‘I thought we, well, Cadi wanted—’
‘I love it when we get to tease him even on my day off.’ Heulwen set off smartly, escorting Meilyr. ‘Thank you, by the way. I know how much you hate to close the shop.’
‘You deserve the day,’ he said. ‘And everyone is seen to once I drop this off. Besides, Celyn told me if I stay stuck inside like a – what was it? A spinster?’
‘I didn’t mean—’ Celyn started.
‘Make way!’
The shout came less than a heartbeat before Heulwen hauled Meilyr to one side. Two horses thundered past, inches away, their riders clad in pristine whites.
Khaimlic crownsworn.
‘Watch yourselves!’ Celyn cried. Thank the gods they did not hear.
‘Are you all right?’ Heulwen asked Meilyr.
‘I’m fine,’ he lied, pulling the brim of his hat lower.
He had known there would be crownsworn everywhere. There would be more than ever, now, but it was fine. There was no way anyone could know just from looking at him, so long as he did not draw attention to himself.
Beside his boot, a small shoot of bittercress that clung to life between the cobbles curled minutely towards him.
He stepped away.
‘I know there’s royalty about,’ Heulwen grumbled, steering him firmly through the thoroughfare, ‘but they could kill someone.’
Celyn glared after the riders. ‘I don’t think they care.’
‘Celyn,’ Meilyr warned.
His brother set his jaw, but let it go. They were in public, and there were crownsworn around; he could at least be quieter about his abject hatred of those in power.
‘Come on,’ Heulwen said. ‘Let’s find the girls, and something to eat.’
They met Briallen and Cadi near the main square, where Heulwen detoured with Meilyr to the Bevans’ lodging down a side street. Sioned was still bedridden, and Wade did not have the strength to come to the shop to collect his medicine. The old man’s eyes welled as he greeted them, and Meilyr was very thankful he had tucked some bread, leeks and carrots into the bundle.
As they left, Wade Bevan touched his hand, and Meilyrfelthis aching bones so sharply he almost swayed – a side effect of their woven connection, and his already-heightened nerves.
He would add more golden henbane next time. To live in Wade Bevan’s body must be agony.
They rejoined the others in the square, finding food from the stalls amassed beneath tents and awnings, though Meilyr declined, feigning a large breakfast. It was much busier here; drums and strings offset the talking and the hawking, discordant with the sharp sound of children laughing at a puppet show.
Once, the square had been a green, and on this day would have streamed with skirts of daffodil yellow and the sound of hundreds of tiny bells. Now, it centred around the town’s one and only Khaimlic church: a near-luminous monstrosity of pale stone, imported from across the Splintered Sea. The intricately carved wings of the pallid dragon looming from the building’s roof cast sharp shadows over the damp cobbles.
White petals were being tossed from the church’s upper windows, catching the wind and scattering like snow. Congealing in corners of wet and dirt.
Meilyr had never set foot inside the church, and had no mind to. There was a steady stream of people moving about the doors, many clutching the white pennants given out freely for this, a day of great Khaimlic celebration. A celebration that would go on for the next six months, probably longer.
Though Meilyr wondered if anyone else in the bustle caught glimpses and sounds of the long-gone past, he knew not everyone felt the keen sting of the occupation. The walled town of Eascild, once known as Caer Tarian, was home to a constantly increasing Khaimfolc populace, and some of the Cyngaleg locals found it easier to coexist, at least on the surface. Khaim prized usefulness above all else, and those able to meet demand had an easier life. Upward mobility was still hardest for those born into the Cyngaleg peasantry, but with the apothecary, Meilyr and Celyn were lucky. Certainly, far luckier than some.
Still, assimilation had always been easier for those not directly impacted by thehunts.
Meilyr grimaced when he thought no one would notice, trying to ease the onset of a headache. It was warm for early spring, and the breeze blew from the east. From Khaim. It compounded the smell and the clamour.
More crownsworn surveyed the square in well-armed pairs.
Even in this sea of people, he felt exposed: a spindle of bright ragwort in an otherwise perfectly tended field.