Chapter 34
ime is moving impossibly slowly, and the city I thought was so close is still evading us, even as night falls. I try to stop the blood from flowing,T try to keep Kyor talking with question after question, but at some point the answers stop coming.
Kyor’s weight slumps fully against me, his breath frighteningly shallow but still there. That’s what matters. He’s still breathing, and as long as he’s doing that, there’s a chance.
By unspoken agreement, Elska and I continue on through the night. There will be no stopping until he is dead or we are in Galreck.
My arms ache and my eyes become desperate to close, but I stay awake, praying with every part of me that his heart keeps beating.
As dawn rises, Elska stumbles, and in my own sleep-deprived state, I struggle to keep Kyor on her back. She turns a little and looks at me with apologetic eyes. ‘It’s okay,’ I murmur to her. ‘We’re both exhausted. But we can’t be far from Galreck now. We have to keep going. If we stop … I don’t think he’ll make it.’ She gives me a weary nod and starts to propel herself forward again. I believe what I say. We have to be close. We exited the forest hours ago.
We’ve been on a main road ever since, wide and flat, worn smooth by carriage traffic. We have to be near Galreck now – we just have to be. A rhythmic thud begins to sound in the distance. Drums! Galreck is the city of drums. We must be close.
It’s near midday when the four towers of Galreck rear into sight, and tears fill my eyes as a tremble of relief rushes through me. Not that we’re out of
the dark yet. Not even close. ‘We’re nearly there,’ I whisper as I clutch Kyor to my chest, praying it’s my imagination that is telling me his body has grown cold. That’s all it is. My imagination. Maybe that’s also why his skin looks grey. Because my eyes are too tired to see properly.
Unlike Wrohelm, Galreck is not built in rings. Within its city walls rise four towers of black rock, jutting starkly from the earth. Each marks a point of the compass – north, south, east, and west – though, like Wrohelm, the true wealth of the city lies at its heart, or so I’ve heard.
I’ve never left Wrohelm to journey to other cities. Never had the desire before, nor the means since we were stripped. Austere black walls loom above me, intimidating and fierce. It looks strong, and that’s something all Morathkians can appreciate.
While the structure is unlike Wrohelm, the presence of slums outside the city walls is depressingly similar. For some reason, I convinced myself that the dark underbelly of Morathka was unique to Wrohelm. After all, it’s not something Benny ever mentioned about the Isles. But it appears that crippling poverty is a language spoken everywhere, and knowing that breaks something in me.
Strangely, though, the sight of the feeble lean-tos brings me comfort.
Slums, I know. Streets like these shaped me. Honed me. I do not fear them.
We’re within walking distance of the ramshackle shanties of makeshift homes when I carefully lower myself from the wolf’s back, boots crunching softly against grit and mud. Once my feet are firmly on the earth, I manoeuvre Kyor until he’s lying flat on Elska’s back. His weight is heavy and unresponsive as I ease him down, and the wolf shifts beneath him with a low, uneasy rumble, but she holds steady. Her fur is thick and warm under my palms, her breath steaming in the cold air.
The roll of the drums and the stench of the slums hit as soon as we cross an unseen threshold. Smoke, rot, damp wood, old piss, and desperation are all layered together so thick it coats the back of my throat. Fires burn low in broken barrels, casting jittery orange light over leaning buildings and narrow alleys choked with shadow. Eyes follow us from doorways and half-collapsed stoops. No one approaches, but no one looks away either.
I walk beside Elska, one hand gripping Kyor to keep him in place, the other resting against her flank as I murmur directions under my breath. She moves with surprising care, massive paws placing themselves delicately
between debris and sleeping bodies.
That’s when I spot him: a man planted on a corner like a sentinel. Broad shoulders, thick arms, belly filled out in a way that marks him as someone who eats far better than most. His eyes are sharp, constantly moving, weighing every passerby.
Muscle like that comes from privilege here. Or power.
I don’t know him, but I know his type. An enforcer standing watch.
Either to stop trouble or to wade into it.
Either way, he’ll know exactly who I need to speak to. ‘Oi,’ I say, because manners are weakness here. ‘Who do I need to see to get shit done?’ He grunts, his eyes running over me, taking in the blood that clings to my hair and clothes, to the weapons at my side. When he’s finished his inspection of me, his gaze drifts over the unconscious Kyor, swiftly dismissing him, and then he grimaces at Elska and the rings around her eyes that mark her as bonded. ‘The wolf’s going to attract attention.’ ‘No shit,’ I say flatly. ‘So get me out of the street and where I need to be.’ He pushes off from his street corner. ‘You got coin?’ ‘Enough for what I need.’ I reach into my coin purse and produce a few silvers as proof before tucking them away again and drawing my sword. ‘And I’ll be keeping it, too.’ ‘Didn’t mean nothing by it, little girl.’ I bare my teeth at him. ‘Call me that again and see what happens,’ I growl.
He smiles faintly. ‘Follow me then,’ he instructs, and we do.
I can feel the prickle of wary gazes tracking me as I follow him down one turn and the next. It’s a coin flip. Heads, he takes us into a trap to try to rob us and steal Elska. Tails, he takes us to this slum’s equivalent of Rula.
If time wasn’t of the essence, I’d be curious to see what happened if he tried to so much as speak to the wolf, but as it turns out, it’s tails. He bangs on a door and pops his head in politely. ‘Got a woman here asking for you.
She’s got coin.’ I appreciate the upgrade from little girl. ‘Show her in, Gret,’ a quiet voice grunts from inside. ‘She’s got a dire wolf.’ ‘Does she now?’ The voice is speculative. ‘Well then, show them both in,
I suppose.’ For a slum house, this one is positively decadent. It has a single window and a door wide enough that Elska can get inside. There’s a table and a bed, and a fire burning that kicks out enough heat that the warmth is noticeable as I cross the threshold.
The man inside is almost as great a shock as the fact that Sannings are real, and I struggle not to show it. Because the truth is he’s no man at all, but a kid. He can’t be much older than William. Fifteen, maybe – sixteen, tops. ‘Name’s Lofty,’ he introduces himself with a smirk, showing he clearly read my initial surprise. ‘On account of me having lofty aspirations.’ His young age means nothing, I remind myself. I’ve seen people far younger than him kill for far less motivation than what he currently holds.
His age doesn’t make him less dangerous. If anything it makes him more so.
Because to have risen to this position so young shows ruthlessness. And no doubt, with his youth, he still feels he has something to prove. ‘Name’s Bryony,’ I lie. ‘As you can see, my friend is injured. And he needs a healer.’ ‘Yes.’ Lofty leans forward. ‘He does.’ He looks me up and down with a salacious leer. ‘And what exactly would a beautiful woman like you do to heal a man like him?’ I glare. I managed not to prostitute myself the entire time I lived in the Wrohelm slums, and I don’t intend to start in the Galreckian ones.
I draw my dagger. ‘I’d slit your throat, and steal your coin and position, and use it to find and pay a healer.’ He stares at me for a beat, then throws his head back to laugh. ‘I like you, Bryony,’ he says, still chuckling. ‘I like a woman with fight in her.’ He admires me again. ‘You surely have that.’ A beat later, the smile is gone. ‘You have coin. Why don’t you head into the city?’ Because Prince Kyor would be recognised; his whereabouts, his injuries and – most importantly – his choice of companion would instantly be reported back to his prick of a father. ‘Discretion is needed,’ I say nonchalantly.
He nods. ‘Discretion I can do, but it comes at a premium.’ ‘I expect nothing less.’ He names a price that makes my jaw drop. ‘Oh fuck that,’ I snap. ‘I don’t care that much for the idiot.’ Elska lets out a low growl, which I try to ignore. I wish I could tell her I
am negotiating. Only an idiot expects the first price to be the true one. Paying it without arguing would put a target on our backs, so I argue, even as every word from my mouth feels like an unconscionable delay.
We both ignore the wolf and haggle for a few minutes, but my heart isn’t in it. I want a healer for Kyor now. But revealing that could seriously screw this up, so I do my best to play my part.
We settle on a price that is just the right side of outrageous, but I force him to throw in some plants I need, some food, a flop for us to stay in overnight and, finally, a lookout to keep an eye out for when our friends reach the edges of the slums.
He agrees to all of my extras and shows me to a hovel not too far from him. It’s cold, has no window, and what feels like rocks for a bed, but it’ll do. ‘Healer’ll be here in half an hour,’ he tells me. ‘If they’re not, I’m sending her after you,’ I say with a nod to Elska. ‘And she doesn’t take kindly to excuses.’ Lofty purses his lips but sees sense. Rather than responding, he retreats to leave Elska and me alone with Kyor. The wolf lowers herself to the ground with relief, with her rider still splayed over her back. ‘Should I lift him off you?’ I ask, like she’s going to answer. But in the end, I don’t move him. At least on her, he’s being kept warm.
I don’t have the tonics I brought from my mother’s supplies, but I do have the small stove in the one satchel I brought, so as much to keep myself busy and awake as anything else, I set some water to boil on the travel stove.
Thankfully, it’s not long before Gret returns with the list of herbs and plants I requested, not to mention some stale rolls and a single log of wood.
I put the log in the metal bin that acts as a makeshift fireplace, although I don’t light it straight away. While Kyor’s on Elska, he’s warm. We’ll save it for later, when we truly need it.
After forcing down a bite of the rock-hard roll, I claw through the supplies, select the paparvy seeds, and brew the strongest pain-relief potion I know while we wait for the healer.
Half an hour rolls by, at which point Elska lets out a low, rumbling growl. ‘I know what I said,’ I reply as if we’re having an actual conversation. ‘But things can take longer here. We’ll give him a few more minutes.’ As calm as I’m pretending to be, when the thirty minutes shift to forty- five, and then to an hour, I’m about to go and drag Lofty out by his pubescent nose. But before I can, a polite knock sounds on the door.
‘Yes. Come in,’ I say, my voice breathy from the combination of fear and relief.
The door creaks open and an older man with a large bag slung over his shoulder hobbles in. He’s dressed in a rich green robe that’s all Galreck, though the patches on the elbows and seams are all slums. ‘I’m the healer,’ he says unnecessarily. He sniffs the air. ‘Robbard’s
tincture?’ he asks, impressed.
I nod. ‘Excellent. Excellent. He’ll need it.’ Slowly and carefully, he pulls at the fabric I used to pack the wound, never fully removing it, just peering inside.
Throughout the inspection, he only winces once – when he turns Kyor over –
and I hope that’s a good sign.
‘You packed this?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘You did a good job. Nasty wound this. Spear?’ I nod again. ‘Can you heal it?’ I snap. ‘Will he be all right?’ I know he needs the details, but I need him to fix Kyor, not waste time talking to me.
Gently, he prods at the wound. ‘I’m not the strongest healer,’ he admits. ‘I can stop any internal bleeding and seal the wound, but I can’t heal it completely. He’ll need to rest the shoulder for a few weeks and even then it might never be what it was. The muscle …’ He tuts slightly. ‘You wish me to proceed?’ I stare at Kyor. It’s his dominant arm – his fighting arm – that’s injured, and the fact that it might not recover completely would be more than a slight blow to Kyor. ‘Is there another here who can heal him more completely, who also comes with discretion?’ The healer smiles regretfully. ‘No. I’m it, and he doesn’t have much time either.’ I swallow. He’s right – I know he is. We don’t have time to drag Kyor into the centre of Galreck and find another healer, not now. ‘Then do what you can. Please.’ He presses his lips together and turns to Kyor as if he’s about to finally start doing the fucking task I brought him here for, but instead, he pauses and looks at the wolf. ‘Is she going to be a problem?’ Impatience bites at me and I work to keep my tongue civil. ‘No. She wants her bonded healed. Like I do. Please, do what you have to do.’ ‘Fine.’ Still his attention remains on Elska. ‘It’ll hurt, but it is necessary.’
‘Do it,’ I press. ‘Now. He’s already waited too long.’ ‘Very well.’ He points to the sole log I have. ‘Light that, will you?’ I had hoped to save it for later, but I suppose it will do me no good if the healer freezes while he works.
I light the log, and finally the healer turns his attention back to the man I lo—to Kyor. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he tells me. ‘Now, we need to get him onto the bed.’ I watch as he unpacks the wound, the copper tang of blood filling the air and blood weeping down Kyor’s side, before realising I can’t see this.
I can’t watch Kyor bleeding in front of me. Not anymore. Not when I don’t have to.
As the healer works away, I slump to the floor and sit next to Elska. The hard, cold ground almost immediately numbs me, but I don’t have it in me to move or care. ‘He’s going to be all right,’ I say softly to her, and she lays her huge head on my lap. I don’t stroke her – I’ve made that mistake before – but I welcome her warmth and comfort all the same.
Credit to him, the healer works tirelessly, and while I can’t see the magic he’s pulling on, I can see the effects on his body as he pushes himself to his limits. Sweat beads on his forehead and weaves down his temples, and before long the back of his cloak is soaked through and stuck to his skin.
Once or twice I force myself to my feet, searching for signs of the spidery green mottling that Kyor feared might infect him, but there’s nothing there.
Nails and teeth cause infections. Not blood.
At least we’ve learned a lesson, even if the knowledge came to us in the worst possible way.
It’s another long hour before the healer steps away from Kyor. ‘I’ve done all I can.’ The old man is visibly exhausted, and while he may be a healer, I sense that cuts, scrapes, and bruises are normally his wheelhouse. This, working on so much muscle and flesh, skin and tendons … that’s another thing entirely. I just hope the repair means Kyor can fight again. Then again, maybe I should just be grateful he’s alive. ‘Thank you, healer…?’ I trail off, inviting his name.
He smiles. ‘Best not to exchange names, for both of us. Good day to you.
I hope he recovers well. Some of my finest work, that.’ He bows to Elska and excuses himself before carefully sliding what passes for a door open and closing it again as he leaves.
Now that Kyor is safe and we’re alone again, the fatigue hits me, heavier than ever before. I had barely recovered from the incident with the Sannthrall myself, to the point that I don’t know how I even managed to fight the Rottings at all. As I consider the last twenty-four hours, my eyes fall on my mother’s ring.
Is it the reason I am still able to stand, or is it the reason Kyor has ended up like this in the first place?
I doubt I’ll ever know the answer, but either way, the battles and riding all through the night and day have me bone tired in a way I haven’t been
since the Retterheld.
The Retterheld.
It feels like it’s already in my distant past. Like the stripping and our exile. Even though it was less than a moon ago, being a Rettling is another chapter in my life that no longer fits with who and where I am now.
The Gods and I both know, many things can change in a moon.
Kyor is stretched out in the middle of the hard bed, with Elska at his feet.
As I move to join him, she shifts position to face the door, and a low growl rumbles from her throat as she pointedly bares her teeth and flexes her claws towards the entrance. Without words, she promises that nothing is getting past her tonight.
When it comes to things changing, it’s hard to deny the switch in my relationship with the wolf. Not so long ago, I was terrified of her, convinced she would rip me limb from limb. Now I’m obscenely grateful for her presence protecting us, here in the heart of a viper’s den.
With Elska settled once again, I climb onto the meagre pallet bed and fill the small space that Kyor’s body doesn’t take up. It’s not a lot of room, and I’ve no choice but to cuddle up to him. Not least because it helps ward off the biting cold.
Any heat from the stray log is long gone, but as I carefully lay my head against Kyor’s uninjured shoulder, I know the cold is not the only reason I am snuggled close.
Pressed against him as I am, I can feel the reassuring thud of his heart.
It’s still there.
He’s still here.
