As the Crow Falls | ✔

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Erelah's was a name Isaiah had heard in the markets for many years, but never met in person. She was something of a local legend in the lowlands: a name some whispered to their children to scare them into going to bed on time, and a name others whispered to one another with an awe that few in the realm commanded. Debate on whether she was crazier or saner than all of them was similarly varied. Whatever the consensus, though, everyone agreed she was a master of the Talakova's edge, and if she did not want to be found, she would not be.

The marketplace was a dangerous first stop. Isaiah could not assuage his jumpiness as the sparse crowd scuttled to and fro between empty market stalls and the occasional vendor who still retained the nerve—or financial desperation—to stand in the open for half the day. Every pair of footsteps that hurried by was a potential menace: a friendly face who proved the opposite when presented with some personal gain in betraying him. Only the threat of Dinah was enough to have brought him along on this expedition at all.

"This is going to be difficult," murmured Niccola, standing before yet another empty stall. The vendors who harvested from the great forest made up the bulk of the absentees. They were also the ones most likely to have information on where Erelah had last been spotted. Niccola sighed. "Come on," she said, tugging their linked arms. "Verde told me where her nephew is, at least. I've bought from him before."

Isaiah followed her reluctantly. Only a few alleyways off from the main marketplace, Niccola knocked on a door and was met with no reply. The rustle of the sun-kissed breeze and distant cawing of crows overrode any sounds of footsteps from inside the house. Niccola knocked again.

"He likely moved up the hill," said Isaiah. "At least until the threat down here clears."

Niccola made a noise of frustration and began to unlink their arms. "Wait here."

"Wait—"

The fear caught in his voice. Niccola stopped. Isaiah shivered at the prospect of being left alone in such a threatening environment, which just days before had been more like home to him than the palace ever had been. The palace guards would know how to sneak up on him so he would not hear them. And if they put out a call for tips on his whereabouts, he did not trust half the lowland people not to answer.

"Hide somewhere, then?" said Niccola.

That was an alternative he could stomach. Niccola led them deeper between the houses, into a maze of back alleyways devoid of plan or pattern. They were quiet, save for the distant crows—muffled now—and the occasional scuffle of a small animal. Isaiah leaned against a wall and crossed his arms tightly as Niccola let him go.

"Be careful," he whispered.

"I will."

She slipped away. She had already spotted guards once today, far up a street, speaking with the locals. This was nothing unusual for the regular City Guard, but she'd said these ones were in palace livery.

Isaiah didn't want to fight with the palace guards. He stood a chance against one if he could disarm them early, but two or more would overpower him immediately. Running was out of the question. Isaiah shuddered as memories of in-palace escapes bubbled up from wherever they'd lain dormant beneath his consciousness. The gut-tearing fear of sprinting down hallways, one hand to the wall, trusting only his memory and senses of direction and distance to keep him from injuring himself. Lodging himself in an alcove behind a stone statue and holding his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as the guards tramped past, as if they might be less likely to see him that way.

Pekea nibbled his hair, then headbutted the side of his head. He was still in the alleyway with the sun warming one shoulder and the sounds of crows in the distance, but the fear was the same.