FIRST BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘦-𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘺. 𝘈 𝘵𝘺𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯. 𝘈 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳.
Xanthiene Vivenca's life drones on in a cycle of finding her next meal, ensuring...
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June was right about the Commons being depressing.
They walked through the city's unpaved and uneven streets, elbowing other Commons just to pass this narrow street. Xanthy wrenched her neck up and frowned. She couldn't even see the sky with the mess of tall buildings flanking the street.
Sweat poured off Xanthy's back and drenched her tunic. The heat also curled at her neck but she tucked herself deeper into the hooded cloak Vikara lent her. All sorts of people streamed past Xanthy in a show of torn tunics, patched trousers, and a few buckled, leather boots.
Buildings painted with peeling paint loomed over Xanthy as they stood side by side with almost no spaces in between. Like the row houses in the Disfavoreds, these buildings looked like they were built from a single wall.
The air was thick and insulted Xanthy's nose as she tried breathing in deeply. Ugh. At least in the Disfavoreds, she could steal a few drops of fresh air from the forest if the right breeze blew by. Here, it's almost impossible to inhale and not smell ink, smoke, and feces.
A dagrine brayed. A burnt ocher snout almost collided with Xanthy's nose. She yelped and dove behind June. "Relax and look where you are going," June chuckled as he led her away from the animal gritting its teeth at Xanthy.
"We are not on a leisure walk here," Reeca snapped as she paused to look back at them. "Seriously, pick it up."
June rolled his eyes. "Who made her in charge?"
"I know, right?" Xanthy scoffed. She considered backing out when she saw the varichria waiting for them by the estate's back gates as Vikara kicked them off with this job.
Since then, Reeca did nothing but grumble, snap, and glare at them. Xanthy wished Reeca would step on a pile of dagrine turd just out of spite.
They emerged from the narrow street and came to a crossroad. Xanthy had no idea where each one of these roads led but Reeca forged ahead. How did she know where to go when she hasn't even been here?
Carriages bearing important businessmen and their servants sped through this wider road perpendicular to the one they came from. June had to yank her around to keep her from stepping on the wrong dragine hoof and drawing attention to themselves. From the corner of Xanthy's eyes, she spied a platoon of at least twenty Civil Guards in their blue overcoats and tight ecru breeches. Where were their steeds?
Commons milled about, bearing carts of mail or goods. They padded across the roads with passive faces and empty eyes. Perhaps, that's what June meant by depressing. One felt the hopelessness dancing in the air and sitting on the people's shoulders.
Xanthy rubbed her nose with her hand as she and June pushed forward. This present street showcased shorter and stouter buildings. Children ran about with small pouches tucked in their arms. Men and women ran about, each with their own satchels tossed by their shoulders.
