A few days later, Alkara strides into the Melted Griffin. There’s a spring in her step. Despite the aromas of sweat, stale ale, and sawdust wafting together, a wide grin accompanies her sparkling eyes. She nods to other patrons on her way to the bar.
Glin always has the latest news; for the slums. Now, with this newest scandal, Alkara is surprised she hasn’t been accosted already with how quickly word will have spread. Glin is a middle-aged woman of Copaishan descent, though the olive toned skin is tinged with that of the southern folk. She always aims to please.
Alkara hops onto a stool at the end of the bar. Guen settles in her nook. She taps out an impromptu beat until Glin brings a tankard. “So what’s the word, Glin?” She lifts her eyebrows. “Protests? Riots? People leaving the guilds in droves?”
Glin sets her red-tinged fingers against the barlip. She shakes her head lightly. “You’re not going to like this Al. I certainly don’t like telling you.”
Alkara deflates a tad, it won’t be as good as she hoped. She sets the tankard down, stopping herself from taking the first sip. A weight begins to grow heavy in her stomach. “What? What happened?”
The barmaid sweeps her chestnut hair back with a heavy sigh. “People are saying a local hero slew some nasty aberrant.” Glin gestures to Alkara’s bow, “Some female archer with a pet cat.” She pushes Alkara’s coin back to her. “This one’s on me. To reward that Rook’s Rapid Retriever hero for her service on the road.”
Alkara stares at the coin. “I don’t…” She pounds the bar with a fist. A few looks her way go ignored. “That’s it?” The lodestone in her belly starts to heat up. Her voice lowers to a whisper, “Cato promised… I told Garth…” She looks at Glin once more, “What even-“
Alkara stands, knocking over the stool, and walks out of the tavern. Guen is, somehow, waiting for her outside. She leaves the sweaty, tavern smells behind and replaces them with the muck and excrement of the poorer parts of town. The Indelible Scriveners have a new building nearby but the paved streets and cleaning services don’t extend this far out. That journey is shortened as the passing seconds burn up in Alkara’s chest. Her steps change from the muted footfalls on dirt to clomping on cobbles. And up the marbled steps of the Scriveners’ stair, now stained with Alkara’s muddy bootprints.
Alkara stomps all the way up to the clerk’s desk. She taps on the desk. Her finger outpaces the clerk’s scribbling. The clerk looks up after what feels like more time than it took to march here. “Um-“
“Tell Cato the Younger Alkara is here to see him.” Alkara crosses her arms. She turns from the clerk and bores a hole through The Younger’s office door with her eyes.
The clerk’s voice hides within his mouth, “I’m sorry, um, miss Alkara.” She snaps her gaze back to him. “Cato the Younger isn’t available.” He looks to the door and back to Alkara in the span of a heartbeat. “He’s not actually in the building.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Alkara scrapes the floor with the sole of her boot as she turns toward the office. She leaves the clerk’s hesitant objection behind as she strides to the door and bangs on it with a tight fist. “CATO! You open this door RIGHT NOW or Urdima help me–” Passerby begin to slow and raise their hands but become steadfast in their previous work after spotting Guen. “You’ll be stuck in this building forever trying to avoid me!”
The last knock echoes down the halls and is met with nothing. Not even scriveners whispering to each other. Alkara looks down at Guen, eyebrows raised. No footfalls head in her direction. She taps her foot. Nothing from inside the office either. She crosses her arms.
One, Two, Three…
She counts to ten like Uncle Iro taught her. First in Pretton. Alkara clamps her jaw shut as she reaches ten. Copaishan next. Her joints become rigid. She flexes her fists, nails scraping her palm. Glohasis now. She closes her eyes.
One, Tru, ä dó…
The next count alternates between the three. Pretton starting at one. Then Copaishan at one. She pounds her fist into her other forearm to keep from slamming it against the door more. Glohasis at one.
If I have to count backwards I’m going to make Cato eat his chair.
A small scrape breaks free of the room. Cato must be moving. Alkara keeps her eyes shut, concentrating on skipping numbers while alternating languages. Next would be backwards. Then backwards while alternating. A lonely smile creeps into her expression without touching her eyes.
I wonder if it’s a big chair.
The door opens, letting a sliver of light out from the lamp on the wall. Alkara forces the door open, smacking Cato in chin. The man stumbles back, steadying himself from a possible fall. He raises a hand in defense. Thin lilac struggles to perfume the room. Alkara shakes her head at him and jerks it toward his desk. “Sit.”
Nothing like your boisterous father.
Cato the Younger rubs his thin goatee, pushing it against his chin. He trudges to his desk and sits. He sniffs a trickle of blood back into his nostril. “P-please Alkara. There-“
“Shut up.” Alkara turns to her panther, “We’re gonna be okay in here.” Guen yawns. Alkara shakes her head and closes the door. She turns back to Cato, devilish sparkle in her eyes. “Would you like to explain why I put in all that time and effort to get you everything,” She strides forward with each step until she’s in front of the desk, “Only to have some one-line nonsense about a caravan hero?” The sentence ends in shouting.
Water brims Cato’s eyes, he rubs them with the back of his hand. Inky fingers splay toward Alkara, he moans. “I tried.” He draws out the last word. “P-please. The edit,” He sniffs, “T-Tordir did it. I can’t refuse the guild leader!”
Alkara sneers, “Never stopped your father.”
The scrivener’s face pales. “Look,” He swallows, “My father has been here years!” He waves his hand in an arc toward the door. “It says apprentice journalist out there. They’d get rid of me in a second!”
Alkara wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, stop groveling Cato.” She throws her hands up and stalks to the door. “What am I supposed to do now?” She paces back. “The merchant guilds are strangling the story, don’t pretend you don’t know it.”
The younger Cato journalist trembles, pushing himself further into his chair.
Alkara closes her eyes and shakes her head. An uneasy lead lines her insides. “You still have the notice?”
Cato’s eyes widen and his face tightens. He just manages to shake his head.
The lead in her torso liquefies, burning up. “Why?” Her voice is constrained. She stares Cato down, boring holes in him. “Why don’t you have it?”
“It was T-tordir!” He springs from his chair, one shaking finger extended to the fireplace. “Tordir threw it in the fire.” He turns back to Alkara, a single tear rolls down his cheek.
“USELESS!” Alkara stomps from the room and flings the door open. It slams into the office wall with a thump. Guen stretches and follows Alkara as she tramps out of the building, each footfall echoing the insult.
Alkara continues her march with noisy, heavy nose breathing. Townsfolk stop to take note but she passes by like a gale, unperturbed.
Ahhhh! All that and Kier- the merchant guilds still aren’t going to pay!
Murder for profit. And the Scriveners had rejected it. She realizes she’s been squeezing her hands into fists as the pain breaks through her thoughts. She stretches her fingers, small drops of blood tip the nails.
Great! Thanks Cato!
The cobbles turn to dirt. Almost home. The plodding continues. Alkara’s path veers toward the small puddles lining the road. She stamps them, sending splashes of water into the walls of buildings.
Guen tugs on her tunic. The panther stares back down the path they’d travelled. A tan skinned woman hustles toward the path. The scent of cherry wood hits Alkara when the woman closes in. Alkara wrinkles her nose at the pungency. Some of the heat in her chest subsides.
The woman wears unadorned tunic and skirts, tan and brown, with her cloak’s hood drawn up. The only coloration on her comes from her auburn hair. Even that is muted. She speaks in a low voice, steady and with an edge. “Isn’t bullying unbecoming of Three Rivers’ newest hero?” She smirks at the end of the question.
Alkara clenches her jaw, letting that heat rise once more. She shakes her head with an accompanying shrug, “I’m no hero, lady. I do my job and get paid. I’m not in it for applause.” She turns away and continues down the road, though with a slowed pace.
The woman hustles after her, keeping to Alkara’s side, her grey-green pupils darkle as the hood shifts. “Your job includes following orders, does it not?” She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head.
Alkara glares, “I’m a Retriever. Not a soldier.”
The woman smirks. Her gaze darts down Alkara’s body and back up to her face, “Sounds like you’re playing at hero.”
Alkara whirls on the woman. “What do you want?” She gestures back toward the Scrivener’s Hall, now only visible as an outline against the city’s smaller buildings. “Spit it out or go back to wherever you crawled out of.”
The woman blows out a sustained stream of air. She meets Alkara’s stare. “Not so dumb as you look. This is the message,” She reaches toward Guen but the panther growls at her. The woman pulls back, “Stay in your place. Or your family,” She nods at Guen, “Will suffer.”
Alkara’s lip curls at the threat, her voice a low growl in her throat, “What did you say?”
The woman sighs softly, “Your family hasn’t been on top for… well, ever. Stay in your place or we’ll show you a new bottom.” The woman smirks. “Worse than you had a few months ago.”
Alkara bristles further, “Excuse me?” She stares at the woman, incredulous. “What the hell does that mean?”
The woman’s smirk turns to a sneer. She rolls her eyes. “But as dumb as some say.”
Alkara draws her dagger. Guen echoes the soft schink with a growl, giving it body and weight. The pair step into the woman’s reach. She doesn’t react except to look at the blade. “If you so much as lay a finger on my family-“
“Dumb and dishonorable.” She takes a deep breath and crosses her arms. She looks back and forth between the two. “In any case, you don’t have time to fight me. Don’t you have a brother who likes to visit the Unyielding Willow these days?”
Alkara blinks and freezes in place, eyes widening. Her dagger droops in her hand. She licks her lips, tasting a salty bead of sweat which rolled down her upper lip.
That’s where Chiron’s mother works now.
“The outskirts provide so little protection,” Her eyes soften in mock sympathy, belied by the smirk at her mouth. “No one around to hear him call for help.” She coos.
Alkara regains her senses and turns from the woman. She shakes her head and begins to walk toward The Unyielding Willow.
“Not that anyone would care if the son of a whore-“
Whack!
Alkara backhands the woman as she spins back on her. The woman staggers but Alkara steps forward. She grabs the woman by her tunic and keeps her upright. She pulls the woman in close and wrinkles her nose at the strength of the cherry wood.
The woman’s eyes well up as they widen. Her nostrils flare. She winces and works her reddening cheek.
Alkara lifts her chin, looking down at the woman with a toothy smile. “If I ever see you again…” Guen growls. Alkara flips the dagger in her hand and smashes the pummel into the woman’s rib cage. “You’ll wish that was pointed the right way.” She drops the woman and sprints away with Guen as a silent shadow.
Stay in your place. Or your family will suffer.
The thought echoes through her sprint. She considers sending Guen ahead but decides not to risk it. They might catch her alone. If they think they can hurt Chiron then they’ll be able to hurt Guen. Or worse. With each stride she regrets the choice. What if Guen had been the difference? What if they would be scared off with her there?
And who the hell are they?
She arrives at the brothel as breathless as some of the occupants. A heavy scent of lavender oils, rosemary perfumes, and body fluids interlace in a tapestry through the building. The women in the Willow’s foyer stare as she gasps for air, speaking between breaths. “Sylira.” Taken aback by such an eager guest, the room is still. “Get Sylira. Now.”
“Alkara?” A warm, rich voice flows down from the sweeping stair. Sylira stands at the top, in a gown that offers no great protection to the elements.
No Chiron. Alkara’s face falls and her shoulders slump. She looks down at the floor.
The matron descends the stairs, taking them two at a time. Her minty aroma takes over from the others. She grips Alkara by the elbow and guides her to a couch, shooing away some of the employees. “Alkara,” Sylira clasps her hands around Alkara’s, “What’s the matter sweetie? You haven’t visited in ages-“
“Chiron,” A quaver enters Alkara’s voice. She huffs, regaining her breath. “Where’s Chiron?”
“Where’s Chiron?” Sylira raises her eyebrows, looking at some of the other girls in the foyer before returning to Alkara. “He left a little more than an hour ago.” She squeezes Alkara’s hand, “What’s the matter?”
Alkara pulls her hand back, “I have to find him.” She rises and heads toward the door.
Sylira catches her wrist, “Wait, Alkara, what’s happening?” A tremble enters the matron’s voice. She stands and pulls Alkara to face her. “Is Chiron in trouble?”
Alkara lets the matron stop her. A young woman approaches, her eyes are tight, conflicting with a small smile. Her skin is a light brown, and though her eyes are almond-shaped they don’t seem elven.
Alkara pulls her wrist from Sylira as a tightness grips her throat. She looks down at the matron’s chest, then quickly away. “I hope not. I’m… I thought. I’m sorry.” She squeezes her eyes shut to keep from sobbing. She turns and bumps into someone, patron or worker is unclear. “Sorry,” She sidles past and heads toward the door.
A haughty, raised voice shatters the quiet of the establishment. “You said all of Faela’s candles were purchased.” The man is elven, though he speaks in Pretton. He gestures at the young woman. “She’s here, with no one keeping her company.”
Ugh. Whatever.
Alkara runs out of the Willow. She moves through the city with purpose, searching the open spaces with furtive glances. Chiron stands out from most, but it’s still a city of thousands. Maybe tens of thousands. Alkara can’t help to look into alcoves, alleyways, and other nooks despite this. “Guen. Find Chiron.”
Alkara continues forward, sweeping the area, hardly looking towards the rooves. Guen will alert. If not, she’ll come when Alkara calls her. She peers down another of the endless alleyways. Sweat beads down her back, dampening her tunic.
There are many routes from the Willow back home. Some would take Chiron past other entertainments. Taverns, shops, market stalls. Alkara’s stomach churns. Her last meal would be unrecognizable if it ended up on the dirt road. Three choices. Henpeck Road and the castle, the riverfront, or through the slums.
He’s probably heading home.
Alkara chews her lip. She takes a few steps toward the riverfront, which bisects the other choices. She looks into a tavern as the door swings open. Chiron isn’t exiting. Nor is he inside. She turns at a voice but its her imagination. The person speaking looks nothing like Chiron. She hurries down the path until a snarl alerts her. Guen, but it’s not a pained sound. Alkara bolts in that direction
Henpeck it is.
Guen snuffles the ground. Passerby give the great cat a wide berth. The crowd flows away from her but some inattentive folk startle when they realize why they suddenly have more room. The panther turns and sniffs at the roadway, then raises her head to sniff at the air. She yowls and lopes toward the castle and the bridge across the Grecian River.
Alkara chases. Keeping pace is a fruitless task. She peers down side streets and alleys on the way, glancing back at the parting crowd ahead to keep on Guen’s trail. Another snarl punctures the din of the passerby; this time softer and playful. The quiver in Alkara’s stomach relents, but not entirely.
Alkara pushes through the crowd, twisting and shrinking where needed. Guen is jumping at someone, but her claws aren’t out. Alkara sighs, letting the tension recede from her body. “Chiron!”
Just in time.
Chiron turns. His mouth moves but whatever he says is muffled by the crowd. His brow is furrowed as he pets Guen.
Alkara pushes past a throng of people and runs through a clear section of road. Others, strangers, dart in Chiron’s direction as well. Her heart clenches, “Chiron watch out!”
Chiron turns as a man reaches him. The man throws a punch. Chiron sidesteps the blow and catches the man’s arm. A frown grips his expression, “Can I help you?”
The question is left hanging in the air. A mailed fist catches Chiron in the jaw. Chiron staggers back from a tabarded man. The man wears a metal skullcap and ringmail. And the tabard bears the twained river emblem of the city, blue on a field of green.
A heat rises in Alkara’s chest, “Hey!” Guenwyvar snatches the guard’s wrist in her teeth and pulls him to the ground. He squirms away but Guen keeps a firm hold. He shakes his head as his eyes widen.
More guards approach, as well as townsfolk holding clubs and long knives. Their expressions are set at Alkara’s brother. Some step toward the panther with hesitant movements.
Within seconds it’s an all out street brawl. In the chaos, Alkara tries to push her way toward Chiron while yelling at Guen not to hurt anyone. But it’s not long before she’s shoved to the ground and the city guards’ whistles shrill, calling more guards to the scene. She raises her arms to protect her face while she frantically looks around for Chiron, but she can’t see anything down here. She shoves peoples’ legs, desperately trying to stand. Then suddenly she’s jerked up by the collar and boxed on the ear.
“I SAID QUIT.” A high male voice bellows into her ear.
Alkara flinches away but stops struggling. She glances about, trying to make sense of what happened. The muscles in her limbs throb. Others look about how she feels. Welts and bruises blossom on their bodies. Others have scrapes and cuts. One has blood pouring past his eye from a deep cut in his forehead.
Guards untangle the last few knots of people. Chiron emerges from one of them, with a couple of people with set expressions. Their faces are red and each holds a long knife. They fix Chiron with intense stares.
Once more the knot in Alkara subsides. Though still in pain, she lets out a huge breath and slowly smiles. Then a guard kicks the back of Chiron’s knees. Chiron falls into a kneel and they grab him from behind.
Alkara surges forward, “HEY!”
That man who bellowed yanks her back by the hair. He clubs her in the ear again. He wraps an arm around her and squeezes. “Stop.”
Alkara tries to turn, but can’t overpower the hold. “What the hell, man! He was attacked!”
A young man with a narrow pinched face points at Chiron, “That’s him, sir!” He yells too loudly for how close everyone is. “He started it!” Others nod. Including the skullcapped guard that punched Chiron.
Blood pounds away in Alkara’s ears. A surge of strength pulses through her. “What?!” She clenches her hands and steps toward the man. She manages to drag her captor a few inches but he holds her steady. “Are you insane? That guard punched him first.” She jerks her head toward the skullcapped guard, unable to lift her arm to point. “After some other idiot missed.”
Alkara feels the man holding her shake his head, his body twisting with the motion. The crowd looks between her and the throng around Chiron. “There’s witnesses that say otherwise.” He nods to the guards holding Chiron. “A few hours in a pillory will clear this up. Take him to the plaza.”
Alkara struggles against the guard, “No, WAIT!” The man releases her. She whirls and plants herself facing him, feet apart. “Do you regularly punish the innocent?” She looks him over, light glints off the vambraces and breastplate, no nicks or dents there. The guard’s pauldron indicates he’s an officer. The lieutenant’s well-groomed face, free of blemish, goes along with the rank. “Have enough paid liars to imprison my brother?”
The lieutenant sighs, then looks at her a little sadly, nodding to the soldier behind her to let her go. Alkara rubs her wrists, never taking her eyes off him. She watches his eyes flicker up to the rooftop behind Alkara’s left shoulder, presumably where Guen perches and watches, and sees recognition in his eyes. He looks back at Alkara.
The lieutenant’s arms hang at his sides. He sighs. His eyes are tired, dark circles hint at restless nights. His eyes flick up and behind her, then tighten with recognition. Probably Guen on a rooftop. “I’m sorry, Alkara. I know you mean well,” He holds a hand up as Alkara begins to speak. “I know. But you cause a lot of trouble.” He shakes his head before pushing his shoulders back. “I know people that were on that caravan. We know what you did to help.” He looks past her, “I’ll set a watch at the Plaza, we’ll keep him safe in the pillory-“
“No.” Alkara bites out. “I’ll stay with him myself.”
The lieutenant stares at her. He nods, almost imperceptible. He raises his eyebrows, “You don’t have a plan to unshackle him, do you?”
Alkara scoffs, “Not exactly my skillset.”
The lieutenant begins to lift his hand but stops. He looks down as if surprised at the motion. He lets his hand drop. “My name is Talfos. I know it won’t mean much, but I’m not thrilled about this turn of events.” He lets the comment bridge the gap between them for a moment. He gestures for Alkara to follow and steps away, “In any case, one or two guards won’t hurt.”
Alkara jerks her head toward the first soldiers to involve themselves. “Not them.” She wrinkles her nose, her lip rises as though someone had hooked it. “They’ve got a second income from somewhere.” She huffs, and sets her jaw. “If they come near Chiron–“
Talfos raises his hands. “I’ll gladly set others to the task.” He shakes his head. “Please don’t threaten the city’s guards, even if you suspect them of extracurricular activity.”
Alkara nods, the motion stifled by a stiffness in her neck. She massages her bruised muscles as she follows the lieutenant.
Elminth’s Peace Plaza was set down in honor of Grecia’s last king decades before. The marbled walkways lead to a central fountain, enchanted to provide clean water to visitors. Now merchant stalls line the square, dirt and animal droppings cover the tiles, and a wooden frame holds criminals at the fountain.
The guards march Chiron to the platform and secure him in the wooden enclosure. Talfos watches without a word. Once Chiron is locked in place, he says his farewell and departs. The smell of dung isn’t as great here.
Guenwhyvar pads up the platform’s ramp to Chiron. Hunched over by the rigid structure, his face is on level with the panther’s. She licks him twice. Chiron recoils from each. A scratchy scrape puts a small smile on Alkara’s face. Guen whines but curls in front of him. She peers out at the townsfolk passing by and stopping at vendors.
Time stretches on. The steady trudge marked only by deepening shadows. Each inch of shade gained feels like an eternity. Chiron stares at the wooden planks of the platform. Alkara opens her mouth to speak but stops. What should she say? What can she say? The guards sit under a shade on the platform, hidden from the sun’s ire.
This is all my fault.
“Chiron… I–“
Chiron interrupts her. He recites in a gentle, sing-song voice.
“There once was a boy with a sister,
Who tried very hard to assist her.
But that boy failed,
And soon curtailed,
The happiness he dearly wished her.”
Alkara bites her lip. Tears well up. She sniffs and Guen lifts her head to look at Alkara. Alkara smiles at the cat, and shakes her head. She tries to smile, but her mouth dries up.
Chiron prods her, “Come on Al. Your turn. It’s gonna be a long day. We might as well catch up.”
Alkara nods. She pulls at her memory, searching for an appropriate ditty to model. She sniffs again, keeping the tears at bay.
“There once was a girl with a brother,
Who rejected the kind things he’d done her,
She pushed him away
And all for the sake
Of keeping him safe from another.”
Chiron chuffs. He twists his body against the pillory fixtures, stretching his arms and torso. Last he rolls his neck, turning his head to and fro. “Remember what Uncle Iro said? Before he fixed my arm?”
Alkara looks at him sideways, not wanting to meet his gaze. She shrugs. She remembers, but wants to hear the words.
Chiron clears his throat, he speaks with an affected tone. “You take care of her, and I take care of you.” The impression is awful. It sounds more like… well just about anyone than Uncle Iro.
Alkara laughs, “You make him sound so gruff and angry.” The noise startles Guen. The panther rolls her eyes and settles back down.
“Not everyone can be good at impressions!” Chiron exclaims in mock indignation. He chuckles with her, then sobers a bit. “I can’t take care of you if you won’t let me Al. And I promised Unlce Iro I would.”
Alkara sniffs and swipes at the tears running down her cheeks. “I can’t… you’ll just… I… This is the only way. To keep you and Dre safe.”
“Oh yes, I’m surrounded by safety. Why am I here then? Can you tell me that?” Chiron says with a teasing smile in his voice and on his face.
Alkara stiffens, the misery a lead weight in her chest. It’s all my fault.
“Are you sure you’re not just punishing yourself?”
Alkara bows her head. It’s all my fault.
After a few moments, Chiron sighs. “Tell me a story then. Please? You haven’t told a story in ages.”
Alkara lifts her head a little, sniffs and searches her mind for a story. It takes her a while to settle on one, but she finally decides to relate one of her favorites, hoping that maybe, just maybe, it will help ease her aching heart.
“Remember that time Uncle Iro and I went up to Brecon together? He said one of his friends was in trouble. That lots of people would die if we didn’t help…”
Alkara tells the story late into the afternoon, reminiscing on her first real encounter with Urdima’s presence, and Urdima itself, not to mention the dryad.
And Sengmar. Alive. Well. Clever. And brilliant.
She elaborates parts that she knows Chiron enjoys, like the creature from the Water Plane they supposedly had in the market. And she doesn’t even mind when he interrupts with his jokes and sarcastic quips about things like the ice sculpture of the Duke’s daughter or how attractive the dryad may or may not have been.
Alkara pauses every now and then to give Chiron water. No one approaches or tries to harry them. And by sunset Alkara has told a few more stories. She feels strangely peaceful and content. She hadn’t realized how much she misses Chiron.
“Alkara,” Chiron says a few minutes after her last story. “Sengmar… it wasn’t your fault.”
Silence stretches between them for long moments. Alkara stares at the ground.
“We miss him too Al. We all miss him. We should be grieving him together, but you’re not letting us do that.”
Alkara bows her head. The weight is too much. And she can’t hold back the tears anymore. “I’m sorry.” She finally chokes out. “For everything. I just…” She heaves a breath in. “I can’t lose you too.”
“But… Al… We’re losing you.“
Alkara snaps her head up, her eyes puffy and blurry, but she can still see Chiron’s sad smile.
“That’s what mother says anyway. And I’m starting to think she’s right. If we don’t stick together now…” He tries to shrug. It’s an odd gesture in the pillory. “Not sure there will be much left to stick.”
Alkara suppresses a smile and nods, though she still isn’t sure. There has to be a way to keep them safe.
As the guards approach to let Chiron out, Alkara’s heart still aches, but not as badly. She swipes the tears on her face and helps Chiron steady himself as he stretches his stiff and sore muscles. After it looks like he should be able to walk, Alkara says quietly, “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
Chiron turns his head a little at something off to their right, but when Alkara turns to look, all she sees are people walking in and out of the plaza. She looks up at Chiron, “What is it?”
He just shakes his head, then lightly pushes her shoulder, smiling at her. “Let’s go home.”