Near the front of a stone building, a small child huddles next to an even smaller child. Their clothes are full of patches and holes, and their hair is matted and unkempt. The girl's sunken eyes contrast with her hollowed cheeks, and the little boy’s legs resemble nothing more than twigs.
They raise their heads with a spark of hope in their eyes as people hurry past, their expressions a mixture of desperation and longing. I cannot keep walking and ignore them. So, I step closer and extend my hand, offering them my bundle of bread and pastries. They need it more than I do.
They eagerly tear open the wrapping, their hungry gazes feasting upon the sight of the fresh bread and sweet pastries.
They rip off chunks of bread and take greedy bites of the food. Crumbs fall from their mouths and scatter on the ground, but they pay no attention.
Sadness swells inside me as I watch them. They have nothing, and hunger is probably a relentless companion.
It shouldn’t be this way. Not for them. Not for anyone.
As they finish the last of the food, their tiny hands clutch at the empty wrapping, as if they can’t bear to let go.
My heart breaking, I hand them my flagon.
“Thank you,” the older one says.
“Of course.”
I continue my journey, but when I enter the heart of the city, I come to a halt, struck by ten metal cages suspended from sturdy brackets. Each one is occupied by a man wearing a silver phoenix on his surcoat.
One of them, a young man with dark blond hair and vivid blue eyes, catches my gaze, and my heart squeezes, knowing his Fate.
My lungs burn as I continue past them, their gaunt faces lingering through my mind. Their agony. Their lost hope.
I have heard grim tales of how House of Crimson imprisons men and women from House of Silver in cages and leaves them to wither away. I never wanted to believe it was true.
My legs tremble with the overpowering urge to turn and help them, to offer some semblance of hope, but reason prevails. Even if I were able to set them free, they would be too weak to run, and we would all be caught.
The gods help us all!
I push aside the haunting vision of those caged men and concentrate on my determination to escape this city. It’s all I have right now.
As I pass by a group of rough-looking men loitering outside a shop, one of them calls out to me. “Hello, beautiful lady, why don’t you come here?”
I ignore him and quicken my pace, but the men follow me.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” one of the men asks as he grabs me and tightens his meaty fingers around my thin arm. “Stay and spend time with us.”
Panic grips me as I try to pull away, but he’s too strong. “Please,” I say pathetically.
They only move closer, their bodies crowding me.
“There’s no need to beg. We’ll give you what you want.”
What I want is to be free!
Anger courses through my veins as I recall my brother teaching me to defend myself. Summoning my strength, I twist my arm sharply, escaping the man’s grasp. When he reaches for me again, I kick his shin. He howls in pain and stumbles backward.
I pivot and run, my heart pounding in my chest. Behind me, the men curse and shout, but I don’t dare look back. Instead, I weave through the crowded streets, my every step a prayer to lose them.
The city’s gates shimmer on the horizon, offering a beacon of hope, of freedom. My lungs burn as I sprint toward them.
A hand seizes the back of my cloak, yanking me backward with a sudden, brutal force. I stumble and fall to the unforgiving ground, the cobblestones scraping against my knees.
The men surround me, their leering faces making my skin crawl. My mind screams for refuge, for safety, but I do not find it.
“What’s the matter?” one of them sneers. “Don’t you want to get to know me?”
