He was close.
It had been careless to slumber.
Ryl snarled to himself as he viewed the activity outside the carriage. Breila whispered softly into the ear of a hulking man who carried the sleeping body of Aelin cradled carefully in his arms. A lancing shot of remorse arched through his body as the image conjured the acknowledgment of what his young friend truly was.
Though he was near his awakening, on the verge of becoming a phrenic, Aelin was still no more than a child.
Scarred far more than any should be, he had been forced to endure hardship painful enough to bring the mightiest to their knees. The young man had taken it all in stride. It was true that he wore his scars, both mental and physical, as all tributes did. Yet the reasoning for them seemed obtuse at best.
The solution to the situation had never been so near at hand.
The answer to the problem of the Ascertaining Decree, the Harvest, and the tributes was nearly within reach. He was determined not to keep the king waiting. He would not keep Kaep waiting.
Ryl stalked forward, relaxing the tension that had settled. The insinuation of the blackened shadows of the Horde faded into the familiar shapes of men as he moved.
Surrounding him in all directions was an elaborately paved courtyard stretching twenty meters in each direction. Immaculately groomed hedges lined three sides. A lone large opening, easily wide enough for two carriages to fit abreast, ran toward the main road in the distance. Several small gaps, covered by large arched awnings, broke the continuous hedge.
The mansion that made up the remaining side of the courtyard was as grand as it was large. Made almost entirely of white stone, the building seemed to glow with an eminence that was all its own. The rock, polished to a gleaming shine, reflected the yellow light of the lanterns, casting a shimmering faux daylight over the surrounding courtyard. Several thin, evenly spaced windows ran across the front facade.
Massive fluted pillars, seemingly carved from a single stone, stretched from the ground to the roof high above. A large balcony lined the second floor, its edge lined with an ornately adorned wrought-iron railing.
The mansion was a strange analogue of the structures he’d become familiar with in Vim. A feeling of nostalgia gnawed at his senses. The wonders of the hidden city called to him. He longed to be reunited with its comforts. Though immaculate and impressive, the mansion reminded him of the gawdy excess that characterized the overindulgence that was rampant among the high society. Many of those, by more flattery than fortune, had clawed past their peers, leveraging the backs of those below to profess their loyalty to the throne.
The contrast between the grand estate and the Proper’s East, Breila’s tavern and brothel located in the heart of the city’s most destitute ward, was startling. The madam lived in two vastly differing worlds. He watched as she issued hushed orders to her staff. Lord Eligar was present at the discussion, his hands gesturing to the west. A host of armed guards had exited, fanning out behind her in a protective arc. Three of the group hastened to their horses waiting nearby, spurring the mounts into a gallop as they rushed down the avenue toward the road.
Ryl approached, nodding his greeting to the pair. His eyes fell on Aelin, still asleep in the arms of one of her massive stewards.
“He was weary,” she whispered. Her eyes welled with tears. “He is strong, but he’s so young. Just a child …”
Ryl agreed with the sentiment.
“They all are,” he acknowledged. “He needs rest. There is much that lies ahead for him. For all of us. Can he remain here until I return? I won’t be long.”
She smiled as her eyes turned back to the sleeping boy. She ran her hand gently across his face, pushing aside a clump of stray hair.
“Put him in the guest quarters nearest mine,” she ordered softly. The guard moved slowly, careful not to wake the sleeping boy.
“You knew the answer before you asked.” She watched her guard until he disappeared into the house.
Ryl stopped abruptly as an annoyingly dark sensation washed over him. His left arm throbbed, the pain radiating outward from the center of the tattooed sun. He rubbed his arm gingerly with his right hand. His skin felt hot to the touch.
The sensation came from the west. It was a ripple of blackness that stilled the quiet calm of the early night. His gaze travelled to the blackened horizon. His mindsight showed nothing abnormal inside its frame, yet the darkened border in that direction seemed to push ever closer.
“Be ready to move at the first warning,” he said cryptically. “If you cannot flee by the port, The Stocks will be your safest haven.”
Fay and Breila regarded him with caution. Questioning looks were written clearly across their faces.
As was the concern.
“What is it?” Fay asked. “What did you feel?”
Ryl pondered the discomfort. The throbbing in his arm had been a precursor to the blackness that had accompanied the abnormalities of the Lei Guard. At the present, he wasn’t sure if it was that which he felt. The king, tainted by the elixir, the unholy concoction of alexen and the vile nexela, was there as well.
Was Leiroth?
Was the Horde?
“A hint of blackness,” Ryl answered, cautious to reveal more than necessary. “The night hides its intent. I fear what the light of the morning will illuminate. I must go. I’ll return before long. How far is the bridge to the garrison from here?”
“It is less than half a mile to the bridge,” she responded without hesitation. “Avoid the gates to the other households. My men darken the lanterns on the Kingsway to hide your approach.”
Ryl turned his
