21 Winter
--the Queen's gravestone was beautiful. The gilded stone itself would buy each person living in the slums their own home for every year of their life. Sinclair looked devastated. She imagined that she could relate to him losing a parent, if she had known her father. Sinclair shouldn't look down at the grave, but up at the stars. That is where the Queen's throne resides.
Violet still wasn't speaking to her mother. Ryder knocked on her bedroom door asking her to stay home today on behalf of their mother, that she was going to let her students know that she was going on a trip and would be gone for a while.
She didn't plan to tell them she would be gone forever, Violet thought. Another lie. Her brother planned to go back to work today and with the money she had stolen that week and the finishing wages he would earn today; he could purchase two horses for them.
Mother better plan to ride with Ryder.
Violet gently touches her orb beneath her tunic, a warm comfort buzzing from it. Chewing on her bottom lip until she tasted blood, Violet mulled over her argument with mother, the dreamscape with Sinclair and the letter she never wrote him. If they were to leave tonight, they would need a map and considering none of them had left the kingdom before—well her mother not in years—she doubted they had any clue where to go.
They needed a map and Violet knew where to get one.
She had to leave Madam Isla's key for her, anyway. She would be quick, in and out, and would wear her cloak. No one would notice her glowing eyes because she wouldn't give them a chance to. With her mind made up, Violet quickly got dressed, grabbing her dark green cloak and pulling the hood well over her face.
The heat had lessened but the sun still made her presence known, sweat beading down her back as she made her way to the market, taking the back roads through the slums. She steps over a sleeping drunk, careening around broken bottles and feces as she made her way towards the back part of where the market began.
It was busier than most days, nearing the end of the week. She didn't expect to see Madam Isla but was prepared to fake illness if she had to at the sight of her. Violet took to the back entrance of the bookstore, unlocking the door softly and listening for voices before she slowly pushed it open. It screamed its protest and she cringed with the noise, locking it shut behind her as she entered.
This door opened into the supply closet and Violet immediately trips over a broom stick, snarling at herself as she untangled her limbs. She left the closet, irritation nipping at her skin as she moved towards the back shelf, where she knew the maps were sold. Violet tried to stay out of view of the windows, using their natural light to read the inscriptions, snagging one that detailed the routes and territories of their continent. She hoped it was recently updated.
Tucking it into the back of her trousers, her cloak covering it as she fixed her hood, Violet exited the way she came.
"I told you she would be there." Rodrick's voice felt like knives slicing down her skin. He steps out from the tailor shop next door, two market guards with him, blocking her route out. She didn't have to ask what this was about. Violet knew.
"What the hell is wrong with her eyes?" One guard asks but Violet didn't wait for an answer. She took off running, the map beating against her back as she heard their shouts of anger behind her.
She threw herself into the crowd, slamming into bodies and knocking people behind her as she ran, trying desperately to lose herself in the crowd.
Violet ripped her cloak off and flung it behind her, hitting someone in the face, hoping the guards would be looking for the green of her cloak for at least a moment. She yanked the map from her waistband and gripped it with her hand, diving under arms and ducking past stalls.
Violet saw the two market guards further back, alerting the others working the square. Cursing under her breath, she threw herself behind a pillar, chest heaving as she tried to figure out the quickest way out of the market. Guards were stationed near the only two exits, typically roving nearby. Her preferred exit was cut off and the main exit would have the most guards, the most traffic, but it would also have the most routes spilling from it. They would expect her to run home. But they would expect her to run away from the guards. Not to them. They were all headed for that exit, leaving the one behind the bookstore empty.
Violet didn't need to head home, she just needed to get to the assassins' guild. To bargain with Spencer, have her alert her brother and mother. Rendezvous in a different city. The map felt clammy in her hand, and she heaved a steadying breath. This may hold risks of its own, but that exit was closer to the slums, too. She could do it. She just had to trust the gods to quicken her legs.
Unless the gods hated her.
Violet didn't run this time. She kept her head low, slipping into the flow of bodies as the guards pushed past yelling and moving towards the northern exit. She weaved her way though, heart pattering against her chest at how easily fooled they were. She stayed near this noblewomen and her friends who chattered endlessly about fabric until they had just passed Madam Isla's store and Violet split off, pushing her back flat into the wood as she moved to the back of the building.
And came face to face with an arrow nocked in a bow.
"I told them you would come back this way, too." Rodrick's hands shake as he levels the bow to her face. Violet jumps backwards a step, trying to quell the frustration wanting to engulf her. She should just shift and rip his throat out—
Violet shakes her head of the thought, alarm coursing inside of her. What the hell was that? "Rodrick it was a few coins." Violet says through gritted teeth. "I'll give it back, alright?" She wouldn't but she needed him to unnotched that arrow before she lost an eye. "Have you ever shot an arrow before?" She didn't mean for it to sound so offensive but once the words left her lips, she knew she hit the mark. His face darkened and his white-knuckle grip tightened, the string straining.
"Why don't you run and find out?" She gaped in shock at him. "It isn't about the fucking coin, Violet! What the hell are you? No fae I know has eyes like yours—"
"Over here!" A guard yells and panic began to overtake Violet, the map falling from her hand as she weighs her choices. Stay here and be taken by the guards or test how good of a shot Rodrick was. Violet ran. She ducks her head a moment before hearing the whizz of an arrow, a sharp sting slicing her neck as her skin splits open, hot wetness dripping down. Blood. Great. She hisses through her teeth, turning a tight corner, her shoulder skimming against the stone painfully.
Then Violet trips over the sleeping drunk.
The drunk fae yelped, rolling to the side just as the guards came through the alley and she felt the tip of a sword point at the base of her neck. Her breathing was ragged, and she thought of what her mother had said to do if she was to be caught. For a moment, Violet considered slamming her head up, letting the tip of the blade enter her neck and sever her lifeforce. But then hands gripped her shoulders and slammed her into the stones. She grunts, the ruddy face guard staring daggers into her eyes.
"Fucking freak." He spits in her face. Violet felt murderous as he yanks her from the wall, three other guards waiting, one stepping forward to help hold her. She couldn't let them take her from this alleyway.
She couldn't go with them. She would be as good as dead.
Her decision made, she hoped the gods weren't watching as Violet let the murderous rage overtake her.