirits. Instead, she felt hunted. Watched. As if the eyes of the entire Order, and their bastard murderous King, were upon her.
A shiver coursed over her skin and she cursed the other novice for slicing through her cloak, when the skies had muted the sun overhead and conjured a chill over the citadel. The wound on her chest throbbed a little from the Highguard's probing touch and she had to adjust her tunic higher than she'd have liked in order to cover it, but needs must. Now was not the time to look like trouble – not the kind of trouble that would concern the merchant with whom Sanus Vise had business anyway. She'd worked too hard to get assigned to this particular run, just to see the opportunity slip from her grasp.
When she was finally sure the novices had not followed, Elara took the next street and headed west towards her original destination.
She always hated it here. The tall, imposing buildings. The clean brick. The clear gutters. Each inhale of breath felt like a treachery to those who grafted and toiled in the slums just to survive another day. A treachery to all those who had died at the hands of the Serpent Order.
A treachery to the memory of her foremothers.
The pathways were wider in the mid echelon, the cobbled walkways smoother and cleaner, as opposed to the cracked, uneven and filth-encrusted roads of Grimefell. To walk these streets kept clean to appease the nobles, to breathe the same air as those who cast their disdain towards her as she passed, all the while knowing that if they knew – if they really knew – then her presence here would only not be tolerated, but they would ensure she was torn apart. Slaughtered. Just like all those who went before her.
