We•Will•Rise

Chapter Three

I'm up with the first ray of light that breaks through the curtains. What little sleep I did get did nothing to ease the discomfort and worry that knots my stomach. Having no idea what I could face out there, or what I'm supposed to do once I am out there with no money or even the right clothing leaves me with a numbing fear.
Still, I waste no time pushing the blanket back and sliding from the couch, biting back a yelp when my bruised and bloody feet touch the hard floor. I chew on my bottom lip as a distraction from the pain as I make my way to the door. No matter what I know I can't ask these people, family or not, to help a now supposed criminal and jeopardize their own lives for mine. I rather take my chances.
"Going somewhere?" I jump at the voice of Barron, turning to see him standing in front of the hallway. He leans against the wall with his arms folded against his chest, watching me with an amused expression.
"I was just leaving." I gesture to the door with a frown.
"You make a habit of refusing help?" He raises an eyebrow.
I consider that for a moment. "Typically. Mostly when it won't end well for the other party."
"You weren't so worried about that last night."
Well, he's got me there. I glare at him, but say nothing. He sighs and bends down, grabbing something from the chair. He walks towards me with a handful of folded clothes and a pair of brown boots on top. "For you. If you must leave, at least change. That dress has seen better days," he looks down, "and so have your feet."
"My feet are fine," I lie, starting to wiggle my toes but grimacing at the pain it causes. He snorts a laugh and shakes his head.
"Stubborn. It must run in the family. Just take it." He shoves the clothes at me so I have no choice but to take them or let them fall. I roll my eyes, but a small smile tugs at my lips.
"I appreciate you and your family's help."
"Will you tell me what you did to get thrown out of the castle now?" When I say nothing he just sighs. "Very well. Where will you go?"
I hesitate. That's the question isn't it? My home has always been at the castle with Father. Now, I have no home, none of my own belongings, and no place to go.
He gives me a sympathetic look. "I have a friend that could get you across the river. You should be safer outside of the inner circle; no time for them to put up wanted papers there yet."
I try not to let my hopes soar, but still I find myself holding my breath. "Who's the friend?"
"He goes by Boot. Don't ask why. It normally costs." My hopes plummet. He shakes his head at my expression and quickly continues, "You shouldn't have to worry about that. Tell him Barron sent you. He should let you across. Oh and—" he digs into the pocket of his black trousers. "—take this." He grabs my hand, holding it palm up, and drops a coin bag into it. I gasp and shake myself free, attempting to give the coins back to him.
"I can't take this."
"Of course you—"
"No this isn't like a few old clothes, this is money, Barron."
"I know what it is, Alaya, and I know what it's like to be on the run from something." He meets my gaze, his expression serious. "Take it."
"I—I don't know how to repay you." And truthfully, I don't know if I ever can. It's not like a wanted criminal can hold a steady job, at least not around here.
"I'm unconcerned about that. You just need to get on your feet, leave the capital. May I suggest visiting Variez Islands. They are absolutely splendid during this time of the year, so much better than the cold of the capital."
"I appreciate this," I say after a moment, feeling my throat closing up and the awful start of tears. He smiles, a warm one that gives him a boyish look.
"Anytime, sister." He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
That's when I start to wonder if he would feel the same after he finds out what I am. It will be plastered all over the capital, a drawing of my face and the reason for wanting my head along with a reward from the Queen herself. I wonder if he will regret this; if he will want me dead, or fear me, just as much as every other person does.
I hope not. Because one day, I would like to repay him.

⚔️

The day has just begun, but already there is a crowd. Merchant's booths are set up all around the Square and people—commoners and nobles alike—scramble around the cobblestone clearing like ants. Everyone is out to get their fill before the true winter comes around, with the thick snow and frequent blizzards that come in from the Misted Mountains. The cold is just getting started.
I pull the thick, cotton scarf tighter around my mouth, the material leaving only my eyes free. The rest is up to the people's imagination. I'm grateful for the clothes Barron gave me. Unlike with the dress, I actually blend in. Not to mention it's much warmer. The tunic, black scarf and thick jacket are all a bit too large, but they hid my figure and even left my gender a question, though most would assume male with the trousers I wear. With the hood over my head and scarf over the majority of my face, I'm unrecognizable. Exactly how I need to be.
I make my way across the clearing, pushing myself carefully through the throng of people. At first, when someone's eyes lingered too long, or hands brushed up against me, I would panic and my heart would drop to my feet. But each time they would look away after a moment or brush past me, giving no indication that they are on to my secret.
I stop by a few of the merchants' booths, purchasing a small dagger, a few days worth of food, and a pack to put it all in. Except for the dagger, I make quick work of attaching that to my wrist.
Once I have enough supplies—and even have coins left over, a few gold which made my heart ache when I noticed—I make my way south towards the river.
The walk doesn't start as a terribly awful one, besides the bottom of my feet groaning in protest against the rough sole of the boots and it giving my mind time to wonder. I don't like the places it goes, such as to my father, who I may never see again, and then to my newfound brother, who welcomed me into his home and gave me a true chance at freedom. And how under any other circumstance, this would be awfully exciting. I knew one day I'd have to set off on my own, and I welcomed that possibility. Too bad this is how it starts, with nothing to my name besides the clothes on my back that aren't even mine and a dagger.
I lost track of how long it took me to get to my destination, but by the time I reach the Red Oaks, I'm exhausted and the sun is dipped far to the west. I passed through so many towns and took so many different streets, I couldn't name them all if I tried. I knew though, once I had reached the trees, I was home free. The long stretch of road to the river and red-barked foliage that lined it, not to mention the silence, made it a boring journey. But boring, after the night I've had, is welcomed.
When I finally see the Azurite River, relief sweeps through me and manages to crush some of the exhaustion. The river is a beautiful blue, compared only to the azurite stone from which it's named. The trees surrounding it and their orange and red leaves are a sight for someone so used to seeing stone and brick. The nature at the edge of the river is a far cry from the design of the Royal Square. It's a refreshing change.
The only building in sight is sitting against the horizon and on the Azurite River—the Blue Tavern as my brother called it. It doesn't look like much more than a shack, like a strong gust of wind can blow down the flimsy posts holding it up. It's a far cry from the homes in the towns I just came from. I wonder how it's still standing, so close to the capital with a very treasonous intention. Though I guess it's a well kept secret because as much as I snooped in the castle, I've never heard the name of Blue Tavern.
I fidget with the dagger hidden under my sleeve as I approach, the sounds of men laughing and talking drifting from its open doors. Barron warned me that it isn't exactly a safe place. The Blue Tavern is where those wanting to remain unseen by the capital come to make their way across the river, such as thieves or mercenaries. Any other person would go further to the west and use Milladge Bridge, manded by the Guardsmen. But I'm not any other person, not anymore.
I take a deep breath as I walk across the makeshift bridge—really just a bunch of nailed together boards—that stretches from the ground and above the river into the Blue Tavern.
The smell of stale ale and sweat hits me as soon as I'm in its walls, making my nose wrinkle. The tavern is smaller than it looks on the outside, with only a dozen or so different kinds of tables at its center and about a yard long bar counter to the left. The bar stools are all different shades of color, one even lacking a cushion like it had been ripped off. Empty glasses and plates litter the bar as a lone woman paces back and forth behind it, picking up a glass or plate as she goes. The five men that occupy one of the tables continue their laughter and conversation as I step inside, not one of them concerned about the newcomer in their midst. Besides them, the woman and me, the tavern is empty.
I step further inside, broken glass crunching under my boots as I make my way to the bar. I sit on the seat with the cleanest looking area.
"What can I get you?" The woman asks in a clear Tultarin accent as she approaches. She wears a grey, long sleeved tunic and black trousers, which is typically frowned upon for women in the capital, though here doesn't seem appropriate enough for a dress either way. She seems to be in her forties, with short black hair that's braided on one side, framing a round face with a crooked nose that had to have been broken once or twice. Her skin color is pale, not like most in the capital, and her eyes are a blue so light they look almost grey. She is not at all what I expected to run a place like this.
"I'll take wine and—"
"We don't sell wine here," she says with a glare. "It's Ale or water."
"I'll take water. What about food?"
"Crackers or rabbit jerky." She gives me a weird look, like I'm asking for her to cook me a lavish meal. I force a neutral look, refusing to glare in case she decides to spit in my water
"Jerky and water." I say, pulling my scarf down as she walks away to fix what I asked. She disappears behind a door for a few moments before coming back with a glass of water and a few pieces of dried rabbit meat. I take them from her, mumbling a thanks, and drop a silver coin on the counter.
"Not from around here?" She asks as she slips the coin into the pocket of her trousers.
"Not from very far." I say after taking a long sip of the water. I take a hesitant bite of the jerkey, but it's surprisingly tender and easier to chew than what I've tried before.
"The capital, if I may guess," she says, leaning over the bar. "You have the accent."
"Yes, from the capital."
"What brings you here? You don't look like a criminal," she asks, sounding genuinely curious. "Your skin is nice enough to belong to a noblewoman."
I start to say I'm not a criminal, but stop myself. I broke the law just by existing, and especially by using my gift. "Depends on what you think a criminal is." Is all I say, taking another bite of the rabbit jerky.
She watches me with amused eyes. "Well, we accept all kinds here, and we all accept each other. No one tries to turn anyone in. It's how the place stays running. It's a safe spot for those wanted by the crown to find passage past the river and out of the capital. The Azurite River's best kept secret."
I start to ask how when her gaze travels to something above my head. She backs up with a sly smile. Feeling eyes on my back, I glance at the reflection through the glass of water before spinning around, dagger unsheathed, and slipping it right under the jaw of a man.
"Wow, take it easy." His voice is deep, much like my father's, but smoother, and holds a hint of shock. He even has the same accent as the people of the capital. "Didn't mean to startle you, killer."
"Then why would you sneak up behind somebody?" I snap, not relenting on the dagger held against his throat. He has to be in his late twenties, early thirties, with coal black hair and a long, angular face. His jaw has a hint of stubble, and his eyes are a vivid emerald, a color no human should possess. He seems relatively well kept, and even well off, wearing a nice, loose-fitting grey tunic and black leather coat. He looks a lot like someone that doesn't belong in here. But then I guess so do I.
"Well, that wasn't exactly my intention, but if that's the way you see it."
"Looks like you're rusty, Nikolai," the girl laughs, quite obviously enjoying this. "You got put out by a woman. I like it."
"Taryn, I'm not rusty. Only taken by surprise," The man chuckles. It's a deep sound, one that I might find attractive at any other point in time. "Now, can you remove the dagger from my throat or am I going to have to do it?"
"As much as I'd like to see you try," I begin, slowly pulling back on the dagger, "I don't think it will be necessary." I sheath the weapon back in its spot against my wrist and turn to face the bar. The girl—Taryn—watches us with an amused expression, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed.
The man takes a seat beside me, turning his bar stool to face me. "Who taught you how to use a weapon?"
"My father," I say, careful to keep my tone neutral. Taryn's words replay in my head, how no one here would turn me in. Yet I can't be too careful. People can get greedy over money, especially in the capital.
"Your father. . ." he trails off, sticking in his hand in his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He shoves empty glasses and plates away and lays the paper against the bar, unfolding it and flattening it out. What I see makes my breath hitch in my throat.
It's a drawing of my face, a wanted poster with the words Wanted by order of the Crown: Alaya Maltrov, Imordal written in bold across the top. The bottom has the offering of two hundred gold coins, something extravagant, even for an Imordal.
I swallow hard and meet the gaze of the man—Nikolai—and give him a deadly glare. "If you think you're going to turn me in, you're sorely mistaken."
He shakes his head, his expression serious. "Quite the opposite."
Taryn, having leaned over to read the poster, looks at me with an unreadable expression. "Imordal, huh?"
Nikolai gives her a warning look before turning back to me. "I'm here because we have something in common, you and I."
"You believe so?" I turn to him with a raised eyebrow.
He reaches across the wanted poster, drumming his long fingers against it. I look down and nearly fall out of my chair. His index finger taps against the word Imordal. "That right there, is a word that describes us both."
"You're an Imordal?" The word comes out as whisper without me meaning for it to. I turn in my chair and get a good look at him. Like me, everything about him seems mundane, besides his eyes of course, and the faded scar that falls from his temple to his brow. But I wouldn't exactly call his eyes a very Imordal feature.
"Since I was born," he jokes, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.
"I never met another one before. Not that I know of anyways." I shake my head in disbelief, pushing the jerky away, appetite forgotten. "Who are you?"
"Nikolai Astipar," he says, his name hinting at a foggy memory in my mind, but he continues before I can focus on it. "And you are—" he looks down at the poster, "—Alaya Maltrov." A dark look falls onto his face. "The Lord Commander's daughter."
"A pity really," Taryn begins, "to be the child of a man like that."
I open my mouth to retort but quickly snap it shut when I remember her accent. Tultarin used to be a free city, not governed or ruled by anyone but it's own people. When Queen Lavina, a now known tyrant, took the throne she used my father to conquer their city and forced its people's knees. Take a knee, or we take your head, that might as well be the Queen's motto instead of the current Glory be the Gods. Taryn had every right to hate my father, to hate every member of the Royal Court in fact. I couldn't blame her. My father is a good father, but what he has done to get where he is doesn't make him a good person.
Nikolai thankfully changes the subject. "So what did you do?"
"What?"
"What's the reason for the wanted poster?" He clarifies, "How did they find out? And why are they offering so much for a reward?"
I stop and consider this for a moment. Imordals all have a few things in common, things that make us different from mortals. Our speed, our strength, and our aging, surpassing the usual human years by at least a hundred. I've read many books in the library about the Imordals, trying to find someone with a gift like mine. It's never happened before that I could find and I never understood it, or why it happened and especially to me. But I know that it is something that makes me different, even from the Imordals. And if I know anything, it's that different is dangerous.
"I saved my father," I reply after a moment, purposely avoiding the details. "It happened during a wedding celebration. Everyone saw. Not sure why they're offering so much though." But that's a lie. I know if the Queen got her hands on me, I might not be killed. Not physically anyway, but maybe mentally. I'd be enslaved, forced to heal her soldiers and her nobles over and over again until I die or my gift runs dry, whichever comes first. The reward of two hundred gold coins ensures that even the bravest soul would try their luck with a round against me.
"I see," Nikolai suddenly stands. "And you came here for Boot? Expecting to be ferried out of the inner capital and on your way to where?"
His tone isn't condescending or even curious. It's matter-of-fact, as if this is something he's asked far too many people. I appraise him, taking in his well-kept clothes and hair and his fine leather boots. He came here with a purpose, took an interest in my poster for a reason. "You're—" I begin, seeing him in a new light, "you're part of the Insurgence." For a second I'm stunned. I've heard about them, whispers through the capital about an allegiance of Imordals who want to overthrow the Queen. Some say it had been their work, the death of the previous Lord Commander. I wasn't so sure that they even existed until now.
One corner of his full mouth lifts up in a smirk. "Took you a minute to figure that out."
"Yeah, well it's been a rough last few hours," I snap, standing as well. I take the last of my jerky and shove it into my pack before downing the rest of my water. "I'm not interested."
"You have no want to make a difference in the world? For your people?"
"Even if I did, how? How is a few hundred people going to make a difference in a capital crawling with thousands of soldiers?"
"You wound me thinking there are only a few hundred," he crosses his arms over his chest and continues, "There are people all over the world that want to see this Queen fall. And you may not have noticed since you've never left the capital, but it's really just Adonia out there. We have only five percent of the continent to walk freely on. It's that, risk dying in Adonia, or go into Dowlin territory past the Culvarin Sea, if you can even make it that far with all the beasts that live in that water."
I stop and think about his words for a moment, chewing on my bottom lip. He's right on most accounts. As far as how many Insurgents there are, I couldn't say, but he put up a convincing argument. We as Imordals have nowhere to escape the crown. There are free towns, but far and few between and they aren't luxurious. They're barbarian towns, ghost towns some of them, with less than a few hundred people. Mauhr would be our only option, but they're already on the Queen's sights for conquering. There are only a handful of places to go where we are safe, and that's if the people don't decide to turn on you and drag you to the capital for ransom or roast your flesh over a fire. Nikolai was right, as much as I hated to admit it.
"Say you're right," I begin, sparing a glance at Taryn who watches us with knitted eyebrows. "Say I change my mind, where do we go from there?"
Nikolai doesn't smile or frown or show any expression indicating how he feels. "We go back to the capital."