Page 117 of To Kill a King
The guard’s gaze roved from her feet to the tip of her head. He frowned. “No luggage? Or supplies?”
Aliya shook her head, grateful her freckled skin and brown hair didn’t resemble her favored appearance. “I’m only here for a few nights. Better to travel light.”
The man’s lips thinned as he gave her a final once-over. The silence between them stretched until Aliya’s heart beat so loud it threatened to explode right out of her chest.
“Very well.” He handed her a slip of paper. “Your pass is valid for two days. If you overstay, you’ll be subject to arrest and the king’s justice.”
She snatched the strip, trying to keep her hands from shaking. Turning her back to the guard, Aliya stepped into Lions Grove.
She’d never expected to willingly return. Especially knowing Malkov could astral project at any moment and realize where she was.
Mentally crossing her fingers, she hurried down the street. The sooner she got this taken care of, the less likely it was that he would discover she was here.
Her stomach growled as the scent of cooked meat drifted to her nose. After more than a week of subsisting on the berries and edible plants Elessan had shown her, the prospect of eating something non-vegetarian sounded divine. From what she remembered, the market was in the northern part of the city. Chewing the inside of her lip, she turned left at the first major intersection she encountered.
The avenue was broad, on account of the heavy flow of traffic. The buildings on either side, however, were narrow and packed together. Some tenements looked like they would tip over at the slightest gust of wind. Entryways sported curtains rather than wooden doors, and none of the windows contained glass.
Aliya blinked. It should be inexcusable for people to be forced to endure this in the capital.
Partially hidden behind a half-rotten slab of fabric dangling from a window were the painted words Long Live Queen Aliya!
Her heart soared as she bit back a smile. The task ahead didn’t feel so heavy knowing she had support, even if they were hiding in the alleys and backstreets.
Across the way, another board declared, Death to Mages!
A weight pressed against her shoulders, squeezing her chest until it shriveled and she couldn’t breathe. Even if she did manage to murder King Malkov, she had quite a battle in front of her before mages were truly accepted into society.
Before she would be accepted.
Dirty kids ran down the road, weaving between carts and traffic. Underneath her cloak, Aliya clutched her purse, tied to her belt. Her father’s men often spoke about street children being skilled thieves. Considering how little she had, she would need to guard every coin.
A one-legged man in a filthy shawl and a tin cup sat next to one of the walls. A flat rock on which he’d written “War veteran, please help” in gray paint was propped up against the stump of his leg.
Aliya’s gut twisted. There were probably hundreds, if not thousands, of soldiers on both sides wounded or dead since her wedding day. That many more widows and orphans she was responsible for because she’d been too cowardly to face Malkov then. Her shoulders collapsed, unable to bear the weight settling in her stomach.
She pulled out a precious copper piece and dropped it into the man’s tin cup. The clank echoed off the surrounding walls.
The man looked up between oily clumps of hair, one half of his face horribly scarred and squinted at her with one good eye. “Bless you, lady.”
She backed away as the water in her eyes overflowed and spilled down her cheeks. He’d never thank her if he knew she was responsible for the prolongation of the war. Spinning on her heel, she strode away before the sound of her coin in his cup caught anyone else’s attention.
The street continued, becoming narrower after each intersection, the ramshackle houses crowding further into the roadway. The cobblestones ended, leaving the ground rough with ruts and potholes. A group of older kids congregated outside one of the larger buildings up ahead. A predatory glint sparkled in the eye of the tallest one as he jumped from the barrel he’d been holding court upon. He flashed yellowed teeth at her.
Her heart skipped a beat as the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She shouldn’t be here.
Valek. She must have missed the turn to the market.
Pulling a small kernel of her magic to bear, she spun on her heel and headed back the way she’d come.
“Hey lady!” one of the youths called. “These are our streets. You wanna walk ‘em, you pay the toll like everyone else.”
What would Elessan do?
She didn’t stop, and soon footsteps sounded behind her.
“Lady, I’m talking to you!”
She turned as the oldest boy reached her. He held a knife in his right hand, and a purse in his left. The youth leered at her, taking in her dusty cloak and patch-free clothes.