“Try not to judge them too harshly,” he said. “They’re frightened, that’s all.”

“Then let them be frightened of me, and not coming knocking on my door while I’m trying to rest.”

Together they exited the three-room home built at the end of a cul-de-sac that had rapidly grown in wealth as the demographics of Vallessau shifted with the inevitable changes of time. No doubt there were plenty of investors ready to purchase her home the moment she passed. They wouldn’t move in, though, oh no. They’d tear down the spackled bricks and weathered shingles so they could build some multistory mansion matching those of her neighbors. Alliya walked with a cane, and even if Rayan had offered her his arm, she’d have waved him off. Anytime Rayan pondered berating her for her pride, he reminded himself that her pride was likely why she’d lived past the age of ninety in the first place.

They separated at the next fork, each making for their own destination. Once his morning prayer for Alliya was finished, Rayan’s next stop was his story session for children at the Midtown market. He slipped a colorful scarf out from his pocket and tied it around his neck as he walked. Symbols of Lycaena were expressly forbidden, but the people of Thanet had slowly pushed the limits of what slipped past the laws and censors. Some might not get the reference, but others would see the color splashed against the rest of his white outfit and remember the way the long, colorful cloaks of Lycaena’s paladins had contrasted with their brilliant armor.

“Aya, Aya!” a little girl shouted upon seeing him, and others quickly joined in, the play on his name making them all sound frightened by his arrival.

“You’re all cruel as ever,” Rayan said as he sat upon a little stool set in a shaded corner of the market. Shoppers bustled about, but two men in particular kept watch at the edges of nearby stalls. They were both parents to a few of the dozen children assembled for story time. Should imperial soldiers, or goddess forbid, a member of the Uplifted Church make their way near, the parents would alert Rayan so he might scatter the children and pretend he was a tired man seeking rest.

“What story this time?” a little seven-year-old with brilliant emerald eyes asked him. Some children didn’t care much for his stories, and attended only because their parents forced their participation, but this little one always listened with rapt attention. It helped that he was often the first Rayan gave honey-glazed almonds to when Rayan had some coin to spare.

“A new one,” Rayan said, trying to push Alliya and her sick lungs out of his mind. “It’s about when Lycaena had to come rescue Endarius, for the Lion god had gotten himself stuck at the bottom of a dark ravine leading to the Heldeep…”