Page 52 of The Shadow of Breninsol
“Alley,” Eleanor explained.
Mags’s kindly face beamed. “Ah, are you from Attarice?”
Her stomach flipped at the familiar place name but sunk almost immediately as she remembered why she’d left and hadn’t tried to return. “No, I’ve just spent some time there.”
“Oh well,” Mags sighed and looked a little deflated at Eleanor’s answer. Eleanor felt the unease of familiarity in her chest. She understood the ache of missing a land and the craving for shared experiences that could only come from one’s native home.
Harald cleared his throat as he moved around them to peer out the small, shuttered side window.
Mags’ kind smile lingered on Haesel. “You sure you don’t want to stay? I’m not sure how far the panic will have spread.”
“Thank you for the offer, but we really do need to go home,” Han answered.
“Mama needs us,” Haesel said in a determined voice with the smallest of sniffles. “And I have my sword,” she said, gripping her knitting needle in her hand.
Han sighed. “Sellie…”
“I know. Stay down and stay quiet.”
Haesel’s begrudging tone made Eleanor smile. It meant that Han had already laid down the law with Haesel and the little girl wasn’t happy about it.
“But just in case, it’s good to know you have a sword,” Eleanor said to Haesel, who beamed at being included even it was in a small way.
“Best be off with you then,” Mags said as she unlocked the many bolts, using a small step for the locks out of her reach.
“At least the winds have stopped,” Han remarked.
They could still hear screams from the market square, but it was from those who’d witnessed death. The alley’s stillness made Eleanor pause on the threshold, but the need to get away from whoever or whatever was in the Cloth was stronger than her hesitation.
“Hope you get home safely,” Mags said. The brightness in her voice had dimmed, and she sounded as if she would offer them something she couldn’t.
“Thank you,” Eleanor said. “It was a kindness that you let us have shelter. It won’t be forgotten.”
Han and Haesel murmured their thanks as they followed Eleanor into the empty alleyway. Before the door closed behind them, Harald grunted. “Be safe.”
When Eleanor deposited Han and Haesel on the other side of the Exchange, they could no longer hear the screams. Eleanor had wanted to walk them to their front door, but Han had insisted that she got herself home.
Before they’d departed ways, Eleanor had slipped the yellow gemstone that she’d pilfered from the lord at the party palace into Haesel’s knitting bag. It would sufficiently compensate them for losing their wheel and business for the day. Their little family would find a more beneficial use for it than she would.
That part of Eleanor that’d encouraged her to search for the necklace only grew and was urging her to return to the Cloth or at least try the Flea. Though her search was incomplete, a nagging sense of unease, a whisper of doubt, clouded her judgment. Were the masses of people still there, or were the city guards swarming the place? And…witches, or what people thought were witches. But she was faltering in convincing herself that what she’d felt wasn’t magic. It’d felt like Air, but if they were witches and they…no, they weren’t witches, they couldn’t be. Magic wasn’t supposed to exist anymore.
Either way, the Cloth was closed.
The sun dipped in the sky, casting long shadows, while distant bells tolled in the late afternoon, signalling to Eleanor that she wouldn’t have time to go to the Flea. Dusk was coming.
She rubbed her face in a meagre attempt to lessen the dull ache in her head and turned towards The Ladies Grace. She just wanted to be left alone, to forget what she had saw and felt at the Cloth.
Chapter Twenty
Mud and Blood
Ancient screams tore through the darkness. A person’s last wail before a sword ran them through. A surprised outcry as their opponent hacked into them. A low growl of giving their enemy the final blow to finally end them. A mournful howl of finding a loved one’s lifeless body or head.
They were all were screams of death, and she knew them well.
Steel clashing against steel joined the battle.
Her senses were further assaulted by the smell of burning flesh and the coppery tang of blood merging with the petrichor from the thick red mud surrounding her.
