There was a gasp from those seated around the table.
“Fay, see to your men,” Ryl ordered. “Make them ready. They must fall back to the safety of The Stocks when ordered. Leave a contingent to guard the bridge. I want nothing to leave that garrison, to cross that bridge without notice.”
“Aye. I have a plan for that structure.” Fay grinned.
Ryl clapped the young lord on the shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze.
“Breila, may I ask another favor of you?” Ryl inquired. “We’ve travelled with you this far, would you have room to house my young friend here for the night? I need to have a closer look at the garrison. Alone.”
The madam chuckled as she rose.
“Of course, Ryl,” she said. “It’s rare I have the opportunity to entertain any at my home, and there is more than enough space. Lord Eligar, your retinue are welcome as well.”
“I thank you kindly,” Fay said, offering a shallow bow. “Though I doubt your neighbors would think kindly of one of your station hosting members of an invading army.”
“My lord.” The voice carried from the side of the room where the bar stood. Ekard leaned against the polished wooden railings of the bar, a mug in hand.
“Take my carriage,” he offered. “I’ll not need it. It’s the least I can do to help.”
Fay bowed again, this time to his friend.
“As always, your hospitality leaves me in awe, my friend,” he said.
With the impromptu meal and meeting adjourned, the party filed back out toward the square. Aelin walked beside Breila, with wiry Old Man Averine at their heels.
Ryl crossed the small room, shaking hands with Ekard, finding his own enveloped by the warm, sturdy grasp of his host.
“Take care, young man,” he whispered. “It’s long past time someone stood up. We have all been too weak to raise our voices.”
Ryl smiled as he nodded. The reverence and the thanks were grating, though he understood the sentiment. The population had been subjugated for so long, even the mere thought to question had been bred out over generations.
Fay was the last to thank their host. Ryl saw the flash of silver as their hands met.
“This is far too much for the services I’ve rendered,” Ekard complained as he tried adamantly to reject the sum. Fay’s persistence won out in the end. The barkeep begrudgingly pocketed the coins.
Fay followed a step behind, so Ryl noted when he paused abruptly in the threshold of the door. He turned his head as the metallic ring of a coin sounded as Fay flicked a final coin toward Ekard before exiting.
Gold shimmered in the air as the door shut behind them.
Darkness had fully descended as they made way from the cafe to the carriage that had been pulled up in front of the building. There was a crisp tang to the night air, a potent saltiness that carried on the wind.
Fay stepped to the side, engaging in a rapid discussion with several officers of his modest army. Breila opened the door to the carriage, ushering Aelin ahead. The young tribute yawned as he clambored into the wagon. The madam held a brief conversation with the driver, her hand pointing toward the west. Toward her home.
Ryl paused as the cold grasp of fingers closed around his forearm. He turned his head, greeting Old Man Averine’s unusually lucid stare.
“I understand the plight that is yours to bear,” he whispered, his face close to Ryl’s. “Though I can do little to ease the burden, know that I believe in you. I follow generations of those who have seen your success night by night in their dreams.”
Ryl’s look was curious. The old man was an anomaly to him. The compassion, the dedication had survived successive generations without faltering. They had maintained their silent vigil in the hopes that the catalyst would return.
That he would free the tributes from their seemingly endless toil.
“I’ve watched you from afar since you were a boy,” he continued. “Whether it was on paper or in person. They never understood your true worth. They could never understand the hope that you’ve brought to an old man like me. To the nameless who’ve worked silently awaiting your arrival.”
Ryl was speechless. He watched as the tears formed in the corners of Averine’s eyes.
“You have brought hope to an old man who had nearly given up on the concept,” he whispered. “You’ve made us proud. There is nothing I’ve heard from Lord Eligar or from eyewitness reports of your actions that would make me believe otherwise.”
His tearful gaze focused on Ryl with a moment of resolution.
“Do not let that hope die,” Averine warned. “No matter how dark things become. We will always believe in you. Whether you believe it yourself. The kingdom is ready for the change that you will bring.”
Without another word, Old Man Averine turned and wandered away toward the center of the square. He ran his hand along the back of Lord Eligar as he passed. Fay paused, casting a side eye at the wandering senior. Averine hummed to himself as he strolled across the square. The stubborn old man shooed off any assistance as he sauntered onward, disappearing into the darkness of the avenue leading to the east. With a nod from Fay, a pair of guards separated from their party, hastening after the retreating shadow of the ancient watcher.
Ryl’s eyes followed the pair until the escort for Old Man Averine had disappeared into the darkness of the avenue, before ascending the step to the carriage. The crude wooden shocks squeaked wildly as he added his weight to the modest wagon. He took in one last view of the city that
