Once she was off the ship, Akna took a moment to relax, then get her bearings. She could make out the bluff in question in the distance, a silhouette with a single building rising above even the tallest buildings in the city. Getting there should be easy enough.

It wasn’t.

There was a maze of piers and quays to get through first. They twisted and turned all over the place, and it was impossible to go in a straight line. Perhaps she should have accepted the guide.

Once she was out of the docks, however, movement was simpler, and she could keep a course that went in a near straight line towards the bluff. She kept careful watch on everything around her. Twice today—yesterday? How long had she been out?—someone had sneaked up on her. She wasn’t about to let it happen again. She didn’t care how fast that bastard was.

The streets of the city were busy, but also wide, providing a lot of space. There weren’t many options for hiding other than blending in with the crowds, though there were more than enough people to make blending in easy. Still, she watched for any who went in the same direction as her too long to be coincidence, and avoided letting anyone get too close. The latter was simple. Most people here kept their distance from her. It was her tattoos. She’d seen it in the other cities she’d passed through on her way here. Arnorins tended not to have many tattoos and viewed having a lot as a mark of scorn or criminality. To have one’s body almost completely covered in tattoos was alien to them.

It was a long trip. With the docks at the south, she had to cross the entire city, and Dorg was a big place. Why had Felitïa left her there? Why had Felitïa even taken her there and let complete strangers have some sort of charge over her? There was probably a good reason, but it bugged her anyway.

That was another problem with Felitïa. She had a way of taking charge, even when she explicitly said she wasn’t going to. Like she had in Ninifin. She had said Akna was in charge, but most of the decisions had been Felitïa’s. But that wasn’t the infuriating part. If it had been anyone else, Akna would have told her off and not listened to her. But Felitïa’s decisions always made sense at the time. Akna had to go along with them because otherwise, even more people would have probably died. Now they were out of Ninifin, Felitïa really had taken full charge.

Akna sighed, and told herself to stop being so grumpy and to focus on getting through Dorg.

There was a small group of men that had been about thirty to forty paces behind her for several blocks now. One was tall enough that his head stuck out above the crowds. If they were following her, he was a bit obvious, so maybe it was coincidence they had gone the same way as her for a while. To be sure, she stopped at one of the countless roadside vendors.

“Those tattoos,” the woman at the stall said. “Ninifin style, aren’t they? I’ve heard they’re all the rage in Getavin. If you’re interested in Ninifin, I have a few things that might interest you.”

Akna gave a quick nod, then turned to look back at the crowd. The tall one and his friends had not stopped moving; nor had they slowed down, and they weren’t looking in her direction.

“This here is some authentic Ninifin silk,” the woman said.

The men passed the stall and kept going.

“Miss?”

It was possible they were trying to put Akna’s mind at ease, keep her off her guard, but she doubted it. More likely, it had just been coincidence that had kept them behind her for so long.

“Young lady?”

Akna looked back at the woman, who had unrolled some blue silk over the counter of her stall. “Blue? Why blue?”

“It’s just one option,” the woman said. “Of course, if you wish to emulate true Ninifin style, you’ll want a variety of colours. That red jerkin and black skirt you’re wearing: not Ninifin at all. Bright, vibrant colours are what Ninifins like.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Of course they do. They wear—”

“Priests sometimes wear a variety of colours when they are among the people to show that they currently represent all the gods, but the common people don’t wear colours at all. White is the colour of the people. And no one wears blue except in ceremonies for the dead. It’s the colour of the Dark Lady.”

“Young lady, have you ever actually been to Ninifin? No, of course you haven’t because they don’t let people in, so how would you know?”

Akna shook her head and turned away.

“I’d be happy to offer it to you for half price,” the woman called after her.

An Isyar stood at the corner of an alley a short distance ahead. With the exception of Jorvan, this was the first Isyar Akna had ever seen outside of Scovese. Her white, sweat-glistened skin was wrinkled with age, her wings drooped behind her back, and she stooped over a cane for support. Like Jorvan’s, her clothes were a single thin piece that hung loose over her thin frame. The Isyar raised her head and for a brief moment, her and Akna’s eyes met. The Isyar’s cracked lips twitched into a smile.

Akna moved towards her.

Other people had started to notice the Isyar. Some pointed and gawked. Some called out that there was an Isyar here. Numerous others moved in the Isyar’s direction. The Isyar stepped back into the alley and out of sight.

The first people from the crowd reached the alley and peered in. “She’s gone!” one yelled. “The Isyar’s gone!”

A few people turned away, but most continued forwards. They poured into the alley and came out a short while later, some shaking their heads, others talking to their companions about other times they’d seen an Isyar.

Akna stood near the entrance to the alley for several minutes, waiting for the crowd to lose interest. When most of the people were gone, she entered the alley and looked around for herself. It was short, with a few barrels against the building walls on either side. A rickety shed stood at the far end, its door swinging wide open, the lock on it broken. The buildings didn’t have side entrances, though each had a window on the second storey. There wasn’t anywhere for the Isyar to hide. However, she could have flown away, either over the buildings or into one of the buildings. Akna didn’t blame her. She wouldn’t have wanted a crowd rushing over to her either.

But the Isyar had smiled at her, as if she’d recognised Akna somehow. Or had that just been a smile the Isyar would have given to anyone at the moment? Perhaps.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

It didn’t matter. The Isyar was gone. She should continue on her way.

Two men stood at the alley entrance, looking at her. They were burly—not tall, but broad and buff—with the coppery brown skin and round faces of the local Orwinian Eloorin. Each held a dagger.

Damn it. She’d done it again. She’d let them sneak up on her.

Akna reached for her own dagger as they charged at her from either side. She threw herself through the empty space between them, rolled as she hit the ground, and sprang back to her feet. They turned to face her again.

One threw his dagger at her. It was a clumsy throw and she knocked it aside with ease. The other lunged at her. She ducked beneath the blade and swung round to his side—the same side as his dagger arm. She grabbed his arm with her free arm and wrapped her own weapon arm around his neck, pulling back into a headlock.

He was stronger than her, but thugs like him tended to be poorly trained. And she didn’t need to hold him long.

The other one had drawn another dagger and rushed at her.

Her prisoner tried to wrench his arm free, sending pain through Akna’s arm. She raised one leg and drove her foot into the back of his knee, knocking him off balance. She twisted round to bring him into the path of his ally, then swiped her dagger across his neck, letting it dig deep. Then she let go of him. He fell over, knocking his ally aside.

Akna dived over the rapidly expiring body and behind her other attacker. She swiped her dagger across the back of his knees, cutting his hamstrings. Then she rolled aside as he fell over with a cry. The back of his head cracked against the cobblestones, and he cried out again.

Akna stood up and wiped the sweat from her forehead with her arm. She walked around the man, careful to stay out of his reach.

He used his arms to try push himself back to his feet, but cried out in pain again and collapsed. “You fucking bitch! I can’t stand!”

“Think I care? You were going to kill me.”

“Come closer and I still will.”

“Who hired you?”

“Fuck you.”

She knelt down by his feet. He tried to sit up and reach for her, but she grabbed one foot and yanked his leg. He fell on his back again with another cry. She yanked his boot off. “There are tendons and muscles here I can cut that won’t kill you, but will cause a lot more pain. So talk. Who hired you?”

“Help! Help me!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, and Akna cut the tendons at the back of his foot above the heel. With another cry, he stopped screaming. No one would have heard him anyway. The streets were too noisy, and the crowd had already forgotten about this alley.

“Who hired you?”

“No one. We were following orders.”

“Whose?”

“His name’s Omer. Omer Ebwood. He’s one of the Dusk Supreme’s top lieutenants. He wants you dead, and if he wants you dead, you’ll die, girl. Maybe not today, but in the end. You can’t get him. He moves too fast, faster than you can see.”

“I think I met him. Where can I find him?” She’d heard of the Dusk Supreme, too. Meleng had told her about him, and Felitïa had mentioned him a few times.

“I don’t know. He moves around too much,”

She reached for his other foot.

“I swear it’s the truth. He finds me. I don’t find him.”

She nodded and stood up. “Fine. I guess I’ll find out how hard he is to kill, won’t I?” She turned away from him and walked towards the street.

“You can’t leave me here! I can’t fucking stand! Come on!”

She kept walking, but as she blinked, she saw Ses-Tlacotl’s mangled face again, and she paused. She wasn’t doing this out of rage, but it was malicious. With a sigh, she turned back round and looked at him. “And what do you want me to do?”

“At least help me get to someone who can help me.”

“Like who? More of your Darker friends?”

“The church. Take me to the church. They’ll help me.”

She walked slowly towards him, watching his arms. When she came within his reach, he grabbed for her. She leapt back and shook her head.

“You’re dead, bitch. If I ever get my hands on you, you’re dead.”

She watched him for a few moments as he continued to yell and rage, tried to judge the distance and angle she needed. Things would be so much easier if she had a spear.

She threw her dagger at his neck.

It missed and embedded itself in his face instead. He let out a gurgling scream. His arms flailed about, his hand clutched for the dagger, pulled it free, and fumbled to throw it back at her. Then his arms fell still, his chest stopped moving, and his shattered face lolled to the side.

Akna approached and retrieved her dagger. She wiped the blood from it on his tunic. His bloody and broken face stared sightlessly at her.

Shit.

Another death for her nightmares.

Once again, she wished she’d gone with Meleng.

“I know someone who might be able to help,” Jorvan had told Felitïa while they were making their way out of Ninifin. “My...” He’d struggled with the words. “Sorry, the words do not have good...translations in your language. Mother is closest. My mother is a skilled mentalist. One of the most skilled there is. Maybe she can help you understand your telepathy and find a way past the block. I can go to Isyaria and maybe I can convince her to come back with me. I cannot promise, but maybe.”

Felitïa had agreed readily. “Yes! Please! That would be incredible. Thank you.”

And that had been it. Jorvan had asked Meleng to accompany him, Meleng had agreed, and Akna had agreed to go with Felitïa.

Perhaps it was for the best. She’d been smothering Meleng. She knew he didn’t feel for her the way she felt for him. He said he cared, but… She needed time away to clear her head, determine what her own feelings were. After Chica had died, she’d latched onto Meleng, convinced herself she was in love with him. But was that really the case, or was she just looking for ways to avoid her grief? Time apart was good to get her thoughts in order.

Yet in the weeks since, her thoughts weren’t in any more order than they had been. She still longed for him. She missed him miserably.

Akna looked herself over. She had managed to avoid getting much blood on her. There was a little here and there, but not enough to draw attention from anybody who wasn’t already looking closely. Her hands had more on them, but she did her best to wipe them off on the dead men’s clothes—what bits of those clothes weren’t wet with blood themselves. As long as she could get some distance between herself and the alley before anyone arrived and found the bodies, she could avoid any awkward questions.

She sheathed her dagger, walked out of the alley, and continued towards Lord Padara’s home.

And every time she blinked, she saw Chica’s head explode over and over again.