Urgal’s nose led them all the way into Midnere before he lost the scent. Clearly, Telos had made it this far, at least. But something had happened here, and he had either veered off into the forest, or else there were simply too many other smells for Urgal to successfully track him.

  The town was abuzz with gossip. She heard fragments as she strolled by with her massive warrior-cat in tow.

  “Smoke to the north! I heard that The House of the Verdant Sun is burning to the ground.”

  “That’s a bad omen if ever there was one.”

  “True enough. And my boy, Johnny, swears he saw a ship passing over last night.”

  “Pah!”

  “My boy Johnny he’s not the fanciful type…”

  “The gods are done with us, Miranda. They left a long time go.”

  “Just because they’ve left doesn’t mean they can’t come back!”

  Ylia inquired of the petrified stablemaster whether anyone had bought a horse from him, and he said no, “Although, there have been a lot of people coming and going. There was that Warden from Ob-koron.”

  Ylia grit her teeth.

  “Did you see which way he went?”

  The stablemaster hesitated, but then he saw Urgal baring fangs and pointed off into the woods.

  “That way. And him and his posse were riding faster than a damn sky-ship! They were sure in a hurry to get somewhere.”

  Ylia thanked him and went on her way.

  She climbed onto a fence running along the main high street and paused. Urgal curled up at her feet. Many of the townsfolk gave her a wide berth because of the cat, which she was grateful for. A few who were regular patrons waved. She did not have the heart to wave back at them.

  She pondered what to do. If Telos had fled into the forest, and the Warden had pursued him there, then she was unlikely to be able to find him. Telos was probably dead. The wild parts of the forest were inhabited by all kinds of beasts, from bears to wolves to giant spiders. The Warden was clearly in hot pursuit if the stablemaster’s story was anything to go by.

  But… Telos struck her as a survivor. He’d escaped prison, hoodwinked her with a bit of old-fashioned charm. He was a man who landed on his feet. Just like a cat, she thought. No wonder Urgal likes him. There was a sliver of chance he might survive, and if he did, he would be likely to try and follow through on the plan she had helped him concoct, and go to Gorgosa. Her only hope was to go where Telos was ultimately going and wait for him there.

  The only problem now was money. She had no funds to secure transport to Gorgosa, and it was a week’s journey on foot at the least.

  For a moment longer she sat and dwelt in a timeless moment. Smoke rose from the chimneys of cottages. Merchants hawked and sold. More distantly, a woman hung washing upon a line and sang. Children scampered along the treeline, flirting with the dangerous boundaries of their world. This was a good place, she thought. She had chosen well. She would return here, once she had retrieved what belonged to her.

  Two carts trundled along the high street, each drawn by a strong shire horse. Ylia smiled. They were heading eastward, towards Gorgosa. Where money failed, perhaps charm could prevail.

  The first cart was manned by a young man with flaxen hair and his father, who looked like a gnarled tree come to life. The second was driven by a man entirely in black robes. She couldn’t get a read on the man in robes, which of course was probably intentional, so she decided her best course was to approach the young man and his father.

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  “Come on, Urgal.”

  She skipped up to the cart and the driver pulled on the reins, slowing the huge wagon to slow standstill. The back of the wagon was loaded with large purple-skinned potatoes. It’d clearly been a good harvest for them this year.

  “Excuse me, sirs,” Ylia said, as sweetly as she could, smiling at the young man holding the reins in particular. “I am terribly sorry to bother you. But you don’t happen to be heading towards Gorgosa, do you?”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed.

  “What’s it to you?”

  “My brother is terribly sick,” she said, thinking of how she planned to make Telos terribly sick when she finally got her hands on him. “But I have no Relics for a horse, and no way of getting there.”

  She was not the world’s finest actress, but she thought she put on a good show of grief. Urgal sat nonchalantly by her side, which likely did not help matters much, but she hoped the nice view she was giving them of her cleavage might offset the monstrous cat somewhat.

  To her surprise, the old man laughed.

  “You think I don’t recognise you, Ylia Hart? Why, every man, woman, and child from here to the Island of Dreams knows about the tavern-wench who spreads her legs for custom.”

  Ylia felt the heat in her face, hotter than the fires that’d burned down her House, burned down a life’s work.

  But the old man was not done.

  “Look, son! See how she tries to win us over with her wiles, as if she doesn’t have more Relics and Demons stashed under her floorboards than the bloody king of Yarruk! Ha!” The old man leaned over the side of the wagon, bringing his face almost nose-to-nose with hers. “You might try your charm on me, girl, but I raised my boy good.” He mussed his son’s hair. The boy said nothing all the while, just looked down, shamefaced, afraid to speak in his father’s presence. “He’ll not be seduced by the likes of you. And if he does want a whore, he’ll want one less well-used! Ya!”

  Grabbing the reins from his son, he whipped them, startling the shire horse, who lurched into a canter. Both man and boy nearly fell as the wagon rocketed off down the highway, leaving Ylia stood there trying to hold back tears.

  Usually, insults hurt more when they were true, but this baseless lie—a lie that persisted despite all evidence to the contrary—was a knife in her heart. She had never opened her legs for profit, nor ever would, no matter how bad things got. She was demonised simply because she was beautiful.

  “A curse on all men,” she snarled. Especially Telos. She admired the man’s cunning to the same degree she loathed his existence. Although the Warden had been the one to set the fire, she knew it was Telos who had truly caused her downfall. If he had never come to her House, then it would still be standing.

  “Excuse me, miss.”

  She turned at the sound of the voice. The second cart, the one driven by the man in black robes, had softly trundled up the street towards her. The merchant—for his wagon was full of crates that could only contain valuable goods—now leaned over the wagon’s side, peering at her from beneath his hood.

  Only when she met the merchant’s eyes did Ylia realise her mistake. This was not a man. The merchant wore a band over her mouth and nose, but there was no mistaking the softness of her voice. The pallor of her skin and the curiously narrow shape of her eyes told Ylia more: she was a Qi’shathian.

  “I am Qala,” the merchant said. “Am I correct in understanding that you wish for passage to Gorgosa?”

  Qala spoke with the great formality of one mastering a second language.

  “Y-yes. Yes, thank you.”

  Qala extended a hand. Ylia gripped it. The woman’s strength was surprising as she effortlessly hauled Ylia, who stood a full head taller than her, onto the wagon. Urgal circled and leapt up on the other side. Qala let out a laugh that sounded like a musical instrument just a touch out of tune.

  “You have a Daimonborn felidae at your heel?”

  Ylia smiled.

  “Yes. His name is Urgal.”

  “Urgal… The old names are the best. I’m sure it is quite a story, how he came to be yours. I would like if you should tell it to me on the journey. That can be your payment.”

  “Gladly.”

  “Then we are of accord. May the Seventh Gate open!”

  With that, Qala cracked the reins, and the wagon rolled forward down the dirt track and out of Midnere.