Sweet-smelling planters of meticulously organized flowers lined the avenue. They passed several small green courtyards adorned with ornately manicured bushes and trees. Benches lined the windy stone pathways into their midst. Small cafes feature extended patios, where tables and chairs awaited patrons.
Disturbingly absent from the scene were the people. No traffic from those on foot or wagon greeted them as they proceeded onward. On a few occasions they had captured a fleeting glance of motion as someone ducked back into their home or darted down a familiar side street. Heavy blinds and thick curtains closed off the view into most houses and storefronts. Occasionally, the shuffling of the fabric was the only sign that life remained, hidden among the buildings.
The watchful feeling was ever present. Tens of thousands resided permanently inside the city limits, yet the area around them was barren. They were likely scared and perhaps rightfully so. Never in the recorded history of the kingdom had a disturbance of this magnitude occurred. The willingness to persecute children and murder families for the crime of trying to survive did little to instill confidence that retribution from the crown would be anything less than severe.
The section of Cadsae Proper they crossed was commonly referred to as Center City. This wide track of the massive city spanned from the East Ward, north to the Pining Gates and south to the port. The port encompassed its own district, which included much of the trade-worthy seawall as well as the bustling market. On the west, Center City was bordered by the opulent Estates. A thin, though moderately sizable wall prevented easy access to the mansions that enjoyed wide tracts of land until the point where the city met the delta of the river. A lone entryway separated the wall. The road through the Estates ran straight and uninterrupted until it reached the lone bridge that spanned the fast-moving water of this confluence leading to the garrison, the westernmost point in the entirety of the Kingdom of Damaris.
Once inside the Estates, they would be afforded few avenues of escape. Properties were gated. All were staffed with some manner of private security. In normal times, the frequent patrols of the guards coming to and from the garrison were a potent deterrent to any who wished to cause ill content.
Their path along the road had angled south. The quickly falling sun beat hard upon the right side of Ryl’s face. The warmth on his skin, though comforting, was more of an aggravation than a boon. He had grown accustomed to the cloak, which covered all but the lower half of his face. The freedom and relative anonymity it provided him was comforting. Without his phrenic cloak, he felt exposed. Naked. The scratchy cloth on his tattooed skin was aggravating. He found his concentration fraying as he struggled with the grating sensation against his arms.
Ryl pulled up on the collar of his borrowed guard uniform, doing his best to hide the clearly defined brands on his neck.
His scans of the surrounding area had been persistent. His eyes darted from building to building. He focused on each rooftop, scouring every shadow for signs of warning. Though there had been no additional signs of tributes, phrenic or Lei Guard, the sensation of concern, a growing darkness, continued to intensify. The alexen in his blood were alert, powering through his veins of their own volition. Their increased and steady activity without his command was unnatural. It was a disturbing feeling, though it had seemed to keep the dark whispers temporarily at bay. He searched for answers within the vault, within the thousands of lifetimes of experiences and knowledge within his mind.
He found no recollection or understanding within.
Ryl spurred his horse forward, slowing when he came aside Breila and Aelin. The youngster smiled at him, though his arms were still locked around the waist of the madam.
“Will there be any issue gaining access to the Estates?” he asked.
Much of her plan was still a mystery to him. He chided himself mentally for following blindly, yet he was convinced she would neither slow him down, nor lead him into harm willingly. He and Andr had been at her mercy. Even with the destruction within and around the Proper’s East, she had not cast them aside.
If Andr trusted her with his life, so would he.
In truth, her guidance was a welcome addition. She knew the inner workings of the city. Her familiarity was with all, from the most destitute to the highest echelons of society.
“I do not believe so,” she replied. Though her voice was confident, it failed to instill a feeling of comfort that Ryl would have preferred. “The city guard usually man the gate, though there will likely be none now. With so few troops left in the city, if sentries remain, they’d have been withdrawn to the bridge, closer to the safety of the garrison.”
Ryl nodded his head at the assessment.
“As I told you earlier, it is the private security forces here that are to be feared,” she continued. “Though dressed as guards, they are likely to pay us no mind. They exist with an uneasy acceptance of the troops. They allow the soldiers to patrol the streets, yet permit none to trespass on their property. They will likely be on heightened alert, as the regular patrols have abandoned the area.”
“Why have they forsaken the richest among them?” Aelin’s innocence was relieving as he posed the question.
“They do not abandon them,” Breila replied, craning her neck to look toward the boy. “It is that they harbor little suspicion of them. They have no fear of uprising. Though they are
