Erm.
Tyrolean kept close, but he
needn’t have bothered. The citizens barely glanced Draken's way, marking him for
what he was: a foreigner coming to trade. They just didn’t realize his goods
were life and death.
That image disintegrated when
they met the gate guards at Kordewyn. First the queue—and Draken had considered
the steps slow-going. He shifted from foot to foot and constantly glanced back
down into the fog concealing the city. Darkness crept through it as moonfall
encroached on Sevenfel. Daybreak would not be far behind.
“Gods forbid we don’t
make dayclose.”
“It’s Tradeseason,” Galbrait
said. “The merchants are open in the night.”
Right. He’d forgotten.
Someone turned their head at Galbrait’s voice. Maybe it was the accent, or his handsome features, bruised on one side. Draken leaned close to Galbrait. “We’ll never get there at this rate. Tell them who you are.”
Galbrait looked back at him,
brows raised. Draken just looked back at him. The Prince hissed a breath and
undid the top ties on his cloak so his torq showed, and called out, “Make way
for business of the Crown. Make way!”
Heads turned, protests sounding
and dying as people realized who Galbrait was. Everyone knew the torqs the
royals wore—all of a kind, twisted precious metals with skystones embedded in
the ends. Draken stared down the people just in front of them, and they shifted
to one side as best as they were able; the path sloping up to the gate was
barely five shoulders across. Slowly, they were able to shift their way through
the crowd and reach the gate. Word had preceded them and the guards studied
Galbrait, albeit politely.
“Gods, he’s on a bloody coin,”
Draken said. “Let us pass.”
The guard, his belly straining
the straps of his armor, turned to Draken. “And you are?”
“Khel Szi, Prince of BrĂ®n,”
Galbrait said. “And this is his Captain and guard. Let us pass, soldier. Do we
look as if we’re out for a leisurely stroll to market? Your delay could cost us
all more than your own position here.”
Galbrait’s authoritative ring
did it. Or perhaps it was that his cloak had parted to reveal the blood caked
on his skin. The guard stepped back with a bow. But it had been long enough for
people on the inside of the gate to grasp that they were looking at not only
the actual Prince, but also a foreign one. It would only take moments more for
them to realize they were largely unprotected, though Tyrolean was an imposing
presence. Draken hurried Galbrait along, steering him down streets and alleys
toward Ashwyc.
“Do you know where you’re
going?” Tyrolean asked.
Not exactly. “Aye. This way.”
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