The walls and gates of Bell Haven lay well inside the city. Great and burly things suited for a well-forgotten time. Nobody had guessed they'd ever properly be used again. Even in a continental war, an entire empire breaking out into self-conflict, who would attack Bell Haven? It even had Haven in the name, and what sort of lunatic would want to smash up some bells? Who would spend a fortune to hire an army of Kindred to attack a city of civilians, when they could simply pay off the politicians who ran the city?

The red wastes announced an end to that safety. Most of them likely guessed it had been a Deacon, but few if any could possibly guess why. And a single man with the power to annihilate a city encouraged them to at least cower behind the walls that might as well have been crafted like a child's sandcastle on the eve of a hurricane.

Still, most didn't quite want to just abandon their perfectly good homes just to cross the wall and live poorly by jamming their family in with another. And many of that most were at least willing to admit that the walls would do very little for them.

We left the red wastes at a point of disconnect; we had little idea where we were until we met a path again, probably outside of Duria by technicality, and it branched back around to the main road and reconnected us to the city. That approach left us looking at farms, villas, and empty homes of Kindred who had left to fight in the wars. A peaceful entrance, except for the road itself, which was littered with folk streaming out from the city and splitting off in various directions, aiming for homes. Travellers too, and merchants, snaked by us with wagons and carts pulled by mules, and a few with horses. Most were on foot.

But Bell Haven bustled with life, even at the gates themselves. If each person were a candle, the city would have been reduced to ash a long time ago. The gates were kept open, and the city guard were hardly soldiers as much as they were watchmen, standing up high on the walls with a lazy demeanour. There must have been twenty people in the gatehouse at any moment of time, crossing the threshold between city and country.

"The main road must not go by the wastes," muttered Eskir, eyeing a wealthy automated carriage passing us by. "Oh, look. I've always wanted one of those."

"We might need to get one," I said. "No idea where we're going next, unless you magically grow a second mouth that can talk." I shot him a look, as if he suddenly might. With the mouth on this one, I wouldn't have been surprised.

He stuck his tongue out, facing forward to somewhat pass it off as unantagonistic. "No such luck. But oh, that would be nice. We have no money though."

I pointed to the bag on his shoulder. "Salt sells for a decent price," I said. "And that's a fair amount."

He shrugged. "I suppose it does. It's a wonder your boss parted with it."

"Lucian," I corrected. "I bought some of our supplies from it. He insisted on the rest."

"That's kind of him."

"He's a good man. I miss him."

"You can always go back," he said.

I shook my head. "Not until this is over."

We paused at a crossroads just inside the gates. Here was the main path, splitting off three ways. It wasn't like Senvia, where a single main road led unidirectionally from the main gate to the palace, and the other roads were all adjacent or subdivisional to it. In the capital, the stair market was on a side road that paralleled the main road. The roads leading around the city were smaller, treated as mere means of transportation, not as showcases of the city's worth. It was built for emperors.

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Bell Haven was entirely meant for transportation. After Senvia's fall, and possibly even when it had been standing, Bell Haven was the fiscal capital of Avengard. None of it had any use for roads meant for show.

Two bell towers stood between the three forks, each of them plastered with posters and scraps of decor. The stone they'd been built from was barely visible underneath. One of the posters, larger than most of the others, had a red and white border, and a blazing white diamond in the centre.

"Look," I pointed. "Jenny would love that."

Eskir glanced at the poster. "For Peace," he laughed. "I bet she would, the pacifist."

"Where to first?" I asked expectantly.

He blinked. "I... would love to tell you."

I sighed. "Fine. South."

We walked along the southern road, hugging the wall that faced Durn. The noise of conversation grew softer at first, then returned in waves as we cycled through busy and quiet streets. There were cafés and coffee houses, restaurants and artisan shops, tinkerer shacks, and finally, a charm shop.

"We have no wagon," I commented.

Eskir shot me a glance. "Nor horses. Nor a guidance charm."

"I have money," I suggested. "Not a fortune, but enough to buy horses and a wagon."

His eyes glimmered. "Oh, please."

"But no guidance charm. You'll have to steer from now on."

"Well that's going to be uncomf—wait a minute, what do you mean I'll have to steer?"

I laughed. "Well I'm not doing it. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I steered a wagon? By hand?"

He scoffed with indignation. "Do you know how many times I've had to do that in my life? My voice aside, I profoundly have no idea where we might be going from here. We might be going to Heldren or Eaden Helm or Kore, for all I know. And you want me to steer the entire way? You were royal guard weren't you? I'm sure you have much more experience."

"I was royal guard, not royal chauffeur," I pointed out. "My job was to keep Lyana alive, not ferry her from one place to the next. I usually sat with her. She liked the conversation."

"What," he said sarcastically, "she had guards AND a driver?"

"Yes!" I said. "She was the empress!"

He stared me down until I caved. His eyes were just these little helpless things and I couldn't break his heart like that. "Fine," I sighed. "We'll sell the salt for food. Go buy us a guidance charm. I'll figure something out, probably take a small Kindred job while we're here."

He almost audibly cackled with delight, but managed to keep it quiet as he scurried into the charm shop.

My eyes wandered to the nearest bell tower as I waited. We had passed a few of them so far, small ones decorating the roadside. This one had a For Peace poster too. It was smaller than the last one, but was posted to cover up one of the stars of pathoticism, the zenith star. I took three purposeful steps towards it, about to tear it down, but as I gripped the corner of the thin, sleek sheet, I stopped.

I thought about Jenny.

I thought about the red wastes.

I thought about the Hunak.

And I took my hand away.

"Xera," came Eskir's shout. He was running out of the shop with an excited breath, holding up a small pendant charm, wobbling and bouncing about in his grip.

"Is that the guidance charm?" I asked.

"Better," he chuckled. "It's an automated movement charm. Secondhand, so it's not particularly fast, but—"

"Eskir, I love your face." I pulled him into a half-hug that was a little too tight, then slung the charm around his neck. "Good for you."

He shot me a childish grin before noticing the poster. His expression fell.

"More for Jenny," I joked.

He didn't answer.

"Eskir?"

"Do you think this war is going to go on forever?" he asked. "If we don't fix it, I mean. It's an entire continent."

I shrugged, feeling a bit lightheaded. My mood was good, and it was easy to blow off the stress of the thought. "Maybe. Maybe not. People can't fight forever, you know. They get tired."

"They are tired," he said, pointing to the For Peace sign.

I peeled it off the tower, then grabbed the zenith star poster and tore that into pieces and stuck the For Peace sign back up.

"So am I."