His reaction made me wonder just what Vyne had told him about the Vigil. Had the Archbishop suspended the rules and revealed our ability? “Relax, Lieutenant Hradian. It’s doubtful the Archbishop would send you to retrieve me and then keep you from entering the city. It’s obvious that he’s not the one who ordered the curfew.”
Hradian shook his head at me. “The Archbishop might have ordered such a curfew, in light of the queen’s death. How are you so sure?”
I didn’t know how much the lieutenant knew, and I wasn’t about to create trouble for myself. “The reason Archbishop Vyne ordered children to accompany you is the reason he wouldn’t bother with ordering a curfew to try and catch the killer.”
“And why is that?” Hradian pressed.
“Because he knows it wouldn’t work.” I walked away before he could ask me anything else.
We bedded down close enough to the watch fires of the soldiers to provide light and waited for dawn. Except for Rory. Our thief pulled a length of chiccor root from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, staring into the night as he spun a dagger back and forth across his hand.
As I lay on my back staring up at the dots of light in the sky, Gael scooted in close and put one hand on my chest. Her voice came to me like a blessing, her face close to my ear. “Is this what we’ve come to, Willet? Being guarded by children?” She glanced at Rory.
I nodded. “So it seems. Odd as it is, I still feel safer here than in Laidir’s court in Bunard.”
We drifted to sleep soon after.
At dawn, Hradian and his men led us between the cold braziers and the soldiers to crest a low rise, and we drew closer to Cynestol, the crown of the northern continent. I’d expected it to be big, had known that the chief city of Aille could hold half a dozen copies of Bunard within its walls, but distance and haze had obscured it the previous day.
“Aer in heaven,” I breathed. “It’s . . . it’s . . .”
“Huge,” Bolt said. “I’ve never liked it much.”
“Why not?” Rory asked. “It’s got to be the biggest and richest city on the continent.”
Bolt shook his head. “That’s just it. Cynestol has everything that can be had on the northern continent and everyone who lives here knows it. There’s a saying that if there’s an indulgence you can’t find in Cynestol, it’s because it doesn’t exist. Its citizens are all very impressed with the wealth and size of their city, as though it imparts some sort of virtue.”
I pointed. “That’s not impressive?”
Gael patted my arm. “You’ll get used to it after a while, though I have to admit it took me the better part of a month. Think of it as several cities in one.”
I shook my head. “I’m having a problem thinking of it at all. It makes my eyes hurt.”
We struggled to make headway against a flood of foot traffic that clogged the entire width of the road and spilled over the sides. It couldn’t have effectively accommodated half the people that were trying to use it. “Is it always like this?” Rory asked. “I could spend a year here as a pickpocket and live in leisure for the rest of my life.”
Bolt shook his head. “The king, Sylvest, passed less than a year ago, and now the queen is dead as well. The people of Cynestol pride themselves on their detachment, but they’re nervous, and understandably so.” He jerked his head toward Hradian. “Though the good lieutenant hasn’t said so, the news is worse than that.”
I looked at the crowd and felt my heart make the long descent from my chest to the pit of my stomach. “She died before she could pass the gift of kings on to her heir.”
Rory scowled. “How do you know that?”
I pointed at the people streaming past us, hurrying to get away from the city. “Because if Chora’s gift had passed to her son, these people wouldn’t be running away. New ministers will probably use the opportunity to settle old scores.”
Rory’s grin turned feral. “Forget picking pockets. I should ask Pellin to let the Mark come back to us.”
Bolt’s glare could have withered a stump. “Boy, if there are dwimor in this crowd, you’re the only one who can spot them.”
To Rory’s credit, he sobered, but that probably wouldn’t mollify Bolt. He would most likely subject Rory to an extended “training session” once we were safely tucked away in the city.
The wall surrounding Cynestol wasn’t particularily high. I doubted if it could withstand a siege for more than a week, but Aille could easily muster enough men to put any other nation’s standing army to shame. Tiled rooftops shone in the sun in a thousand different colors, and most of the buildings, large or small, were constructed out of huge blocks of sandstone.
“I’d like to move faster,” Bolt grunted, nudging his horse forward. “We’ll be lucky to make the cathedral before noon.”
“What about the east gate?” Gael asked. “If I remember correctly that route usually has much less use.”
Bolt nodded. “That might help. I’ll suggest it to Hradian.”
We soon came to a road that circled the city on three sides and detoured toward the sun. Closer, I amended my opinion of the city walls. They were higher than I had first estimated. The sheer size of Cynestol made them appear lower from a distance. How did they feed so many people?
The sun was an orange ball that had risen to two hands above the horizon when we entered the east gate. I was used to the noise of marketplaces, and this one was no different.
