A Crown of Reveries (A Crown of Echoes Book 2) by Brindi Quinn

Author:Brindi Quinn [Quinn, Brindi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Never and Ever Publishing
Published: 2020-11-13T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Kind and Warm

I had traversed many cities on my visits to other queendoms—hamlets, villages, towns—and always in them the proof of life was present.

The city I found myself in now, though, while inhabited by the living, was…

Well, let me describe it.

In the dawn hours, I collected myself, stole up my hood, and ate the breakfast Edius had packed for me. Then, I waited for the city to rouse. Little by little, shutters opened, and the cobbled street, cramped with houses made of brick, welcomed its earliest risers—a parcelman, a patrolwoman, a shopkeep.

The city itself was of medium size, abundant with shaded alleys and chimneys toting smoke. It was as modern as any of the cities of the north with a designated sector for businesses and shops, and signs meant to keep order in an alphabet I couldn’t read.

I kept to the shadows like a beggar or ghost, observing the blooming of the day, noticing as the city shed its shawl of night, that something was off about them—the parcelman, the patrolwoman, the shopkeep.

It was in the way they carried themselves, as if going through preordained motions without setting their eyes on a destination. As more of the city awoke, it was the same with the rest, listing about their routines without making eye contact with another person or thing.

At first, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the longer I observed from the shadows, the more I came to realize the problem with the city:

The people here seemed empty. A two-dimensional portrait of what life should look like in its shallowest form.

For good measure, I entered what smelled to be a bakery, pretending to browse a menu I couldn’t read.

“Think more rain’s on the horizon?” I asked the balding baker, doing my best to mimic Windley’s accent.

“Could be,” he drawled, eyes breezing through me on their way to the window.

Moments later, a woman in a patterned dress entered. Without a sound, she set a piece of parchment on the counter. Without a word, the baker handed her a seeded loaf. She stowed it in her satchel, never exchanging so much as a greeting or glance, and left.

I followed after her, careful not to stray too far from Ascian’s street, observing similar interactions between the few dozen residents milling the streets.

The people here suffered some ailment. This city was not a place of life nor light.

I knew better than to go digging for answers, though. Instead, I retraced my steps, back to Ascian’s, careful not to be seen while staking out a vantage where I might head off Windley and Rafe should they happen to arrive.

But as day melted to night, I saw no one close in on Ascian’s house, save a lamplighter torporing through the habit of igniting the streetlamps out front.

I assumed Ascian was already inside, arriving sometime in the night while I hid in the shed, but as the house brightened against the encroachment of night, I saw no movement at the windows, no one leaving or coming, no blaze of fury erupting from the bricks because I had escaped.

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