Bridging the Ancient ✓

Chapter 37

After Renit leaves, he climbs to the rooftop of the building across the street and keeps watch. I catch his shadow every now and then, moving from one end of the building to the next as he watches a suspicious witch.

I hide in the shadow of the curtain and watch his figure, the way he moves so easily. After decades of training, he's become incredibly skilled in not only fighting but in the small things as well. Tracking, surveying, everything it takes to survive. He can sit still for hours on end and seemingly hold his breath so no one hears him.

For a while, I attempted to sleep. That was when Renit was on the rooftop, watching for anyone making their way into the inn. No one did, I listened to any commotion on the outside of the door but found nothing. Instead of bothering myself further with him, I curled into a ball at the bottom of the bed and slept for as long as it took for him to disappear.

I look out the window, squinting against the dim candlelight to find his figure. He's not there. Renit's gone. My heart clenches, wary of where he might be in a city like this, but I have to trust the prince. I scan the streets below but don't find him there either, not talking to a random harlot and paying for answers or chatting with the man selling cheap tools across the street underneath the cover of a tattered knapsack.

Pacing back and forth in the inn room, I try to calm myself. I'm alone with the two boxes meant to be delivered to the king. If I go looking for Renit, they could be stolen while I'm away. There were enough eyes on us and our fine clothing to warrant suspicion of our arrival. But if the prince is in danger, it is my job to protect him.

If I need protection, I have my power. And Renit has his, along with that brute strength. I stuff a dagger into the sheath at my hip and lock the door behind me. With the hood of the cloak pulled over my head, no one will be able to identify me except if they happened to pay close attention earlier. They might be looking for me, second bait to pair with the prince.

I try not to think about that too much—Renit bloodied and broken somewhere in the back of an alley. A dagger in his stomach, wheezing for life, begging for anyone to save him.

Don't think about it.

Renit would never be so careless.

I avoid the mud puddle on the dirt street and quickly begin scanning. For the middle of the night, many of the residents are still awake and standing around those flaming barrels meant to provide warmth, cook their meals, and provide light on such a dark night. The smoke covers the moon, suffocating the light, so I cannot use it as my guide.

Ducoria is mainly shadows. From the buildings, to the hooded figures, to the market stalls disappearing into hidden alcoves for secret entrances into residences or taverns. This city is one huge mystery within itself and my stomach churns at the thought of walking the streets alone. Yet, I manage to put one foot in front of the other and search for Renit's face in everyone I pass.

With every strange look I give to anyone, they give me one in return. Some study me for longer, particularly the men, but once I'm passed and turning around another corner—they don't follow me. As if they know something that I don't. Approach someone and expect the fight you receive. A witch's true self is hidden underneath their skin, in their power. Be wary of those that cross you.

My father's words. That rings true in a situation like this, the witches in the streets are wary to approach anyone that might carry a distinct power with them. One meant to be deadly. They don't know about me as much as I don't know about them. And they're smart not to test a witch of ground.

I turn down another street, bumping into someone wearing a thick cloak to cover their features. Quickly, I scoot to the side and allow them to pass. But they don't move. Immediately, my hand goes towards the dagger at my hip but the man raises his hands in innocence and takes the necessary steps back to distance us.