Chapter Eight Hundred And Fourteen – 814
The streets stank of rain and blood.
Jeneve knew both of them well. Amaranth was often afflicted by southern rains, enough that the streets often ran like rivers in the wettest of months. As for the other—her father was a butcher, and she was a helpful girl.
“Come, dear one,” her father urged. “Only a little farther.”
Her arms were tired and her legs ached, but she plodded along behind his larger boots. A rucksack hung heavy from a single thin shoulder, filled to the brim with food and a few pieces of spare clothing. The burlap dug into her skin with every swaying step, especially when she walked around the large puddles that soaked the cobbled streets. Jeneve refused to complain, however—it was nothing compared to her father’s burden…and she was a helpful girl.
The streets were filled with folks and their belongings. Carts, wagons, and packs piled high with all that they could carry as everyone Jeneve knew hurried toward the shelters. The midmorning sky was bright, though it was a flat gray that threatened more rain, and it shed light into even the darkest allies—but that only made people hurry faster. It was as if those narrow lanes no longer existed, for all that she had played in them for years. People passed them by, red-rimmed eyes staring straight ahead and hands locked around their precious cargo.
No one wanted to linger over the bodies of betrayers.
“Don’t mind them, Jeneve.” A gentle hand pressed against her back as her father scooted her closer to himself. “They embraced the Night and paid for it.”
“I see the Culvers—”
“I said don’t mind them.” Her father’s voice hardened, as it did more often than not. “They wouldn’t listen to the Lady’s law and reaped what they sowed. We must—”