Wicked is the Curse.

05 | The Market

Chapter Five | The Market

For the days after the execution, Junhyn had people tracking the Bloodbound throughout Irial.

 Aire had taken most of the shifts unwillingly and called on what spirits she could to track it for her. Royden was on task that day, his pinkie bone nestled under her soft male-cut léine. She tracked this Bloodbound down from the Bakery stretch, ignoring Royden lamenting about how he could never taste freshly baked bread ever again.

"You must truly love me, Aire." Royden stared after a woman who carried a woven basket of bread on her hip.

"Why is that?" She murmured, staying far back from the Bloodbound. He talked with a terrified man who traded him a small currant bun for a flashing coin. Strange. It was law that Bloodbounds got whatever they asked for without cost. They couldn't be hindered in their duties by something as paltry as money.

"You carry a piece of me against your heart. Only woman who are madly in love do that."

She rolled her eyes. "Eejit.

The Bloodbound still bore his signature gold threaded clothes, with a cuffed léine made of simple pale cotton. His leather trousers were splattered by the mud of Lower Irial and his boots were scuffed by travel. Not the conditions she expected from a beloved hunting-dog of the Emperor. Still, it amazed her how silently it could move. He walked with a long-legged gait, slipping through the throngs of people who realized what he was too late. He paid little attention to their jerky, panicked attempts to step away from him as he ate his currant bun.

Maybe only Wielders felt the flash of cold when a Bloodbound approached. Was it a natural response to a threat of the wicked magic that cursed her or the spirits pressing warnings on her to be careful. Even if it was just her, the people here turned at the approach of the Bloodbound, pressing themselves back against the stone walls and shielding their faces as if hoping that the stone would swallow them and they would be hidden from harm.

She followed him down to the markets with a sense of growing frustrations. The Bloodbound had done nothing odd following the execution. He just walked through the city aimlessly, getting lost in the maze of streets and closely blocked tenement houses. She didn't doubt that he was ready to kill at a moment's notice and if he knew what snuck behind him, she would be dead. Her wield, though sparking, was too damp and weak to be of any notice. Not after years of crushing it down and ignoring it. Still, she had taken more of her depleting stash this morning and her blood felt thick and slow. The beast under her skin was silent – she was safe for another while.

The Bloodbound continued down an empty narrow path, so she cut down another side-road. She knew where his path would lead him and the thought of following him down a narrow alleyway with only the two of them un-nerved her too much.

The markets were in full swing, under the shadow of the moon-tower. A half-sun, draped in thick black clouds, did her best to shine down upon them. Vendors sold what wares they could, their shouts cloying with the overpowering scents; roasting rabbits, more fresh bread, mangy dogs that skulked around the stalls and the foreign scent of orange blossom from scented fabrics that cost too much for the thousands of starving inhabitants of Irial. Ribbons, in a rainbow of colour, streamed in the wind.

At the centre of the market-square, sitting at the foot of the statue of the Emperor, were a group of young lads. They watched the markets and chattered loudly, their legs swinging back and forth as they tucked into bowls of stewed apple. A young girl darted between the bodies in the crowd, chased by a stressed our maid. Her hair, thick and long, streamed behind her. The poor kept their hair short, often encouraged to cut it for a measly purse of coin and to further the divide between rich and poor.