Eyes Like The Ocean | A Culled Crown Novella

Chapter 7

Imellia Station, Gazda.

Britta and Jonathan Schuler stood in line together, neither of them speaking.

He held her hand tightly in his. Up ahead, a guard was waving someone through the gate. She watched as the young man shoulder his pack and nodded his thanks to the guard standing watch. Then he was through the gate and boarding the train. They would do the same. They would get past the guards and on the train.

They had to.

Someone gave a call signaling fifteen minutes until departure.

The train sat on the tracks to their left, the ticket booths and waiting room to their right. Down further, near the entrance to the train station, a small group of vagabonds begged for food and coins. The sound of the train seemed to drown out everything else, making the world seem to narrow to a pinpoint focus—get through the gate, get on the train, get through the gate, get on the train, get through the gate, get on the train.

Beside her, Leighton was smiling. She tried to smile too, if only for his benefit, but it was difficult. Viera was too nervous. The line was long and the guards were careful to check over each and every card. It was hard to watch—enough to make her sick.

Viera needed to move, to work off some of that anxious energy.

She angled her body so only he would hear and said, "Is there time for me to go to the restroom?"

"The line isn't fast." He nodded to the small waiting room. "I saw signs for them in there."

She rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

He pursed his lips, anxiety cutting through his features as he said, "Hurry."

Viera found the bathrooms without any trouble. The building was mostly empty, save for the ticket clerk and a guard standing watch near the entrance. She made a point of smiling and nodding to both of them.

On her way out of the bathroom, she paused just long enough to check her appearance in a small mirror. She looked old, older than she was. It was the expression on her face that did it. Fear aged people and it had aged her.

Her dark hair was loose and stringy from the rain, and her clothes were still damp. The fabric of her shirt clinging to her thin torso. Her dark grey pants where tucked haphazardly into her boots—she'd been in a rush when she'd shoved them on and hadn't cared. Leighton's jacket was large against her shoulders. It made her look small and afraid. She felt both of those things.

Viera finger combed her hair and tried to pull it back from her face. Shaking hands tucked the stands behind her ears. The action was a small, mostly useless, effort to tame her appearance. She wished to be brave, like the heroes she'd read about in novels.

Instead, she doubted everything about herself and what she was about to do. Viera felt like she was standing on the edge of a great abyss and, if she were not careful, she would fall in.

The power that thrummed in her gut wanted her to fall in.

Viera was halfway back to the line when one of the beggars caught her eye. Homelessness in Gazda had become more of an issue recently. Political strife and threats of war always affected the poor first. Taxes were escalating and rent around the city had already risen to astronomical heights. Without money, it was difficult to get the papers necessary to leave the city and move to a different one where things were more affordable.

And it seemed that the royals were too busy planning a birthday party and organizing a public slaughter to bother with helping their people.

Vayelle was growing more and more agitated with Erydia. Although the two countries had never existed peacefully. Vayelle was a conquering nation that had been eyeing Erydia's borders for half a century. While the current queen had done well with managing diplomatic interactions, she had grown lazy and people were beginning to suffer because of it.