Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

33

Mhera had seen the Holy City of Karelin thousands of times from the high windows of the palace. It had seemed to stretch toward the horizon, sprawling and glittering under the light of the heavens. She had had no concept, however, of how vast the city truly was; not from her vantage point. She'd spent nearly all her life inside walls—in the walls of the palace or those of the convent at the Haven. Now she was experiencing the city of her birth in a brand new way.

They walked for hours. Mhera still wore her own simple cloth-and-leather shoes, and as she traversed the cobbled streets and trod over small stones and debris, her feet grew sore and painful. She was not used to such exercise. By the time the sun began to sink in the sky, she had torn the upper from the sole of her right shoe and had to take careful, small steps as the sole flapped under her toes. Her lower back ached, her legs ached, and her head ached. She was exhausted.

Matei seemed to fare little better. The longer they walked, the more stooped and unsteady his posture became. It was as if there was something that greatly pained him, something Mhera could not see. Perhaps the spellwork that had broken him free of the prison had taxed him so sorely that he still felt the effects of it.

Once they had escaped the huge marketplace, their progress had been easier, but it became clear before long that Matei was not certain of their path. He seemed to have a sense of their general direction, but more than once they passed down the same street. And it wasn't a matter simply of picking their way through the streets and alleys of Karelin. Not long after they had left the market, a troop of guards in palace livery had marched down the street, crossing in front of them. Matei had pushed Mhera bodily into an alley and had made her crouch there, peering around the stone wall until he was certain it was safe.

They had seen a few guards since then, and Matei kept them well out of sight. They now felt the danger of their disguises. They could not know for certain whether Mhera's absence had been noted, but it was safest to assume that every guard would be alert for the flaxen-haired lady.

"Where are we going?" Mhera asked again, so tired that she wanted to sit down on the filthy street and rest. She was desperately thirsty, and her stomach was tight with hunger.

"A friend," Matei repeated.

"You're lost."

"I'm not. I know where we're going."

What Mhera wanted to say was that she wanted to go back to the palace. The words were on the tip of her tongue. But she caught them there, tasting how childish and petulant they sounded, and knowing how impossible her request would be. Going home was not a choice. That had been made abundantly clear. "Please," she said softly, trying to be calm. "Can you ask someone? We have been walking all day, and this is the second time I've seen this street."

Matei turned toward her, his face set into a stubborn expression. But as his gaze searched Mhera's face, he softened. "Very well." He looked around. It was nearing the supper hour now, but a few folk still crossed to and fro in the streets, going about their business. He seemed to choose the poorest-looking of them all, a stooped old man with a faded marke on his cheek above a grizzled beard.

"Sir, do you know how to get to Whitestone Row?"

The man squinted up at Matei. He pointed back the way they had come. "Back that way, lad. Turn down by that well, the street that slopes down, and I think you'll find it easy once you've walked a pace along it."

Matei thanked the man and led the way back up the street. Mhera trudged after him, hoping that "a pace" was a short distance. She had no wish to meet Matei's friends, but if it was inevitable, she could at least hope that once they got there, she would be permitted to sit and rest.

Soon enough, Mhera saw the sloping street the man had mentioned; the way was not too steep, but as they walked down it, Mhera found herself worrying that she would trip and roll all the way down, farther than her eye could see. Here, the way was lined with small houses interspersed with tall buildings with many windows that Mhera thought must be some kind of city tenements. There were children playing, chasing one another across the street and shouting. Somewhere near, a woman's voice called, "Children! Come in for supper!"

Matei muttered, "Thank the heavens. At last."

He turned them to the right at a cross street down another residential way. This one looked much the same, but the cobbled street was unique in that the dark bricks of the road were broken here and there with white stones that gleamed in the dim light of the early evening. They walked only a short distance down this street before Matei sighed with relief. He was looking at one of the residences with an expression of such gratitude that Mhera almost felt it, too. It was a squat little cottage with a tile roof. A thin curl of smoke rose into the darkening sky from a stone chimney.

"Here it is. Come," Matei said. Mhera followed mutely, although he commanded her as if she were a dog. "This is a friendly place."

She did not consciously register that Matei's estimation of a place's friendliness or unfriendliness meant nothing to her. She stood behind him, footsore and exhausted, and waited while he rapped gently on the door: two quick raps, a pause, three quick raps, a pause, one rap. A coded knock? No wonder. He was, after all, a leader of rebels. Doubtless this was some disreputable house where evil-doers were harbored.

No one came to the door right away. Matei knocked again in the same coded pattern.

Mhera heard something on the other side of the door and shrank back, anxiety clutching her tight. But the face that rose into the gap was gentle and lined with age. The watery eyes lit up with an expression of pure delight.

"Matei!" exclaimed the woman, flinging open the door. She threw herself into the arms of Mhera's captor. He caught her with a stagger, laughing.

"Dear Rhea," he said, holding her out from him by her shoulders and looking down at her face as if seeing the very face of the Goddess, despite the blue dots and double lines that crossed the left cheek. "Dear Rhea."

"My boy. I had thought ..." A shadow crossed the kind old face, but it passed. Smiling again, she pulled him into the cottage by the arm, looking over his shoulder at Mhera. "Come in! Come in. You must sit down and warm yourself. And you, my girl—shut the door behind you. The night will be chill. Autumn comes on apace."

Mhera followed the pair of them into the cottage and obediently shut out the sounds of the city behind her.

There were but two rooms, from what Mhera could tell. They stood now in the main room, where a hearth burned merrily at one end and a sturdy wooden table stood at the other, ringed with four sturdy wooden chairs. There were two low cots and a bench with a chest and a basket beneath. Near the table was a long shelf where Mhera could see a variety of cooking things: jars of oil and tiny pots of herbs, clay and wooden bowls, a metal pot, some pewter mugs. There was a sideboard with a basin standing on it for water. Beyond, through a passageway hung with a blanket as a door, Mhera guessed the lady's sleeping quarters lay. Something about being in the snug room, poor as it was, caused a warmth to flood Mhera's body, a physical sensation of safety and comfort that she had not thought to experience while in Matei's company.

She shook her head, firmly focusing herself in the present moment; she would not make herself vulnerable by surrendering her wits, tired though she was.

"She's exhausted," she dimly heard Matei saying. "We've had a challenging day, and have been walking for hours. She's a friend, Rhea. She presents no danger."

"Matei?" Rhea spoke in a soft whisper. "Who is she?"

"We just need rest, Grandmother. Please. I'll explain, but first ..."

The voices faded a little. Mhera suddenly felt strong arms around her, lifting her from her feet, and realized that she had fallen asleep for a moment while standing. She struggled feebly, but felt herself pulled even tighter to Matei's chest. His ragged breathing sounded in her ear, as if she were a burden to him. She opened her eyes blearily and looked up to see a face lined with effort and pain. Then, she was being lain down. A warm blanket settled over her legs and her chest, and she could not help but to close her eyes. Vaguely, she heard footsteps moving around her before she was lost to dead, dreamless sleep.