Ronan needed no urging to start forward again, and Áed hurried after him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The very bricks upon which they walked shone white.
Agape, Áed and Ronan drank in the sights they passed. Even in the outskirts of the city, the buildings seemed to glow with health, and each was adorned with decorative brickwork or boxes of trailing flowers, terraces, and tidy shutters. Warm light spilled from windows, and smoke rose merrily from the chimneys; the few people who had not yet taken shelter from the impending tempest wore clothes of fur and fabric in a thousand colors.
The surroundings grew only richer as Áed and Ronan moved further into the heart of the city, for the buildings became taller, more ornate, and here and there a walkway arced gracefully above their heads. Ahead of them loomed a soaring citadel of white stones that dwarfed the buildings around it as it stretched its spires heavenward, and it took Áed’s breath away as he craned his neck to see flags snapping at the very pinnacles of the towers. He shook his head firmly to ensure he wasn’t dreaming, and the vision stayed.
But there was something wrong. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of motion there, but all he saw was the misty, pre-storm rain. He nudged Ronan. “Keep your eyes out, ceann beag.”
“Alright,” Ronan said. “Can we go inside?”
Áed nodded. Surely someplace had open doors. The storm was building, and Áed’s uneasy feeling was only mounting as the rain stole away more visibility, as if he’d unconsciously noted something that set him on edge. “We’ll find somewhere. But remember what I said, and stay alert.”
As it turned out, Ronan spotted them first.
Two men behind them, taking advantage of the hazy air to follow at a short distance, ducked behind parked carriages or into doorways whenever Áed or Ronan looked back. Ronan elbowed Áed, who peeked back in time to see one of them slip out of sight. “Right,” he muttered. “I see.”
“Should we run?”
“Not yet.”
“Please don’t do the… you know.” Ronan made a gesture with his hands that suggested fire spitting from them. “Don’t do it.”
Áed wasn’t entirely sure whether it was his to decide, but he nodded. “I won’t. I promise.”
They wove through the streets, avoiding obvious glances at their stalkers. The White City, it seemed, wasn’t free of criminals, and it was tempting to shout that for the Gods’ sake, they had nothing left to steal. Instead, they hurried through the fog, hoping to lose the men in the winding streets. Ronan elbowed him again. “Áed? They’re doing something.”
Áed squinted through the mist to see a couple quick movements before the shadows slunk out of sight again. His skin chilled. Their gestures were of men coordinating a hunt.
“Do we run now?” Ronan asked.
Another glance confirmed that the men were no longer trying to hide. “Yeah. Run.”
The man in front gave a shout, a quick whip of a noise that cut through the sound of Áed and Ronan’s footsteps. Their feet pounded unevenly and found purchase on the milky-white brick, and scattered pebbles clattered away. The men behind them sounded like beasts, all weighty footfalls and grunts, and their voices died eerily fast in the clammy air. Beside Áed, Ronan’s pallid face flushed with splotchy blushes that rode high on his cheekbones. The men behind were stronger, Áed knew, and they were gaining ground. He could hear their footsteps drawing nearer.
“Here!” Áed cried, pushing Ronan in front of him as he darted into a recessed doorway. The locked door handle gave way to a kick, and Áed shouldered it open. They darted inside, he pressed the door shut and, without stopping to think, slammed his palm to the handle. Upon impact, the weak metal glowed with heat and fused the door to the frame with a slither of smoke. Áed motioned to Ronan, who had stopped running, nose wrinkled. “Come on,” Áed said. “Come on, this way.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t. Now, move.”
They’d burst into a shop of some sort, lined with shelves of bottles and herbs, and to the right rose a narrow staircase. Áed tore up the staircase, urging Ronan on ahead of him. The place smelled warm, like spices and cleanliness, but Áed couldn’t pause to enjoy it—at the base of the stairs, shouting and pounding sounded at the door. “In ainm dé, are they still coming?” Áed swore. What in the world could they want so badly?
The stairs led to two doors, and Ronan quickly leapt to try the handles. Neither knob would turn. Áed cast about rapidly, and, acting on a flash on insight, kicked aside the neat doormats: There beneath the mat of the second door lay a silver slice of saving grace. Ronan scooped up the key, shoved it into the doorknob, and pushed the door open, and Áed elbowed it closed and locked it behind them.
They stood for a moment and caught their breath, panting from the exertion. Áed dropped to a squat, bracing his elbows on his knees, and Ronan collapsed next to him. In the sudden quiet, the world felt safe for a moment, just one fragile, water-drop moment, cocooned in warmth and the smell of chamomile.
Áed collected himself and looked around the apartment they’d invaded, and he gave a low whistle. “A thiarcais.”
Ronan stood and, still breathing heavily, gaped around.
Never had either of them seen such luxury, from the cheerfully-painted walls to a beautiful table of inlaid wood farther inside. No sound came from deeper within; it was empty, and Áed took a step forward and glanced about. “Who lives here?”
“A queen,” Ronan suggested. The rain, which now beat heavily on the window, had left shining droplets on his hair. Now that they were in relative safety, Áed noticed the lavender circles under the younger boy’s eyes. Ronan’s head drooped, and his little shoulders were rounded.
Áed put a hand on Ronan’s back with an encouraging smile. “I’ll bet there’s food in here.”
Suddenly, beneath his hand, he felt Ronan tense. The boy froze, and Áed instinctively froze as well.
From the hallway outside the door: footsteps. Not the heavy, loud movement of the men who pursued them, but someone with a light tread nearing the door in quick, even steps. Áed nudged Ronan around the corner, and the boy kept quiet.
A scrape sounded at the door, and the footsteps stopped. Áed sighed sharply. “Of course.”
There came a jingle from outside, then a click as keys bit into the lock and turned, and Ronan pressed himself flat against the wall. “How do we hide? If whoever’s out there lives here, they can’t not notice us.”
The door squeaked as it opened, and another presence joined the room. A rustle of fabric on fabric brushed through the air, and then timid footsteps crossed the floor. “Hello?” a woman’s voice called out cautiously. “I know someone’s here.”
Both Áed and Ronan held their breath.
“Cynwrig, you’d best not scare me.”
Áed elbowed Ronan until he had the boy’s attention and mouthed, ‘You talk.’
Ronan’s eyes bugged, and he pointed to himself as if there were someone else Áed could have meant. ‘Me?’