Prince Nera Mossveil's Arc

Chapter 7 of 23

Nera left Gareth in the grove before midnight and moved down toward the market alone to set his own eyes on the wine shop roof. He wore the tattered robe over his gear and a wide straw hat pulled low, the same beggar shape that had fooled riders on the road days before. The dragonfly stayed tethered behind him in the trees. He crossed the outer stalls at the hour when the drunks slept and the guards blinked slow. He found a shuttered bakery across from the wine shop and folded himself into the gap between its wall and a stack of empty crates. The corner window above the shop showed one lamp. Two men stood at the mouth of the back stair. Nera counted their shifts against the scrap in his belt. The times matched. He settled to wait out the hour and watch the roofline for the climb he would make before dawn. A dog came around the crates. It was thin and market-bred, ribs showing under short fur. It stopped a pace from his boot and lifted its nose. Its ears went forward. Then it began to bark, sharp and steady, the kind of bark that did not stop. One of the stair guards turned his head. The other stepped off the step and started across the lane. Nera did not draw the blessed dagger. A dead dog in the street would bring more questions than a live one. He pulled a strip of dried meat from the pouch under the robe and held it flat on his palm. The dog kept barking. He pushed the meat closer, slow, and hooked one finger under its jaw as it lunged for the food. He clamped its mouth shut around the strip and lifted it against his chest under the robe. The barking cut to a muffled whine. He stroked its back once, hard, the way a farmer quiets a lamb. The guard reached the middle of the lane and stopped. He looked at the crates. He looked up at the window. Nera held the dog and did not breathe. A second dog answered from two streets over, then a third. The guard spat, waved a hand at the noise, and walked back to the stair. He said something to his partner. Both laughed short and settled again. Nera stayed against the wall until the dog in his arms went slack from the meat and the warmth. He set it down behind the crates and stepped it toward the bakery door with a nudge of his boot. It trotted off without looking back. His hands shook once and then stopped. The window lamp above the shop had not moved. The guards had not called up the stair. He was still hidden. The hour before dawn was still his. He fixed the straw hat lower on his brow and began to count down the watches to the climb.