Page 42 of Of Shadows and Blood

His eyes widen in shock before he looks to Sawyer then looks back to me one more time.

“Hi?” I croak.

The man clenches his fist and works his jaw before turning back to Sawyer.

“What the fuck?” That, I hear.

“Don’t ask any question you don’t want the answer to, Tyn.”

Tyn smiles uncomfortably at me before shifting his gaze to the rest of his warehouse. He walks over to a large green bell and gives it four rings. Every worker stops moving before placing their work down and exiting out of the back.

He takes a heaving breath before dragging his hands down his face. “They’re on a break. What do you need? I need her gone. Now.” He keeps looking over my body as if he can’t believe my presence. I pray he will act in discretion.

“First –” Sawyer points to my hair – “a cloak.”

Tyn curses under his breath. “Are you here consensually, Elivienne?” Sawyer goes to speak and Tyn holds a hand up. “Nope, I didn’t ask you.”

“Yes, I am. Can you help us?”

He curses again and leaves to go to his office. When he emerges, he has a dark blue cloak in his hands. I take it from him and throw it on, noting the aged smell on it.

“As for your second request, the answer is no.” He turns to Sawyer who flexes his jaw.

“And why is that?”

Tyn gestures to me with both hands. “Are you serious? Killian is in wait. Here. In Veda.”

“Killian is not going to be a problem,” Sawyer growls. “Will you help me or not? This is the only favor I ask of you.”

Tyn laughs, but angrily, and steps away from Sawyer. “No. This is beyond me and my morals.”

Sawyer growls and grabs my arm, leading me from the warehouse. He mutters, “Fucking cess,” as Tyn calls after us, but we don’t hear him because the store door slams behind us.

I adjust the hood around my face to cover any escaping pieces of distinguishing hair. “Who is Killian?” I ask, moving aside for a cart to pass us. I glance back once at the small door, grateful to be away from the uneasy feeling I had in there.

We turn into a winding alley framed with small gardens hanging from trellises. Fresh dew clings to the leaves. “Nobody of import. We need to avoid the risk of magic’s trace, so we’ll take the rest of this journey by foot and find a cart or something,” he seethes and begins walking down a paved street.

“How long will that take?”

Sawyer does not answer as he heads right into a square. Musicians and dancers circle in the middle. A crowd claps to the rhythm of the performers, some managing their breaths in between movements.

We turn and turn, bouncing between alleys and stores, avoiding guards who pass in groups. We’ve been here for hours and have yet to get back to the original road. A large fountain comes into view in another square and we pause to sit on its edge.

“I’ll be right back,” he says before heading towards an aged tavern next to some buskers. Women and men smoke pipes of herbs from the windows and the music is louder from inside than the artists on the street.

The fountain behind me has a worn golden hawk statue in the center, its wings caught mid-flight by the artist, eyes narrowed as if locked on prey or a landing. A ring of water runs along the edge before waterfalling into a dark hole at its center. The statue, rising from the depths of the abyss, catches the light beautifully.

A family approaches the fountain. A little girl skips up to its edge a few paces from me. I move my hood over slightly to conceal my identity. The father leans down and hands the girl a coin. The other father whispers instructions to her, giving her space to act. She holds the coin to her chest and furrows her brow, thinking of the prayer. She nods, brings the coin to her lips, and tosses the silver circle into the air. It makes a tink against the base of the hawk before dropping into the depths below.

Sawyer returns just then, hands in pockets and face unreadable. I peer over his shoulder at the tavern he just visited.

“What did you need in there?” I ask, following him up the cobblestone sidewalk. “One last drink of ale?”

“In a way,” he replies and motions to turn left. We carry on in silence again, only speaking when a guard is spotted. We stay close to the walls as we make our way through avenues. Sawyer turns once again, this time heading in the opposite direction towards the way we came two turns ago. I know it.

The smell of herbs burning hits me again and I see the glint of the hawk in my peripheral vision through a small crowd. At first I thought it was a mistake, but we pass by the family from before for a third time and I speak up. “Wait, didn’t we already come this way?”

“No, we came from that direction.” Sawyer points to the south. I shake my head, feeling that pounding headache come on once again. It feels as though a drum is beating a harsh rhythm on the inside of my skull, blinding me with pain.