The De'Nauguath Chronicles - Book 1: The Summoner's Daughter

Chapter 2: Waiting

It was late by the time Krócia was in sight – or early, it was hard to tell. The dusty streets were almost empty. My feet throbbed and itched from overuse. I used the main roads. Krócia was a damn maze in full daylight, never mind twilight. Getting lost was a worse risk than getting robbed.

When I reached the end of the street, I paused at the road signs. I had to squint hard to read through three layers of vandals' art to read the blocky titles on the thin, hammered metal. The joke was that the vandals' work was more helpful than the streets' true names. Prosperity Lane was known by most as Roving Holes thanks to its half-mile of brothels. Distance Row was the place for the dusters and drinkers to live rough.

Maiden's Hope – I never remembered what its other name was, but Gareth lived there. That was enough of an impression by itself.

Barely two minutes in the door, a quiet voice groaned. "Longfeather was furious when you didn't show up." Gareth was rank with stackweed.

I couldn't see where he was in the room, but it felt like the voice was only an inch from my ears. He was good at that.

I untied my pack and let it plunk to the floor. "I needed medicines."

"At what point did you think you could come and go when you liked? I'm a High Priest of an Order. I have responsibilities."

He only took that mood for one reason. "Not tonight."

"E'nt your choice."

"You've done enough lately. We both need a rest for awhile." I knew he wouldn't take the bait. He never did.

"We e'nt been in the room for two years."

"I know."

"You promised to be more dutiful if we stayed out."

"I did. I have been." My pulse didn't believe me.

"There were rules from the day I found you at my door."

"I e'nt a child anymore." I tried to force the words out louder but the opposite happened.

"A Vessel ought to know the rules by your age. My word's the law inside these walls – and sometimes outside." He sighed. "The debt's cleared if you handle the next month of deals with Jhoff."

I moved for my room. "Done."

"And come here right now."

It was this or a cracked rib. Ribs were precious. Honor wasn't.

I wiped some grime from my eyes and peeled my shirt off.

* * *

Longfeather was forty minutes late and counting.

To say that it was cold and damp that night would've been an example of Krócian understatement. The ground was slick from freezing rain, and it was lightly snowing. By noon the next day, the earth would already be parched again. That was just how things were. The scales tipped evenly between folk who died of heat stroke and folk who died of cold.

Walking ached up high. Half the women in the city could say the same, but shivering hard against the cold made it more bothersome than it might've been on other days.

"Damn it, Longfeather." A strong gust muffled my curse. I marveled at how much the cold wind burned my skin as hot as any fire would have.

Seven bickering figures huddled tightly around a little trash fire at the end of the alley. Their chatter was in two languages, apparently translated back and forth by a man who could speak pidgin of both. If the meeting place had been my decision, I would've picked somewhere less public. The nature of the trades bothered me sometimes. But dust folk were loyal folk. It was the only loyalty they knew.