The High Road (On Hold)

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

It felt wrong, hanging there at her side; as wrong as anything she’d ever felt. At times it was cold as winter, sucking the warmth from her skin and leaving it cold and stinging. Other times it was hot, pressing against the skin of her thigh and drawing from it a steady stream of sticky sweat that dripped down her leg. Either way, it did not matter. She hated it, wanted it gone. 

The knife was nothing but dead weight on her leg, so far at least. It hung there constantly, pulling her down until she had to adjust it or it would fall to the ground. She could just imagine it clattering down against the stones, so everyone would hear and would see. She had finally regained some of her dignity since Kevon; she could not bear to lose it all in that. It was unthinkable for a lady to be carrying a weapon, and the rumors would spread. No, she had to keep this a secret. 

But it had something over her, some strange power, so she could not simply throw it away despite her hatred of it. It called to her, begged her and pleaded for her to use it. It had been months since Kevon, and she knew he was dead besides. He could not come for her anymore, but she still had to hold onto it. She could no longer walk in the darkness without gripping its handle so tight that it hurt her hand. When she walked home from the market she clutched its leather hilt; when she tried to fall asleep she held it, despite Jevar’s warm presence right next to her. What if someone else attacked her? Learo’el was a city of thieves; it had been said countless times. What if someone of Kevon’s ilk came to take her as he once did? 

It was making her paranoid, she knew. Ever since she had first put it on those weeks ago she had been cringing at shadows on the wall. She saw a face in every alley, a knife in every pool of darkness and every shadowed doorway. But she would not be helpless this time. Should anything truly attack her again, she felt confident that she could end it in a heartbeat. And it was that confidence that worried her more than anything. 

She’d only killed a man once in her life: the headsman in Cross, who’d been mere moments from killing Jevar. She had not seen his face under the black mask, had not heard his voice nor even known his name when she’d stabbed him. And she had done it for noble reasons: to save the life of a falsely accused man and to win freedom for herself. She had no reason to feel remorse, as everyone told her, but the man’s death still haunted her unto that very day. If she killed another, even in self defense, would his face plague her mind forever as well? She did not think she could handle that, and yet she was not sure that she could stay her hand all the same. It was the knife that had made her this way; she knew it was. It had to be. She was not an evil person. What else could it be?

She increased her pace to what was nearly a run as she moved along the quickly darkening street. She was getting close to her destination, though the journey seemed to be taking too long. Her padding footsteps were the only sounds in that part of Learo’el, when all the decent folk had gone inside to spend the deepening evening with their families. Ellie would have liked to do the same herself. Jevar, however, had taken to bed early that night. She did not blame him; he needed his rest certainly. But that did not stop her from being angry at him. 

The street was lit primarily by the lanterns shining through the windows of the nearby houses, as well as the last few strands of failing sunlight. Just by that fact she would have recognized it as one of the wealthier areas in Learo’el, occupied by successful merchants and artisans. They had glass windows, all of them, which hardly anyone else could afford. The houses were of stone, with shingled roofs that stood out from the wood and thatch of the poorer homes. The designs of the houses themselves ranged from simple to elaborate, depending on the occupant’s wealth—or, more accurately, his willingness to show off that wealth. But all the homes were built by one man, Allick Sathir, master stonemason and builder, and husband of her friend Opelain. Oddly enough, his home was one of the simplest in the area, a modest building with one story, of pale grey stone and red slate on the roof. Elicia recognized the house, however, because of the intricate and elegant carvings that ran along the top near the roof. They depicted the life of Reman Adaro, as the legend told it, with every image showing a famous scene from the life of the emperor. It was the only such carving in the city, and it was beautiful.