8. Chapter Eight: Luka

Chapter Eight – Luka

L uka finds an alleyway and hides there for what is likely only an hour or so, but feels like days. The wound in his side aches. He grits his teeth as he peels back his bandages, examining the cut. It is not as deep as he thought, but this is likely thanks to his impyassus healing. Gradually, his bleeding stops – though the rain does not. The skies remain open and gray, thundering down buckets of water until Luka is soaked and shivering. He takes a moment to feel sorry for himself, to tuck his chin against his chest and let his tears mix with the rain, but then he shakes his head and wipes his cheeks.

The first order of business: who is my attacker?

Luka presses his head against the dusty sandstone. He forces himself to recall the minute details of the person who assaulted him: they had been average height, perhaps a little taller than him. Their hair covered by a hood and their face by a bone mask – bone mask…

Balivartians are associated with snakes. They wouldn't have used a human skull.

Luka sinks his teeth into his lip as he mentally notes that his attacker was likely not local.

How long had they been following me?

Luka tries to cast back to his travels – he and Theo were careful, of course, but exhaustion and fear made it difficult to cover their tracks. And once they entered Balivartia, Theo was immediately discovered.

But why attack me now?

This is someone who has been waiting for a moment when they could strike and kill Luka in a crowd under the shield of anonymity. But… there were few people in Balivartia that knew his face, and among that handful, none wanted him killed… probably.

Was the attacker associated with Theo's capture?

Again, unlikely: the Third Blessed Prince was behind that, and he wanted Theo dead or alive. Why would Cathalan use a foreigner to attack Theo's associates?

No, this is someone else.

As Luka gnaws his lip, his thoughts sidetrack when images of Theo flood his mind. Are they torturing him now? Or preparing for his execution?

Luka hisses through clenched teeth, wrestling down his beast. Every thought of Theo captured – injured – aggravated it.

He digs his finger into the wound at his side. The pain brings him back.

"Focus," he hisses. "What are my next moves?"

He closes his eyes as he visualizes the Cesse board. He conjures a skull-masked opponent sitting opposite, teeth bared in a lipless smile. Luka takes in his scattered pieces lost to the enemy and his own precarious position and comes to the same conclusion as always:

I need allies.

"Cathalan," Luka whispers.

His eyes fly open as he stares down at his hands – fine hands with long slender fingers. Even the rough weeks of travel have left little marks, leaving him with noble-smooth skin.

No. Not noble-smooth skin.

Consort -smooth skin.

"Oh, shed my skin – you've done something terrible to my work here, haven't you?"

Vlia takes in Luka's bedraggled appearance with a mixture of concern and apprehension, her quirked lips covered with one hand. She leans against the inn's hallway. The candles flicker, fighting off the darkness brought by the noontime rainstorm.

Luka struggles to come up with a believable excuse. Finally, he manages: "When I first approached you, I didn't tell you the full truth of why I had come to Balivartia."

Vlia raises a brow. She pulls her sheer emerald robe closer, tapping against the sandstone wall at her back. "…and?"

Luka presses a little closer, casting a worried glance at the street. But it is as empty as it was the last three times he checked for pursuers. "My mother was supposed to come here instead of me. I insisted because I wanted to meet the Third Blessed Prince… I didn't yet know of his debut, but now, after learning of it – I have to be there tonight."

"And your handsome young man from last evening?"

Luka fights to keep his expression even. "He is gone."

Vlia appraises him. She finally says, "Sweet egg, you're dripping rainwater on the carpet." Her smile is gentle. "Please tell me the part where this is relevant to myself."

"Cathalan and I are friends from childhood."

At the sound of the Third Blessed Prince's name, Vlia's second eyebrow rises to join the first. "The vainest heir? The one who refuses to let the sun kiss his skin? You jest."

Despite himself, Luka fights a smile. Even as children, Cathalan refused to go into the sun. My mother says it is the source of all wrinkles was a strange thing to hear from a teenager's lips but even odder, it made perfect sense coming from Cathalan's mouth.

Luka shakes his head. "We met when my mother first took me to the city as a child. She is an important… person, and Cathalan and I found each other upon that first visit. We… bonded. If he is to marry…" Luka pauses, wetting his lips. "I need Cathalan in my life. I cannot let this opportunity pass me by."

"You really think he will pick you? Because of your childhood bond?"

"He needs many consorts for the… upcoming trials, does he not?" Luka struggles to remember Balivartian heir courtship rituals. Though he learned them as a child from his mother's texts, full of censorship marks, all he can recall now is that they are oddly barbaric –but compelling.

Vlia smiles. "As many as he can protect –if he is wise."

Her words should be concerning, but it is far too late for Luka to back out of this plan now. "The Cathalan from my memories is nothing but."

Vlia considers him again, looking him over. "And if you become the royal consort, you will remember me fondly?"

"Your wares are worthy of such attention," Luka says after a moment's pause. He scans Vlia's face, trying to read the furrow between her brows. His heart sinks.

"Sweet egg," Vlia says. "You must understand that I am a merchant. I can give away my wares for a price, but if you can't model again –"

Luka shakes his head; to do so would be dangerous, and he is already running out of time. The few coins he has left surely won't be enough to afford Vlia's products.

Vlia sighs. "Then you must understand I can't simply give away my wares for a promise," she says. "I can provide you some old bandages for that wound though." She nods to where Luka claps his hand to his side.

Luka bows his head, defeated. He tries to think of a second plan, but his side aches and there's rain dripping from his hair down the back of his neck, and he wants nothing more than to go back to earlier that morning, when he was still waiting in bed for Theo to return to him.

The guards to the Oasis won't allow me entrance as I am, Luka thinks, glumly. The rains have raked most of the grime from his scuffle away, but his clothes are damp and blood stained. I'm sorry, Theo.

His mother's voice rings bell-like through his thoughts as Vlia snakes through the hallway, Luka trailing behind. Vlia enters a dark corridor while Luka lingers outside. You should have prepared better, she would say, without a doubt, if she were here. Studied more. You might have succeeded had you been better.

But no – Linne wouldn't have said that.

You were never enough in the first place.

Vlia emerges with an armful of clothes. Luka glumly accepts, struggling to summon a grateful smile. He looks down at the rags –

– these aren't rags.

"Vlia," Luka says. "These are Kiteran robes."

Vlia sighs. "Oh, I suppose with you being so close to the border it would make sense you would recognize them. They were failures. I had hoped something exotic and deceptively simple would catch some noble's eye, but no one bought them. Probably because they're ugly."

Luka unfolds the robe. Made from a simple linen, it looks painfully plain in comparison to Vlia's sparkling clothes. But the material is fine and soft – lighter weight than Theo's Kiteran robes. It would cling better to Luka's body.

What better way to stand out from the crowd than to wear something plain in a sea of sparkles and glitter?

What better way to stand out than to wear something that belongs to the enemy that Cathalan is hunting?

"It's perfect," Luka murmurs.

Vlia's lips curl into a small smile. "I was hoping you would say that."

Luka can barely tear his eyes away from the robes. "You'd give them to me?"

Vlia scoffs. "These rags? You can take all that you need – so long as you tell all who admire them where you got them." Her eyes twinkle. "Just make sure if my husband asks, you tell him they were scraps. I am running a business here, after all."

Luka nods. "This is perfect," he says again, this time to himself.

"Yes, you should have enough time before sunset to… tidy yourself." Vlia flicks a hand.

Luka summons a smile for Vlia, who grins back at him widely. "Sun warm you, nameless stranger," she says.

"May the dusts conceal you," Luka replies, before adding, "Luka. My name is Luka."

Vlia chuckles. "If you are lucky, I will wait for the wedding announcement for when First Consort Luka and our soon to be king are wed."

Yes, if Luka is lucky, he will be married by the next rainfall. Assuming he passes Cathalan's trials.

He doesn't allow himself to consider what that marriage might look like – if Cathalan might have changed in the time since Luka last saw him. He can only focus on the present and the soft fabric beneath his fingers.

Afterall, if Luka is able to save Theo – that is, gain allies – this will all be worth it.