Betrayed: Ruby's Story (Destined Book 4)

by Kaylin Lee

  I tore my gaze away from the racing traffic to study her face for a moment. “Why so cheap?” I repeated evenly.

  “Oh, don’t worry about those old fools at the gate.” She flapped her hand. “Some folk are superstitious. Cowards. They get scared coming out to our part of town.” She winked. “Good news, right? Makes our rooms cheaper for smart, brave girls like you.”

  “Superstitious?” I squeezed my grip on the seat as my stomach plunged. “Why?”

  “Ever heard of the old Wasp clan?”

  I swallowed. “I thought their clan was destroyed in that storm.” Thirteen years ago, to be exact. The fact was still fresh in my mind after my interview with Zel two weeks earlier.

  Her wizened eyes were difficult to read. “It sure was. The storm killed everyone in the Wasp territory. Nearly everyone.” She shrugged and smiled again. “But it didn’t kill us.”

  Chapter 14

  Night fell as we sped through the city streets, bumping over potholes and careening down narrow, twisting alleyways until I was thoroughly lost.

  The city was polluted, crowded, and utterly overwhelming. Without luminous streetlamps, and with the moon and stars obscured by low, smoky clouds, I could barely see farther than a block or two ahead of the fomecoach.

  The old woman stuck to side streets, but every once in a while, we turned onto a larger thoroughfare. In those busier avenues, young men and women in sparkling, mage-craft finery and elaborate jewelry paraded down the footpaths, laughing, drinking, and shouting obscenities with no regard for the scrawny children begging on every corner.

  Each street held a disorienting hodgepodge of housing—fine, stone villas mixed in with teetering piles of metal shacks that were stacked one on top of the other in a strange combination of mage-craft construction and human ingenuity.

  After several minutes of silence, my driver jerked her head toward a long, solid wall. “Hawk clan compound,” she said. “Their territory runs all the way to the south gate now.”

  “I see.” At some point, I’d need to find a map of Draicia’s current territory lines. I had a feeling it would be essential to survival here.

  “Almost there.”

  She spun the fomecoach down a crooked alley that opened into a wide, empty boulevard, and it was like we’d suddenly left the city. The sounds of chaotic traffic and boisterous clansmen died. The wheels of our fomecoach crunched over potholes. Empty villas and collapsing shacks lined the street, their vacant, cracked windows watching us like wary eyes as we sped past.

  “Where is everyone?” My voice sounded awkwardly loud.

  “This is the old Wasp territory. It’s empty now.” She scowled. “The rest of the city raided the homes of the dead, but they didn’t dare stay in them. Now it’s just us.” The fomecoach jolted to a stop as she slammed on the brakes. “This is it.”

  The villa was narrow but several stories tall, with crumbling stone carvings adorning the arched entryway and high windows on each level. Even in the gloom, I could see it had once been an elegant, luxurious dwelling. A single candle flickered in a window on the ground level.

  I pried my fingers from the sides of the fomecoach seat and clambered down to stand on the street, pulling my pack after me. I followed the woman into the entryway and through the plain front door, passing beneath a simple, carved wooden sign that read, “Rooms for Rent.”

  Just inside, a thin, dark-haired young woman with flawless, golden skin paused, broom in hand, and glared at us. Her brown eyes would have been lovely had they not been narrowed suspiciously. “Auntie, I told you not to go to the south gate anymore. Our rooms are nearly full. We have more than enough boarders.”

  I ducked my head and let my dirty hair hang over my face again. Perhaps if I looked pathetic enough, she’d find a place for me.

  The old woman flapped her hands as though shooing the young woman’s words away. “I like it out there. More interesting, that’s for sure. This Asylian girl was pretending to be a desperate Badlander. I couldn’t resist bringing her back.”

  I froze, then shoved my hair out of my eyes. “How did you know?” I blurted out.

  The younger woman rolled her eyes. “Only an Asylian would dress like a Western adventurer from a novel for a trip through the Badlands. And you’re wearing dirt like it’s makeup.”

  I would’ve bet I was too exhausted to be embarrassed, but the sudden heat in my cheeks proved me wrong. “I heard it would be safer to pretend to be from the Badlands.”

  The young woman exchanged a wry glance with the older one and huffed out a humorless laugh. “You can try if you want, but there’s not much point. Badlanders, foreigners, locals … no one is safe here.”

  “What’s your name, dear?” The older woman eyed me proudly, like a cat who’d brought home a prized mouse corpse.

  I froze, my mind suddenly going blank. “Kata,” I finally blurted out, remembering Grandmother’s instructions. “And yes, I’m Asylian.”

  “Welcome to Draicia, Kata,” said the old woman. “You can call me Auntie. Everyone does. And this here is Opal. She’s got a room for you, if you can pay, and I have a feeling you can. Go get cleaned up so we can get a good look at those freckles of yours. We don’t see many with Western blood out here.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “I said I’m Asylian.” The words sounded defensive. I cleared my throat. “I mean, my ancestors are Western, but my family has been in Asylia for generations.”

  Opal frowned. “So?”

  Auntie clucked. “Blood is like currency in Asylia. Poor thing.” She patted me on the shoulder, and after so many lonely days in the Badlands, the gentle, firm touch was oddly comforting, even from a stranger. “We don’t hold with such nonsense in Draicia, little one. So don’t even think about hiding that pretty copper hair.”

  “We’re all just too busy trying to stay alive to worry about history and appearances,” Opal muttered. She set her broom against the wall and approached me, looking me over with a critical eye. “You’re filthy. I’ve got a room for you, but I want a week’s payment up front and an extra three nights’ deposit in case you stain anything in the room that must be replaced.” She raised an eyebrow, as though daring me to argue with her.

  “Thank you. I’ll bathe right away. I promise, I’m not normally so …” I gestured to my disgusting pantaloons and trailed off. “Horrifying.”

  Her lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “Good to know.” She held out one hand.

  I stared blankly at her hand for a moment before I realized she expected me to pay now. I bent down to dig the warm, sweaty stipend envelope out of the top of my boot.

  Opal shuddered visibly at the sight but didn’t pull her hand away as I drew out several wrinkled, paper bills and placed them in her palm.

  “Top floor,” she said. “First room on the right. You’ll find clean blankets and a washroom ready for you. I don’t cook breakfast, but there’s a small market just past the territory border where you can find a bite to eat in the morning.” She folded the marks and slid them into her pocket. “You look tired enough to fall asleep standing up, so I’m going to state this very clearly.”

  I forced my eyes to widen and hoped I looked attentive. “Yes?”

  “Bathe thoroughly before you go anywhere near those clean blankets, or your deposit is mine.”

  ~

  I woke sometime after dawn. A shaft of bright, gray light speared through a crack in the curtains and shone directly on my face like Draicia was letting me know I’d slept long enough.

  I sat up slowly, eyes still hot and dry from exhaustion, but my mind was already racing. “I survived my first night in Draicia,” I whispered to myself. “Take that, Lucien.”

  The top-floor bedroom was small, with a high, cracked ceiling and chipped arches over the bedroom and washroom doors. A tall window took up nearly the entirety of the front wall, and the frayed, emerald curtains hung from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.

  I climbed out of bed and st
retched, reveling in the feel of my clean skin brushing against the soft nightgown I’d dug out of the bottom of my pack. Staying awake long enough to bathe and wash my hair had been pure torture but completely worth the effort.

  I went to the window and pulled the curtains apart, letting more of the pale, gray light into the room. The bit of fabric I’d touched disintegrated into a soft coating of green dust on my hand. I yanked my hand back, but it was too late. There went my deposit. I brushed off my hand, then I stood in the bright window for a moment, studying the street. Other than Auntie’s fomecoach, the road was deserted. No one stirred in the windows of the villas across the street.

  I turned away and made the bed. It was finely-carved but covered in scuffs and scratches, and it was so large it took up almost the entire room. The bedspread consisted of a threadbare, gray sheet and a pile of thick, faded quilts with frayed edges. Against one wall leaned a tall, polished mirror with a carved, silver frame and six enormous cracks across the middle that made it almost impossible to see my reflection clearly. Beside it, a small fireplace held nothing but an empty grate and black soot stains.

  All the furnishings in the room were old—cracked and even broken in places. But clearly, they had once been fine.

  I drew a wrinkled, light-brown dress out of my pack and put it on, then pulled on my old, red sweater and wrapped the tie around my waist. I stood in front of the mirror to twist my hair into a low bun before perching on the edge of the bed. My stomach growled, but my nerves weren’t quite ready to search out that market Opal had mentioned quite yet.

  “City of Light,” I murmured, watching specs of dust dance in the weak rays of sunlight spilling through the window. How could a city known for its enlightenment descend into violence so completely? It had been only a century since the Draician government fell to the clans, but it might as well have been a millennium.

  I shook my head and got to my feet. Then I folded a few paper marks in my sweater pocket and squared my shoulders. It was time to get started.

  Chapter 15

  The morning was frigid, the air somehow wet without actual rainfall. I tugged the hood of my red sweater over my hair and shivered as a light, cold wind brushed my bare legs. When I’d left Asylia, it wasn’t yet stocking weather, but it looked like winter came earlier to Draicia. Why was I not surprised?

  I knew the moment I left Wasp territory. Immediately, though the soot-stained, rain-wet buildings still looked to be one heavy storm away from collapsing, signs of life peeked out. Small children lurked in the shadows, watching me with wide eyes. A bit of laundry had been optimistically hung out to dry in another alley—three patched, white shirts, a thin blanket, and two small socks. The garments fluttered in the wind, the only sign that a family lived there.

  The next alley held a different sight—a familiar one. A man slouched against the wall, sitting in a puddle without a care. His head lolled to the side, and his face was blank. The air tingled. His skin glowed with aurae’s unmistakable halo.

  They all have one thing in common, Dukas had said. What do you think it is?

  I silenced the memory of Dukas’s cold, condemning words and sped up, eager to be away.

  The farther I traveled from Wasp territory, the noisier it got. One block later, I reached the small market.

  Grim-faced shoppers bundled in warm sweaters spared me barely a glance as I entered the square, which was lined with steaming food carts and stalls piled with bruised, overripe produce. The air smelled of wood cook fires and a warm, comforting fragrance that was unfamiliar but delicious. The center of the square held a dry fountain—a crumbling statue of a small boy holding his father’s hand, the two of them gazing forward with matching looks of wonder carved onto their stone faces. I studied the statue for a moment. What had they seen? Nothing in this city seemed worthy of such awe.

  “They just found a pouch of gold marks.”

  I jumped at the small voice. “What?”

  A petite girl stood at my elbow. She pushed a pair of oversized glasses up her nose and blinked at me. “That’s why they’re so happy. The boy and his daddy. See?” She pointed to the statues’ faces. “Gold marks.”

  I nodded slowly. “Makes sense, I suppose.” I eyed the small girl. She looked six or seven years old and was bundled in a huge, dirty sweater, the sleeves rolled up several times but still swallowing her wrists. Beneath the sweater, she wore a threadbare dress so long it dragged on the ground. Her black hair was tangled and stuck up in the back, like she’d just rolled out of bed. “It’d sure be nice to find a pouch of gold marks like they did, don’t you think?”

  She snorted. “Hardly. I have no need for money.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “If I need something, I just steal it,” she boasted.

  “Ah. That’s … interesting.” I thought of Lucien’s lessons in the Badlands. Hunger is not an emergency. Need makes you weak. Perhaps this small girl was living that reality.

  My stomach growled loud enough that we both heard it.

  The girl frowned. “Are you here for breakfast?”

  “I am.” I wrapped my sweater a bit tighter as the wind picked up. I had to begin this investigation somehow, and curious children often noticed more than adults did. “My name is … Kata. What’s your name? And would you like to join me for breakfast?”

  The little girl made a show of shrugging casually, but I could see the way her eyes flashed hungrily. “I suppose. If you’re lonely or something. I’m Astrid.”

  “Which food cart do you recommend for breakfast, Astrid? I’ve never eaten here before.”

  Her eyes widened. I could practically see her salivating. “The one with the hot winterdrop rolls.”

  She chose well. That particular stand turned out to be the source of the warm, comforting smell I’d noticed before. I ordered quadruple portion of the pillowy, golden winterdrop rolls and a mug of hot coffee for myself. We sat at a wobbly table beside the food cart and devoured the rolls in minutes.

  “I suppose I was hungry after all,” Astrid said, leaning back in her chair and patting her protruding belly happily.

  I wiped my mouth, then I handed her my handkerchief.

  But she tossed it to the ground and cleaned the crumbs from her cheeks with her tongue and fingers instead.

  “You look like a cat.”

  Astrid shrugged and licked the crumbs from her upper lip, her tongue reaching nearly to her nose. “Why waste food?”

  I picked up the handkerchief from the ground and stuffed it in my sweater pocket. The heat from a stomach full of hot rolls made me sweat, so I pulled my hood off. “How old are you, Astrid?”

  She sat straighter and pushed her glasses up her nose again. “Eight and three-quarters.”

  I tried not to cringe. Nearly nine years old? I would never have guessed that from her short stature and slim build. She was almost certainly malnourished. “And where is your family? Do they live near here?”

  She scoffed, a flicker of pain darting across her face. “Who cares?”

  I inhaled, then released the breath, attempting to look unconcerned. “Just curious. Do you … live with them?” And why don’t they feed you?

  “I live where I want to. Mama doesn’t care where I go. She has aurae.”

  My eyes stung. Why hadn’t I guessed? Everywhere I turned, aurae had destroyed more lives. “I understand.”

  The little girl nodded, like I’d said something wise. “I know. Everyone does.”

  We were quiet for a moment, Astrid rubbing her belly sleepily as she tilted her head back and rested it against her chair.

  “Astrid …” I leaned closer. “I’m looking for a job.”

  She peered at me from beneath heavy-lidded eyes without sitting up. “What kind of job?”

  I lowered my voice. “A job working for the Wolf clan.”

  She shifted, her brow furrowing. “Why?”

  “Because.”

  I h
eld back a smile when she accepted the lack of logic without argument.

  “I understand,” she echoed. She nodded sagely, wiggled back into an upright position, and glanced around the square. “You should talk to him.” She nodded her head toward a tall, old man with narrow shoulders and thick glasses who sat at a nearby table, lost in a newspaper. He wore a threadbare suit covered in patches, but his gray hair was carefully combed. “I heard he works for the Wolf clan now.”

  I swallowed. I hadn’t expected to find a lead so easily. “What does he do for them?” I asked quietly.

  Astrid shrugged. “Don’t know. You should ask him.” She leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes, apparently no longer planning to fight her sleepiness.

  I returned our plate to the vendor, procrastinating as I tried think of a good reason to approach the old man in the suit. “Thank you, sir,” I said to the young, dark-haired vendor. “Delicious.”

  He shot me a shy, surprised smile. “You’re welcome, miss.”

  Warmed by the food and the smile, I ambled nearer to the old man’s table and paused when I recognized the article he was reading. I cleared my throat. “Is that the Asylian Herald?”

  The man nodded without looking up. “Three weeks old. Those lazy merchants on the trade caravans can barely read. They never bring the latest papers.”

  I stuffed my hands in my sweater pockets and rocked awkwardly on my heels. “I liked to read the Herald too.” I held my breath for a moment. “In Asylia.”

  The man glanced up, his eyebrows raised. A strange look drifted across his face, then it disappeared. “Asylian. I see.” He nodded slowly, studying my face in an odd way. “So you can read?”

  I tried not to show my shock at his question. “I can.”

  The old man set down the paper, never once taking his eyes off my face. “Perhaps you didn’t know that Draicia’s few remaining schools closed during the plague, and they never reopened. In the younger generation these days, only the clansmen can read at a newspaper level.”