Даниил Зверков – The Last Queen Of Noctyra: Awakening Of Aronella (страница 9)

Aronella memorized. Words. Intonations. Meanings. Every phrase fell into place inside her, becoming part of a picture of the new world.

She moved on.

A butchers stall. Carcasses hanging from hooks. Flies circling over the counter. The smell of fresh, thick blood hit her like a blow. Hunger stirred inside her, but she forced it down.

Not here. Not now.

A forge. The clang of hammer on metal. Sparks flying. Red-hot iron changing shape under repeated blows. The smith—enormous, sweating, leather apron streaked black—roared at his apprentice, waving a pair of tongs.

A cart of fish. The stench so vile passersby recoiled from it while the driver only laughed, displaying rotten teeth.

A fountain square. Women filling jugs, talking, laughing. Children splashing in the basin despite their mothers shouts.

A tavern. From the open windows came drunken singing, the clatter of mugs, rough laughter.

Aronella stopped across from it and peered into the dark doorway.

The Broken Anchor, she read on the signboard. Old. Cracked. The image of a split anchor barely visible beneath layers of grime.

She remembered the place.

Then she moved on.

The longer she walked, the more she understood. The human world was noisy, filthy, frantic. But within all that frenzy there was life—real, rough, unrestrained.

Humans were born here, lived here, died here in these streets. They loved, hated, bargained, fought, laughed, wept.

And all of them were mortal.

Once she had looked down on them.

Now she walked among them.

She reached the far end of the market and stopped, watching the sun sink slowly behind the rooftops.

Day was fading.

The city was changing.

As the sun set, the streets began to empty. Merchants packed away their stalls, hammered shut their crates, hauled off what remained of their goods. The daytime bustle gave way to something else—quieter, but more dangerous.

Lights flared in the taverns. Drunken voices drifted out of alleyways. On the corners, suspicious figures began to appear, peering into the dark.

Aronella stood at the edge of the square and felt the air take on new scents—cheap wine, roasted meat, sweat, and fear.

The city at night was different.

And she was about to learn how.

The city had changed.

The sun had dropped quickly, as though it had fallen straight through the horizon, making way for darkness that crept out of every gap, every alley, every black corner where only shadows had hidden by day.

The streets were not completely empty—but the faces of those who remained had changed.

By day the cobbles had belonged to merchants, housewives with baskets, children, apprentices. Now other figures moved there—quick, silent, eyes accustomed to the dark.

Aronella stood beneath the shadow of an awning and watched.

Two cloaked men passed. One carried a long bundle that might have been a sword. The other looked back over his shoulder every few steps. They vanished into a side street without glancing at her.

Across from her, a group of drunken sailors stumbled out of a tavern, bellowing a song, slapping each other on the back. One lagged behind, leaned against a wall, and vomited into the street. The others did not even turn.

Somewhere in the distance, a woman screamed—short, sharp, suddenly cut off. No one came out to help. No one even opened a window.

The air was different now. By day it had smelled of fish, sweat, cheap perfume, fried onions. Now those scents were layered with others—the sour odor of fear, the smoke of scorched meat, the syrupy reek of bad wine, and another one too faint to catch at first but instantly familiar.

Blood.

Aronella moved along the wall, keeping to the shadows. Her feet carried her toward the places where the dark was thickest, where danger felt sharpest. It was not fear that drew her there, but the curiosity of a predator mapping a new territory.

She turned into a narrow alley.

No lamps burned there. The houses faced the alley with blank walls—no light in the windows, no opening anywhere. Only black stone and a black sky overhead.

Her steps were soundless. She walked, and the silence closed behind her, leaving no trace.

Ahead, voices.

She stopped, flattening herself against the wall, becoming part of the darkness.

He said it had to be by morning. Youll manage?

Got no choice. If they pay, Ill manage.

Just dont fail. You know what happens.

I know. Not my first time.

Two men. Speaking low, but in the stillness of night every word carried cleanly.

They passed within two paces of her without noticing. One carried a sack from which something long protruded—a handle, perhaps. They smelled of cheap tobacco and something else. Metal? Blood?

Aronella watched them go, then moved on.

The alley opened into a small square. Perhaps once it had been a market—stone stalls still stood there, empty now, littered with rubbish. In the center stood a dry fountain and a shattered statue.

Three men sat at the fountain.

They did not hide. They sat openly, as if the place belonged to them. One idly spun a knife between his fingers while the other two passed a clay bottle back and forth.

Aronella stopped at the edge of light and shadow.

She could have gone around. Taken another way. Slipped back into darkness and let none of them see her.

But something held her there.

She looked at them and knew what they were. Dangerous. Not to her—to those weaker than themselves. To those who found themselves alone in streets like this.

Predators.

Like her.

One of them lifted his head and looked straight toward her. For an instant she thought he had seen her—but no. His gaze slid past, into the blackness of the alley, then returned to the bottle.

Nothing there, he said. Nobody.

Aronella exhaled.

And then a noise came from behind her.

She turned—too late. A fourth figure had appeared as if out of the wall itself. He stood two paces away, grinning with broken teeth, a blade glinting in his hand.

Well, look at that, he whispered. A guest.

The three by the fountain were on their feet at once.

Quiet, one of them said. Dont make noise.