Page 70 of A Broken Promise

Priya adjusted a few rings before covering them with the large black lid.

“You are feisty today,” Priya noted, openly annoyed.

I calmed my heart, letting myself see her; really-really see her. Whatever her past was, whatever secrets she was hiding, I could look past it. Whatever it was, it was important to her. Valuable enough to put everything on the line.

I knew the risks. I also knew it had to be someone high in the Royal tree—could be the damn King himself—and it mattered to her, and I would look past it all and be there for her because truthfully, I wish someone could’ve been there for me.

She needed me here more than I needed to be heard.

“I guess I am still sore after losing our sparring today,” I casually said, placing a comforting smile on my face.

“Rebel lover and a sore loser? Well, you’d fit right in with them, I guess.” Priya cackled as she stood up from her desk. My eyes twitched as I chose to ignore her jab, a foul joke about the sympathizer that was loudly preaching at the town square about liberating humans and joining the Magic Wielders and yet when he was captured and sentenced to death he screamed and cried, begging for forgiveness. He’d taken it all back, denying his own words. I was there for hisspeech and his execution. A sad cry, a pathetic way to die, yet my heart broke in many pieces for him, and still ached even days after.

At times, I forgot just how daunting Death could be for people, even so quick as an ax to their necks. They never wanted to leave, clung with any chance they had to still exist, to fight for survival.

Death always walked alongside me. The only constant. Always there, just a step away from me, yet never willing to fully embrace me, to finally walk me across to the other side of the veil.

“I don’t have a dress for the ball,” I mentioned nonchalantly. It was better to switch topics completely.

“Good thing I know a place.”

36

The previously wide limestone cobble streets of Svitar were now narrowed down to nothing more than a small walking path. The buildings resembling more bright grey than the original white stone. The regular, beautiful flower arrangements were long replaced by unkempt moss of all kinds growing at the base of the leaning condos. The welcoming pine and cranberry wreaths, which hung all over Svitar in preparation of the Death Day, were nonexistent here.

Here in the Slums, the empty flowerpots were left with nothing but frozen dirt. No cheerful holiday decorations, just half empty window displays and faded paint on doors.

I had been here twice. Once by accident and one time looking for something I had never found. People stayed away from the Slums. Here, the laws of nature ruled the streets and though I never came here without my belt loaded with knives and crossbow locked in, I couldn’t stop thinking that this was still nicer than some of the rundown villages I had been too. Whores, standing with one foot against the walls, still had most of their teeth, and even occasionally got paid. The shops and houses still had windows and roofs, and rats… rats were still scared of the people.

Priya hated the Slums, but even here, she walked pridefully, staringin the eyes of every drunk passing by, as if looking for trouble. I trailed right next to her, calm and aware of each sudden move within our radius.

Finally, we approached a decent sized shop, “Silken Arrow.” Priya opened the small door, and the trivial bells chimed, signaling our arrival.

The immediate warmth of the shop heated up my ice-cold skin. I took a quick look around. One side of the chipped wall was covered in large rolls of plain fabric with only a few color variations. There were shelves covered with pins and needles for sale, and a few sewing kits. The other wall was filled with bows, quivers and arrows of all manner, with occasional knives laid out on display.

“Silks and Arrows, quite literally, huh?” I said out loud, turning my head above me as a small piece of candle wax dripped on my arm from the low chandelier.

“You’d be surprised, miss, just how often those two go together,” a scratchy voice sounded from behind the counter. A man appeared a second later. He was covered in gnarly scars and only a few feet tall. His arms and legs were short, yet painfully curved, as if in a half circle. His hands were just as badly scarred as the rest of his body. He was missing a few fingers, but it was the yellow, long claws he had that grabbed my attention. The left side of his scalp was completely exposed, all the way to the bone, while his right side still had small brown patches of hair coming through. One of his eyes was completely blind, lazily rotating on its own, as if a watchful ghost lived inside of him. The white of his other eye was completely bloodshot, with only a black pupil to swim in the ocean of red.

“Laviticus.” Priya nodded at him.

“Miss Priya, welcome. It is always a pleasure.” He bowed slightly to Priya. He then looked at me, almost smiling, though his look was heavy, assessing. “I am glad those leathers fit your guest nicely.”

“Your work never fails,” Priya said in return, her voice soft and appreciative.

I never met the person who made my leathers, yet for some reason I imagined it was one of those large sewing buildings I walked pastoften in the Fashion Corner, filled with gold threads and rows of seamstress sewing by the windows for pedestrians to look at, to awe at their skills and speed, then to look at their perfected works a few steps further as the large gowns of all kinds were spread out on the full window displays with live models, only occasionally changing their poses.

Somehow, I had not imagined this.

“Come,” Laviticus said as we followed him up the tiny stairs with a ceiling so low that even I had to bend my neck lower to avoid bumping into it.

Upstairs was one big, cozy room. The roof and ceiling, being weathered, were letting in a draft thanks to the small gaps above. Yet a tiny hearth in the room kept that air warm, and the strong smell of myrrh and burning sage filled my nose. There wasn’t much around. A large rug covered most of the worn-out slabs of wood serving as flooring. A couple of windows provided generous lighting, even on darker days like today. He had a small desk in the corner with a few sewing machines on it and large shelves with huge, glass doors filled with various tools. He climbed onto the big chair with the help of a small wooden stool.

“So,” he said, laying his hands on his desk. “What can I do today for my favorite client?”

Priya pulled out a large sack filled with gold; pure gold, not even shaped as coins.

“This is short notice but we both need to be dressed for the Royal Death Day Ball.”

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