Nedro Wajek himself had just left his manor grounds, accompanied by two armed guards and two servants. Instead of the dagger he normally kept on his person, he’d added a sword, openly displayed in a leather sheath that hung from his wide belt.
He often used to roam by himself, but recent events had clearly made him more cautious.
Shanon drew her hood up and fell in, stalking him from a safe distance. Their pace was slow and easy to follow, and traffic was moderate enough that she wouldn’t draw attention. With only three marks until the council meeting, she wasn’t sure he’d emerge, but it seemed Nedro was a creature of habit, and his visit to the bathhouse every cycle wasn’t something he could pass up.
Once they turned to the right, that was all the confirmation she needed. She dashed ahead, cutting through a side street at a run before turning back to the main road, sure she had gotten in front of them. The bathhouse Nedro used required a membership, one Shanon didn’t have, but she knew a different way inside. She’d staked the same building out once before and noticed that, on occasion, somebody might slip through the back, no questions asked. She hadn’t ever had to sneak in like that before, so she only hoped they didn’t stop her once she got inside. The layout of the building’s interior was yet unknown to her.
She checked over her shoulder and Nedro’s group was still making its way there, then she went around behind the bathhouse where the workers changed out the water. She pulled her hood and veil off, keeping her head low as she walked by a few of the workers. Three of them were out back, filtering water or straining linens. She ignored them and went straight to the door while their backs were turned.
The moment she slipped through the door, she felt the humid air. She was in a back hall with a few smaller rooms off to one side, but a half wall blocked off view from the large bath, which was also split in two with another wall to divide the men from the women. She found an outer wall that went around the bath and led back to the front entrance.
A few workers stood in the front atrium as Shanon approached it from behind, hiding around the corner. Nedro had just entered and was greeted by one of the workers, a bald man wearing a light gray robe. They gave short greetings before the worker started leading Nedro to one of the halls. Nedro was otherwise alone. He must have left his attendants outside, as anticipated.
Shanon came out from hiding, hurrying forward to intercept them before they went down the other hall.
Nedro placed his hands on his hips and sighed as Shanon approached.
“I have a message for you,” Shanon said, stopping in front of Nedro and casting a dismissive glance at the worker.
Nedro looked her up and down, eyes narrowing when they stopped at her eyes. He nodded to the worker. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
The worker bit his lip and continued on alone as Nedro squared up to Shanon.
“You’re one of Hatan’s,” Nedro said in a whisper. “This isn’t the most secure place to deliver a message. These employees keep some discretion, but hold loyalty to none of the houses.”
“I understand,” Shanon said. Nedro was sharp. He’d had perhaps one or two occasions to ever associate her with Hatan, and he’d picked it up easily. “The message is simple. You need to present Hatan at the council.”
“Oh, certainly,” Nedro said, flashing one of his big grins. “He’s already my top choice.” He turned to dismiss himself. “Though odds are not in his favor.”
“It’s the only way to secure peace,” Shanon hissed.
“One kind of peace, yes,” Nedro said over his shoulder. “For both our sakes, I hope he wins.” He turned the corner, away from view.
Shanon sighed. That was it. She’d been prepared to explain the whole ordeal to him. Did he realize what was at stake if the Kesten’s took over? She wanted him to realize that it meant war with the shaman tribes again. He accepted the proposal too easily, but what more could she do?
She left, walking out the front door, ignoring the strange looks from the attendants. As soon as she got outside, she felt the urge to run to the Scorched Waste. If Kyel were here, she realized he wouldn’t hesitate to go looking for that entrance. Anything to rescue Hatan. But that was ultimately what got him killed and why she was still alive. She pounded her fist into her thigh. Stupid brother. A lump formed in her throat regardless.
Without him here to make irrational decisions, it was up to her. She checked her canteen. Full. She’d already filled it up before staking out Wajek manor. Perhaps subconsciously, she already knew she was going to scour the desert.
Three marks left. No time to waste.
She took off down the street at a jog, putting her veil back over her face, but leaving her hood down. It would just fall off from running anyway. A tightness in her chest pushed her onward, urging her to go faster. What if she was too late? What if they’d already killed Hatan and all of their hope was in vain?
But she’d seen them drag Hatan away, screaming and flailing after watching Kyel die. All while she hid in the shadows, stifling her sobs.
She ran even faster. No tears stung her eyes now. Not sadness. Instead, it was the urge to do something. To make something happen. To make all of the hurt and suffering worth it. Why had her brother died? For nothing? No. Because he didn’t want to see Jehubal in the hands of another tyrant. Because he believed in Hatan. He believed in Migo. He held onto the hope that a good person deserved the chance to win. Even if they still lost in the end, it was something worth fighting for.
He could also have just been too foolish to know when to back down, but he’d never acted so rashly before. She had to believe there was some deeper meaning to it all.
Warm wind blew her hair back as she turned one final corner. The wall to the Scorched Waste loomed ahead. Many people liked the dry heat on this end of the city, but they were still wise enough to avoid direct sunlight for too long. The wall was usually unmanned, except for a single tower on either end of the city where the soldier could hide in the shade.
But with Hatan’s downsizing of the military, these towers were now only manned by occasional checking from volunteers. The wall on the sunward side of the city was a little less than twice her height, but she’d picked this street because it had a staircase that led to a parapeted walkway on top. She took the steps two at a time until she was on top, the full blare of the sun burning at her face. She shielded her eyes and scanned the horizon, taking long, steady breaths.
There were a couple weathered, rocky surfaces exposed to the sunlight. Those seemed like the best places to check if she was going to locate a hidden tunnel.
But something else caught her eye.
A person was running across the sand farther to the south, trying to reach the Ring.
“Who would…” It struck her like a storm. Hatan.
She jumped down the wall into the Scorched Waste without another thought, rolling down the windswept sand at the bottom. She popped off the ground at a full sprint, a surge of energy pushing her onward, eyes fixed on the figure ahead. It had to be Hatan.
He didn’t seem to notice her, but was fully fixed on reaching the wall. How long had he been out here? Even if somebody survived the Scorched Waste, being in the heat for too long could have long-term repercussions.
The man started holding his arms out as he stumbled towards the wall. Perhaps he was already delusional. He was a few steps away when he fell face-first into the sand.
Shanon arrived a few heartbeats later, dropped to her knees beside him, and rolled him over.
Hatan. Sands, it was Hatan.
She checked a pulse. He was still alive. She whipped out her canteen and sloshed water onto his face. He coughed for air, his brown eyes blinking up at her.
“Shanon,” he wheezed.
She gave him the canteen, helping him take a drink.
“Shanon,” he said again. “I’m so sorry about Kyel. I’ll get the Kestens. I’ll get them.”
