SECOND BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦. 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴. 𝘈 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
Xanthiene Vivenca, af...
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Reeca sighed as she pushed herself up minutes after Lanas strode out of the tavern. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. It's great to see Lanas and have a piece of her old life slap her in the face, but she has to keep moving. She made it out of the tavern and craned her head to the bright, blue sky. Her next destination: the Palace.
Xanthy should be there if she's engaged to the Alkaran prince.
Reeca inhaled and immediately gagged. The tangy smell of ale was replaced by a nauseating whiff of burning coal. Ugh. Infernal.
She began walking. Her stomach roiled. She hasn't eaten anything since her potions ran out. Forget it. Just...focus on getting to the Palace.
The roads curved and straightened, turning Reeca's brain into mush. She walked without a clear path. With her hood back on her head, it's highly improbable for her to talk to a brownie without eliciting a shriek. These fairies weren't fond of hooded creatures nor of fairies with blood on their faces.
A scream caught Reeca's ear. Something shattered. Clay. She whirled around. There. The house with potted flowers.
She paused. A groan gripped Reeca's throat. Come on, she had to get into the Palace. She couldn't afford to get sidetracked by random screams.
Should she help the person who screamed? No, she shouldn't. She had more pressing things to do.
Oh, gods damn it all.
Her legs pumped with energy as she tore through the road leading to the house. She reached the house in a series of large, flying steps. The door was flung open, giving view of the scene inside. Clay shards were scattered on the floor and a female brownie lay on the floor, unmoving.
A red-hooded figure leaped from the window north of the house. Lanas's words slammed into Reeca's head. A thief that wears a red cape. That must be him.
Reeca tore her attention away from the house. Let the guards handle the victim.
Within seconds, Reeca was in the thief's wake. What was he stealing? Rudik's jaw, Reeca needed a better hobby!
Her eyes followed the red darting through the sea of brown. It looks like the thief lacked common sense. If one was to rob a Brownie city, might as well try to blend in. Reeca clicked her tongue. Amateur.
But then again, if he was that much of an amateur, how was he leaving a trail of sick victims in his wake?
The red ran faster than Reeca accounted for. Or maybe she was just famished as a dried tree. Her feet almost never touched the ground, flapping her wings in an attempt to shake them out of their locked state and also to boost herself further. She kept the blur of red by her periphery.
Round and round, they curved through houses, jumped over stalls, and tore through shop displays. There was no exhilaration in chasing someone. It's a serious waste of time and energy.
