The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

She was exhausted. It was not merely losing a night’s sleep while avoiding the assassin. Saving Wery had drained her. After leaving the palace, she returned to the alley and retrieved the wizard’s robe. She did not dare put it on for fear someone might recognize it. She rolled it up and, clutching it to her chest, stood on the edge of the broad avenue, unable to decide what to do next. Staying would be sheer stupidity. Looking down the broad length of Grand Avenue, she could see the front gates of the city. It felt like a lifetime since she was home. It would be so good to see a familiar face, to hear her brother’s voice—to rest.

She knew she should leave. She should go that very minute, but she was so tired. The idea of setting out into the cold dark, alone and hungry, was too much. She desperately needed a safe place to sleep, a hot meal, and a friendly face—which meant just one thing—the Barkers. Besides, she could not leave without retrieving the pearl-handled hairbrush, the last remaining keepsake from her father.

Nothing had changed at the end of Brisbane Alley. The length was still dotted with small campfires and littered with bulky shadows of makeshift tents, carts, wagons, and barrels. People moved about in the growing dark. Some glanced at her as she passed, but no one spoke or approached her. She found the Barkers’ wagon and as always, a great tarp stretched out from it like a porch awning. One of the bys spotted her and a moment later Lynette rushed out. Without a word, she threw her arms around Arista and squeezed tightly.

“Come, have something to eat,” she said, wiping her cheeks and leading Arista by the hand. Lynette laid a pot on the fire. “I saved some just in case. I had to hide it, of course, or the vultures would have gobbled it all down. I wasn’t sure you’d be back…”

The rest of the Barkers gathered around the fire. The boys, Finis and Hingus, sat on the far side. Brice Barker, dressed in his usual white shirt and gray trousers, sat on an upturned crate whittling a bit of wood. No one spoke. Arista took a seat on a wooden box feeling awkward. Although they tried not to, all of them stared.

Is that apprehension in their eyes, or outright fear?

“Ella?” Lynette finally asked in a small, tentative voice. “Who are you?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said after a long pause. She expected them to balk or argue, instead, they all nodded silently as if expecting her answer just as she had expected their question.

“I don’t care who you are, you’re always welcome at this fire,” Brice said. He kept his eyes on the flames, but his words betrayed an emotion she did not expect. Brice, who made his living shouting in the streets all day, hardly ever spoke.

Lynette dished out the bit of stew she had warmed up. “I wish there was more. If I had only known you’d be back.”

“How is Wery?” Arista asked.

“He slept all night, but was up most of the day running around causing a nuisance as usual. Everyone who’s seen him is saying the same thing—it was a miracle.”

“Everyone?” Arista asked with concern.

“Folks been stopping by all day to see him and asking about you. Many said they had sick children or loved ones who are dying. One got so angry he knocked down the canvas and nearly upset the wagon before Finis brought Brice home to clear him out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be! Please—no—don’t ever be sorry,” Lynette pleaded. She paused, her eyes tearing again. “You won’t be able to stay with us anymore, will you?”

Arista shook her head.

“The hooded man?”

“And others.”

“I wish I could help,” Lynette said.

Arista leaned over and hugged her. “You have…more than you’ll ever know. If I could just get a good night’s sleep, then I—”

“Of course you can. Sleep in the wagon, it’s the least we can do.”

Arista was too exhausted to argue. She climbed up and, in the privacy of the wagon, put the robe on to fight away the night’s cold. She crawled across a lumpy bedding of coarse cloth that smelled of potatoes and onions and laid her head down at last. It felt so good to close her eyes and let her muscles and mind go. She could hear them whispering outside, trying not to disturb her.

“She’s a servant of Maribor,” one of the boys said. She could not tell which. “That’s why she can’t say. The gods never let them say.”

“Or she could be Kile—a god disguised and doing good deeds,” the other added. “I heard he gets feathers from Muriel’s cloak for each one he does.”

“Hush! She’ll hear you,” Lynette scolded. “Go clean that pot.”

Arista fell asleep to their whispers and woke to loud voices.

“I tell you I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know anything about a witch.” It was Brice’s voice and he sounded frightened.

Arista peered out from the wagon. An imperial soldier stood holding a torch, his way blocked by Brice. Behind him, farther up the alley, other soldiers pounded on the door to the tannery, and forced their way into the other tents.

“Sergeant,” the man in front of Brice called, “over here!”

Three soldiers walked fast, their armor jangling, hard boots hammering the cobblestone.

“Tear down this hovel and search it,” the Sergeantered. “Continue to do the same for all these places. They’re an eyesore and should be removed anyway.”

“Leave them alone,” Arista said, stepping out of the wagon. “They haven’t done anything.”

“Ella!” Brice snapped. “Stay out of this.”

The sergeant moved briskly toward Arista but Brice stepped in the way.

“Leave my daughter alone,” he threatened.

“Brice, no,” Arista whispered.

“I am only here for the witch,” the soldier told them. “But if you insist I will be happy to torch every tent in this alley.”

“She’s no witch!” Lynette cried, clutching Wery to her side. “She saved my baby. She’s a servant of Maribor!”

The sergeant studied Arista briefly, sucking on his front teeth.

“Bind her!” he ordered.

Two of his men stepped forward with a length of rope and grabbed hold of Arista by her arms. They immediately cried out in pain, let go, and stumbled backward. One fell over a bucket. Esrahaddon’s robe glowed a deep pulsating red. The guards glared at her in fear, shaking their injured hands.

Seeing her chance, Arista closed her eyes and began to concentrate. She focused on blocking out the sounds of the street and on—

Pain exploded across her face.

She fell backward to the ground where she lay dazed. Her eyesight darkened at the edges, a ringing wailed in her ears.

“We’ll have none of that!” The sergeant declared.

She looked up through watery eyes seeing him standing over her rubbing his knuckles. He drew his sword and pointed it at Brice.

“I know better than to let you cast your spells, witch. Don’t make another sound and remove that robe. Do it now! I’ll strip you naked if needed. Make no sudden moves or sounds, or I’ll cleave off this man’s head here and now.”

Lynette was somewhere to her right, and Arista heard her gasp in horror.

“The robe. Take it off!”

Arista wiggled out of the robe leaving her clothed only in Lynette’s thin kirtle. The sergeant sucked on his teeth again and stepped closer. “Are my men going to have any more trouble with you?” He lifted the point of his sword toward Brice once again.

Arista shook her head.