Tempest

Chapter 3

The week continued similarly. Each morning, Dasha would set out into the city, and as promised, she'd meet Patch in their alcove. They'd start the afternoon with a small feast of foods she smuggled from the castle kitchens, watching the people that wandered about while they ate. When nothing but crumbs remained, they'd move their studies to the streets, walking alongside those that intrigued them until the people either reached their destination, left the city, or caught the two following them.

Necromancers and Medics bearing amber rings grew numerous within the city as the Touch of Wynris began to take effect. It seemed a battle between Ides and Odemus; a war between life and death. Many residents remained hidden in their homes to keep away from the spreading illness of the icy season, but some still mingled, unable to halt their daily lives.

Occasionally, Dasha would see a Necromancer trailing a congregation of mourning families as they paraded down the streets, honoring the recently deceased. Sometime mid-week, when the sun had set and she returned home, one of those Necromancers lurked in her own shadow, following her back to the castle. The fear-stricken look her father gave her when she told him about it left her terribly paranoid of the illness around her. She wanted to lock herself behind closed doors like so many had done with the reign of Odemus nearing, but the week was so close to being over, and her time with Patch was decreasing each passing day, so she decided to press on, hoping she wouldn't be the next one marked for the god of death.

The sun retreated towards the horizon on her final day of studying, and with it drained her curious spirit. Dasha sat perched atop the crow's nest of a Naval ship with Patch at her side, watching the men and women below who bore aquamarine rings that reflected the color of the river waves gleaming in the sun. Alongside the Naval guild members was a line of convicts, chained together and restrained by iron shackles around their wrists and ankles.

The convicts were likely being transported to another location, where they'd work on a renovation project in the city. All had been stripped of their rings and held no source of identification. Their rings would never be returned, and the shackles never removed, even after being released from the cells. Had they not been guilty of the most heinous crimes, Dasha would have felt bad for them.

"Hey!" came a voice carried by the breeze from below. "Get down from there!" the stranger shouted.

Dasha and Patch scurried down the mast of the ship, giggling, hearts pounding. They were not meant to be there. When their feet hit the deck, three Necromancers locked their gaze on the pair. Patch tensed up and leaned close to her. "Don't let me get word one of these folks took you to dine with Odemus, you hear?"

"I'll do my best," she assured. "Promise me you'll do the same?"

"Well of course. How am I supposed to help you with your studies if I'm dead?" Patch smirked and nudged her with his elbow.

"Maybe at the end of the month, when Izasel reclaims the throne for spring, we can see each other again," said Dasha, hope surfacing in her heart.

"Perhaps," Patch said, "but for now, it's goodbye."

Dasha frowned. "It's not goodbye, it's see you later."

With that, the two made their separate ways. Dasha flipped through her notebook, reliving the events of the week, a smile creased upon her lips.

The cities beaten path shifted back to the neatly placed cobblestone bricks, and the gates closed behind her. A wave of disappointment struck with the thought of the gates remaining closed for some time, but a spark of hope remained within.

Her mother greeted her at the door. "Supper will be ready shortly. Would you like anything to hold you off until then?" she asked, words oddly spoken, almost seeming nervous.