Page 105 of Song of the Heart Scale
“He suspects everything.” I tucked a stray curl beneath my hood. “That’s what makes him dangerous. And useful.”
The marketplace was crowded for midday, filled with finely dressed merchants and nobles all flanked by their house guards or servants. The scent of roasted almonds, fresh-baked honey loaves, and lavender oil hung heavily in the air. Fabric stalls fluttered with imported silks and silver trinkets glittered in the sun. But beneath the wealth and pretense, a current of unrest pulsed through the people like a heartbeat gone rogue.
Then it happened.
A man at a corner stall shouted, “No more grains! Not until the shipment at the next moon!”
The moment the words were spoken, silence fell like a heavy shroud.
Then, someone yelled, “They’re hoarding it!”
“No, the granaries are empty!” another voice countered, more desperate than angry.
And that was all it took.
Chaos erupted like a firestorm. Baskets overturned, spilling fruit onto the stones. Crates of preserved meats were broken open, goods snatched in greedy hands. People shoved, screamed, some even cried. A woman clutching a toddler shrieked when someone yanked a loaf of bread out of her hands.
A loud crash split the air, followed by the shrill clang of a cart tipping over, grain sacks bursting open like gutted prey. A murmur of voices surged into shouts, and then—
“It’s gone! All of it!”
I turned just in time to see a woman fall to her knees, clawing at the dirt where the grain had spilled and scooping handfuls into her apron like it might vanish if she blinked. Another man elbowed her aside, shoving her face-first into the mud. People screamed.
“There’s no more grain!”
“We were promised a shipment yesterday!”
“Where’s the Grain Steward?”
Panic spread like wildfire. Stalls were overturned and baskets were ripped from tables. Nobles scrambled behind their guards as commoners surged forward. Even the house guards were pushing back, shouting for order.
“The famine is real! The song was right!”
That chilled me more than the shouting. They were talking about the lyrics of theSong of the Heart Scale.I hadn’t realized how deeply it had sunk into the collective minds of the people.
“Maeve, stay close!” I hissed, grabbing her arm.
“What’s happening?” she whispered, her eyes wide.
“Exactly what we were afraid of.”
Then came the horns.
Loud, shrill, authoritarian. Trumpets blasted through the air as imperial guards stormed the square. Armor gleamed in the sunlight as they moved in perfect formation, swords drawn, eyes cold. They didn’t shout for peace.
“You will cease this madness!” one of them bellowed. “In the name of Emperor Thorne!”
That only enraged the crowd further.
“You mean thefalseemperor!” someone cried. “The one cursed by the Immortals!”
“The famine is his doing!”
Another person hurled a rotten apple at the guard.
When it hit the soldier square in the helmet, all hell broke loose.
Guards surged forward, swinging weapons. Screams rang out. Bodies collided, stumbled, crashed into stalls. People ran in every direction, trampling over spilled goods and each other. A vendor tried to protect her stall and was knocked aside.
