Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(118)

Denth glanced back at her. “This is the Idrian quarter of the city. These slums are called the Highlands, for Color’s sake.”

“Impossible,” she snapped.

“Very possible,” Denth replied. “I’ve seen it in cities across the world. Immigrants gather, make a little enclave. That enclave gets conveniently ignored by the rest of the city. When roads are repaired, other places come first. When guards are sent to patrol, they avoid the foreign sections.”



“The slum becomes its own little world,” Tonk Fah said, walking up beside her.

“Everyone you pass in here is an Idrian,” Denth said, waving for her to keep walking. “There’s a reason your kind have a bad reputation in the rest of the city.”

Vivenna felt a numb chillness. No, she thought. No, it’s not possible.

Unfortunately, she soon began to see signs. Symbols of Austre placed—unobtrusive by intention—in the corners of windowsills or on doorsteps. People in grays and whites. Mementos of the highlands in the form of shepherd’s caps or wool cloaks. And yet, if these people were of Idris, then they’d been completely corrupted. Colors marred their costumes, not to mention the air of danger and hostility they exuded. And how could any Idrian even think of becoming a prostitute?

“I don’t understand, Denth. We are a peaceful people. A people of mountain villages. We are open. Friendly.”

“That kind doesn’t last long in a slum,” he said, walking beside her. “They change or they get beaten down.”

Vivenna shivered, feeling a stab of anger at Hallandren. I could have forgiven the Hallandren for making my people poor. But this? They’ve made thugs and thieves out of caring shepherds and farmers. They’ve turned our women into prostitutes and our children to urchins.

She knew she shouldn’t let herself get angry. And yet, she had to grit her teeth and work very, very hard to keep her hair from bleeding to a smoldering red. The images awoke something within her. Something she had consistently avoided thinking about.

Hallandren has ruined these people. Just as it ruined me by dominating my childhood, by forcing me to honor the obligation to be taken and raped in the name of protecting my country.

I hate this city.

They were unseemly thoughts. She couldn’t afford to hate Hallandren. She had been told that on many occasions. She had trouble lately remembering why.

But she succeeded in keeping her hatred, and hair, under control. A few moments later, Thame joined them and led them the rest of the distance. She had been told they would be meeting in a large park, but Vivenna soon saw that the term “park” had been used loosely. The plot of land was barren, strewn with garbage, and hemmed in by buildings on all sides.

Her group stopped at the edge of this dreary garden and waited as Thame went ahead. People had gathered as Thame had promised. Most were of the same type she had seen earlier. Men wearing dark, ominous colors and cynical expressions. Cocky street toughs. Women in the garb of prostitutes. Some worn-down older people.

Vivenna forced on a smile, but it felt insincere, even to her. For their benefit, she changed her hair color to yellow. The color of happiness and excitement. The people muttered among themselves.

Thame soon returned and waved her forward.

“Wait,” Vivenna said. “I wanted to talk to the common people before we meet with the leaders.”

Thame shrugged. “If you wish . . .”

Vivenna stepped forward. “People of Idris,” she said. “I’ve come to offer you comfort and hope.”

The people continued to talk among themselves. Very few seemed to pay any attention to her at all. Vivenna swallowed. “I know that you’ve had hard lives. But I want to promise you that the king does care for you and want to support you. I will find a way to bring you home.”

“Home?” one of the men said. “Back to the highlands?”

Vivenna nodded.

Several people snorted at that comment, and a few trailed away. Vivenna watched them go with concern. “Wait,” she said. “Don’t you want to hear me? I bring news from your king.”

The people ignored her.

“Most of them just wanted confirmation that you were whom you were rumored to be, Your Highness,” Thame said quietly.

Vivenna turned back toward the groups still talking quietly in the garden. “Your lives can get better,” she promised. “I will see you cared for.”

“Our lives are already better,” one of the men said. “There is nothing for us in the highlands. I earn twice as much here as I did back there.” Others nodded in agreement.

“Then why even come to see me?” she whispered.

“I told you, Princess,” Thame said. “They’re patriots—they cling to being Idrian. City Idrians. We stick together, we do. You being here, it means something to them, don’t worry. They may seem indifferent, but they’ll do anything to get back at the Hallandren.”

Austre, Lord of Colors, she thought, growing even more deeply upset. These people aren’t even Idrians anymore. Thame called them “patriots,” but all she saw was a group held together by the eternal pressures of Hallandren disdain.

She turned, giving up on her speech. These people were not interested in hope or comfort. They only wanted revenge. She could use that, perhaps, but it made her feel dirty even to consider it. Thame led her and the others down a pathway beaten into the ugly field of weeds and trash. Near the far side of the “park,” they found a wide structure that was partially a storage shed, partially an open wooden pavilion. She could see the leaders waiting inside.