Messenger in the Mist. Aubrie Dionne

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ And then, at an even higher pitch: You delivered the bunnyfly before the letters? You delivered the most important letter last?

      No, it would be better if she could finish the task before sunrise. Feeling foolish and irresponsible, Star pulled on the reins and Windracer swiftly turned around, fast as the dovetail of an arrow. Star smiled at her horse’s resilience to fatigue. At least this delivery would not take long.

      The outskirts were an extension of the mountain behind the city, where a plate of granite hovered over a crevice between the earth and the mountain itself. It was known for sudden cave-ins and never saw the light of day. The dirt-paved streets harbored petty thieves and frantic citizens too poor to afford a residence in the inner districts. The growing population had pushed several housing communities beyond their limits, forcing many toward desperation, scrounging for food and shelter.

      Star could only wonder how someone from such meager means could afford a personal message, and why he wouldn’t spend the money on a way to better his makeshift accommodations.

      Perhaps this message did just that.

      When Star reached the outskirts, the sky was a sheet of black, and the cave was even darker still. Here, no lanterns lit the throughways. People carried their own lights, as if each of them held a piece of the sun over their shoulder to remind themselves darkness was not everlasting.

      Tonight the streets were empty of golden orbs. The inhabitants had retreated long ago to their shacks thrown together with stray wood and decorated by tattered curtains. The streets were shadowy and Star did not have a lantern. Reaching in her coat pocket, she brought out a crumpled box of matches. After striking one between her fingers, she crossed the threshold and the canopy of rock hovered over her like a storm cloud.

      The dwelling she sought was part of a shantytown of pillaged wood houses huddled against the backdrop of the far side appropriately titled Rugged Ridge. The number of the address was 11678.

      Star peered through the darkness. A scuttling sound came from deep within an alleyway. It could be as innocent as a tomcat or as malicious as a starving vagabond. Her match fizzled out. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she urged Windracer on in the darkness. Her horse’s ability to see ahead did not concern Star. Windracer had excellent night vision and Star had trained her with frequent night walks in the misty, dimly lit streets of Evenspark.

      To her dismay, the sound tracked Star through the grimy streets. Every few steps Windracer took, the scurrying followed like a delayed echo. Star looked back, but bundled trash clogged the alley.

      Star cursed under her breath then dismounted Windracer, silent as a windless day. Bending down, she unsheathed a dagger lodged in the top of her boot. Every messenger had their own defenses.

      A forced silence prevailed, broken only by the skittering of rats in the corner of the back alley. Holding the dagger in front of her, Star tiptoed around Windracer. As she entered the passageway, the darkness engulfed her in a stifling, black embrace.

      The attack came swiftly, the thief bolting from the shadows. He knocked her to the ground, but she recovered, hoisting herself up on her elbows. Wrestling her attacker, she managed to squirm from underneath him and kicked the scraggly man in the stomach. In two seconds, she had him pinned down with her dagger hovering above his throat. “How dare you attack a messenger.”

      Star could barely make out the shape of a young man’s face underneath his wiry brown hair. The dim light from an upper window shone further down the way and she dragged him underneath it to identify him. He looked impoverished, skinny as a lamppost, with pock-marked skin and watery eyes. The recent scar boiling above the bridge of his nose looked infected. As much as he repulsed her and set back her delivery, a rush of sympathy swelled in her heart for the vagrant.

      “Messenger, heh? Well, I’ve got a message for you.” The man wiggled and she pressed the dagger closer until the cool metal of the blade touched his skin. He stopped moving, but his eyes were still wild. “Deliver all the messages you want on that high horse of yours, collect everyone’s money ’til you’re richer than the king himself, but none of it will save you when they come.” The man smirked, displaying a mouth full of broken, yellow teeth.

      Star paused. The man must be delirious, but she had to ask. “Who? Who is coming?”

      The man laughed, first quietly to himself before erupting into a full belly rumble, his ragged voice echoing out into the night.

      Star let him go, disgusted. The street urchin slunk into the darkness without further quarreling, but his comment left a mark on her composure, a stain of doubt that her life was not as perfect as she imagined it to be.

      She was grateful to see Windracer’s familiar silhouette against the backdrop of the alley. As trained, the mare remained stationed where she left her. “Come on, girl, we have a letter to deliver.”

      Star remounted and continued her search. The farther she went into the outskirts, the dimmer the streets became. Not only were they severely deprived of light, but grunge and debris blocked whatever warm glow trickled from the crude windows of the inner dwellings. Star struck another match, taking note of how many she had left. This time she didn’t care whom she summoned from the bowels of the underworld. Her sole purpose was to get the letter delivered in order to return home.

      Number 11678 rested in the corner, behind a heap of fallen rubble. Star dismounted and struck yet another flame, throwing the previous matchstick on the littered ground below. She picked a haphazard path through the ruins, careful not to tread on a shard of broken glass or upturned scrap metal. After a swift knock, she waited at the sloped entrance.

      The door opened and a young man emerged, his face illuminated by the flickering of the matchstick. He wore only a pair of black leather pants, his upper body naked, exposing sinuous muscles covered in painted tattoos. A herd of racing horses ran down his arm in blue-black ink. Star had to keep her head up and remind herself not to stare at the elaborate decorations or the curves of his chest.

      His chin jutted out from a strong-boned face that commanded respect. He looked like a lion waiting to pounce. He smiled at Star like he wondered whether to eat her. “Yes?”

      Star did not flinch. She thought she could outwit him, if need be. “I have a message for a Fallon Leer.”

      The man leaned against the opened door. “That’s me.”

      Star held her head high. With one eyebrow arched, she leveled her eyes with his own penetrating gaze. “I need to see identification.”

      With a furtive glance at Star, the man reached in his pocket and brought out a woven chain. Suspended on the necklace hung a metal tag glittering in the glowing embers of Star’s matchstick. Sure enough, the tag read Fallon Leer. Star recognized the gold inscription immediately. He was a former member of Ravencliff’s elite Royal Guard. Either he’d quit or they’d thrown him out.

      Star didn’t have the time to consider his deposition further. She dutifully brought out the letter. “It is my job to warn you there is no return address. Open it with discretion.”

      Fallon Leer laughed lightly, his voice smooth as aged wine. “I know who it’s from, thank you.”

      Star turned around, but the man grabbed her hand with his own callused fingertips, his skin rough and hot to her touch. For a moment she thought she would have to test her combat skills once again, but he released her. “Wait.” He disappeared inside the darkness of his shambled quarters before emerging with another letter. “This goes directly to Zetta.”

СКАЧАТЬ