Jostling through the Top, I saw a heart-stopping sea of red through the slits in the weave. Soldiers posted every few feet. Troops dragged a man, woman, and boy not much younger than me through the gates of their home, shoving them. Buffont stopped the wagon. After they crossed the road, I recognized Silas’s father, mother, and brother.
“No one gets a pass. To the arena now,” the soldier barked.
Several followed them in escort, while others proceeded to the next house. The past few times I’d walked through the streets of the Top, I never saw soldiers. Something had changed. If so many were here, I hoped the Middle and Bottom would be less encumbered.
The melee must have started. An hour at most from now, the arrow competition would follow. Then after that, Oak would battle his first draignoch. By my calculations, I had three hours until anyone found me missing. Three hours should be plenty to reach the market, buy the change of clothes I required, and enter the Oughtnoch to release Rendicryss.
My dragon.
The word raised the hair on the back of my neck. If I could break her chains, she could fly out of the Walled City. I would have to find a way to sneak out. The ducts were an option, although I wasn’t entirely sure if they were grated. If so, I could think of no more horrible a death than drowning in the Walled City’s piss and crap.
To my dismay, the Middle was worse than the Top. Red patches expanding, troops banging on every door, entering houses. I saw soldiers carrying away weapons. Most of the dwellings were empty because of the mandatory attendance at the festivities; soldiers pushed anyone found in the houses into the street. Buffont kept his head down, plotting a jarring course to avoid running them over. Shaking fists and cries of thievery earned Middlers cracks to the head and punches to the stomach. A few were put in irons.
I didn’t need to ask anyone to know what was happening here. The king’s laws restricting weapons in the Hinterlands had moved inside the great wall. I could’ve pondered why now, what had changed, but I was too busy worrying about how to avoid being arrested. In a blue dress with Jori’s mother’s jewelry on, I would stand out like a bonfire in the Middle’s market.
Not long after, we rolled up to the square. Buffont parked the wagon behind a long line of others, next to a waist-high set of posts, demarcations for the beginnings of the market. I crawled out of the basket, peeking over the vat of potatoes, taking a good look.
Vendors readied their stalls for business after the tournament festivities. The carts were set up in a large square, leaving the center open for patrons to move about easily. Besides the fruits and vegetables, there were carts selling baked breads and cheeses, crated live pheasants, even an apothecary with healing oils and herbs. But I found what I was looking for tucked at the end of the western side, a stall selling clothing and blankets. Directly opposite, two soldiers were busy ransacking the cutlery cart.
Buffont helped me climb down. “Thank you for the lift. I’ll find my own way back, Buffont.”
“Be careful. There’s an ill wind about. So many soldiers.”
“You be careful too.”
He nodded.
I had but one idea, to walk with purpose, as if I was allowed to be here, and if soldiers appeared, run. I slid the sapphire ring off, clutching it in my fist, and padded across the market square. My stomach tensed with guilt. This was Jori’s mother’s ring. A queen of these lands, deceased mother to the only prince, and I was going to trade it for trousers and a tunic.
I crossed to the tanner’s stall and rifled through a stack of leather trousers. A tired-looking woman in a wool dress with an empire waist cinched above her very pregnant belly rose to greet me.
“Market’s not open yet.” Her eyes darted to the soldiers, then back again. “I’ve seen you on the dais in the arena.” She seized my wrist above my clenched fist, stretching my arm beyond the edge of my cloak, exposing my mark. “It is you. You healed that boy Griffin hit with his axe!”
Her loud exclamation drew the attention of the soldiers. Heads flipped. Knives clinked in crates as one dropped what he was doing and started moving in our direction.
“Hey. You! Lass, get over here. You should not be here!”
The first pair of trousers would have to do. I took them, receiving a furious glower from the woman that eased when I tossed her the sapphire ring. I grabbed a tunic on the end of the table, a red cloak hanging from a hook, and sprinted down an alleyway.
Several twists and turns later, their footsteps were almost on me. I dove into a stairwell, which led into a dank cellar that smelled of moldy cheese. I ducked, hearing them pass by.
I left the pretty blue dress and Sybil’s cloak as a gift for whoever lived in the house, and tied my hair at the base of my neck with a useful piece of rope found in Buffont’s wagon. Tucking the sapphire pendant beneath the tunic, I put on the last part of the costume, the red cloak, solidifying my transition to an adolescent boy serving in the king’s army. I raised the hood and stepped out of the cellar.
A few minutes later, I was well and truly lost. The good news was that if I continued downhill, I would eventually find the Bottom. The bad news was that if I circled too far east or too far west, I could end up far from the Oughtnoch. The best course of action was to find the Wilted Rose. I knew my way from there.
Four streets later, I smelled the blacksmith shop, and was lost no more. Charcoal smoke fumed, giving me direction. A narrow alley dumped me outside the building. The double doors open, no one worked. Cabinets were locked. Hammers stowed neatly beside the anvil. All would be in the arena, including the blacksmith, Hugo, that Griffin mentioned, and his friends, Thoma and Dres.
I borrowed a hammer, tucking it beneath my cloak, and continued on.
Rain started, making the steep cobblestone road slippery. I slipped three times before finding the Wilted Rose. Troop numbers thinned the farther down I traveled. From what I could tell, they were working their way from Top to Bottom, but were still trapped in the vast Middle.
Passageways narrowed, dumping into the steep descent through the Bottom. The brothels closed. The muggers sleeping with daylight. I made it to the Oughtnoch without incident.
But as I took the last step, Rendicryss was quiet. Dead quiet. The last time I was this close, she’d let me know how to find her. What if Jori had lied? What if she was in the ring?
There was no time to waste.
My heart racing, I had two choices. Hammer the metal door, which would be loud, and garner too much attention. Or try to wield the moon, which could potentially take less time, and would be silent . . . until it wasn’t.
I decided to go with the second choice.
Adrenaline coursed through me as I set the hammer down. The power chilled the back of my neck, running down my spine. The moon wasn’t visible. But it was there, behind the clouds. Waiting.
I reached up, taking what I could, drawing the moon’s energy to me, then heaved it at the door.
The explosion blew me across the road into a pile of dung.
“Ow.” Everything hurt.
Sucking down a deep breath, I forced air into my reluctant lungs, regretting the decision, nearly vomiting from the putrid stench.
A long crack in the wall steamed. I missed badly. It was a good twenty feet away, but the metal gate opened. Red cloaks poured out.
“What the hell was that? Search the entire Bottom! Go! I want whoever did this found and now!” a soldier called.