He thrust aside the thought that he’d grown perfectly comfortable with Azriel, Bellamy, and the twins. He’d been too pampered at Moon Flower, had been lulled into a false sense of security, and he cursed under his breath for turning soft and forgetting himself.
Could anyone blame him? He only wanted to survive long enough to see some of his simple aspirations come to fruition. Hopefully that wasn’t too much to ask. Even if his dreams felt somehow lonelier now.
He passed through the seedier outskirts of town, where the houses were narrower and shabbier. As he neared the bridge, he recognized some of the characters from the last time he sought shelter there, and he breathed out in relief. At least they were familiar—down to the hollowness in their eyes. Some came from the mines or the mills, having found temporary work, but not long enough to sustain a decent living or a permanent residence.
Galen kept to himself and didn’t try to make friends, but they did look out for one another, especially if any trouble came their way. No one wanted any skirmishes with the authorities or the peddlers of dark magic, who waited in the shadows, trying to swindle naive customers into buying their harmful wares.
As he passed farther under the bridge, he grew weary, needing to rest for a spell. Every space seemed taken, which meant foul weather was expected. If he didn’t find a dry space to squat, he would have to look for some room under a tree near the stream.
He was considering his options when he was waved over by a woman named Agnes, who’d always shown him kindness. She’d even shared her quilt on chillier nights. Much like Galen’s drawing pad, it was the one thing she owned, and she protected it fiercely. Apparently, she’d left with it the night she was suspected of stealing silverware from her mistress’s home. Falsely accused or not, it didn’t really matter, since the authorities would never take her word over her mistress’s.
“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Agnes said in a hoarse voice, and before he could respond, he was cut off by her hacking cough.
He stepped closer. “Are you ill?”
She waved him off. “It’s the changing of seasons, lad. Spring is on the horizon, and sometimes it causes a tickle in my throat.”
He wasn’t sure he believed her, so he vowed to keep an eye on her, in case she took a turn for the worse.
“I can make room.” She patted her quilt, which looked even more ragged than the last time he’d seen it, despite her faithfully washing it in the stream.
“Thank you.” He settled in beside her, trying not to use too much space, lest she regret her offer. And now that he got a closer look, she appeared even thinner. “Has the weather been foul?”
“The rain has been steady most days.” She threw him a strange look, probably wondering why he didn’t know the weather for himself, and his cheeks heated that he’d given himself away. The truth was, he’d been so tightly tucked away at Moon Flower, he hadn’t needed to worry about the conditions outside. Agnes knew very well how he made his coin, so she might’ve guessed that a wealthy gentleman took pity on him before tossing him aside. She might’ve also imagined more perilous fates.
“No wonder you have a tickle in your throat,” Galen said, and she wouldn’t meet his eye. Undoubtedly, not much currency had met her tin can if the society ladies were unable to stroll and shop in more pleasant weather.
He rummaged through his bag, pausing briefly when his fingers passed over the smooth colored wax he’d been gifted. “I have food, if you’re hungry.” Her weary eyes lit up as he passed her some of the bread he’d saved. “Here, I’ve already eaten.”
She only hesitated briefly before tucking a bite in her cheek. She must’ve been famished, and he knew the feeling all too well. He nearly felt guilty for eating his fill the past several days.
He stayed put for the time being, simply resting his sore feet from the too-small shoes, as he listened absently to the others’ murmurings. A fire was lit in a bin at the edge of the bridge, and once he felt its warmth, it lulled him to sleep.
The first crack of lightning made his eyes spring open. The wicked storm blowing through town kept him awake, and he was grateful for the shelter. Eventually, he was able to drift off to the steady sound of the raindrops against the roof.
He awoke stiff the next morning, a sharp reminder of what it felt like to sleep on the hard ground. He searched for Agnes and saw her washing up near the stream with some of the others who’d stayed the night. Even from a distance, he could hear her cough was more pronounced. If she caught a chill, who knew how fast she might deteriorate. He pulled out the remainder of the bread, took some bites, then saved the rest for her.