Within These Wicked Walls(25)

“At what cost?”

I stood in the doorway, but they weren’t looking in my direction, or else I was just better at blending into the scenery than I thought.

Tom raked his hand through his hair. “Give Andromeda time, I’m sure she’ll—”

“We’re out of time, Tom. Edward has vanished, just like the rest of them. All we have is each other.”

I cleared my throat. The pair turned to me quickly, Emma nearly leaping out of her skin.

“Good morning,” I said.

When I tried to look at Emma she turned away to adjust the blanket on the bed.

Tom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What can we do for you, Andromeda?”

“Would you be able to drive me into the city?”

Emma jerked around, her face dropping as if gravity had given up on it. “You’re not leaving us, are you?”

I tried to give her a reassuring smile, but I’m not so sure how convincing it was. I wasn’t looking forward to this trip any more than she was to me leaving the house. “Just have to pick up a few things from the market.”

“Sweet Jesus, yes!” Emma grabbed a small purse from the side table. “I need an escape from this treacherous place.”



* * *



There were two specific entry gates into the city within the questionably sturdy stone wall that surrounded it—one on each opposite end of the wall. It was fifteen feet high, easily climbable, and would’ve been the way I’d taken in if I didn’t have company.

Tom steered the horses down one of the two dust roads wide enough for this giant coach, at a crawling pace to avoid all the shoppers. Superfluous coaches with cushioned seats weren’t a novelty to this city anymore. But I’d lived here for seven years, ever since Jember was hired for this position with the church, and I had rarely seen one parade through the streets like this. Usually they were only on their way out.

About a mile from the center square where the church stood, the two main roads ended and became one large circle around the inner section of the city. Here there was an expansive goat market, a station where travelers could leave their animals, and where the rich left their coaches. There were already a few camels, donkeys, and horses in the stalls. I got out of the coach just as Tom climbed down from his perch. He handed the boys who walked up to us some money, and they began unhitching our horses without a word.

Tom held out his hand to Emma, who took it and used the other to press her wide-brimmed hat wider. Despite her face being completely shaded, she grimaced. “It’s already so hot. We shouldn’t stay long.”

I eyed their clothing choices, as I’d done before we left, but it was a little too late to say anything. Although they weren’t wearing their wool, it was a similar style that seemed too heavy and constricting for the climate. The waists of Emma’s dress and Tom’s pants were right up against their bodies like they were tempting sweat. The truth was it was barely hot yet, but anyone would feel stifled so bound up in fabric, no matter what the weather.

“How long is ‘long’?” I asked.

“Well, we want to make the visit worth the long drive.” Emma looked at Tom to agree with her. “I could probably stand an hour.”

He nodded. “That’s long enough for a little breakfast. We’ll need that energy for when Peggy rails on us.”

An hour. When the drive round trip was twice as long. Illogical, but the least of my worries at the moment. “An hour it is,” I said. “I’ll meet you back here then.”

I didn’t go straight to the church. Instead I went to the goat market and bought some tej from the herder—the wine he made was stronger and better, not to mention less expensive, than anything the regular food market had. I had a feeling I’d need some liquid courage today.

For a moment I just marveled at the honey wine before indulging in a gulp. Sweet, then bitter, a little spiced, burning. It made me a little light-headed. Last time I’d lived with Jember was the last time I’d had any … it tasted like home.

And at that thought, the wine turned to poison in my mouth.

I put the bottle in my satchel and rushed into the protective net of roads. While the two main roads and marketplace were dust, the rest were cobblestone alleys, no wider than to allow either one cart or two adults walking comfortably side by side. And, on either side of the streets, a line of ten-foot-tall squared-off buildings made of concrete and cement, separated only by either the bright colors some had been painted or a perpendicular alley to continue the net.

The city had been designed to withstand war—if the enemy managed to get through the wall’s defenses, they’d be met with a labyrinth to navigate if they ever wanted to reach the epicenter. But of course, wars had bypassed it completely, to the disappointment of the architects, I’m sure. Now the only people available for the labyrinth to confuse were tourists and drunks.

I wove through the streets quickly, trying not to seem rude as I greeted people without stopping.

Only when I reached the main square did I slow down.

The church was the oldest building in the city, weathered red-stone raised on a platform of a dozen stairs. As regal as Thorne Manor, but more elegant and dignified. Even without the platform it was three times as tall as everything else, four flat walls attempting to reach the heavens.

I pulled my netela out of my satchel and covered my head, securing the scarf around my neck, before heading up the stairs casually so as not to draw negative attention.