A Vermilion Curse by DC Guevara

Author:DC Guevara [Guevara, DC]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bowker Identifier Services
Published: 2023-08-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning, they all packed and moved out of Greenbriar as soon as they were ready to do so.

Cressida can’t say she’s excited to get back into that overcrowded wagon, but the idea of having some stolen moments with Mags in order to apologize both thrills and terrifies her.

Konstav takes command as he holds the reins, Ryesand and him negotiating the slight departure into Helmsgrove, stating that Cressida can buy herbs for healing in such a town since the one they just left seemed to have no apothecary.

“So a criminal and a witch?” Konstav remarks harshly, not bothering to look at her before Ryesand sends him a pointed look.

“You, of all people, should know better than that.” His words are dry, but the sentiment is appreciated.

Cressida feels a small flutter bloom in her chest at his defense of her but makes the conscious effort not to let it distract her as it almost had the previous night.

She continues helping Mags and Lyonne rearrange things around the wagon, taking any object of potential danger away from Cyrilla’s grasp. Konstav grimaces but doesn’t object much, and Cressida sends a quick prayer to the Gods in thanks for that.

As soon as the party approaches the old, heavy iron gates of the closed-off town, a sense of unease overtakes Ryesand.

Cressida doesn’t want to admit how much she’s been observing him lately, because while she did used to observe people as a means of survival, it feels odd with Ryesand, intimate in a way unfamiliar to her.

His shoulders are visibly tense but he keeps his step steady. She is one step behind him so she sees it all happen in a ripple effect. Ryesand rarely hesitated without reason and she notices how there are red-streaked banners down the concrete wall that surrounds Helmsgrove.

They all stop once they reach its gates and Konstav holds the door knocker and bangs it against the wood.

Slightly startling all of them, a small slanted window opens, just big enough to see a pair of eyes on the other side, sneering at them. “Yes?” a voice asks, high-pitched and graveled at the same time. “What do you lot want?”

“Well, that’s a good start,” Cressida grumbles under her breath.

Konstav, ever the diplomatic spirit, continues, ignoring the hostilities. “Good evening. We are but a small party in search of an apothecary, and perhaps a weapons shop, if one is available. May we approach the town in order to seek those?”

A heavy scrap of nails is heard, scratching against the other side of the iron gate, and a hiss is thrown in the air. “Not the big one. We don’t allow his kind near our people. The Gods’ playthings ain’t got no place among us.”

Huffing out a breath in annoyance, Cressida's eyes roll nearly to the back of her head. “Oh, please, you no-good, backward—”

Konstav, Mags, and even Lyonne clutching little Cyrilla to them, all take a moment to look at her with an intensity that embarrasses her. She understands the sentiment and backs off, pouting as she crosses her arms.

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