Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(2)

Even if that meant venturing out into the streets of a desperate city too long under siege.

“Come on, Rel,” Betzi said, lengthening her stride. “We won’t be allowed near the wall if fighting starts again.”

Turning away, Rielle hitched her skirts high enough that she could lengthen her stride and catch up with her friend. Betzi’s eyebrows rose but she said nothing, since nobody else was around to see. The younger woman had the advantage, having grown up wearing the many layers of clothing the Schpetans considered decent attire. Rielle had never been able to move as quickly in them as the local women did. She had more easily adopted the local habit of leaving hair uncovered in public, since she’d always resented having to wear a scarf, though it meant her dark, straight hair marked her as a foreigner.

They both checked their stride as a soldier turned into the street. He walked with a limp and a sway, and did not look up as he approached. Drunk, perhaps? There wasn’t supposed to be any liquor left in the city. Had someone’s hidden stash of provisions been discovered?

As he passed she heard his breath catch each time he put his weight on his right leg. Looking back at him, she saw a glistening, dark patch on the back of his trousers.

“He’s wounded,” she whispered.

“He’s walking,” Betzi replied.

They exchanged a grim look, then hurried on.

Stories of ill-treatment of the citizens had begun not long after the king and his army had arrived. Doum had been crowded with soldiers in the beginning. As the siege wore on, boredom and starvation set in, and the familiar maze of streets had slowly become a different kind of battlefield. Lack of food made thieves of desperate people. Men hardened by battle and fearful they were reaching the end of their lives sought any last pleasure available.

It was safest to stay indoors. Fortunately, the older weavers still recalled tales of how their grandmothers had survived the previous siege by growing food on the roof. They’d sent the younger weavers up with the tops of root vegetables and handfuls of precious seeds.

Most of us thought the siege wouldn’t last long enough for anything to grow, she remembered. We did it to placate them. Lucky we did.

The siege had lasted over three halfseasons so far–or foursets in the local way of counting days. Fifty days. The desperate little crops growing in pots and cracks were the only food they had left other than the small animals, normally considered vermin, the children caught.

Most of the weavers tolerated being locked way. Being of a restless temperament, Betzi had begun slipping outside. It started after a few of the army captains, seeking to ease the boredom during a long stretch of no fighting, came to see the creators of the famous tapestries of Doum. She told Rielle later that the moment her eyes had met Captain Kolz’s she had fallen in love with him–and he with her.

Having seen the two together, Rielle had no reason to doubt their affection was real. And having once been similarly consumed by passion, she understood why Betzi took such risks to see him.

At least she has a friend to protect her.

They were nearing the wall now, and Betzi’s pace quickened. Rounding a corner, they entered a street blocked by a knot of three soldiers. Unlike the wounded soldier they’d passed, the men immediately noticed them. Seeing Betzi first, they straightened a little, but when their gazes shifted to Rielle they frowned. She was used to scowls from people here. She understood that these were not of hostility most of the time, but puzzlement. They did not know what to make of her. She was not local, yet she was clearly not from any land Schpetans knew of or hated. Which had been the point of her coming to a land so far from her own, to begin a new life where none knew of the crimes she had committed.

The civil war had not been part of the plan.

Betzi had paused, but now she started towards them. “Do any of you brave men know where Captain Kolz is?”

They exchanged glances. “Nope,” one replied.

“Not seen him,” another said, turning to face her.

“I think he’s dead,” the third added.

“He’s not dead.” Betzi’s chin rose. “I would know if he was.”

The men looked amused. “Oh? How so?”

She crossed her arms. “I would just know. Would one of you please escort us to him? I have something of great importance to give him.”

Rielle groaned silently.

“What would that be?” the shortest of the men asked, tucking his thumbs in his hip pockets and sauntering towards her.

“That is for him to know, not you.”

Oh, Betzi, Rielle thought as she reached out towards the girl’s arm. You rely too much on Kolz’s name to get you out of trouble. Not every soldier liked the captain, who had grown more inclined to punish their attacks on citizens since he’d met Betzi.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

Betzi took a step back as the short man neared. “Well, if you won’t…”

He darted forward and grabbed the arms that she lifted instinctively to ward him off. “What little gift have you brought for the handsome captain?” he asked. Seeing the bundle tied to her waistband, he let go of a wrist and grabbed it. “Is it this?” The cloth covering tore as he tried to yank it off her waistband, and out spilled the scarf Rielle had watched Betzi make–hours of spinning fleece stolen from her own pillow then deftly looping it into a cloth with a bone needle using a technique Rielle had never got the hang of.