Chromatically Cursed

CHAPTER 8

Song: April by Nick Mulvey

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Emberly

I jog off into the crowded street and blend back in with the rest of the world. Meeting Prince Killian in that manner was not what I needed. My heart beats quickly, the adrenaline still pumping through my body. I feel sore, and I know that I am bleeding on my clothes. I need to find gauze or cotton. There was some in my stash, but I couldn't go back there after meeting them, plus it wasn't near enough. I melt in with the people around me, watching them go about their lives. No one notices the blood seeping through jeans, spreading over my thigh. Think, Ember, think. Where can I go?

The map inside my mind shifts, zeroing on the Liber district. It was known to be the cleanest of the slums, free of stray animals and drunks. I haven't figured out how they got away with it, but for as long as Hinge has been around, they've stayed the same. It's like they have an invisible barrier that protects them. Granted, it still was the slums, but it was the best I had.

As I take the long walk to Liber, I scan for anything I can pick up. It's midday, the sun high in the sky. The light on the fresh snow is blinding, but already the streets have turned black with dirt. My breath floats in a cloud, just like everyone else's in the frigid air. It makes the air thick and fog-like. For a moment, I pretend that no one can see me through the haze. I'm alone, just me and my thoughts. They drift to the Princes. Killian's kindness haunts me. Theros' acidity burns me. How could two brothers, born and raised in the same household, be so different? The more important question was why did I tell Killian my name? I promised to stay away. I wasn't actively looking to find him, but the universe shoved him right in front of me.

A stall owner turns their back on the biscuits on their table. I grab two as I walk back, burying them in my pockets. An old woman with tired eyes bends over a box of papers. There's a corner of fabric sticking out of a pocket in her smock. I pass by her and gently bump into her hip. I'm careful not to knock her over or hurt her, "Oh, excuse me."

She lets out a small, "Oh!" as I pull the fabric out of her pocket, happily finding a pad of cotton. It may not be gauze, but it'll work well enough. I continue on my trek to Liber. A group of children are running down the street, laughing as they chase a young cat. Some of the boys throw bits of brick or gravel at it. I whistle through my teeth, and look on in sympathy. I relate to the cat. It's just a cat, wild, trying to survive. Nothing is wrong with it, but they decided it deserved to die anyway.

There's a large commotion further ahead, loud banging and voices shouting. A woman screams and everyone starts to head in that direction, to see what's happening. I follow. We hit a wall of people and I look over shoulders and heads to see four Mags on horses, and three on the ground. A woman is on her knees, crying and screaming. Two Mags are holding her back from the man that's lying, bloodied and beaten. She struggles against their grip and one of them slaps her across the face. I wince. I shift my gaze towards the man. He lies, completely still, mouth hanging open, no life left inside him. My stomach tightens and a shiver creeps up my body. He's not the first dead body I've ever seen, but this one hits too close to home. Gruesome thoughts twist up inside me; that could have been me not long ago.

Two of the Mags dismount from their horses and take ropes, wrapping them around the body. The sound of hooves thundering comes from behind me. I don't have to turn and look to know it's the Princes and their friend. The crowd parts wide, allowing the three men to come through. All of the Magistratus' stop what they are doing. The woman continues to weep and wail, but she's free of the hands that were holding her. She dashes over to the dead body, crying over it. I look at the two of them, knowing that they were very much in love. I feel my legs taking steps towards them. I push through the crowd, getting closer. She lays her hands all over his body, prodding, pushing, begging for a breath to come out. There won't be one, and my own heart hurts for her.