The Kingfisher

XXIV : Nora

Nora rubbed the clammy sweat of her palms on the now crumbled skirt she had bought from a small tailor shop in Tama Square. She had worn the clothes right away, although she wasn't sure what was more bizarre to Mushans; a soiled trench coat with burnt edges and tears where there should have been none, or a dress in the midst of winter?

Still, the tailor had not fooled the spy. She had pushed the thick fabric towards her quivering hands, nodding frantically and muttering flattering exclamations. It was simple but would do the trick; fuzzy wool cinched at the waist and waving into graceful pleats towards the end, complemented by a black suede coat the tailor insisted matched perfectly.

The rest of the clothes were just as plain, and Nora was not complaining about it. She had purchased simple pants and shirts that would fit anyone, thick hemp jackets and large boots, along with some cotton to make sure they could be worn by both men and women. With a crooked smile and what she considered a quite convincing Gweini accent, she had managed to take the clothes for half the price. The tailor was a Gweini immigrant, Bela had claimed. It wasn't hard to hit that soft spot within the wrinkled woman.

Of course, the team's faces plastered all over the market did not escape her. She was lucky the sketches were sloppy enough to brush off as a creepy coincidence to everyone querying about her identity.

Now Nora thumped her polished boots on the porch of the witch's house, shaking off any snow that had sneaked between the laces. She could hear muffled voices inside, switching between hissing and growling sporadically. Before the suspicion that animals had slithered in from the windows creeped any further into her mind, Nora raised her fist and thudded the door with a deep rattle.

The voices ceased.

The floorboards squeaked awkwardly. Then, the door creaked open ever so slightly.

"Who is it?" a voice muttered.

Nora sighed. "Open up. I brought the clothes."

The door swung open, revealing a ruffled up Arden. His hair was disheveled into an indefinite shape and his jaw was set. Before she could frown and ask what monsoon they had set upon him, the boy snatched her arm and hauled her inside without further explanation.

Over the last few days, Arden's health — mental and physical — was deteriorating. The cuts across his torso hadn't looked too severe when they were still fresh, but now they had begun swelling and smelling foul, more than normal wounds should have. His eyes were constantly irritated, and his irises darted around as if he was listening for that snap of a twig or that loud breath that would confirm someone was looming over him at all times. Most of all, his temper was getting thinner, dangerously resembling the increasingly greasy hair falling across his forehead.

She didn't know where they were going. She wasn't even sure he had shut the door. Soon, they arrived at a room in the far corner of the mansion, one she had never seen before. It seemed like a drawing room. However, her attention was quickly captured by the hollering figures pacing around it.

"It's suicide!" a weirdly energetic Ailyn screeched, thrusting her hands in the air. Nora frowned at the radiance of her skin, the absence of the darkness on her chest. What happened while I was gone? "Don't you get it? We can't just waltz in the palace, they will mutilate us!"

Salo snapped his eyes shut and inhaled a long whiff of dusty air. "We can't afford to play safe at this point, Ailyn. Our cause requires sacrifices."

A laugh raved out of the princess's throat. "Our cause? Since when are you some — some anarchist? Since when do you preach the fall of the monarchy?"

"When did you ever care to learn otherwise?"

Ailyn huffed. She narrowed her eyes, and although the scowl never left her features, there was a glimmer of sadness in her gaze. "When did I ever have time to do so?" she asked lowly, but she didn't wait for a reply from Salo. She averted her glance and stared at the floor, chewing on her bottom lip.