“Alone? Just you, riding across the country on a very nice horse?” He’s enjoying this, this tiny bit of power that he has. I can hear it in his voice, and see it on his face. He looks over my baggy breeches, my rough-cut hair, my bandaged hand. “Where did you say you’d come from again?”
“Let her in, Tuck. She ain’t the Sleeping Prince, and she don’t sound Lormerian. It’s almost time to knock off,” the other guard on the gate says. The man above is now picking his nails with the tip of his arrow, his bow slung over his shoulder, ignoring us.
“What did you say your name was?” the bully, Tuck, asks.
“Er … ika. Erika Dunn.” There are plenty of Dunns in Tremayne, plenty everywhere; it’s a common enough name.
“Never heard of an Erika Dunn.” Tuck grins.
“I have,” the arrow man says from above us suddenly. “I thought I recognized you. Ain’t you Tarvey Dunn’s niece?”
“Yes,” I say, trying to hide my surprise. Tarvey is one of the butchers my father used to sell our cattle to, famed for both his excellent meat and for having one leg. And luckily for me, his family is notoriously prolific. “One of many,” I add, throwing a smile at the archer.
Tuck scowls. “Be that as it may, rules are rules. No one gets in or out without papers. And no one gets in or out after sundown. Oops.” He glances up at the darkening sky and grins. “Maybe I’ll be feeling more generous tomorrow.”
“Tarvey’ll be furious if he knows you turned her away. He’s probably expecting her.” The archer scratches his leg with the arrow before putting it away.
“He is, yes,” I pipe up.
Tuck glares at him, then at me. “Be that as it may…”
“Isn’t it Tarvey who supplies our meat?” the archer says with perfect innocence.
Tuck throws the archer another filthy look, but he’s examining his nails again. With a long sigh and a nod of the head, he finally stands aside, and I walk the horse through the clock tower gate, smiling meekly, my heart still beating violently. I glance up at the archer, who gives me a sly wink, and in that moment I could kiss him.
We’ve only walked a few yards when behind me I hear the rattling of chains. I turn in time to see the iron gate slam into place.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I told you. No one in or out after sundown.”
“But I have to leave tonight! I’m here to get some things and pass on my news; I’ll be an hour at most. I can’t stay.”
Tuck’s grin is smug. “I’m afraid you’ll have to. You wanted in, and you got it. I’m sure your uncle can put you up. Want me to come with you to make sure?”
I shake my head and quickly lead the horse away, resisting the urge to turn around and make sure he’s not following me as we head towards the town square.
There are more soldiers loitering outside the tavern, one leaning against the main well talking to a woman I don’t recognize. There are sandbags piled in one corner of the square, and large barrels on a cart being pulled by a grumpy-looking mule. But that’s the only sign of the war; the chaos across other parts of the country is almost completely absent inside the town walls. Two young boys chase each other in circles outside the bakery, and I can see their mother in conversation with the baker himself; others are gossiping and laughing, shop bells ringing, doors closing. The air smells of good, hearty food, meat and vegetables and bread and pastry. It smells of home; Lief and I used to run around in front of the bakery like those boys; Lirys and I used to wait by the well for Kirin. Everything here is coated in memories of what I’ve lost: my friends, my parents, my brother. My old life.
Across the square, lights flicker in the upstairs window of the apothecary I used to work at, and I stop and stare. It hasn’t changed. I feel I could walk up the steps, open the door, pull my apron from the hook and start working.
The boys run past me, screaming joyfully and shaking me from my reverie, and I walk on, keeping my head down. I move through the village square like a ghost, passing the butcher’s where Tarvey is likely working, the cobblers my mother