6. Chapter Six: Luka

Chapter Six – Luka

W hile waiting, Luka allows himself a moment to doze.

Something about spending weeks on the road means that now, curled on an impossibly comfortable mattress, even the distress pounding through him can do little to stir him from the softness. Vlia said he could have the room until noon, and he fully intends to use every minute until then.

Besides, Theo will be back soon.

But as Luka's eyes flutter shut and he drifts in and out of consciousness, a terrible realization strikes him: Theo has lied before.

He wars with himself; Theo hasn't been gone for long. Things are different this time – now that they are no longer bound by their responsibilities to their countries.

Now that they are disguised, fed, and rested. And Theo is perfectly capable of escaping on his own with the clothes I helped procure, comes a whisper from the back of Luka's mind, and some distant part of him recognizes the voice is not that of his trained, rational side, but that of the beastly creature he unleashed weeks before. The beast who reminds him that everyone else has left him – and for good cause. For why would they want to stay with a subhuman fool like Luka?

The thought shakes Luka awake. He stands, glaring at the rumpled sheets where he had been so lost to passion only hours before – so close to finally feeling Theo inside of him, no – now isn't the time to think about that.

He stares at the ominous, threatening morning clouds – rain, there was something about rains coming that should matter to him – a hand pressed to his growling stomach. Already, two hours have passed since Theo left.

It's been too much time.

The logical side of Luka clicks like the cold, unyielding gears of a clock. It finally joins in the chorus of worries streaming from his beast:

He's left me.

The thought seizes Luka's heart with teeth. Pain wheezes through him with every exhale. He circles the room as if hoping to find Theo tucked beneath the bed, before finally running a hand through his hair.

A slow rain starts to patter down the roof tiles. He registers it from far away: ah, yes, rain – the debut will begin tonight, and the prince will be looking for a consort.

Pull yourself together – you're a complete mess. You'll want to clean yourself before you leave here, a voice that sounds horrifyingly like his mother whispers. The rains have fallen, which means tonight you can see the prince. Tonight, you can make your move.

Luka closes his eyes. He gives Theo one last chance, and makes his way down to Vlia, who has set her stall beneath the awnings to take shelter from the storm. "Oh, your friend you brought here last night?" she coos when Luka asks. He doesn't have the energy to explain that Theo is not his and never will be. "Yes, he left a few hours ago. Into the marketplace, I believe."

And with that, Luka retreats to his room and hangs his head. For a minute, he allows tears to gather. He lets anguish overwhelm. He crumples and cries and curses and wishes that for once in Theo's life, he had told the truth. He wishes that he hadn't fallen for the Kiteran's lies – his kidnapper's lies – in the first place.

But then the minute passes and Luka forces himself to his feet. Their few coins rest on the windowsill. Luka collects them, scowling. Theo wanted to leave him so quickly, he abandoned all sense, it seems. Luka wipes tears from his cheeks. It is only because he seeks a distraction that he peers out the window, into the downpour now soaking the market streets below.

A small crowd wanders the streets, gathering at the center. There are girls racing hand and hand, darting over puddles and laughing with their heads thrown back. There are boys skipping and dancing. Everywhere, people celebrate the rains. Luka glumly entertains the thought that these people are allowed to go about their daily lives while his own falls apart, and the unfairness of it all.

But such selfish thoughts will do him no good – especially now, when he has been abandoned again.

No one will help you.

You have to do this yourself.

Luka releases a shaky breath as he leaves to find a bath. He won't be able to attract Cathalan if he's covered in tears and snot.

Clean and refreshed, Luka pretends the day has gone according to plan; only yesterday, he considered leaving Theo behind, after all. So, what does it matter today if Theo abandoned him? If anything, it makes Luka's life easier.

Luka repeats this mantra to himself as he slips into the main corridor of the inn, nodding to the man behind the counter. A complimentary breakfast has been spread over the table near the front door – a simple meal of porridge, dates, and a thin tea steaming in carved wooden mugs. Luka devours his serving in a few swallows. Hunger is the finest spice, and hunger sharpened by weeks of travel turns every bite into a delicious, almost dreamlike experience.

Luka pauses to observe his reflection before leaving the dimly lit inn, carefully wiping a stray bit of date from his cheek. His dark curls halo his face, now reaching his shoulders. Despite his best efforts, his blue eyes are rather bloodshot and his face worn – scrubbing frantically with warm water can only do so much to wash away the trials of the month prior.

It will have to be enough.

"Warm skies," Luka bids the innkeeper.

The man nods. "And rainy days," he says. "Goddess bless us, the storm has been hitting us for over an hour now."

Outside, the streets are damp and the canals full. Even standing in the door's threshold, Luka's sandals are soon soaked. The air clings, surely turning Luka's curls into a dark snarl.

Looking from the doorstep, the streets are far more crowded than they were an hour before. Already, boats wind down canals at the market's center, occupants lowering their heads against the downpour. People hum about with an almost nervous energy; fewer pause at the stalls and instead they pace to and fro, faces drawn. Umbrellas twirl over heads, casting spires of rain through the air.

Luka pauses by Vlia's stall. "Is something happening in the marketplace?" He jerks his chin toward the knot of people.

"Besides the winter storms?" Vlia replies, holding up a hand. She takes a long sip of the rain collected there, her lips curling into a warm smile. "The Third Blessed Heir is coming."

"Here?" Luka could hardly believe his luck.

Vlia nods. "He has an announcement to make – likely something to do with his debut tonight, seeing as how the storms came even sooner than expected. His father isn't even cold in the ground yet. An eccentric, that one, never much caring for the rules," she says with a smile. "Such a silly, pretty man." The chuckle that escapes her is almost fond.

Unsure how to reply, Luka makes a noise of assent. All I have to do is catch Cathalan's eye now, then I won't have to worry about standing out at the debut gathering.

Luka didn't realize how clear his thoughts must have been in his face. Vlia chuckles. "Wipe that excited grin away, hessa . His announcement is purely political."

"So is marriage."

Vlia scoffs. "You think you're enough to attract his attention even without political attachments?"

"My mother is of a noble house."

Vlia looks him over. "And you are very pretty, I suppose," she says. "Though there will be lots of pretty young fellows vying for his attention tonight. Work hard, hatchling. And don't forget to show off my wares."

Luka dips his head in assent and slips away. He weaves between huddled groups of teenage girls with long, damp hair braided with dripping flowers. He passes vendor stalls – empty, he realizes with a furrowed brow – and slick bridges, dodging the flashing oars of a canal boat.

It takes him far too long to notice he is being followed.

In his defense, the pair of individuals are easy to miss; they are dressed much the same as the others in the crowd in rain-dampened robes, only these two wear matching necklaces bearing a single white canine, their faces obscured. Luka doubles back to the inn – and the first does the same. The second lingers, waiting for a moment, pretending to observe a stall, before following.

Luka's throat tightens. Did Theo make a deal and turn me in as an accomplice?

But no – Theo is wanted dead or alive. Perhaps he was captured – and these people are now hunting Luka? What kind of punishment would someone receive for helping a wanted criminal?

Beneath the cold logic, an animal wail bursts through Luka's mind at the thought of perhaps Theo being captured – that's the reason he didn't come back to me. Or worse – Theo being dead –

None of that matters now, though. Theo has left him. Theo can do with his life whatever he pleases and no matter what he chooses, it won't hurt me. It won't.

Luka pauses on the outskirts of a group of men his age immersed in conversation, pretending to nod along while he watches his followers out of the corner of his eye. Gender is hard to tell – their faces are hidden by shining fabric. They are both larger than Luka and move with a kind of martial grace – not an elegant flow, but more of a dangerous stomp, warning anyone to get out of their way. Luka has seen that kind of movement once before…

With the Kiterans.

Luka swallows. Obviously combat is out of the question. The thought alone brings back dreadful memories of hot, salty blood filling his mouth and an endless hunger roaring in his gut. His beast stirs, and Luka grits his teeth. It's all he can do to lean against an empty stall and keep down his breakfast.

The crowd around him murmurs, a few people gasping and others raising their voices in excitement. But Luka doesn't have the time to pay them mind.

He'll need to shake these followers somehow – a feat which should be easy enough in the rapidly growing snarl of the crowd. Luka takes a quick breath and starts moving again, this time more aggressively. Maybe, if he can make it back to Vlia's stall, he'll be able to trade his robes. That would provide him enough of a disguise to lose them –

Luka stumbles as he suddenly breaks free of the crowd, nearly tumbling into the canal beside him. He hadn't noticed because of his height (or lack thereof), but the people have drawn aside to create a pathway through the center of the marketplace. As Luka bursts free, he falls, hitting the dirt.

Blinking with surprise, Luka looks up –

Oh, Thought.

Regally dressed camels tower over him, less than an arm's length away. They're impossibly tall, dressed in emerald greens and blood reds trimmed with gold. People clothed in scales that shine in the soft downpour ride the first three, the glinting armor covering them from wrist to ankle while a ceremonial chainmail-like cloth covers their faces. Beyond them, a group of men in white robes carry a palanquin.

The prince.

"What are you doing, you rat?" someone says and seizes Luka by the back of his robes, yanking him to his feet. Pulled free of the oncoming camel's hooves, Luka heaves a sigh of relief, rising on his toes to try and make out the palanquin's contents.

But it seems everyone else in the crowd has the same idea. A group of young men elbow past Luka to the front. They cheer and shout, only waylaid by the three camel-mounted guards who swing their heads, sheets of face-armor swaying, malice radiating. The men freeze and the crowd stills as the royal entourage continues, rain plinking from their armor.

Luka tries to press closer toward the palanquin while keeping an eye on his pursuers – but they have vanished.

Luka wets dry lips. New plan.

He again makes his way to the front of the crowd, framing his face with the most eloquent and alluring of smiles. Cathalan is here. Luka only needs to catch the prince's eye – and escape the people who might be trying to kill him.

The palanquin rides closer. A single man sits inside, larger than Luka expected the prince to be. In fact, the hunch of his shoulders and the general curl of his posture looks almost… too familiar.

As does the shine of blond hair escaping his hood –

Theo?

Luka pauses. No, he stops completely. Even his heart halts as he stares.

People elbow past him. Luka is shoved aside – but he can still see as the palanquin rides by. As Theo sits, his face covered but for his eyes in a dark hood, locked in chains, eyes downcast.

Luka's throat tightens with words, but his body remains unable to move. You didn't leave.

His hand reaches out as if he could somehow save Theo with a caress of the cheek. Tears burn down his face. This is all wrong. This is not how this is supposed to go.

Behind Theo's palanquin, a man rides on a white horse. Five guards surround him on their camels, and the crowd squeals as the man raises his hand to wave. But none of that matters – Luka can't look away from Theo.

Theo, as if sensing Luka's urgent stare, raises his head. He scans the crowd – whose coos turn to jeers.

Theo's eyes meet Luka's. His gaze softens, just like it always does before Luka and Theo are about to kiss.

I will get you out of this , Luka tries to promise with his gaze alone. In that moment, nothing matters beyond Theo's safety. The world falls away as he holds the Kiteran's gaze, the pain from that morning forgotten completely.

But then Theo's eyes widen with urgency. Anger lights his face like a flame as his attention darts to something over Luka's shoulder –

Impyassus instinct alone is what makes Luka duck.

A shining blade slices the air where Luka's throat was seconds before. The attacker narrowly avoids slicing a nearby man's shoulder. The Balivartian yelps in alarm.

Luka tries to shove away and catch sight of his attacker, but already the dark-clothed figure is spinning, bleeding into the crowd. Luka's heart roars as he searches the crowd, trying to find the blade –

"No!" Theo screams, and Luka throws himself to the right – but this time, he's too slow.

Pain starbursts in Luka's side as a blade slices his beautiful robes. Luka muffles his cry with gritted teeth as he spins, facing a –

A skull?

Ghastly and bone-white, the face of his attacker is covered in a – what must be a mask – but before Luka can fully register any distinguishing features, the figure disappears again.

Luka claps his hand to his side. Blood soaks through his robes in seconds. The pain vanishes beneath the pounding of his heart, now so loud it shakes the world. Luka blinks, stumbling.

"Get back!" the prince's guards shout as they swing their camels about, moving to protect the prince. One throws themselves from their mount in pursuit of the assassin, shouting, "Stop in the name of the Third Blessed Prince!"

But Luka hears little of this. All he registers is a voice, a familiar voice, screaming in a bone-rattling roar: "GET OUT OF HERE!"

Luka manages to shove past people in the crowd. Dimly, the shouts of the guards on their camels register. The carriage holding Theo rattles away, followed by the man on the white horse.

No .

No, I can't let them take him away again.

Blood soaks his side as Luka staggers against a young woman. She squeals, shoving him away, and Luka leaves with her scarf clutched between his bloody fingers. By the time the woman notices its absence, Luka is gone, wrapping the sapphire fabric around his head, covering his dark locks. He winces as he tears the sparkling cloth of his robes, using the material to bind his side, and he takes a few valuable seconds to examine the cut.

Bile rises in his throat. It isn't as bad as the pain would imply, but the blood has yet to cease. He tightens his makeshift bandage. Pain explodes through him, sudden and sharp, as he does so. Darkness swims before his lids, but Luka focuses on Theo – Theo disappearing into the heart of the city – Theo captured, likely riding to his execution –

"No, no, no," Luka whispers. He tries to make himself walk. He must have put enough space between himself and his attackers – attackers who are now being hunted by the royal guards. The strength drains from his legs as he forces himself onwards. The crowd surges, the citizens eager to follow their prince.

The prince.

Luka closes his eyes against his own stupidity. He had been so focused on Theo, he hadn't even bothered to look at Cathalan. What in Thought's name is wrong with me?

Every shadow in the passing alleyways looks like a masked figure. Every sparkle of light upon a bejeweled head or long robe looks like a sharpened blade. Luka isn't sure he would survive another attack.

I need to get out of here. I just need to get Cathalan's attention – he will notice me. I can get him to save me.

But as Luka follows the crowd and raises his bloodied hands and shouts for the Third Blessed Heir, his cries are lost to the roar of the people. He is surrounded by people doing the same.

The rider on the white horse swings his head, dark eyes glinting in the sun. He smiles, the expression empty, and rides away.

Luka sinks to his knees, a rock in the flow of the crowd, as his blood darkens Balivartia's streets. I've lost Theo. I couldn't get to Cathalan.

The skies open up and mid-morning rain pours down. In seconds, Luka is soaked, injured, and alone.