Page 92 of Of Sword & Silver

"Will do, gentlemen.”

Minutes pass like molasses and I bite down on my wrist, my lungs burning with the need to cough.

Finally, the barrel rocks slightly as the wagon begins moving again.

The sound of the Night Market of Nyzbern fills the barrel, and nostalgia winds through me. I used to love this city. The chaos of the Night Market especially, all the vendors with their colorful wares, the musicians busking on every street corner, and the scent of spiced meats and all sorts of bread and goods.

The light changes from the smokey oranges of the gate’s torches to purples and greens and pinks, the multicolored markers of the different types of merchants. Purples for fine jewelry and top-tier silks and satins, greens for herbalists and potion makers, and pinks for food stalls. Blues for blacksmiths and armorers, oranges for booksellers and scrolls, and bright red for goods that would be illegal anywhere else in Heska, save for Nyzbern.

We pass under one such lantern, and Lara hisses in distaste so loudly I can hear her from inside the barrel.

“Come on then, gents, ladies, care to sample the flesh of the newest imports to Nyzbern? We have anything you might want, any race, any color, any age.”

I close my eyes, sickened by the sound of an all too familiar voice.

Has it all been for nothing, then, if he’s still here? Despair winds through me and I brace one palm against the inside of the barrel, glad I chose to get inside of it because that vendor would sell me out to Alaric as soon as he saw me.

Motherfucking flesh traders, and that one is the worst of them all.

I crack my neck, stretching out as much as I can in the small space.

Maybe I should put the flesh-traders permanently out of business… and wipe him off the Heskan continent for good.

I bare my teeth, relishing the thought.

Maybe I’ll do a bit more crime than I originally planned on while I’m here.

32

THE SWORD

Raucous. Overwhelming. There are too many scents, too many people, too much.

Nyzbern is chaos, and it’s no wonder it’s the capital of Sola’s city-state.

I tug the dark hood of my cloak lower over my face, the flesh-monger leering at me from under the glowing red lights of his brothel.

Only the fact I don’t dare draw attention to any of us keeps me from pulling the sword from under my cloak and running him through.

How Kyrie stood this place long enough to carve out a home here is beyond my ken. Disgust curls my lip, and I breathe a sigh of relief as we move past the red lights and onto an emptier side street.

Despite the evening wearing on, there are plenty of people milling about, the sour smell of unwashed skin mingling uncomfortably with the scent of yeast breads and spiced meats.

Dario leads the way, his cart rumbling slowly along the cobblestones, gas lamps lighting the way.

Morrow’s rigid in his saddle and Lara sneers at nearly everything she sees, but Caedia’s staring around open-mouthed, the healer clearly overwhelmed.

I don’t remember Nyzbern like this. The flesh-mongers in the open, their red lights brash as they call out the people for sale—it was not like this before.

Sola may be the goddess of chaos and lies, but this is beyond even her.

I was in Cottleside for years, yes, but the rate at which this city’s declined into open depravity far exceeds any expectations I had.

“How long have the flesh traders been in the open?” I ask Dario in a low voice.

He glances sidelong at me, tilting his head as he considers the question. “As long as I can remember.”

I wince, guilt flooding through me. There is so much I should have been doing, should have been fixing, instead seeking vengeance and then punishment.

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