Page 54 of The Last One
“Let’s go, then.” I head to the door.
Olivia grabs my hand. “What if she plans to do to you what she did to that bandit?”
I push out a breath. “What do you suggest I do?”
“Let’s just…” Olivia shakes her head. “Let’s just sneak out and listen to what she says. If you still want to confront her, then at least you know what to expect. You’ll have the advantage.”
A moment later, we creep out the pantry door and slip over to hide behind a discarded pile of stone and planks of thick wood, some pocked with rusty nails, some blackened from fire or mildew. From our hiding spot, we can see the three strangers standing before the chapel.
The air smells of night-blooming jasmine and snuffed-out candles.
My heart races like I’ve run up a mountain twice. Why am I panicking? I was the picture of calm and competence during last night’s fighting. Now, though? I can’t catch my breath. What’s different? I survey the strange men flanking the bottom of the chapel’s steps. They’re each as tall as three Maford men, one standing on another’s shoulders. They wear platinum breastplates without tunics, and long red ribbons wrap around their bare arms. Their skin is as white as the hair billowing like waves from their heads. The lower halves of their faces hide behind gray kerchiefs. They scan the square with gray eyes, ready to pounce if they find anything threatening.
I don’t know them.
At the top of the steps is the woman Phily spoke of. White-haired with rich light-brown skin and narrow eyes, she wears a cloak of swirling golds and blues. She’s not as tall as the guards but still taller than the average Maford man. She looks to be somewhere in her twenties and holds an ivory walking stick that looks like it’s made of clouds and snow, just like her long, thick hair.
I don’t know her, either. Nothing about them—their faces, their armor, their snow-white hair—looks familiar. So how do they know me?
Women and older men have gathered around the chapel steps. Their faces, bright with awe, quiver with fear. At their feet: the last few swords and daggers that survived the fight against Emperor Wake’s battalion. Were they planning to fight these strangers? Silence now drops like a heavy quilt over the town, but their thoughts and prayers sound like shouts.
“Supreme protect us.”
“Where’s Johny?”
“Where’s Father Knete?”
“We need Ealdrehrt!”
Jadon mentioned that the town leaders were meeting at the mayor’s house.
Where is the mayor’s house? They must still be there.
These villagers look as ill as I feel. Their muscles are rigid, and many clutch their stomachs as beads of sweat roll down their faces.
“You may call me Elyn,” the woman begins. Her voice is hard things and soft, granite and silk, lava and fresh snow, wise, warrior. She paces, twirling that cane as she surveys the crowd. “I’m looking for a young woman named Kai. She’s about my height, hair the color of plums and chestnuts, hair that’s way out to here.” She holds her hands far away from her head. “She’s strong-willed. Smart. Unforgettable.”
“Plums and chestnuts?” Philia holds her hands out from her head. “No. We haven’t seen anyone like that.”
“Shut up, Phily,”Olivia thinks.“Don’t try to be clever.”
Elyn’s gold eyes brighten, and her white hair darkens to gray, but that agitation dies; her eyes soften again, and her hair reverts to the color of snow. She stares at the redhead.
Philia drops to her knees, clutches her gut, and her skin pales.
“There’s no need to be foolishly obtuse,” Elyn says. “Ofcourse, she could’ve changed her hair. Kai is extremely versatile. Her style tends to befit hersituation.”
I am? Does it? I glance down at my borrowed tunic and breeches. Nothing special. I don’t stand out anymore. Which befits my situation: the need to blend in.Oh.
“Enchanting little town you used to have,” the woman says, eyes skipping to the splintered carts, the mounds of limestone, the pools of congealing blood. “Someonewas angry.”
When no one says anything, she saunters down the steps. “Oh dear. There’s no food here.” Elyn plucks a withered potato from an overturned produce cart andtsks. “Hardworking people like you deserve more thanthisshriveled-up thing.” She twists the potato in the air, and that shriveled-up thing becomes a fat thing, a potato big enough to feed two people.
She tosses the potato to Philia, who catches it. “Are you tired of potatoes?Philia, yes?”
Olivia thinks,“Oh shit, oh shit, how does she know her name?”
With a damp face and tear-filled eyes, Philia whispers, “Yes, ma’am.”
