Chapter 43: Reunion in the Alley
Chapter 43: Reunion in the Alley
When that face emerged fully into the dim yellow light at the mouth of the alley, my breath seized abruptly, as though an invisible hand had wrenched every last bit of air from my lungs in a single instant.
That face—I knew it all too well.
It was Rendell's face.
I stood frozen in the damp depths of the narrow lane, my mind plunging into a brief void before a cascade of questions flooded in: How had he found this place? How long had he been here? What puzzled me even more was how he had convinced the guards at the city gate to help me escape. And the fact that he had intercepted me the moment I left the temple meant he had been tracking my location from somewhere unseen all along.
There was also that hooded cloak he wore—its style was strange, the fabric thick and patterned with dark motifs I had never seen in any of Aldenmere's fashions.
I studied his face carefully and found that I couldn't bring myself to ask a single question aloud.
He looked far thinner than he had the day I left Aldenmere. The once gently rounded prominence of his cheekbones now jutted more sharply, casting a keen shadow across his face; the hollows beneath his eyes had deepened beyond what I remembered, as if he had gone without proper sleep for far too long. His entire bearing had shifted—gone was that carefully maintained, almost artificial composure of courtly grace, replaced by the taut alertness of someone who had spent extended periods in the wilderness, a sharpness more akin to that of a predator accustomed to the open plains.
He was studying me as well, his gaze sweeping over my shoulders and waist.
He released his grip on my arm and asked quietly, "Are you all right, Princess?"
I didn't know how to answer him. At that moment, what lay between us felt less like air and more like a cup of tea that had long since gone cold.
It was the tea I had made him drink—the tea whose weight now lay heavy between us like an impassable chasm.
I had never apologized for it. When I had done it, my mind had been cold and clear; through every detail of slipping the drug into his cup, my hands had not trembled once.
Even if time could be turned back, I would do it again.
But he had not demanded that apology from me—he had only asked if I was all right.
I stood there in that suffocating silence, looking at him quietly, and then suddenly pulled him close and embraced him. After everything I had been through, I no longer cared about court etiquette. In a place like this, seeing a familiar face was always something to be grateful for.
"You reckless fool—I told you not to follow me."
He remained restrained within my arms, and at last he spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse.
"I decided to come on my own."
I released him and looked him over again carefully. He was considerably taller than I was, forcing me to tilt my head back to see his face properly.
"How long have you been here?"
"Four days."
"In the city?"
"How did you find me?"
"I wasn't following you," he said, his gaze dropping slightly to rest on the cuff of his cloak. "I was following the trail of activity the black sorcerers left along the way. Everywhere they went, death followed. That bloody trail wound its way forward and eventually led me to Aethon. I knew that according to your route, this would be your destination, so I decided to wait for you here."
The explanation was logically sound—he hadn't been chasing me. He had been pursuing another hunt, another target. It was only that the trajectories of fate had converged in some bizarre way, and the endpoint of that pursuit happened to overlap with the place where I found myself.
"How did you know my exact location in Aethon?"
"I was in a noisy tavern in the western district and overheard some drunks chatting," he said, his tone flat as if recounting something that had nothing to do with him. "Someone mentioned that over the past couple of days, people had been skulking around the temple trying to scout it out, but they hadn't managed to find out who it was."
"Why did you help me at the gate?"
"I saw you being forcibly taken into the interrogation passage by the guards," he said, a barely perceptible glint of coldness flashing in his eyes. "I followed you to the entrance. After weighing the risks, I decided to intervene."
"How did you make that masked man obey you?"
"The clothes I was wearing at the time," he tugged at his collar, revealing the dark purple lining beneath, "I 'acquired' them from a lone nobleman the day I arrived in Aethon. That garment carries a particular meaning in Aethon's underworld—it represents a certain ancient covenant and serves as a form of deterrence. I simply borrowed its authority."
Each answer was clean and efficient, with no superfluous words.
Each answer precisely addressed one of the questions weighing on my mind.
Just then, the sound of several guards' heavy, disorderly footsteps echoed from the far end of the alley. The crackling of torches accompanied by cursing grew closer—the search net from the temple had clearly expanded into the surrounding civilian streets.
"We need to leave here," Rendell said in a lowered voice, his body instinctively positioning itself in front of me to form a human barrier.
"I'm staying at The Hollow Reed inn."
"I know."
---
The corridor of The Hollow Reed inn was submerged in thick, inky darkness in the dead of night, with only the faint moonlight filtering through the window lattices to carve out a few pale diagonal lines across the floorboards. The air was saturated with the musty smell of aged, moisture-damaged wood and the ashen scent of cheap incense that had long since burned out.
We reached the door to my room. I fished the somewhat rusted copper key from my pocket, my fingertips trembling slightly as I deliberately lightened my movements to minimize the sound of the metal teeth scraping through the lock. Rendell stood half a step behind me, like a silent shadow. He still had that habitual way of positioning himself behind me for protection.
The room was filled with a faint dusty smell; the curtains hadn't been drawn fully shut, and moonlight seeped through the gap to cast a pallid band of light across the heavily scratched tabletop. My other belongings were still scattered about just as I had left them.
Rendell walked directly to the rickety wooden chair in the corner of the room and sat down silently. He had not removed his hooded cloak; shadows obscured most of his face, revealing only the taut line of his jaw.
Judging from his demeanor, I guessed that during these four days in Aethon, he had grown accustomed to accommodations like this—perhaps he had even stayed in worse places, like sewers or abandoned churches.
I took a deep breath, suppressing the tumult of complicated emotions rising in my chest, and pulled out the worn notebook from my cloth bag.
"Let me tell you everything I know first."
"All right."
I sat on the bed and began from the moment I had left Aldenmere.
I told him about the Fae in the forest, the alternate version of the prophecy they had given me. I told him about Elarin, that city built upon cliffs, the chaos of the lower district and the quietude of the upper. I told him about Cade, how I had teamed up with him, how he had gotten me into the Wizard's Tower. I told him about Osric, the sealed envelope he had given me, that bone-white suppression sigil, the cautious way he spoke inside the tower.
I told him about the visions in the meditation water. When I reached the part about the elf who had carried away the infant, I slowed down slightly.
Rendell's gaze lingered for a moment on that section. He didn't interrupt.
I continued.
I told him about the highland where Cade's cottage had been burned, the dead young dragon. I told him about the swamp, the ambush, the two monsters, the black sorcerer. I told him about the word "stop" I had shouted. I told him about the adult dragon that had descended from the sky.
I told him about Cade lying at the edge of the swamp. I told him about Cairn, the physician who worked with words rather than endurance. I told him about the stack of care instructions I had left behind.
When I reached that part, I didn't look at Rendell's face.
I continued.
I told him about the birch forest. I told him about Sevan, the grave outside that estate, the creature that had been imprisoned in the cellar for fifteen years and its true origins. I told him about Sevan's compass, how it had guided me safely through the coniferous forest to Aethon.
I told him about the gates of Aethon, the masked interrogator, the manner in which Rendell had appeared.
When I reached that point, I glanced at him.
He gave a small nod.
I told him about what I had done at the temple tonight. I told him about the Truth Statue. I told him about the instant I had called out "Tell me." I told him about the process of the statue lighting up. I told him about that fragment of Aethon's history within my consciousness. I told him about the final words the old priest had spoken to me.
Throughout my account, he never interrupted, never pressed for details, never questioned my judgment. He simply listened quietly, absorbing each harrowing experience with steady composure.
That manner of listening was more composed than the Rendell I remembered, more... inscrutable. I didn't know what he had been through during this time to make him so calm and silent.
I cast him a look of concern, hoping he would tell me about his own experiences or give me some news of my father and mother. But after a moment of contemplation, he spoke of something else instead.
"The Grand Seer," he finally said, his tone cautious.
I nodded.
"I heard about this person during my four days in Aethon."
"Mm."
"What did you hear about him?"