Alaric finally managed to reach the city gates at the last hour of dusk. As he had foreseen, the soldiers pursuing them lost their trail as soon as he diverted from the path, allowing him to complete the rest of the journey without too many complications. He had time to secure the horses in the stables and gather his companions' bundles. Fortunately, none of them were carrying too much, and he was able to deposit the heaviest items in a locked chest available in the stables for travelers passing through. Even so, it was quite a bit for just one person. He waited anxiously for them until the last moment, by the entrance, but eventually had to enter the city before the guards closed the gates. Apart from a quick glance, they didn’t pay him much attention. And he certainly stood out—a solitary traveler with perhaps too much luggage, and his hood covering his face. If they had seen the wounds disfiguring his face, they surely would have detained him for questioning. As for Lysandra and the others, perhaps something had delayed them. Perhaps they had been caught. It didn’t matter much; whatever it was, he couldn’t do anything about it now except head to Edel’s house. And with a bit of luck, they would already be there, waiting for him.

He had never been to Verdemar before, so he asked some women who were waiting at the door of a stone-walled house covered in moss and ivy, with red fabric strips hanging from the balconies. After politely declining their generous services, he set off in the direction they had indicated, through a maze of narrow streets with houses pressed close against each other. He encountered a lamplighter on his route, lighting and filling the street lamps, and took the opportunity to confirm he was heading in the right direction. Sunno was disappearing over the horizon, and the sky was turning dark violet as the alleys took on a yellowish hue from the light escaping through the windows, adorned with wooden latticework, and the oil lamps hanging from some walls or anchored at the corners. The streets were not very crowded, and the few people he passed were hurrying to their homes. Soon, Alaric found himself wandering alone among the houses. The air was filled with a mix of smells: wood, salt, and the sour musk that often permeated the streets of cities without sewers. He could hear seagulls in the distance, towards the east where the port was likely located, and the temple bells to the north, signaling the end of the day.

He crossed a narrow stone bridge over a foul-smelling stream and arrived at the tanners' district, reaching a small square with a fountain in the center. Once, they must have been lion heads or something similar. Now they were just stones rounded by time, trickling thin streams of water from their openings. There he sat to rest a bit, as the weight of all the bundles he was carrying was making his back ache even more. He asked another local about a yellow house, which he soon found. An old two-story building with a gabled roof, tucked away in a narrow alley that smelled of dyes and wet leather. Though the street itself was nothing special, the façade stood out from the rest. It was well-maintained, recently painted, and had several flower pots overflowing with geraniums, begonias, alyssum, and petunias hanging from the windows.

He approached the door, beautifully decorated with carvings of birds, and finally dropped all the luggage with a sigh of relief. He used the iron knocker, shaped like a squirrel's tail, to knock, and moments later, the decorated wooden door opened. Behind it stood a small woman with white hair and kind features, showing advanced age but well-maintained. She wore a somewhat worn reddish velvet robe, and peeking out from under her cream-colored skirt were small fabric-lined slippers. She looked at his battered face and then at the pile of bundles he had left on the ground.

“I think you’ve got the wrong house; the hospice is three streets down. Good night.”

Before the woman could close the door, Alaric put his foot in the doorway.

“I’m sorry to confuse you; I’m not a beggar looking for shelter. Though I admit my appearance might suggest otherwise. My name is Alaric, and you must be Edel, Lysandra’s mother. She sent me,” he said, showing her the silver earring Lysa had given him as a token of introduction. “And I also know your other daughter, Zarinia.”

The woman opened the door a bit more, but her expression was more hostile than anything else.

“How did you get that earring? And what business does my daughter have with you? And who are you?”

“Well, it’s a long story, perhaps it would be more comfortable for you to hear it inside,” Alaric replied, sounding fatigued. He really wanted to be able to rest at last.

The woman narrowed her eyes, studying him.

“I’ll ask you once more, how did you get this earring?” she repeated slowly, with a hostile tone. Alaric had the impression that the air around him was beginning to feel heavier and denser.

“Lysandra gave it to me, to show you, and she said you gave it to her,” he replied quickly, trying not to pester the old woman further.

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Edel finally relaxed her posture, her angry expression changing to something more like displeasure.

“Alright, come in. But take off those muddy boots. And put on some fabric sandals from under that cabinet. And leave the bundles in the foyer; they’re also shedding dirt. And your pants, for the Gods’ sake, you’re going to get dust everywhere. Go in there and I’ll bring you clean clothes. Or better yet, take a bath first. And don’t touch anything. But what kind of people are my daughters hanging out with? They’ll hear from me when they come back. Certainly, they will.”

She said all this while pushing Alaric inside, not giving him a chance to protest. After a while, he found himself freshly washed, wearing fabric sandals that were too small for him, white linen pants that didn’t reach his ankles, and a floral-patterned shirt that barely reached his waist. Between that outfit and his gaunt face, he looked grotesque. He sat in an armchair by the fireplace in the living room, waiting for the woman to bring something to eat, but he was engulfed by the layers and layers of cushions of all sizes, patterns, and colors that covered the seat. Moments later, a black cat appeared out of nowhere, pounced onto his lap, curled up, and started to sleep, purring.

While the old woman prepared something in the kitchen, Alaric finally had time to observe the room. The vanilla-colored stucco walls were painted with tiny birds perched on thin branches, and the small windows were covered with lace curtains. In one corner, there was a worn rocking chair with several hand-embroidered cushions. It was clear what the woman’s preference was regarding decoration, as on the stone fireplace mantel were small statuettes of birds in various colors, carefully arranged. The floor was covered with a floral-patterned carpet that had seen better days, and on the wall, a couple of shelves held several old books, jars with dried herbs, and some decorated dishes. With birds, of course. And next to it, a carved wooden table with patterns similar to those on the front door. The room smelled of burnt wood and dried flowers, and a bit old too. While he was taking all this in, Edel returned, carrying a tray with some cups and pastries. Alaric could barely stretch out his arm to take the tea the woman offered him. He had hoped for a less frugal meal, but it seemed he would have to make do with this.

“Now, let me check something,” she said, closing her eyes and starting to wander around, hands raised.

At one point, she wrinkled her nose and approached Alaric’s vest, which was resting on the pile of dirty clothes he had left at the entrance. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a black leather pouch. Alaric realized what it was.

“Oh, that’s the copy of the medallion that…”

“I know very well what it is, young man. But it’s not the medallion that interests me. It’s the pouch that catches my attention.”

“Well, it’s fine leather, quite good, it was given to me by…”

“Lysandra. I know that too. Actually, the pouch is mine. That girl, touching my things. I’ll talk to her. Do me a favor, go up to the dovecote and bring me one of the gray ones.”

“Um…”

“Don’t ask. Just do it.”

Alaric managed to get the black cat off his lap, which let out a protesting meow, and freed himself from the cushion trap he had fallen into. He carefully climbed up to the attic, not without noticing the paintings adorning the walls of the old staircase. Pictures of Lysandra as a child and Edel as a young woman. And some curious landscapes he didn’t recognize. Yellow deserts, towering mountains, and palaces that didn’t seem of this world. He reached the low roof, having to almost crawl through a small door to enter. There were several cages with pigeons, along with a couple of tiny round openings without glass. The floor was full of droppings, and it smelled rather strong, like ammonia. However, the breeze coming through the windows kept the smell from becoming too concentrated. There he began to look for a gray pigeon, although it took him longer than he thought, given the surprising variety of colors of those birds. When he found one, he was about to bring it down, but was startled by a voice behind him. The old woman had climbed up after him, silently, like a ghost.

“You’re taking too long. What’s the use of those long legs if you’re so slow. It’s clear you have no experience with pigeons. Give it here,” said Edel, angrily.

The woman tied the pouch around the plump bird’s neck, kissed it on the head, and released it through the window.

“I don’t quite understand what you just did, or why you sent that medallion flying off somewhere. And I suppose you’re not going to explain it to me,” said Alaric, watching the pigeon disappear into the night sky.

“The pouch is empty; here’s your copy, if you need it for anything,” she said, placing the pendant in his hand. “And what I just did is buy us some time. You’ve brought my enemies to my house. Unknowingly, I hope.”

“I don’t mean to contradict you, but I made sure no one was following me. And due to my ‘profession,’ I have experience in these matters,” replied Alaric, somewhat annoyed.

“I see. You have no idea. It doesn’t matter now, it’s beyond repair. But we’re in danger. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Aren’t we going to wait for your daughters? For my companions?”

“Companions? Let’s go down and tell me your story. Tell me everything. I want to know where my girls are. And what they have to do with you. And most importantly, where the Serpent’s key is,” Edel paused for a moment, seeing the confused expression on Alaric’s face. “And yes. We can’t stay here. I trust my daughters; I’ll let them know where we’re going, and they’ll find us,” she sighed, seeing that his expression of disbelief didn’t change, and continued, showing a slight smile. “And I’m glad you care about them, Master Alaric.”