Philippa pulled the cowl closer as she passed through the gate. The Blackguards searched through the possessions of passers-by. Blackguards, known Igniters, were also mercenaries. They were fickle men and greedy always looking for more sanctums. They had been taking Lothdale men to the chopping block only two days before. Their black and white army coats added to the fearsome personas, although she feared the Burned Men more.

Loc Morred was a dangerous place, a trap for the young duke. Philippa never looked up, she never wanted to ever look at the castle walls because she knew what it is that she would find. The traitor’s wall was a known spectacle of the commoners.

Sunrise gate was manned by several of the Burned Men. Their black helms had a hellish red skull embellished them. The spectacle of them unnerved her, rapier and muskets were clearly on display, there had been a ruckus previously between the Blackguards and the Burned Men. It had left three men dead; those who had incited the fight had been left to rot up high.

The Falcon banners were burning in the distance; they had been encased in a film allowing them to be set alight yet not burn to ash. Encased in steel, feet swung in the air, Philippa forced her gaze to her trembling legs.

“Where are you off to?” Philippa started.

“Oi you, take that cloak off.” Philippa pulled her cloak ever tighter. “I said take that cloak off, are you shattered or something?” The man had the country tones of Gracepoint. Rough hands gripped her cloak and ripped it from her. Azure and silver brought to light.

“You’re not going anywhere! Grab her.” Hands reached for her, and she did the thing she knew best… to run. Burn this dress! She reluctantly dropped the sacks she carried, as the distance increased she glanced back at her provision. She had to get away, to escape, to grow old. Shouting and the clanking of armour followed her as she passed some merchants; they were of Vindaheim descent, their high collared coats with elaborately stitched clouds on the collar and back.

“You, down here!” There was a man in the heraldry of town crier. There was an alley, she darted for him. Lifting her dress, she removed a stiletto dagger, she held it against his throat, she could see his pulse beating, not erratic, steady.

“Don’t shout or I’ll cut your throat.” The fat man, while sweating, calmly pushed the dagger from his throat.

“We both know that you won’t, because if you had been able to kill, you would have been marched to gallows or the blocks depending on if you’re highborn or not” The man said. “I would guess not.” “I could have killed you, I could have cut your throat, I could have…”

“...Or the Burned men would have cut yours if I hadn’t saved you.” Philippa felt the burning in her cheeks; she looked anywhere but at the man.

“I’m sorry everything has just gotten on top of me. My name is Philippa.” The fat man nodded, his peaked cap nodding back and forth.

“My name is Haryl Luewyck; I am the resident crier for the sunset district.”

“Why did you help me, Haryl? I am nothing to you.” “Perhaps you were nothing to me but your duke on the other hand…”

“He was a usurper to the crown, to your king.” Haryl took off his hat, he slicked back his sweaty black hair. His robes were the crimson and yellow of the sunset district, with a sinking sun on each shoulder.

“Who says Usteon is my king? There are too many sovereigns at the moment, did you know that the rebels have crowned that poor sickly child, Serena Lothdale. I wonder how Usteon is taking that one.” Philippa’s thoughts were all jumbled. Serena being crowned Queen? Serena had always been a sickly child; Trystan’s half-sister, his bastard sister. The childish naivety that Serena had, must now be purged from her.

Haryl disturbed her thoughts. “You should go to her; she is your liege lord.” “Serena is a child, barely seen her tenth year.” “And yet she is the crowned queen, a usurper before her eleventh year. You had best use that dagger of yours to cut yourself free of that dress or at least make it a little shorter.” Philippa used the dagger to take strips out of her dress, the azure and silver rags now shredded at her feet.

Haryl disturbed her thoughts. “You should go to her; she is your liege lord.”

“Serena is a child, barely seen her tenth year.”

“And yet she is the crowned queen, a usurper before her eleventh year. You had best use that dagger of yours to cut yourself free of that dress or at least make it a little shorter.” Philippa used the dagger to take strips out of her dress, the azure and silver rags shredded at her feet.

“I must leave you now, Philippa. The time is near for the next declaration. The burned men are said to be transporting some of those mirror witches for burning, they will be travelling through viper gate.” The man bowed a little, and then turned to walk away from her.

“Haryl… Thank you.”

“Thank the sigil on your breast and child…”

“Yes?”

“Beware the Grey Fox.” Haryl strolled away.

“Beware the Grey fox? What does that mean?” But Haryl was gone.

Next Chapter: A promise kept