The Waking Land by Callie Bates

Author:Callie Bates
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2017-06-27T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

This is not a good idea.

Rhia and I lurk outside the gates of Barrody, which loom huge in the twilight, lanterns blazing at the gates and soldiers pacing the wall above, the tips of their bayonets winking. The garrison squats just over the wall, and I recognize the neat square windows high on its tower that open to release cannons.

I seem to be shrinking. The walls are very tall, and I am fragile and human and wanted. The dusky color of my skin alone could give me away; like the Ereni, Caerisians are lighter-skinned than my mother and I.

The words let’s go back are on my lips, but instead I say to Rhia, “Do you think we can manage it?”

She purses her mouth. I brace myself to hear her say no. But she says, “If luck is with us. Yes.”

We dismount from our horses and walk through the gates of Barrody, into the capital city of Caeris, the heart of our country. A place I have never been. The walls stretch thirteen feet thick and, for a moment, in the cold dark underneath them, I seem to be suffocating. A guardsman will stick a lantern in my face. He will see past my wrapped scarf and lowered hat. He will recognize me.

We emerge on the other side, onto a cobblestone street. It smells of food and damp.

No one stops us.

Rhia remounts her horse, taking the lead. I follow. The buildings are a jumble of timber, stone, and shadow, and the people we pass wear somber colors. My body is aware of the land beneath it, the gape of Lake Harbor off to our right, but my breath seems stuck in my chest. I have not been in a city since Laon. It should feel comfortable, tame after being in the woods, on the open road, on the run. But instead I feel trapped.

In Green Square, just below the Queen’s Way that winds up to the castle, Rhia turns off into an alley. We thread among several tall buildings before emerging into a quiet square. A single bell tower occupies the middle of a greensward. Rhia slows. “The university,” she says. “It’s not much farther. I took the alley in case we were being watched.”

I tighten my grip on the horse’s reins.

Up the slope from the green, tucked in among a labyrinth of narrow streets, Rhia urges us through a small passage into a tiny, sheltered courtyard. Even in the damp, cool air, it reeks of food and waste. I tug my scarf over my nose. At least, in the embrace of the close, we seem less exposed.

Tethering the horses to a hitching post, we climb the stairs to an inset doorway. Rhia knocks—an unsteady rhythm. It must be a code.

A code for the underground system of Barrody’s rebels.

We wait only a moment before the door opens and a girl ushers us inside. Her glance flicks over our shoulders, furtive, her lips pursed. She takes our overcoats without a word and gestures for us to remove our boots.

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