"Thirty people died," Jelric said, munching on an apple, sprawled on Devvyn's bed. "Most of them from the Lower City. I saw it in the papers on my way here. Didn't stop to read the entire thing."
"We suffer the most. Always." Aela shook her head.
"Which is why we have to make a better life for ourselves, leave this forsaken city," Devvyn added. He stood by the cracked mirror in his room, fingers working each button of his cotton shirt with deliberate care. It was the only set he owned—a crisp white shirt and dark cotton pants. They were a little too snug but clean and neatly pressed, and the only clothing he had that was good enough to enter the Pyrethorn estate. He smoothed his hands over the fabric, brushing away imaginary dust, and ran his fingers through his hair to tame the stray curls.
"You can look now," he said to Aela.
"Sure?" Aela said as she turned from where she'd been facing the window, looking out of his room. "I don't want to be petrified by your scrawny chest."
"Funny. I could say you have a scrawny chest, too." Jelric joked, grinning widely.
Devvyn burst into a barking laugh that quickly dissolved into hacking coughs. He waved a hand dismissively as he caught his breath. "Good one, Jelric."
"Hey, hey, my leg is still sore," Jelric said as Aela started to approach him.
"You're lucky you're my only other friend, Jelric Vergahn. Real lucky."
"People," Devvyn clapped, "we're losing focus. How do I look?"
Aela eyed him up and down. "Not bad. You look almost respectable."
"Almost being the keyword," Jelric said.
"Someone really should put a lock on your mouth," Devvyn said as he crouched and checked under the bed for his sandals. "Could've sworn I left them here." He muttered to himself when he didn't see it. He went into his wardrobe. Devvyn swung open the wardrobe doors, shuffling through the clutter of clothes and odd gadgets Maelis had passed down. No sandals. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"What do you think the inside of the estate looks like?" Jelric asked as he finished his apple and threw the core on Devvyn's rug.
"Golden chandeliers, velvet curtains, the longest hallway with large frames of their ancestors down to the first Pyrethorn." Aela piped in.
Devvyn smirked, still rummaging, "Might draw a beard on Isadora's potrait."
"You should," Jelric said. Aela had brought him up to speed on what Isadora did.
"I have a better idea. Let's crush some fennel and you slip it into her tea or wine or whatever highborns drink." Aela said.
"Great idea."
"Sure. If you want me dead." Devvyn replied, finally spotting his sandals buried under a heap of dirty clothes he really should have washed weeks ago. Devvyn dusted off the sandals, slipped them on, and fastened the leather straps.
"Alright. I'm ready. I think." Devvyn swallowed. The thought of seeing Isadora again, standing in the same room as her, set his nerves on edge. He'd considered not going at least a dozen times the day before, but each time he decided he'd rather eat horse shit than pass up the chance to dine with one of the highest Highlords in Sinai.
"I'm off." He said as he adjusted his collar again. "Don't turn my room into a mess while I'm gone."
"It's already a mess." Jelric drawled.
"It's organised chaos. Touch anything and I'll know." He adjusted his collar one last time, more out of nerves than necessity.
"Yeah, yeah. Go rub shoulders with the highborns," Jelric said, waving him off.
"Goodbye! And say hi to Isadora for me." Aela said, making kissy sounds.
"Real mature, Aela." Devvyn rolled his eyes. "Bye!" he called out, stepping into the hallway. He took a deep breath and headed upstairs to Maelis's workshop.
He found her hunch over a gadget. For as long as Devvyn could remember, his grandmother was always hunched, working on something. He wondered if her back hurt. She never complained.
"Grandmother," he said softly, clearing his throat. She looked up, her expression unreadable. "I'm heading out now. I'll be back before nighttime."
She didn't say anything at first, just studied him for a moment before nodding curtly. Since the argument, they were careful around each other, speaking in gentle, polite tones, not saying anything more than necessary. "Be careful," she finally said.
"I will." He gave a small and turned to leave.
"Devvyn, wait." Maelis stopped him. She reached into one of her coat pockets, pulling out a leather pouch. Counting out four silver marks, she dropped them on the table and pushed them toward him. "Get some snacks while you're there. For you and your friends."
Devvyn picked up the silver marks. He gave Maelis a quick, grateful glance then tucked the money into his pocket. "Thank you Grandmother." He hesitated before saying, "you should stretch sometimes…for your back…we can do it together."
Maelis's lips curled into a small smile. "Ok."
Devvyn took a shortcut to the train station. A narrow road running behind all the residential areas. He'd been avoiding people since the day before, after he stepped out to get oil for the gate, and they'd had bombarded him with questions. Did you really save Calder Pyrethorn? Can I come with you to the estate? What did The Wanderer look like? It didn't help that Novius, the boy from the train, was spreading stories of how Devvyn had jumped right in front of a rebel's gun and dared her to shoot him.
He emerged from the street and walked into the train station, still keeping his head low. The station was practically empty, people didn't move as much on weekends but there were enough people here that knew him. He joined the short line for the ticket dispenser.
"Next person." A robotic voice called out.
He stepped forward and angled his face so the ticket dispenser could scan him. Train rides were free, but tickets were still required. The device beeped green after recognising him and printed out a ticket. "Have a safe trip—" He snatched the ticket before the dispenser said his name.
He boarded the train, choosing a quiet corner in the back and settled in.
The ride to Eternis passed in a haze, and the train slowed to a halt before he knew it. Devvyn stepped out onto the polished platform of the train station, blinking at the sudden burst of sunlight filtering through the glass-panelled roof. Goldenbloom Station was a stark contrast to the crowded, grime-streaked stations of the Lower City—marble floors, sweeping arches, and softly glowing decorative lanterns with welcome signs on them.
He joined the queue for a second verification, where he would submit his ticket to another verification robot. This was how Sinai tracked movement and ensured nobody got in and out without them knowing. If he went through the gates without verification, he'd be in the station's jail for questioning within a minute.
His eyes wandered around the station. He spotted a well-dressed woman fussing over her daughter's silk ribbons, a businessman in a crisp suit barking orders into a sleek communicator, and a pair of boys his age laughing loudly as their attendants hauled luggage behind them. Devvyn looked down at his cotton shirt, trousers and sandals and became self-conscious.
He hated feeling this way—as though he was less than simply because of his clothing—but it was hard not to. Not when he was constantly looked down upon, not now as one of those boys glanced his way, whispered something to the others, and they all sniggered. Devvyn caught their gaze, sneered, and faced front. When it got to his turn, he slid the ticket into the robot, waited for it to scan him, and then hightailed out of the station.
Following the directions he got from Irric the Butcher, Devvyn made his way through Kala Street, named after the air Primordial. He'd been to Eternis lots of times, but it was mostly to explore the Coral Coves with Aela and Jelric. They avoided the residential areas except to buy sweets from the large confectionery beside the Great Library.
He kept to the sidewalk, watching mana-powered carriages and horse-drawn carriages drive by him. The mana-powered ones were sleek, ran on refined mana, but they emitted too much gas, giving the air a cloying, dizzy scent. Maelis had a blueprint for one that used the mana more efficiently and purified the gas before releasing it. Devvyn wanted her to present her design to one of the highlords and get it funded, but she'd argued that there wasn't a market for it. Most people in Sinai still preferred traditional forms of transportation. So he dropped it.
The directions to the Pyrethorn Estate were pretty straightforward. He took a right on Kala Street into the main market where he ducked around vendors trying to get him to buy their wares, then another right through a street where all the houses looked the same—white, two-storeyed, shingled roofs. His last turning halfway brought him to the Pyrethorn estate—the only house in the area. His heart thudded a little faster now that he was here. He became conscious of the sweat dotting his forehead and rolling down his back.
The Estate's open-bar gate came into view. Devvyn looked through it and saw only a garden. Two guards stood at attention, faces impassive beneath polished helmets. Devvyn swallowed hard and approached. "Hello. I'm Devvyn Arkwright. I'm here to see Lord Pyrethorn…for a meal. I was invited."
One of the guards, a stout man with a thick beard, shifted his hand to the weapon on his belt—a short, wicked-looking knife. "The Highlord isn't expecting any visitors today."
"Um. Yeah. I was invited," Devvyn repeated. "I saved his life during the rebel attack. You must have heard."
"You?" The stout guard threw his head back and laughed, loud and grating. He nudged his partner. "He says he saved Lord Pyrethorn."
The other guard shifted uncomfortably. "He did. I was there, sir," he said quietly, causing the stout one to stop laughing abruptly.
The stout guard's eyes hardened. "Leave, boy."
"But he—" Devvyn started.
"I'll be damned before I open the Highlord's gates to Lower City scum," the guard spat, shoving Devvyn hard on the shoulder.
Devvyn stumbled back but regained his footing quickly, fists clenching at his sides. "I told you, I was invited!" His voice rose, sharp and clear. He stepped forward, his hands curling tighter. "You think I'm lying? Open the damn gate!"
The stout guard raised an eyebrow, then his hand, fingers twitching over the hilt of his knife. "You want to try that again?"
Devvyn's fists shook. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but he sure as hell didn't come all the way from the Lower City on an invitation to be treated like a thief. He took another step forward. He was ready to throw the first punch when—
"What's going on here?"
The voice was shrill and authoritative. Both guards straightened instantly. Devvyn did too, instinctively.
Isadora Pyrethorn was by the gate, looking mildly irritated.
"Miss Pyrethorn. We caught this thief here trying to sneak into the estate…"
"You dirty lying—"
Isadora raised her hands, cutting Devvyn off. "I know him. My fa—Lord Pyrethorn did ask him to come. Open the gates."
The stout guard delayed.
"Who are you?" Isadora asked him.
"Astram, Miss Pyrethorn."
"Well Astram, you really should take orders when you're told." She snapped.
The stout guard's mouth hung open for a beat too long before he snapped it shut. He opened the gate and stepped aside, his face flushed with barely concealed anger. Devvyn smirked as he passed, shooting the man a look that screamed: I told you.
"Wait." Isadora said, then beckoned the other guard. "Pat him down first."
"Is this really necessary?" Devvyn gritted as the guard turned him around, checking his pockets.
"Security measures." Isadora shrugged like she had no say in the matter, but Devvyn saw her hide a tiny smile.
"All clear." The guard said.
"Good. Come with me." Isadora said.
Isadora led the way without a word, gliding across the path that curved through manicured gardens and marble statues. There were statues of Calder Pyrethorn, one of Isadora, and another of an older woman with Isadora's eyes. Devvyn fought to keep his mouth from falling open. Then they came to another gate, which Isadora wrought with delicate designs of blooming flowers and etched crests of the Pyrethorn House.
She placed her right hand on a part of the gate, and the technology behind it scanned her prints. The smaller part of the gate unlocked, and Isadora pushed it open, gesturing for him to pass before her.
Devvyn went in, and this time, his mouth fell open as the whole expanse of the Pyrethorn estate greeted him. It was like something straight out of a painting. The estate was like a world of its own, nothing Devvyn could ever have imagined.
Exotic flowers with vivid hues bloomed everywhere. Ivy climbed along stone statues that stood like silent sentinels among the hedges, each carved to perfection: the Primordials, the Valorians with swords drawn, bloodbound soldiers. Ornate fountains gurgled with crystal-clear water, emptying into lily pads dotted ponds.
He counted at least four paths leading to different places. Isadora guided him to the closest one on their right.
"Through here for visitors, " she said. It's a long walk. We have carriages for faster movement. We can take one if you want, or we could walk. I need a bit of exercise, so I'd rather we walk."
"Uh. Yeah. Sure." Devvyn answered. His mouth remained slightly open, too stunned to hide his awe.
"You might catch a fly if you don't stop gawking," Isadora said.
