TW: Mature themes, death/murder, criminal activities, reference to drugs and addiction, mild swearing and derogatory language
(If any of these things may trigger you or make you feel uncomfortable, please do not read!)
I walked alone in the swarm; my hand wrapped tightly around the rough, leather pouch. The contraband. The thing that could get me killed at any second. One badly timed search and a sword would be plunged through my chest, my blood would be washed away the torrential rain. My body would rot in shame and mud.
I kept my head under the safety of my cloak. Every time a guard glanced in my direction, my stomach dropped, my knuckles turned white and my free hand edged closer to the dagger I barely knew how to use. My only armour was my youth, the familiarity of my common features and my fake seal of a fake family.
The nights wisps of icy wind tore through my cheeks. Through my cheap boots, the brown sludge froze my feet solid, causing me to wince at every step. Roads twisted and turned in confusing circular motions that left me dizzy. Yet I could not look lost, or they would know. They would know I do not belong here.
That's when I saw him. My contact.
He wore the uniform of a butcher and the same seal that I used to hide. His eyes were an icy blue that stood clear in the sea of browns and greens, such as mine. Grey streaks decorated his flowing long hair. He leaned against a wall, cleaning down a crimson blade.
"Rather cold for a September evening, isn't it cousin?" I took the first step towards him, telling him the code. Searching for a crack, a suspicion, his eyes surveyed me up and down. He wiped the last of the blood off his sword and smirked.
"Yes, my child. In fact, I just received my monthly pay check. Can u please send this money back to my wife." He replied. I was impressed. There was not a hint of insincerity in his voice, not a trace of the lie. The saying echoed in my head, the criminal who cannot lie, the first to caught, first to die.
"Of course, cousin! I would love too! I have been meaning to visit Cousin Lara for a while. Oh, Mama told me to get you a snack on the way, there you go." We traded the pouches of leather. With a forced smile, I felt the obvious shape of a silver coin, enough to last a month. He smirked.
My contact stood up, towering above me. Leaning in, he whispered in my ear," Impressive acting, Amara~."
My name. How does he know my name?
I spun around to see guards pouring out of every alleyway, from every direction. Their swords were brandished, ready to slaughter. Bystanders screamed in fear as others warned them to stay back. The traitor grabbed me from behind and slammed me against the wall. Blood and rage covered me, turned my vision crimson.
His calloused hands tightened round my neck as the guards approached, my lungs begged for breath. Dizziness consumed me but I refused to collapse. My flailing legs failed to lay a meaningful hit. I had been betrayed. With a foreign burst of adrenalin and fury, my hands plunged my dagger into his chest as he screamed in agony. The man crumpled to the floor, on his knees, not begging, for there was no point, he would be dead in minutes. Between shallow breaths, he whispered something, perhaps a prayer, perhaps a goodbye, or a confession. The guards reached me before I could finish my thought.
I dodged the first swing of a sword and wrenched the dagger out of the traitors neck. I thrust it into the nearest guard and ran, knowing I was out-skilled and outnumbered. Arrows flew past my head. Footsteps boomed behind me. They were so close I could hear their breaths and commands. I kept sprinting.
My legs and chest were aching but stopping would only kill me. I weaved through alleyways, twisting and turning at every corner. There was no losing them. As their footsteps grew louder and faster, mine grew weaker and slower. The arrows began to get closer and closer to their mark, grazing my hair and cloak. If I couldn't run, then I needed to hide. I changed my course of direction completely, headed for the only place I knew the way to in this massive, dragon-shit city. The temple.
They were only five metres behind me. In desperation, I began to knock over stalls and crates onto the streets. That only made them run faster. Tears began to spill down my face as the wind crashed into me. Four metres behind now. I saw the magnificent structure in the distance and prayed under my breath.
"Oh Spirits, allow me refuge in your place of worship."
Three metres. My legs were numb as I saw the side door of the temple approach. Relief filled my heart as continued to sprint. Please, please, please.
Two metres. I heard the unmistakeable sound of an axe being unsheathed, ready to blast into the back of my head.
One metre. The axe whooshed down on me. But in that split second, I rushed into the temple and slammed the door shut. The poor wooden door splintered and cracked but held firm. The guards could not harm me on sacred ground, or their bloodlines would be cursed. Relief cascaded over me. I had survived my first betrayal, just about.
"Bastard." the guard spat at me before telling all the others to man the exits.
As surreptitiously as I could, I removed my bloodstain cloak and washed my face in the basin provided. Even as I felt the burn of eyes on my back, I went to a stall and purchased a small sacrifice of flesh before walking towards the central statue. Despite my exhaustion, it still took what was left of my breath away. It was a swirling pillar of sapphire and obsidian, designed to glisten at every angle. Flowers made of emeralds and rubies covered it. Its ethereal beauty was incomprehensible to me. My leg's ache eased at its sight. It was not human nor animal, not good nor evil, not with us nor against us. It was a spirit.
With a bow of respect, I placed the flesh onto a bowl and walked out the around it, to the door. The door that I had walked through too many times to count. Rows and rows of ceramic jars sat; half buried into the ground. It was still technically on the temple grounds so no one would hurt me here.
At the front, moss and dust had encased the jars in a cocoon that no one would be alive to clean. But as you continued, jars with expensive and
gorgeous patterns sprang out of the ground, just begging to be adored. Out here, the icy wind howled eerily in quiet torment. I understood why this place was so desolate at night. I continued down the familiar pathway until I reached a plain grey jar. It was nothing compared to the beauty of the other jars, but at the time I could barely afford a place in the temple, let alone an expensive jar. Beside the jar was a small headstone that read, 'Here lies the ashes of Myria Nykral. May the spirits guide her family.' I knelt beside it
My mother died was I was twelve. She had been sick for months and I was expecting it but... I was not ready. I was uneducated. I was too young for marriage. I remember for years after her death, I would envy those with large families, which seemed to be just about everyone, or even any family. How much I would've given to have a sister to confide in, a brother to protect me, or an aunt to cook me food. But I had no one. My father abandoned my mother when she found out she was pregnant. My mother's family of bakers kicked her out after she told them she wasn't married to the father. So, there I was, sitting alone in that ashyard, abandoned.
"Happy seventeenth birthday, Amara. You survived your first betrayal and your second kill. Congrats." I whispered to myself.
Suddenly, the wind fell silent as my tears brimmed. They were slow and cold, so I allowed them to run down my cheeks and soak into the ground. I plucked a flower from a nearby jar and placed it on mama's. She used to love flowers. I don't know how long I sat there. Seconds, minutes, hours. It passed in a blur. Sometimes I was silent, then I would pray, then I would have whole imaginary conversations with her. The jar never replied. I didn't even notice the soft patter of feet behind me.
"Excuse me, young lady. What are you doing here?" The voice was deep and rough. I turned around to see a middle-aged man, dressed in an expensive embroidered cloak. His hair was a warm chestnut brown with a few streaks of grey, and his skin was the colour of warm ivory. His brow was furrowed in annoyance or confusion ,maybe both, and his eyes were an emerald green, though that feature was common in these parts.
"Sir, I have every right to be here. I am simply mourning." I replied with fake respect.
"How did you know her? She was an old friend of mine"
"Well, she was my mother, sir." When I said that, he looked down-heartened.
"Oh... who was your father?" he asked, his tone half-way between anger and mourning.
"I never knew him, I-" I am a bastard, a dirty, lonely bastard, I thought. "I was born out of wedlock."
At that, the man stumbled backwards slightly. The expression on his face could only be read as shock. The gentle purr of fear began to creep up on me again. Is this man drunk? What is he doing?
"How old are you?" He stared me down with a ferocity that I had never seen. I stood up and backed away slowly.
"Sir, I am only seventeen. I-I didn't do anything wrong." That was a lie but if he knew that I sold magic on the black market this encounter would go south extremely fast
"Seventeen?! Oh, shit," His voice softened for the first time. He stared at me, examining every inch of my face." No, I am sure of it. Young lady, I am your father." his confidence astounded me.
At first, I laughed. I laughed so loud I wanted to cry. However, when I saw his face, serious as a priest during a ritual, my laughter was replaced with rage. One that had been building up for five years.
"WHAT?! You abandoned my mother years ago. You left her to starve, you left me to starve! How dare you?! I have never met my family because of you! They kicked her out, did you know that?! She has been dead for-"
"I was told that the baby miscarried! I loved your mother, and I would never leave her to rot." His voice was commanding and firm, he didn't have the emotional blowout that I had.
"Well, if you loved her so much, why didn't you marry her?" I replied trying to be less emotional. He held up his hand and pointed to his left finger. A wedding ring was wrapped around it.
"It was too late." he sighed and approached me. I slowly shuffled backwards. "Listen, I am sorry for not being there for you. So, I will repay you. My name is Lord Orion Relanos. I am the head of House Relanos. Would you like to become my ward?"
A ward. Someone that the head of a family elevates to be at the same level of power as their children. It can be anyone, as omg as they are blood related. But usually, it was a distant relative from their own house, not an illegitimate child. I was reluctant at first for my mother had once warned me about the nobility
"Darling, that place is not what you think. It's filled with lies, facades. They are ruthless. They will take your innocence and rip it to shreds. I do not want you anywhere near them."
"I don't know... I have heard bad things about that place." I answered honestly.
"Let me guess, your mother told you that." after I nodded, he chuckled, "Your mother hated it because it took me away from her. But truly, it is a beautiful place, filled with culture and romance. You will have lots of relatives that love you. Your experience of the Nobles will be better than that of your mother, even though you look exactly like her." He held out his hand his face still not cracking a smile.
I wasn't stupid; I knew what the offer entailed. A life of riches in the nobility. I would be freed from my crime ridden past; I would be dressed head to toe in jewels, I would be surrounded by magic and beauty.
But that was not what sold me. It was the way he held out his hand. I wanted to belong somewhere. I wanted to have a family to confide in. I wanted to have human interaction other than betrayal and business deals. For the first time, I realised how much I hated my life. He was offering me something else, a purpose, a life beyond my next meal.
"Yes. I will be your ward." I answered. Euphoria and nervousness burned through my body. I thought I was finally going to be safe.
How wrong I was.