The Dark is never far from our hearts. It feeds on our pride, and on our fear. It tempts us to folly couched in the illusion of greatness, and hatred cloaked in devout proclamation.

from the sermons of Konor Belenzo

Five

Five

King’s Gate bustled with colour and sound. Carts rumbled to market through the maze of cramped, timber-framed townhouses, or returned to outer provinces with the fruits of trades settled. Priests strode in solemn procession, golden robes gleaming. Craftsmen, soldiers and indentured servants hastened to and fro. The lifeblood of Tressia. Malachi just wished it could all have been accomplished a shade or two quieter. His outward path had taken him past the Essamere muster-fields – with all the inevitable shouting and clamour that was as much a part of soldiery as spilt blood – and he’d hoped for respite at his destination.

The morning after had arrived too soon on the heels of the night before. He felt as though Lumestra’s sunlight shone only for the express purpose of searing his weary eyes. The towering stones of King’s Gate offered blessed shelter from that assault. Alas, they offered none at all from the commotion of the morning’s traffic. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and let the morning pass. But he saw his friends little enough as it was.

“You have remembered the ring?” asked Malachi.

Kasamor tapped a saddlebag. “What do you take me for?”

“A man who’d lose his own sword, were it not buckled to his side.”

A wry smile. “True. But there are swords to be had all over the city. There’s no replacing my grandmother’s ring. Its sapphires will shine all the brighter on Calenne’s hand.”

“I still say you shouldn’t ride until your head’s clear,” said Malachi.

Laughing, Kasamor reached down and patted him on the shoulder. “Nothing like the wind on your cheeks to bring clarity. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with my head. Don’t project your own woes onto others.”

Malachi grimaced. “Be kind. If I’d wanted taking to task, I’d have stayed home.”

Kasamor leaned back in the saddle and shook his head. “Another quarrel with Lilyana?”

Rosa twitched her reins. Her steed side-stepped closer, unfazed by its heavy saddlebags. “And who can blame her? Malachi’s a rake. Common knowledge.”

Malachi snorted at the deadpan delivery. “It wasn’t Lily. Sidara met me on the stairs. You know she refused – actually flat-out refused – to let me past until I apologised for making so much noise?”

Viktor’s basso laughter joined the chorus, his amusement bright contrast to the shadow of his presence. Somehow he contrived to suck in the sunlight. How he tolerated the velvet cloak on so warm a day, Malachi couldn’t conceive.

“So what did you do?” said Kasamor.

“What do you think I did? I apologised. Then I sent her back to bed and staggered off to sleep.”