ACOWAR (Rhysand's POV)

Chapter 5

(Rhysand's POV)

The air was damp, salty from the nearby sea, the waves crashing against bone-white rocks that jutted out at odd angles around the shoreline. Large swells threw themselves against the cliffs, the only sound in the otherwise quiet night. I shrugged on the dark cape Amren had given me. It was dirty, riddled with holes—was that blood on the sleeve? I'd even chosen simpler clothes than usual, though something about not being in black felt off. The brown trousers and dark blue shirt clashed with my skin and hair. I dampened my power further, my wings vanishing—I was nothing more than a merchant. Just another face in the crowd. 

Before I left, we all gathered in the foyer to go over our plans once more. Cassian tried to talk me out of coming to Hybern alone—again. But it made sense for me to go. I could hide my wings. They couldn't. Mor and Amren needed to stay in Velaris, especially with Hybern now aware of its existence. I wouldn't risk my people again. Going by myself would be faster, and I'd return to the city quickly. I didn't plan on spending more than a few hours here, just long enough to gather information.

I winnowed a short distance to the outer edges of a night market. Stalls were erected in a half-circle around the plateau, each covered by a tent with one or two vendors underneath. In the center was a pen full of livestock—sheep, goats, pigs—all for sale. The sounds of the animals mixed with those of the people, creating a low rise and fall. It was reminiscent of the markets in Velaris, but also not. There was no music, there was no laughter - there was no life. 

With my shoulders hunched, I walked slowly around the last stall on the right, making my way into the mass of people. The air was thick with the scent of spices, meats, and an apothecary, nearly overridden by a stench—an odor of rot, decay, and feces. I held my breath against the assault of the smell. Behind me, the king's castle loomed over the square, a chilling reminder of how carefully I needed to tread—how cautious I had to be not to draw attention. I pulled my hood tighter around my face, hoping to cast enough of a shadow to conceal my features.

Vendors shouted, calling out to the crowd to draw attention to their wares. Their breath clouded in front of them in tiny puffs, mingling with the frigid breeze coming off the ocean. I eyed one of the stalls—a small wooden table adorned with intricate carvings. Behind it stood a stout man, his head clean-shaven—or perhaps bald—with a thick mustache that he pressed between his thumb and finger. 

As I approached, the male looked me over and leaned across the small table. "Prices are fair. No bartering." His voice was rough with age—not angry, just straight to the point. Blunt. I picked up one of his carvings, turning it over in my hand: a woman's body with three heads, each possessing its own distinct face. I set it down and reached for another, smaller one. How had he captured such intricate details in these miniature pieces? This one was a fox, sitting on its hind legs. The merchant had even etched the delicate whiskers on its snout.

"Ya gonna keep touching, or are you gonna buy?" The vendor stood with his arms folded, watching me closely. Okay, maybe he was angry. I set the fox down and moved on to the next table.

"Get up! Get up!" a voice snapped from behind a stall. "Stupid, dirty animal." A spindly female with long, graying hair was struggling to push a donkey into a cart. With her back braced against the rear of the beast, she tried to heft it upward, but the creature wouldn't budge. "Now I know where you got your name from," she gritted through her teeth.

The stout man from the stall I'd just visited turned to survey the woman. "Looks like you could use some help. Won't be me, though." He grinned, a husky laugh rumbling from his chest.