Moving outside the crowd, two guards now flanked her on each side, walking along with their Captain as he dragged her further down one of the makeshift streets in Mermydion Hall, away from the play.
The actor in charge of the storytelling cleared his throat, and continued his story of Dementia, the Goddess who went mad and tried to kill her own children, a decision that ultimately led to the downfall of the Higher Gods.
Tiny shops of merchants displaying their wares lined the street on both sides, and everyone gawked at Gwenlian as the Captain and his entourage escorted her further and further into the belly of Mermydion Hall.
She needed a distraction, something to divert the guards’ attention away from her.
“Out of the way!”
All the guards turned toward the desperate voice, which belonged to a man driving a carriage and storming straight toward them. “Horse! No control!” The man added by way of explanation while he charged right ahead.
That voice. I know that voice.
Despite the haggard clothes he had thrown on that covered most of his features, the moment his eyes met Gwen’s, she instantly recognized the man coming to her rescue. Shej.
“Out of the way!” Shej yelled again while he sped toward us, and this time, the guards obeyed. The Captain let go of Gwen’s arm for a millisecond, but it was enough.
Fast as a lightning bolt, she sped off in the opposite direction, sticking to the shadows created by the overhanging shops to avoid being seen. As soon as she could, she bolted in a narrow opening between two shops, a makeshift street that led into another, shadow-covered alley in the heart of Mermydion Hall. Gwen pressed into the side of the shop, completely engulfed by the shadows and praying to Derina, the Goddess of Luck, that she wouldn’t be found.
A horse sped by, judging by the sound of its hooves on the cobblestone roads inside the roof-covered market place, followed by the gruff, but nervous voices of the guards.
“She can’t have run far,” the Captain said.
His voice sounded close, too close. Gwenlian needed to retreat further into the alley, but if she moved now, she risked being spotted.
Her heart hammered in her chest, obnoxiously loud. She focused on her heartbeat, trying to calm down the raging machine, breathing slowly in and out.
“Show yourself, thief!”
The Captain’s voice boomed through the alley, overruling the more distant sounds of carriages hobbling on the cobblestones, birds chirping, the actors of Wildwood Theater still playing the Fall of the Gods.
He was right next to the small slit in which Gwen had disappeared, she realized. The Captain so much as had to look to the right, and he’d stare right at her. Shej’s daring rescue would’ve been for naught, she would be dragged to trial before the Governor, and she’d lose one or both of her hands—if she was lucky, and she wasn’t hanged for her crimes.
The Captain’s footsteps paused right in front of the alley. Gwen looked down at his boots, standing only a few meters away from her feet.
Despite her fear, she managed to calm down her heartbeat until it was barely audible. The Righteous Hand would be proud of her: he was the one always hammering on about how important it was to stay calm in all situations.
She wondered how calm she would be when the executioner raised the axe above her wrist and chopped off her hand. The Righteous Hand, of course, would not lift a hand to protect one of his low-ranking thieves: in this world, it was every thief for himself.
The boots turned with their tips toward the alley and Gwen swallowed hard. This was it.
For three agonizing seconds, the Captain peered into the alley, staring straight at her, while Gwenlian practically pressed her back into the stones of the house she was leaning against. If she could’ve vanished into the stones, she would have, but they only pushed against her, tearing her skin.
Abruptly, the boots turned away from her. “Guard the exits, and make sure no one gets in or out without us knowing,” the Captain said to one of his men, who promptly answered, “yes, sir”. The conversation was followed by hurried footsteps in various directions, and the boots moved away from sight.
Gwen let out a breath she had been holding.
She was safe. For now.
Even if the guards blocked the exits to Mermydion Hall, she knew enough secret passageways to make a run for it. She had practically grown up in this roof-covered market, and she knew it like the back of her hand.
The biggest drawback was that the Captain had seen her face. If only for a few minutes, she had felt his gaze studying her, taking in her features. No matter where she ran into him in Yargon, he would know who she was now; he would recognize her as a thief.
Shuddering, Gwen moved away from the wall. Getting caught was her own damn fault. She shouldn’t have been half-occupied by the play, mesmerized by the actors’ words and rhythmic movements as they each appeared on scene. If she had paid more attention to her surroundings, she wouldn’t have foiled today’s plan, which they had been concocting for weeks. Knowing exactly when the play would start, how long it was expected to last, the moments during the play when the crowd would be too engrossed with the story to pay any attention to pickpockets.
Gwen had acted too brazen, too fast, and that had led to her getting caught.
Tormented by self-loathing, she ventured further down the alley, pressing her body in between the buildings on each side so she could squeeze through. With the haphazard way all shops in Mermydion Hall were built, dozens of small makeshift streets such as this one existed, perfect getaways for thieves on the run.
Gwen dashed onto the street the alley led to, an actual street this time, crowded with shoppers and shopkeepers alike, buzzing with activity.
Three steps into the street, and Gwen spotted two guards at the end of it, gawking for any sign of their runaway.
Staying behind a heavily-set man with a bulging belly, Gwen crossed a few more shops, hidden from the guards’ sight by the man’s impressive posture. When the next secret alley popped into sight, Gwen jumped into it, fast enough she was certain no guard would’ve spotted her.
The guards were everywhere. Getting out of here would take hours.
Suddenly, a hand circled around Gwenlian’s wrist, and pulled her further into the darkness.
Chapter 3
Gwenlian’s first reaction was to scream, but she might as well hand the guards a map to her location. Screaming meant getting caught, so she fought back against her natural instinct, swallowing the scream before it left her mouth.
“Sh,” a voice whispered from next to her. “I know a place we can hide.”
That voice. Male, deep, with a speech rhythm she recognized from somewhere, a memory of years ago.
“Follow me.” The man let go of her wrist and moved further into the shadows, allowing Gwen to make out the outlines of his frame. A black cape and hood, perfect for dwelling in darkness.
He half-turned toward Gwen, gesturing for her to follow him. An insignia on his chest. She couldn’t make out anything besides its color—gold—but she didn’t need to know more.
Black clothes, cape, a golden insignia, and a penchant for helping unfortunate thieves?
This man was a Nighthawk, a member of the feared Assassins’ Guild.
Still, Gwen tiptoed after him because a rescuer in any way, shape, or form, was still better than no rescuer at all. Besides, if there was anyone who knew more hideouts in Yargon than a thief, then it was an assassin.
At the end of the alley, the Nighthawk stopped and turned to her. The hood covered his mouth and nose. Only his eyes popped out, green emeralds the sight of which kicked Gwen in the gut.
“Taliesin.” She breathed out the word, every syllable tasting like a lost memory.
He was supposed to be in the Drowning Lands, far away from the Seven Kingdoms. He was never supposed to return to here.
The assassin gave no hint of recognition, but he bent his knees and put his hands together, gesturing for her to climb
on the wall next to them.
Gwen put her foot on the assassin’s hands, and he easily pushed her upward. The thief grabbed onto the window sill and pulled herself up. She tumbled inside the room hidden behind the open window, crashing onto the floor.
Seconds later, the assassin appeared in the window, and fluently entered through it, about a thousand times more elegantly than Gwen had done.
Gwen dusted off her pants while she got back up. “What in the Gods’ names brings you here?”
The more she looked at him, the more she recognized the man she had once known in the little details that were so familiar: the way he held himself, his shoulders squared, his chin high, oozing confidence without appearing arrogant; in the elegant, stealthy way he moved, mimicking a cat hunting prey.
“Rescuing damsels in distress, it seems.” That voice—how had she not recognized it sooner? But it had been years since she heard his voice, since she had tried to memorize the bubbling sound of his laugh, his musky scent, those emerald eyes…
“How did you know I needed help?” Gwen’s knees felt wobbly, and it wasn’t from running away from the guards.
“People generally don’t hang around in dark alleys for no reason. That, and I saw you getting dragged away by a small army of guards.”
“Okay.” Gwen crossed her arms in front of her chest. Taliesin’s presence made her vulnerable, remembered her of the little girl she had once been, a child looking up at a teenage boy and thinking he was the most amazing person alive.
But then he fled to the Drowning Lands, and she was certain she would never see him again. She had spent days, weeks, weeping into her pillow, with Lynnael patting her back and holding her close. One day, she had stopped crying, but not because her pain was over: like a river running dry, all her tears were just gone. She was empty.
“This is one of the Nighthawk’s safe houses,” Taliesin explained. “On the downstairs level, there’s a direct access to an underground tunnel leading straight to The Master of Crows.”
The Master of Crows. The leader of the Nighthawks—which, given his title, always made Gwen wonder ironically why he had not called his assassins ‘crows’ instead of ‘nighthawks’.
Gwenlian shook her head, her long braid snapping from left to right. “I can’t believe the coincidence that you just happen to come back the day I need rescuing.”
Taliesin glanced down, avoiding her gaze. Despite the hood covering most of his face, she could read his expression clear as day.
Gwen’s mouth dropped open and she retreated against the wall. “This isn’t the first day you’ve been back.”
When he left, the world was swallowed up from below her feet. It tore her apart from the inside out. But now he had returned, for the Gods know how long, and without telling her. Without even letting her know she was still alive.
“How long?” She struggled to say each word, every syllable another stab in her gut.
“A few months.” Taliesin scratched his head. “Gwen, I…” He paused, trying to find the right words, when there was no vocabulary impressive enough, and no language complicated enough, to explain how she felt.
Hurt. Betrayed. Those words sounded hollow, unable to cover what he had really put her through, and how much she ached finding out that, after all this turmoil, after everything that happened, he hadn’t come back for her. He hadn’t even bothered to inform her.
“Never mind it,” Gwen said, gritting her teeth. “Thanks for the help, but I’ll take it from here.”
“Gwen.” Taliesin held out his arm to stop her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Things have been… complicated.”
Something about the way he spoke, the darkness glancing over his eyes, made Gwen pause. She looked up at him, into those emerald eyes that had once held so many promises. “What’s going on?”
“Let’s say that I have a debt that needs to be paid.” Taliesin avoided her gaze. “It’s not your concern, though.”
Another knife to the gut.
“How about I get you out of here, for starters.”
Gwen swallowed hard, bile rising up in her throat. “You’ve changed. A lot.”
That dark shadow passed over Taliesin’s features again. “It’s been years, Gwen. You’ve changed, too.”
Strangers. They were two strangers, whatever connection they had, perished a lifetime ago. The distance was overwhelming, but Gwen refused to show any sign of weakness. He was the one pushing this distance between them, not Gwen.
“I’m still the same person I’ve always been,” she countered and pushed passed him, out of the empty room and down the stairs.
For years, she had longed to see him again, only ever dared to hope that he would return from the Drowning Lands. Now Taliesin was here, but he might as well have stayed in that Gods forsaken place, because the man she had once known was long gone.
Taliesin showed her the secret entrance behind the closet on the downstairs level of the house. Despite the upstairs being completely empty, the downstairs could pass as an actual home: table, chairs, closets, a kitchen. All of it was staged to appear as normal as possible, so that the guards would not even waste a second glance on this house, a dime in a dozen. But through the secret entrance, members of the guild of assassins could enter the underground network of tunnels the Master of Crows called home, navigating the city from below.
“These tunnels will bring you all the way out of Mermydion Hall, and to the temple of Alyada,” Taliesin explained, referring to the Goddess of Wisdom.
“There’s a secret entrance to the assassins’ network from Alyada’s temple?” Gwen arched her eyebrows. “And the devout followers are aware of this?”
“Let’s just say a good assassin needs a fair amount of wisdom too.” A hint of humor had crept into Taliesin’s voice, reminding Gwen of how he had been years ago.
The tunnels were covered in darkness. Taliesin grabbed a device from his coat, clicked on the device, and a flame sprang up from the stick, illuminating their surroundings.
Mud-brown soil clung to the sides of the tunnel, and the same material also covered the ground and ceiling above their heads. There was a slight slope, which suggested to Gwen that they were heading lower: beneath the houses occupying Mermydion Hall.
“So, how are Lynnael and Shej?” Taliesin asked after five minutes. His words came out a little muffled because of the hood covering his mouth, and because sound travelled awkwardly in the underground tunnels.
“They’re fine.” Not that it’s any concern of yours. If Taliesin couldn’t bother to let them know he had returned, then he shouldn’t pretend to care now.
“Glad to hear that.”
The duo continued on in silence for a while, a silence that put Gwen’s nerves on edge. Every footstep echoed around them, every breath of air became a magnified sound, and her own heart beat sounded like a war drum in her ears.
“Tell me about the Drowning Lands,” she said eventually. “What was it like? Is it as horrible as people always make it out to be?”
Taliesin remained silent for a second. Just as Gwen worried he would ignore her question and not even bother to reply, he cleared his throat. “It’s worse.”
“How so?” Gwen realized she was being cruel, pushing him to talk about something he clearly didn’t want to think about, but if whatever happened to him in the Drowning Lands, now caused him to push his friends aside—push her aside—then she deserved to know.
“The stories you heard.” Taliesin’s voice was low and hoarse. “Of spiders the size of houses, wolves with teeth sharp enough to snap you in half, witches with magic that can tear you apart, and the ghosts clutching onto travelers’ legs as they cross through the swamps.” The assassin glanced at me from over his shoulder. “They’re all real. And they’re worse than you can imagine.”
Gwen gulped. A shiver ran down her spine, and the temperature inside the tunnels seemed to have dropped several degrees all at once. “How…” She paused, licking her lips. “How
did you get back here?”
Taliesin shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about that.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
Gwenlian clenched her jaw, wondering if perhaps the reason why he had been hesitant to meet up with her or the others, was this. That seeing them would open up wounds Taliesin wasn’t ready to face yet, that he had realized they—she, in particular—would ask him questions he didn’t want to answer.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” the thief said after a while.
“It’s okay. Things have been better since I’ve been back. The Master of Crows took me back in, I’ve rejoined the ranks of the Nighthawks, and surviving the Drowning Lands taught me a thing or two.” Taliesin hesitated, and then continued. “There’s one thing I forgot to tell you about these tunnels.”
“And that is?” Gwen arched an eyebrow. Never trust an assassin, The Righteous Hand, master of thieves, always said. She had adhered to this principle throughout her career, except when it came to Taliesin, but it seemed this new version of him, who seemed totally like him and yet totally different at the same time, wasn’t as trustworthy as the Taliesin she had once considered her friend.
“You don’t access these tunnels without paying a toll.”
“A toll?” Gwen’s heartbeat picked up, her heart jamming into her ribcage. “To the Master of Crows, you mean?”
Taliesin nodded. “Sorry, but this was the only way to safely get you out of Mermydion Hall, and I doubted you would’ve come if I told you beforehand.”
“You’re right about that.” Gwen gritted her teeth and balled her fists, trying hard not to smack him in the face. Never fight an assassin, was The Righteous Hand’s second life motto, and rightfully so. You might as well sign your own death certificate rather than fight one of the Crow’s minions.
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