1.
George knew he shouldn't be whistling so loudly in the bad part of the city, but with a knife in his boot and anger churning in his stomach, he was ready for anything. His footsteps made no noise on the road, at least, he didn't think they did. Boisterous yells came pouring out of one of the taverns. He was focusing on keeping up the upbeat, pointless rhythm even if he couldn't hear it over those drunken fools. George snorted in laughter. He made a beeline for the tavern door. It might not be the Dancing Dove, but it also had something stronger than lemonade.
The tavern door was open wide, inviting in anyone and anything. George stepped into the tavern. He didn't plan on causing trouble, not really. He also knew that trouble just seemed to find him, especially that day. He sauntered over to the bar and sat heavily on a stool. A barmaid approached.
"Whattya have, eh?" she asked.
"Somethin' strong, preferably," George said.
He expected the barmaid to hurry away and fetch his drink, but she just stared at him. "Ye're new here? Ain't ye?"
"Yea," said George. "I've come from the Dove, and I gotta say ye're much prettier than the barkeeper there."
She didn't even blush. Internally, George sighed. The barmaid stared for a moment before walking away.
"Good try, lad," someone laughed behind him.
"Eh," George shrugged his shoulders without turning around. He hunched over the bar and drummed his fingers against the wood. He heard a body lower itself onto the stool next to him. He didn't want to look, didn't want to talk, so he feigned disinterest.
"Did I hear you mention the Dove?"
"None of yer business," George huffed.
Still, the stranger didn't seem to want to leave. The stool creaked as the stranger stretched out his legs and leaned back. "I heard that there's a gift left outside the Dove, for all those good-for-nothing's and thieves."
George's head shot up and his eyes narrowed as they focused on the stranger's face. His hair was a dark silver colour, his eyes a pale brown. His cheekbones were high, but his eyes looked sunken and unhealthy. George said, "I'll remember ye. If ye did anythin' to my people, I will find ye."
"Hmm," the man mumbled "I wonder how much blood you'll find?"
George pushed his stool back and stumbled. He walked quickly to the door, breaking into a run the moment he was out of sight. Winding down alleys and pushing his way through the bustling streets, George approached the Dancing Dove. He saw blood staining the path outside the door.
"Solom?" George yelled as he pushed open the door.
The old innkeeper hobbled towards George, blood staining his hands and his sleeves. "Mithros, Solom. Are ye alright?"
"Not my blood," Solom said.
"Whose?"
"I don't know."
"Huh?" George stared at the man, at the blood on his hands. "None of ours?"
"Nope."
George raised an eyebrow. Solom looked slightly flustered. "Sorry lad, I've never seen her before in my life."
"Her?" George asked. "Not one of ours? Does anyone else know her?"
"Mack's lookin' into it," said Solom. "Ye don't gotta worry about it. Get some sleep lad, it could be nothing."
"It ain't nothin'," George snapped before his voice got quite. "I think that she, whoever she is, was put there to prove somethin'. To prove a point, I guess."
"What?"
"I was lookin' around an tavern, for easy pickin' and a fight," George began. Solom opened his mouth, but George silenced him with a glare. "I'm fine. Anyways, I was approached and he said there was a 'gift' outside the Dove."
"Did he say anythin' else?" Solom asked intensely.
"He was wonderin' how much blood we'd find, and I left after that," George explained. "I came right here after."
"Do ye remember his face?"
"Do I ever forget?" George said, earning a small smile from Solom.
"Mack'll wanna talk to ye. His Majesty wants to get to the bottom of this, before anyone else gets hurt," Solom informed George.
"Aye," George said.
Solom led the way up the stairs to what Mack called his 'business room'. Mack kept all his valuables separate. "To keep away any wandering hands," Mack liked to laugh. "After all, we're all thieves here."
Solom knocked on the wooden door. The voices inside were muffled, but Mack's voice was the loudest and the angriest. Rispah opened the door and slipped outside. She reached up and ruffled George's hair. The gangly boy grimaced.
"'Ey cousin," said Rispah. "Whattya doin' up?"
Solom cleared his throat, "George's got important information. Mack'd wanna hear it."
"Important, ey? Sure thing, Solom. D'ya want me to get 'im?" Rispah asked, suddenly serious and looking very worried.
"I think it best that George goes in. I gotta go back down in case they decide to leave another gift," Solom said with a small frown.
"Aye," Rispah said.
Solom rushed down the stairs. Rispah turned to George, her hands on her hips. "What's so important?"
"You'll learn soon enough," George told her before opening the door and walking inside.
Mack's head raised as George walked in. He sat hunched over a plain wooden table, head in his hands. "What?" Mack snapped, worry making the lines around his mouth more pronounced.
"George's got information," Rispah said.
"Really?" Mack's face perked up like an eager puppy.
"Yea."
"Then spit it out, boy," Mack said.
George shuffled his feet and looked Mack boldly in the eyes. "I might know who did it."
He explained what had happened at the tavern, about the man and his hollow eyes. Mack sighed when George finished talking. "At least it wasn't one of our own."
"Is she dead?" George asked.
"Nah," said Mack. "She might be soon though."
Rispah turned to George. "Eleni?"
"Yea, I can get her," George said.
"You're getting your mother?" Mack said, his voice tinted with disbelief.
"She's a healer," Rispah explained.
"Oh," Mack said. "I'll go with you. If someone's threatening us, it's better to stick together."
George's eyes widened a fraction. Rispah opened her mouth to object, "Are you sure? If they're after us, they'll definitely be after you. Maybe you should stay here."
"And what?" Mack snapped. "Hide until this is over? Send a fifteen year old boy to face possible death?"
"That's not what I meant," Rispah grumbled.
"C'mon," Mack said. "Do you have a knife?"
George pulled the knife out of his boot. Mack grinned and said, "It's better to keep it on your belt. It's easier to get that way."
"I knew that," George mumbled.
Mack slapped George lightly on the back and walked out of the room. George turned to Rispah, a questioning look in his eyes.
"Ya better follow 'im," Rispah said.
George hurried after Mack. The Rogue leaned against a table, picking at his fingernails. "You'd better be faster than that most of the time," said Mack in a light, joking tone.
"Aye, he is," said Solom. "He's a promising young thief."
"Ah," said Mack, but he said nothing else before walking towards the door. George followed him quietly and quickly, feeling like he had to prove a point.
Once outside, Mack whispered, "We'll walk on the main streets. With all the drunken louts wandering, we'll be practically invisible. Where is your mother?"
"Spindle Lane."
Mack started off in that direction, walking slowly. George shadowed him. They seemed to follow the tide of bodies until they trickled off onto Spindle Lane.
"Which one?" Mack asked.
"This one," George walked up to it and pushed open the gate.
Despite the late hour, the door still opened before George could reach it. Eleni looked worried and tired. "George? What are you doing?"
"Someone's been attacked," Mack said.
"And who are you?"
"Mack Greyson," Mack said with a small bow. "King of Thieves, and, coincidentally, your son's king."
"Fine," said Eleni. "Who's been attacked?"
"We don't know."
"You don't know?" Eleni said.
"We'll explain on the way," George promised gently. "Do you think you could heal her?"
Eleni sighed. "I would be lying if I said no. Where is she?"
"The Dancing Dove," Mack told her.
When Eleni started following after George, Mack said, "Thank you Miss Cooper."
Eleni seemed to walk a little taller, but she said nothing to Mack in return. She put a hand on George's shoulder as they continued towards the Dancing Dove. George looked up at her and she suddenly looked very frail to him.
"We need to talk later," his mother said to him under her breath.
George nodded, a quick, almost unnoticeable movement.
Mack walked behind them, and the man, who was so used to leading, almost felt at peace being a follower.
Solom stood outside the door of the Dove. Worry seemed permanently etched into his face, but at the sight of them, his brow relaxed slightly.
"No one's been here since ye left." Solom answered the unasked question.
"Then why do you look so worried?" Mack demanded.
"It's the girl, yer Majesty. She's- she has changed."
"Changed?" Eleni was the first to speak, her voice sharp. "How?"
"Ye'd best look yerself," said Solom, holding the door open.
George noticed he had still not washed the blood off his hands.
Mack was the one who led the way up the stairs. He opened the door with a key Solom passed him. George noticed Solom tucked the key back into a purse around his neck when Mack handed it back. Mack opened the door and took a step before freezing.
"She was a carrot-top before, wasn't she?"
"Aye," Solom said.
Eleni pushed passed George, who was stretching to look around Mack. Eleni gasped. George looked over her head.
A girl lay on a blood-soaked bed. She was dressed in city clothes, but George imagined anyone like her would stand out in a city like Corus. He imagined that even in the Lower City, she'd be noticeable. Her face was young and unmarked, her eyes closed. Her slender, scarred fingers clutched at her shirt. Her hair though, it was bone white.
"She used to have orange hair?" Eleni asked.
"Aye," Solom mumbled, almost to himself. "I've never seen anything like this."
"Neither have I," Mack said, and George sounded his agreement.
Eleni stayed quiet.
"Mistress Cooper?" Mack prodded. "Do you know what is wrong with her?"
"I have a suspicion," she said. "And I fear I am right."
George put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off and spoke with a strong voice. "Mack Greyson," she said. "I am afraid there is nothing I can do for this girl. I can heal her, but it will not be successful like you hope."
"Why?" George was the first to ask. He had never seen his mother look so defeated, so sad and desperate. I shouldn't've brought her here, he thought.
"The Black God has chosen her to be his vessel," said Eleni.
"What?" This time Mack spoke. "There hasn't been, well, anyone chosen by the Black God in decades!"
"The Peaceful Realms are threatened," said Eleni.
"What does that mean for her?" George's voice shook, and he cursed internally.
Eleni looked over at her son, and her voice rang with truth when she said, "She is destined to die, and soon, to save the Peaceful Realms."