A darkness almost as deep as the feelings in Renise's heart stifled her as she stumbled through the tunnel.
Her back was stooped as she ran her hands along the walls, feeling sharp cuts as the roughly hewn rock guided her way.
The darkness was terrifying. The repressive blindness total. Caught in the solitude of sightlessness, the memories of the evening burned as bright as melting iron in her mind. There was no recourse from her thoughts, her regrets, or her searing anger.
Renise paused, her nails almost digging into the stone as the emotions threatened to boil over.
After a moment, she swallowed a breath of damp air and forced herself to stumble onwards.
The feelings didn't go away. No more than this darkness.
Renise could hear her shoes leaving soggy imprints in sand or mud. Water had pooled in the tiny crevasses in the ground. Minutes or hours later, the sound of her struggling footsteps was joined by ragged breathing.
Whether she was weighed down heavier by the darkness or her thoughts, she didn't know. But even as her limbs began to exhaust themselves, she couldn't stop.
Not now. Not when there was so much to do.
She continued following the whistling of shrill air and the dripping of moisture.
It was a poor time for fatigue to visit, especially as this tunnel was only uniform in its unevenness. Each surface was crudely done, as though an ancestor of hers had desperately hewn this tunnel to escape a siege and not to pre-empt it. She kept her back bent, the jagged stone snatching at her hair whenever she failed to dip low enough reminding her that the closest resting spot was the exit.
Renise quickly belittled herself with a clench of her fists. There'd be no rest tonight.
And then she stopped, listening as the first hints of outside echoed in the darkness.
The sound of waves.
It was intermeshed with the faint whistling that served as her guide. Renise wasted no time, trudging through the sludge of wet sand with increasing single-mindedness. The lake was near. And now she could run. Or stumble. Lots and lots of stumbling as she reached for the exit.
The brisk chill of a spring night was the first to greet her. The air struck like a basin of cold water, and Renise folded her arms as she exited the total darkness.
A golden shore. The gentle splashing of waves. The soft thunk of wood hitting the top of her head.
Renise blinked, then looked up with her back still locked in its stooping posture. She saw seaweed and crustaceans growing on the underside of wood, then the foundations of her estate's walls from beneath gaps of wood.
At last, she turned and took in the moonlit surface of the lake from beneath her wooden ceiling.
Renise was beneath the docks.
She glanced behind her. It wasn't a cavern she'd exited from. It was the stone wharf of the city's docks.
For a moment, Renise was stunned that the hidden tunnel had led here. Unlike the tunnels used by the smugglers, it was never guarded. This was one of the busiest locations in Reitzlake. Her instinct was that it was a dangerous liability, but then again, who wanted to go exploring the deepest nooks and crannies beneath where the sailors and dockworkers spat and sweated?
Certainly, it was no one without the nocturnal eyes of an owl. She felt dazed to the point of nausea as she turned around again, holding herself against a beam as she re-adjusted herself to the waking world.
And then she threw up.
Violently.
The taste of sea salt and vomit made the rounds in Renise's mouth as she expelled every meal she'd eaten. An unidentifiable stream of breakfast, lunch and sorrow exited without end, grinding to a hacking stop only when she needed to force herself to breathe.
And then she vomited some more.
Renise's stomach was so tight with agony, she couldn't even keel over. It was all she could do to grip with dear life on the seaweed and shell encrusted beam, knowing that if she toppled over, she'd never raise herself again.
As it was, she barely kept her knees from buckling as pained tears formed in the corners of her eyes. After untold minutes, her stomach began cramping. She didn't know what muscles were utilised in the act of expelling undigested food, but they were now as sore as the rest of them.
Everything ached. Outside and inside. She thought about throwing herself into the lake. Instead, she joined the sailors and dockworkers and spat into the sand, hoping that the waves would soon come to wash the evidence of her public indecency away.
And still—she gripped tightly onto the beam.
It wasn't meant to be like this. None of it was.
A stifling banquet where the only threat of death came from the tightness of her dress. That was what Renise was supposed to endure.
Now her complaints were so laughable. The frivolous grumblings of a make-believe princess who relished being irritable. The petty troublemaker who wished to play towngirl in the docks.
Well, here she was now.
And she'd give everything to have it all back.
Renise wiped her mouth with her dress sleeves and began to inhale air as though she were refilling her stomach. She felt ill. There was still room to vomit. But she couldn't stop. She couldn't stay here. And she couldn't fall over.
Slowly, not wishing to invite another calamity with the pristine sand, Renise cast her eyes around and gathered her bearings.
She was on the end of the docks, nearest the warehouses and furthest away from the market. The piers jutted out to her left, dozens built, destroyed, and rebuilt over many years with little in the way of planning. Trading cogs and caravels sat side by side with galleys many times their size, and around them, empty fishing boats tenuously gathering like moths in awe of flames.
And there, near to her, was the smallest boat of the lot.
It was moored beneath the dock, a rope hooked to one of the beams. Renise looked at it, and that was that. She remembered Lord Oliver's words, but didn't need them. She had no plans to leave this city. To abandon it. Not yet.
Not while she had revenge to seize.
Digging up the sand with her wet shoes, she paced around the tunnel exit, searching among the pebbles and shells.
The evening chill was becoming more menacing with each passing moment, all the while the aching of her stomach was beginning to harden. Soon, she was aware of the goosebumps, and finally her runny nose as she searched with increasing desperation for the bundle of warmth.
A new round of grief wrapped around her until finally, she was assured that she could use a cloak instead.
The star-shaped rock hadn't been in the sand, but lodged in the very wharf itself. Running her fingers across the cobbled quay wall, she located the edge of a star and pulled. It was slippery, but came out with merciful ease, held together by loosely packed sand and mud that crumbled with deliberate force.
In the hole was a bundle of cloth. And in that cloth was a draw-string pouch.
The lifeline dropped to the sand as Renise first unravelled the tightly bundled cloak. She ran her hands across the soft fabric, smudging it immediately with all the unspeakable stuff she'd peppered her hands with in just one short evening.
It was midnight blue, thick against the wind and hooded.
If she wished to escape by boat, she'd be a drop in the ocean. At least until whoever was watching turned her cloak red instead.
Renise threw it across her shoulders and pulled the hood up, fastening the cloak while recoiling to the touch of her own fingertips.
They were wetter, colder and dirtier than anything around her. If she thought her hands were filthy, then her fingertips were worse. She gripped the hem of the cloak as though she were squeezing Lady Lucina's neck, wiping it all off as best she could.
Accepting that the grey smear was now a permanent feature, Renise bent low and gathered the dropped pouch. It was modest, but the weight betrayed its value. She knew as she unstrung the pouch what was inside. Gold crowns, unblemished and heavy. They glittered with a radiance that suggested they'd never been used in actual transactions before.
Renise searched for the belt that didn't exist, then held the pouch to her chest. It wasn't what she wanted right now. But the small part of her that was still thinking rationally knew she'd want it soon. There was somewhere to spend it.
The Hounded Hare.
A destination. An objective. She didn't want to think. Every thought hurt her head. She just had to keep moving. Hearth and home was now unknown to her. The walls above her head were darker than she'd ever seen them. She glimpsed the banner of the star crowning a mountain and the waves leapt up as if to snatch it away.
It was time.
Renise checked to make sure there was nothing else left in the wall, then broke cover from the pier.
Renise's cloak and dress billowed for all the world to see as she dashed, doing her best not to careen into stacks of discarded crates and barrels as she felt the sand, mud and pebbles all try to trip her. Keeping close her pouch of gold, she gathered her cloak around her and hurried up a set of wooden steps and onto the docks.
There were no workers or sailors at this time, except for those on the night watch aboard their own ships. They were not here, though. The berths beneath the estate were not wide enough to house ships that required a guard. It was silent except for the sweeping of waves.
The souls that made the docks their home were located further down the quay strait, past the warehouses stacked to the brink with goods from the Principalities and Lissoine.
Further past the warehouses were the salt washed homes of dockside families, packed together like fish in a shoal. Even from the other end, Renise could spy the glow of windows, the smoke of hearths and the cheering of camaraderie.
The Salty Mermaid.
Bell scrounging tips with a wink while Gab and Lou fell over themselves to earn that girl's affection. Never hers, though. Even after Renise had tried to blend in, they knew who she was, or rather, who she wasn't. Those on the dockside had a sense of smell for trouble, mostly since they caused it. And she reeked like fish in a barrel.
Renise paused, hesitating.
The Salty Mermaid was known to her. The Hounded Hare wasn't. The lure of song and warmth. The promise of a blissful welcome. The temptation of a clumsy dance free of worry. All of it pulled at her like the strings of a marionette.
Then, she turned and made her way beneath an arch. Towards the market district.
The narrow rows swallowed Renise as soon as she entered. Reitzlake had no grand marketplace. It had old winding streets filled with small stores. Suddenly, there was barely enough space in these cobbled lanes to meander without fear of being crushed between two opening doors.
In the morning, they'd be filled with stalls, entertainers and buyers. It'd be colour and theatre. But tonight, the people slept. They could do that now that the War of the Streets was over.
The Thieves Guild were gone. As was the Smugglers Guild.
And now something darker had taken their place.
Renise measured her pace, only realising how fast her strides were when the alley cats darting into the night seemed slow. Her pouch of crowns rose and fell against her chest as she finally sensed how breathless she was.
She grimaced through the burning in her lungs. At some point, she became aware she was limping, but she didn't know why. Had she caught an injury tonight? And then she felt it. A sharp pain in the sole of her foot as a loose cobblestone nicked her. She was somehow missing a shoe.
She would've groaned if she could afford it. Instead, she bit her lips and ran.
This was her city. And yet she had to flee like an exile in the night.
She felt at the pouch of coins clutched stubbornly to her chest. For a brief, zany moment, the image of a purse thief zig-zagging through the city to escape the guard came to her mind. But she was no thief. And this was no purse.
It was a bribe.
A payment to any dark soul to come wake herself and her parents from this nightmare. She could hire a renowned assassin with this amount of crowns. Or a band of brutes. Either would serve the same purpose.
It was the cost of hope.
As long as she had this, that flame could burn brightly.
Tightening the precious bag against her chest, Renise turned another corner.
And then she saw the real flames, spewing from a building she recognised. It was a safehouse, used by the common hands to evade the guards. She heard the crackling, the falling timber, and the last throes of the Smugglers Guild as she knew it. A message. The safehouses were safe only for the loyal. Fall in line or fall to the flames.
She wasn't the only one to suffer tonight. The thought sickened her. But more than that, it enraged her.
Renise Rimeaux clenched her fist and carried on running.
The stench of burning timber hung around Renise's nose even as she left the market district behind. Before long, she heard the desperate shouts of a city waking to the dreaded sight of fire.
The fire bells tolled throughout the city, shattering the night. Men and women in their night clothes rushed by, some making for the wells with buckets in hand, some pausing to take in her dishevelled state. A few approached her, seeing past her cloak to the ruined dress and the missing shoe.
Renise kept her hood low and pressed on.
Heading against the direction of the waking populace, she made her way into the merchant's quarter. The wealthiest captains didn't live in the docks, but with the traders in this garden of the city.
As she passed beneath a rose twined arch, the smog in her lungs only seemed to harden. On dreary days, she'd accompany her mother to learn and provide her presence. She'd stand for hours, allowing conversations of taxation and docking fees and hints of workarounds to hurtle past her head while wishing she was anywhere else. Now that wish was granted as she wound through this picturesque district, still leaving sand and grief behind her as she hurried by.
Windows and doorsteps filled with life, all attention focused on the red glow over Reitzlake.
Soon, small groups began to converge at the gates of the larger estates. Worried whispers filled the air, but no action was taken. It wasn't the bells of the merchant quarter which rung.
And if it did, well, they had a solution for that.
Renise stopped before a fountain. It was humble compared to the estates which surrounded it, without any plaques or statues marking it as the centre of the merchant quarter. She imagined it was because the city itself paid for its cost.
And that meant she felt quite a bit of shame at desecrating it.
She knelt down, allowing her bag of crowns to drop, then shoved her face into the water.
Her hands quickly followed. Renise scooped up a handful of the cooling balm and rubbed it against her eyes. The feeling of clarity she had as her eyes blinked through the droplets was almost frightening. For the first time since this terrible evening began, she breathed.
And still all she tasted was the ugliness of treachery.
Renise blinked as she raised herself back to her feet, her vision now only disturbed by the many strands of hair sticking to her brows and falling past her temple.
Now, she could think.
She considered the neat, winding lane which would lead to the Hounded Hare. And then she considered the bag of crowns by her side, now slightly soaked with water.
She had money to pay for any room and board. But she needed every crown for her recapture of the estate and now was a poor time to rely on the charity of strangers. Lord Oliver said the innkeeper asked no questions. But did that also include giving no answers? Presumably, the vow of discretion went for paying customers only. Was she to invoke Lord Oliver's name in the matter?
No. She knew with a tightening of her chest that she couldn't do that to him. Nor to herself.
She'd experienced enough treachery tonight to not also bring it on someone else.
Lord Oliver was kind and gallant, but suggesting that she rely on a stranger she'd never known within an inn she'd never stayed at was unwise. The icy water waking her thoughts told her as much.
No … Renise knew she couldn't wait for rescue, nor ask for shelter.
She made her decision.
Clutching the bag of crowns to her chest, she turned away from the Hounded Hare. And with that, a whole new world of problems opened up. But not only for her.
For Lady Lucina Tolent as well.
A darkness almost as deep as the feelings in Renise's heart stifled her as she stumbled through the tunnel.
Her back was stooped as she ran her hands along the walls, feeling sharp cuts as the roughly hewn rock guided her way.
The darkness was terrifying. The repressive blindness total. Caught in the solitude of sightlessness, the memories of the evening burned as bright as melting iron in her mind. There was no recourse from her thoughts, her regrets, or her searing anger.
Renise paused, her nails almost digging into the stone as the emotions threatened to boil over.
After a moment, she swallowed a breath of damp air and forced herself to stumble onwards.
The feelings didn't go away. No more than this darkness.
Renise could hear her shoes leaving soggy imprints in sand or mud. Water had pooled in the tiny crevasses in the ground. Minutes or hours later, the sound of her struggling footsteps was joined by ragged breathing.
Whether she was weighed down heavier by the darkness or her thoughts, she didn't know. But even as her limbs began to exhaust themselves, she couldn't stop.
Not now. Not when there was so much to do.
She continued following the whistling of shrill air and the dripping of moisture.
It was a poor time for fatigue to visit, especially as this tunnel was only uniform in its unevenness. Each surface was crudely done, as though an ancestor of hers had desperately hewn this tunnel to escape a siege and not to pre-empt it. She kept her back bent, the jagged stone snatching at her hair whenever she failed to dip low enough reminding her that the closest resting spot was the exit.
Renise quickly belittled herself with a clench of her fists. There'd be no rest tonight.
And then she stopped, listening as the first hints of outside echoed in the darkness.
The sound of waves.
It was intermeshed with the faint whistling that served as her guide. Renise wasted no time, trudging through the sludge of wet sand with increasing single-mindedness. The lake was near. And now she could run. Or stumble. Lots and lots of stumbling as she reached for the exit.
The brisk chill of a spring night was the first to greet her. The air struck like a basin of cold water, and Renise folded her arms as she exited the total darkness.
A golden shore. The gentle splashing of waves. The soft thunk of wood hitting the top of her head.
Renise blinked, then looked up with her back still locked in its stooping posture. She saw seaweed and crustaceans growing on the underside of wood, then the foundations of her estate's walls from beneath gaps of wood.
At last, she turned and took in the moonlit surface of the lake from beneath her wooden ceiling.
Renise was beneath the docks.
She glanced behind her. It wasn't a cavern she'd exited from. It was the stone wharf of the city's docks.
For a moment, Renise was stunned that the hidden tunnel had led here. Unlike the tunnels used by the smugglers, it was never guarded. This was one of the busiest locations in Reitzlake. Her instinct was that it was a dangerous liability, but then again, who wanted to go exploring the deepest nooks and crannies beneath where the sailors and dockworkers spat and sweated?
Certainly, it was no one without the nocturnal eyes of an owl. She felt dazed to the point of nausea as she turned around again, holding herself against a beam as she re-adjusted herself to the waking world.
And then she threw up.
Violently.
The taste of sea salt and vomit made the rounds in Renise's mouth as she expelled every meal she'd eaten. An unidentifiable stream of breakfast, lunch and sorrow exited without end, grinding to a hacking stop only when she needed to force herself to breathe.
And then she vomited some more.
Renise's stomach was so tight with agony, she couldn't even keel over. It was all she could do to grip with dear life on the seaweed and shell encrusted beam, knowing that if she toppled over, she'd never raise herself again.
As it was, she barely kept her knees from buckling as pained tears formed in the corners of her eyes. After untold minutes, her stomach began cramping. She didn't know what muscles were utilised in the act of expelling undigested food, but they were now as sore as the rest of them.
Everything ached. Outside and inside. She thought about throwing herself into the lake. Instead, she joined the sailors and dockworkers and spat into the sand, hoping that the waves would soon come to wash the evidence of her public indecency away.
And still—she gripped tightly onto the beam.
It wasn't meant to be like this. None of it was.
A stifling banquet where the only threat of death came from the tightness of her dress. That was what Renise was supposed to endure.
Now her complaints were so laughable. The frivolous grumblings of a make-believe princess who relished being irritable. The petty troublemaker who wished to play towngirl in the docks.
Well, here she was now.
And she'd give everything to have it all back.
Renise wiped her mouth with her dress sleeves and began to inhale air as though she were refilling her stomach. She felt ill. There was still room to vomit. But she couldn't stop. She couldn't stay here. And she couldn't fall over.
Slowly, not wishing to invite another calamity with the pristine sand, Renise cast her eyes around and gathered her bearings.
She was on the end of the docks, nearest the warehouses and furthest away from the market. The piers jutted out to her left, dozens built, destroyed, and rebuilt over many years with little in the way of planning. Trading cogs and caravels sat side by side with galleys many times their size, and around them, empty fishing boats tenuously gathering like moths in awe of flames.
And there, near to her, was the smallest boat of the lot.
It was moored beneath the dock, a rope hooked to one of the beams. Renise looked at it, and that was that. She remembered Lord Oliver's words, but didn't need them. She had no plans to leave this city. To abandon it. Not yet.
Not while she had revenge to seize.
Digging up the sand with her wet shoes, she paced around the tunnel exit, searching among the pebbles and shells.
The evening chill was becoming more menacing with each passing moment, all the while the aching of her stomach was beginning to harden. Soon, she was aware of the goosebumps, and finally her runny nose as she searched with increasing desperation for the bundle of warmth.
A new round of grief wrapped around her until finally, she was assured that she could use a cloak instead.
The star-shaped rock hadn't been in the sand, but lodged in the very wharf itself. Running her fingers across the cobbled quay wall, she located the edge of a star and pulled. It was slippery, but came out with merciful ease, held together by loosely packed sand and mud that crumbled with deliberate force.
In the hole was a bundle of cloth. And in that cloth was a draw-string pouch.
The lifeline dropped to the sand as Renise first unravelled the tightly bundled cloak. She ran her hands across the soft fabric, smudging it immediately with all the unspeakable stuff she'd peppered her hands with in just one short evening.
It was midnight blue, thick against the wind and hooded.
If she wished to escape by boat, she'd be a drop in the ocean. At least until whoever was watching turned her cloak red instead.
Renise threw it across her shoulders and pulled the hood up, fastening the cloak while recoiling to the touch of her own fingertips.
They were wetter, colder and dirtier than anything around her. If she thought her hands were filthy, then her fingertips were worse. She gripped the hem of the cloak as though she were squeezing Lady Lucina's neck, wiping it all off as best she could.
Accepting that the grey smear was now a permanent feature, Renise bent low and gathered the dropped pouch. It was modest, but the weight betrayed its value. She knew as she unstrung the pouch what was inside. Gold crowns, unblemished and heavy. They glittered with a radiance that suggested they'd never been used in actual transactions before.
Renise searched for the belt that didn't exist, then held the pouch to her chest. It wasn't what she wanted right now. But the small part of her that was still thinking rationally knew she'd want it soon. There was somewhere to spend it.
The Hounded Hare.
A destination. An objective. She didn't want to think. Every thought hurt her head. She just had to keep moving. Hearth and home was now unknown to her. The walls above her head were darker than she'd ever seen them. She glimpsed the banner of the star crowning a mountain and the waves leapt up as if to snatch it away.
It was time.
Renise checked to make sure there was nothing else left in the wall, then broke cover from the pier.
Renise's cloak and dress billowed for all the world to see as she dashed, doing her best not to careen into stacks of discarded crates and barrels as she felt the sand, mud and pebbles all try to trip her. Keeping close her pouch of gold, she gathered her cloak around her and hurried up a set of wooden steps and onto the docks.
There were no workers or sailors at this time, except for those on the night watch aboard their own ships. They were not here, though. The berths beneath the estate were not wide enough to house ships that required a guard. It was silent except for the sweeping of waves.
The souls that made the docks their home were located further down the quay strait, past the warehouses stacked to the brink with goods from the Principalities and Lissoine.
Further past the warehouses were the salt washed homes of dockside families, packed together like fish in a shoal. Even from the other end, Renise could spy the glow of windows, the smoke of hearths and the cheering of camaraderie.
The Salty Mermaid.
Bell scrounging tips with a wink while Gab and Lou fell over themselves to earn that girl's affection. Never hers, though. Even after Renise had tried to blend in, they knew who she was, or rather, who she wasn't. Those on the dockside had a sense of smell for trouble, mostly since they caused it. And she reeked like fish in a barrel.
Renise paused, hesitating.
The Salty Mermaid was known to her. The Hounded Hare wasn't. The lure of song and warmth. The promise of a blissful welcome. The temptation of a clumsy dance free of worry. All of it pulled at her like the strings of a marionette.
Then, she turned and made her way beneath an arch. Towards the market district.
The narrow rows swallowed Renise as soon as she entered. Reitzlake had no grand marketplace. It had old winding streets filled with small stores. Suddenly, there was barely enough space in these cobbled lanes to meander without fear of being crushed between two opening doors.
In the morning, they'd be filled with stalls, entertainers and buyers. It'd be colour and theatre. But tonight, the people slept. They could do that now that the War of the Streets was over.
The Thieves Guild were gone. As was the Smugglers Guild.
And now something darker had taken their place.
Renise measured her pace, only realising how fast her strides were when the alley cats darting into the night seemed slow. Her pouch of crowns rose and fell against her chest as she finally sensed how breathless she was.
She grimaced through the burning in her lungs. At some point, she became aware she was limping, but she didn't know why. Had she caught an injury tonight? And then she felt it. A sharp pain in the sole of her foot as a loose cobblestone nicked her. She was somehow missing a shoe.
She would've groaned if she could afford it. Instead, she bit her lips and ran.
This was her city. And yet she had to flee like an exile in the night.
She felt at the pouch of coins clutched stubbornly to her chest. For a brief, zany moment, the image of a purse thief zig-zagging through the city to escape the guard came to her mind. But she was no thief. And this was no purse.
It was a bribe.
A payment to any dark soul to come wake herself and her parents from this nightmare. She could hire a renowned assassin with this amount of crowns. Or a band of brutes. Either would serve the same purpose.
It was the cost of hope.
As long as she had this, that flame could burn brightly.
Tightening the precious bag against her chest, Renise turned another corner.
And then she saw the real flames, spewing from a building she recognised. It was a safehouse, used by the common hands to evade the guards. She heard the crackling, the falling timber, and the last throes of the Smugglers Guild as she knew it. A message. The safehouses were safe only for the loyal. Fall in line or fall to the flames.
She wasn't the only one to suffer tonight. The thought sickened her. But more than that, it enraged her.
Renise Rimeaux clenched her fist and carried on running.
The stench of burning timber hung around Renise's nose even as she left the market district behind. Before long, she heard the desperate shouts of a city waking to the dreaded sight of fire.
The fire bells tolled throughout the city, shattering the night. Men and women in their night clothes rushed by, some making for the wells with buckets in hand, some pausing to take in her dishevelled state. A few approached her, seeing past her cloak to the ruined dress and the missing shoe.
Renise kept her hood low and pressed on.
Heading against the direction of the waking populace, she made her way into the merchant's quarter. The wealthiest captains didn't live in the docks, but with the traders in this garden of the city.
As she passed beneath a rose twined arch, the smog in her lungs only seemed to harden. On dreary days, she'd accompany her mother to learn and provide her presence. She'd stand for hours, allowing conversations of taxation and docking fees and hints of workarounds to hurtle past her head while wishing she was anywhere else. Now that wish was granted as she wound through this picturesque district, still leaving sand and grief behind her as she hurried by.
Windows and doorsteps filled with life, all attention focused on the red glow over Reitzlake.
Soon, small groups began to converge at the gates of the larger estates. Worried whispers filled the air, but no action was taken. It wasn't the bells of the merchant quarter which rung.
And if it did, well, they had a solution for that.
Renise stopped before a fountain. It was humble compared to the estates which surrounded it, without any plaques or statues marking it as the centre of the merchant quarter. She imagined it was because the city itself paid for its cost.
And that meant she felt quite a bit of shame at desecrating it.
She knelt down, allowing her bag of crowns to drop, then shoved her face into the water.
Her hands quickly followed. Renise scooped up a handful of the cooling balm and rubbed it against her eyes. The feeling of clarity she had as her eyes blinked through the droplets was almost frightening. For the first time since this terrible evening began, she breathed.
And still all she tasted was the ugliness of treachery.
Renise blinked as she raised herself back to her feet, her vision now only disturbed by the many strands of hair sticking to her brows and falling past her temple.
Now, she could think.
She considered the neat, winding lane which would lead to the Hounded Hare. And then she considered the bag of crowns by her side, now slightly soaked with water.
She had money to pay for any room and board. But she needed every crown for her recapture of the estate and now was a poor time to rely on the charity of strangers. Lord Oliver said the innkeeper asked no questions. But did that also include giving no answers? Presumably, the vow of discretion went for paying customers only. Was she to invoke Lord Oliver's name in the matter?
No. She knew with a tightening of her chest that she couldn't do that to him. Nor to herself.
She'd experienced enough treachery tonight to not also bring it on someone else.
Lord Oliver was kind and gallant, but suggesting that she rely on a stranger she'd never known within an inn she'd never stayed at was unwise. The icy water waking her thoughts told her as much.
No … Renise knew she couldn't wait for rescue, nor ask for shelter.
She made her decision.
Clutching the bag of crowns to her chest, she turned away from the Hounded Hare. And with that, a whole new world of problems opened up. But not only for her.
For Lady Lucina Tolent as well.
