《Swordbourne》


 Chapter 1 Elora

    Chapter 1


    Elora


    I perch on top of an abandoned building, focusing on the crowd below to distract myself from the blood trickling down my arm. I leap down and land in the shadows. I slide through several alleys, keeping close to the wall. I slip a block of cheese from a merchant¡¯s cart into my cloak. I clutch it close to my chest before allowing myself to be swallowed by the crow of running children and bustling townspeople. I turn down a narrow alley.


    A merchant is busy talking to a woman in a green dress. The shade is familiar and I don¡¯t know why. I take my chance to sneak a neglected iced bun from a basket on his cart. I¡¯m fading into the shadows, slipping away, about to turn into a busier street when the woman¡¯s eyes lock onto mine. I¡¯m unable to move at the sight of the shocking pink. A sea of pink with flecks of silver, possibly the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. I feel like I¡¯ve seen her before. No. I probably haven¡¯t. The hairs on the back of my neck prick up as she fixes me with a cool stare.


    I stumble back into the alley wall. My fingers find the leather sheathe at my side. The woman turns around and I stand there for a moment, before starting down street. My boots pound the cobbled street, the onslaught causing merchants to turn their heads. I run past clusters of gossiping townsfolk, towards the abandoned house at the edge of town.


    I¡¯m greeted by the familiar, peeling blue paint and the aged oak door and smile slightly. I tuck the food into my cloak pocket, slightly squishing the iced bun. I make my way over to the edge of the house and shimmy my way up a damaged lamppost. Once I reach the top I leap from the black pole and hoist myself up onto the sill of one of the boarded windows. My fingers slide across the stony wall until they find the seam of the roof. A pair of rough hands pull me up onto the roof.


    I sit on the cold stone. ¡°Thanks, Luke¡± I huff out between deep breaths. My brother grins. ¡°Guess what I got!¡± he says, pulling me to my feet. ¡°What?¡± His grins grows as he pulls a crumpled newspaper from his tattered doublet pocket. My mouth pulls into a smile ¡°Where did you get this?¡± ¡°Nicked it off a merchant¡± he shrugs. A wide grin spreads across my face.


    Luke and I have been ¡°camping¡± out on this rooftop for the past two years. We had to leave home and find out how to survive by ourselves. I smile as I sit down on the cold roof slates, reading the headline of the first page. My smiles drops.


    Wanted dead or alive


    I look at the picture of a boy who looked no older than me. Luke sits down beside me. He sighs. ¡°That¡¯s pretty messed up¡± he says. I nod in agreement. I lay down and roll over to flip through the pages and something smushes in my pocket. I grimace as I remember the iced bun I stuffed in my pocket along with the cheese. ¡°I slipped food from a few merchants. If you can still call it food¡± I say as I pull the sticky mess from my pocket. Luke grins and doesn¡¯t hesitate before snatching the bun and halving it in two. He greedily stuffs his half of the bun into his mouth. ¡°I call anything food¡± he mumbles between chews. I let out a quiet laugh. I take a bite of bun and grin. I shift so I¡¯m facing the now setting sun. Soft shades of purple, pink, oranges, occasionally breaking up the darkness. Inking the sky. My father loved sunsets, loved the brilliant hues. And I loved watching him sketch them. ¡°Father would have loved it¡± I say, my eyes set intently on the sky in front of me. Luke sighs and I see his fists clench as he spread out beside me. ¡°He would have, yeah¡± Luke says, so quietly the words are barely audible.


    Father gave me his locket the last time we ever watched a sunset together. I keep the locket in a wooden box rolled in a blanket at the bottom of my pack. Some nights I take the necklace and let it carry me to sleep. The thought has me clutching at my throat. My fingers wrap around a silver chain. I unclasp the locket and run my hands over it. My thumb resting on the delicate R engraved into the center piece. I rest the locket in my hands, shielding it away from the world. I have to fight my eyelids to stay open as sleep begins to claim me.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    I sigh as I unroll my sleeping bag and lie down. I dig my hand into my pockets until my fingers clasp over a small, leather notebook. I hug it close to my chest, my fingers running along the worn pages.


    I take a candle from my pack and light it with one of my last matches. Using the candle light, I flip to one of my favorite pages. The one with my favorite one of father¡¯s drawings. A swallow.


    I love all of my father¡¯s drawings, but I love this one especially because it was my father¡¯s favorite bird. He said it reminded him of mother. My index finger traces the over the ink. My father had picture upon picture of swallows in my ¡ªold ¡ª home. Luke lays his blanket beside mine and we huddle together, flicking through the sketch book.


    Luke yawns. ¡°Goodnight, idiot.¡±


    ¡°Goodnight¡± I whisper.


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    Flickers of sunlight wake me with a groan. I roll over not ready to wake from my dreams. ¡°Rise and shine, El¡± Luke says as he tugs at my blanket. Cold licks my ankles and I let out a half asleep cry. He grimaces at my protests. And tugs harder. I grumble into the tattered, pillow that is now my source of comfort. ¡°Elora, please¡± he says with a sigh, as he prizes it from my balled fists. The cold air rushes to cover me with its crisp, unpleasant grip. I sit up, now alert and thoroughly irritated.


    ¡°YOU TORRENTIAL TOAD I¡¯M TRYING TO SLEEP!¡±


    Luke doesn¡¯t look surprised by my outburst, instead he looks like he¡¯s contemplating throwing me off the roof.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense-¡°


    ¡°GODDAMMIT! JUST GIVE ME BACK THE PILLOW!¡±


    I am just about to slew together a more interesting group of insults when a soft laugh comes from behind my disgruntled body. I turn slightly to see a guard standing beside a girl with dancing, pink eyes. Her hair is in a knot at the nape of her neck. My eyes scan back to her eyes, pink. It¡¯s the woman from yesterday. I hastily wipe the annoyance from my face and get to my feet. She looks different from yesterday, she¡¯s wearing a light green dress, and her features look more relaxed. I hastily wipe the annoyance from my face and get to my feet. She saw me take the loaf. She¡¯s here with a guard, she¡¯s here to give me the punishment I so thoroughly deserve after years of thieving. This is the end.


    Luke sighs. ¡°Now that you¡¯re finally awake,¡± he says gesturing to the guard and the woman with the pink eyes ¡°These two people wish to talk to you.¡± I prepare myself for the punishment that¡¯s likely going to be a public hanging. ¡°Wonderful¡± I say with a forced smile.


    I take in the woman¡¯s appearance, wanting to know exactly who it is to blame ¡ªother than myself, of course ¡ª for the pain I am about to experience. She¡¯s wearing a black cape, embroidered with little pink swirls to match her eyes, resting at about hip length. The woman¡¯s hair is tucked into the hood but strands of light brown hair are escaping and messily framing her face. She has a pendant with a gold chain that dances in the light that adorns her chest with a small black jewel.


    I try to not harden my gaze. One thing is clear, she is higher class. Normal townsfolk don¡¯t walk around with necklaces that lavish, or the air of confidence this woman clearly possesses. My eyes look over her pink ones once more. Realization hits like a mace swung directly at my stomach. ¡°You¡¯re¡­you¡¯re the princess¡± I say. ¡°One of two¡± she replies simply. I don¡¯t know exactly how I failed to comprehend that a princess was on my roof, probably here to lock my away and ensure my thieving comes to halt. Or just kill me. My eyes dart nervously around the roof top, looking for the best possible escape route. I could escape, slip into the shadows and never be seen again. I would be leaving Luke here. I¡¯m a terrible a terrible sister.


    I am also a dirty thief who was caught by the princess. Hide your emotions. Nonchalant. I don¡¯t care I am about to be caught. Freedom is overrated. I fix the princess with an indifferent stare. ¡°There is a carriage waiting for us. You and your brother should pack light¡± she says, turning away to say something to her guard.


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    I look out the window. I can¡¯t meet Luke¡¯s eyes, so I preoccupy myself by thinking of escape routes.


    I¡¯ve been contemplating sacrificing myself to save Luke. Not that he needs saving, I¡¯m pretty sure that we¡¯re going to my execution. But I like thinking of escape plans. I shift and turn to see everyone staring at me. ¡°What?¡± I ask. Luke¡¯s looks down at my fist, I follow his gaze. ¡°Oh.¡± My finger nails were digging into my fist so hard they were drawing blood. ¡°Uh, sorry¡± I wipe my palms off my cloak. The princess looks away.


    I look down at the floor of the carriage. Luke nudges me with one shoulder. ¡°You alright?¡±


    ¡°What? Oh. I¡¯m fine¡± I shrug off his touch. I am as far from fine as a charred candle wick. My brother doesn¡¯t know I am about to be executed. And that he willingly offered me up for death, but I¡¯ll try not to focus on that.


    Luke raises an eyebrow. ¡°Okay¡± he says.