After days of hard travel, I finally allow myself to come to a stop. And there's a reason why. In front of us is the entrance to Lona. Where there once were iron gates to keep out those not welcome to the city, they have been torn off their hinges and likely sold for parts. Now anyone can walk into this city, but they might not be welcome.

"Keep watch," Renit instructs.

I nod, following at his side as we make our way into the city. Down the way, birds peck at heads that have been spiked along the outer fence, near someone's residence. Their sickening caws echo through the air, rendering this city dangerous before I've taken three breaths inside the walls.

Casually, I keep my hand on the pommel of my sword. We fold into the crowd of residents living daily lives in such a cruel place. Not one of them appears to care about the crows or the sickening screams of a man being beat one street over. Even Renit has to stop himself from intruding on what is taking place, he could find himself in the same position if he steps one foot out of line.

From what I can see of the residents on the street, there's a reason why this place is nestled so deep in the mountain and why no one wants to come here. Many of them are missing limbs, eyes, ears, or parts of their skin have been burnt beyond recognition and sealed with the shavings of titanium. At one point or the other, these people have been tortured and left to die. That's why they're here—death doesn't matter.

This is the only time I don't mind keeping myself so close to Renit's side that I lock my arm with his. He doesn't seem to be paying attention, he's too busy watching the rooftops of the stone buildings. Every few thatched roofs have someone crouching on the top, watching the activity below. Assassins or thieves, I wouldn't dare ask.

Believe everyone is out to get you. They pull innocents off the streets to fight for much less than a glare.

Clouds blot out the sunlight, heavy and grey with an oncoming storm. We managed to avoid that storm for as long as necessary but it followed us here, either by Renit's will or nature itself.

We turn down one of the streets, emptier than the other, and I nearly stop dead in my tracks at the sight of what awaits us. In the center of what appears to be the Lona square, two bodies hang from a gibbet. The tattered bits of their clothes sway in the breeze. But that's not it. Blood leaks onto the stone from two citizens that tried to prevent the deaths. They lie face down in puddles of water that have turned a sickly shade of red.

My grip tightens on Renit's arm as we pass it and move onto the next. The streets here are wide, which means there's enough room for everyone to see the horrors that go on. But the buildings are in better conditions than Ducoria. Although the stone is blood-splattered and greyer than the clouds hovering over us, they're not completely ruined. For whatever reason, the citizens of Lona have kept their homes and businesses intact.

"It's not the destruction of the land that grants revenge," Renit whispers. "It's the killing of those that put them here in the first place."

There is no better way to explain it than the way Renit did. I swallow down the nervous lump in my throat as we pass a tavern placed in the shadow of two stone buildings and hiding behind two large trees. At least it was a tavern, the door is barred and the windows have long been taken out. Not broken like in Ducoria but repurposed for something else.

"They're...wiser here," I realize.

"That's why we need to watch our back."

Any person that looks at us is immediately sizing up our strengths and weapons for later use. We need to find an inn and hide out where we won't be recognized by the deadlier residents of this place. There are still innocents here, those that don't want to fight, but their jobs are to go against us, not their people. They're the bartenders, the harlots, the blacksmiths, the farriers—anyone that provides a service.

On every street we turn down, a gibbet or guillotine greets us. The killing devices are accompanied by dried or flesh blood and a sickening creak in the wood caused by the shifting breeze. Like they're calling out to us, a reminder that we could be next. And that's not the worst of it. Mixed in with the market are crosses with dead people that have long been nailed to them as punishment for crimes committed.

I pull a handkerchief over my face to block out the smell.

Our boots splash through puddles of thick blood mixing with the beginning sprinkles of rain. No one seems to care that some of these people nailed to the crosses are still alive, pleading by moaning and groaning through their teeth and tears. I can barely stand to look at them, let alone help. Renit appears to be dealing with the same troubles.

This is the place that his father visited and prides himself on. The city that kills without reason. A city that blames the innocents for their misfortunes and sides with the cruel man on the throne that put them there in the first place.

Every few minutes or so, a shiver snakes up my spine and I have to resist the urge to look over my shoulder. Someone could be following us, but Renit's back is as stiff as a board which means mine should be the same. Mimic the prince and we'll make it to wherever we're going.

That's evident when he turns down a back alley and instead of finding himself in the middle of a fight of punches and hidden knives, cuts through and opens the door to a stone building. Immediately, I'm hit by the scent of strong ale and what appears to be flour and fish. A tavern, then.

And the name over the top reads in carved lettering by a knife: The Greased Barrel.

This is the place Renit referred to nights ago, when we were attacked by one of the mountain dwellers. He killed the trainers here, among others, and isn't afraid to step foot back onto the dusty wooden floorboards mixed with kicked hay and sticky splatters of spilled ale.

Guiding me towards the bar instead of one of the tables towards the back with no company, Renit places a hand on my back. "Sit and don't speak," he whispers close to my ear. All affection I should be feeling is gone, I'm more concerned about taking my next breath rather than feeling something more than friendship for Renit.

My legs shake and once I'm sitting on the stool at the bar, my knee bounces up and down. No longer resisting the urge to keep my eyes forward, I glance over my shoulder at the rest of the tavern. The only person here is a burly man sitting at one of the tables in the corner, the seat of the booth in front of him blocking most of his features. I spot a dark beard, scars, and...one blind eye. He looks at me at the same time I look away.

Renit takes a seat in the stool next to me and rasps his knuckles on the sticky wooden counter. On the other side, barrels filled with ale and a wall of mugs look back at us. Something swims in the ale and I grimace, hoping it's a garnish for flavor and not a mouse that happened to take its final breath and drown right on the top.

A fireplace in the corner is a weak source of warmth on a day like this, it's too warm for a fire but not hot enough to go without a cloak. At the same time that thought goes through my mind, Renit tugs the hood of my cloak over my head and does the same for his own. When I look at him to ask why, he won't meet my eye. But that's when I hear the bell chime over the door we just walked through.

Drunken laughter erupts from the two men that enter, stumbling over each other. They slam into one of the tables, knocking over a chair that they don't bother to pick up. One of them, a young fellow with more hair on his arms than on his head, hits the counter chest first and peers over the edge. "Hello?" He calls out in a sing-song tune. "We need some drinks, my fine bartender. And a harlot on the side." Turning back to his buddy, he snickers. Drool pools from the corner of his mouth.

The side door bangs open and I jump, already moving for a knife but Renit grabs my hand and holds tight. It's just the bartender. He frowns at the men first then turns to Renit and slows his stride, eyes wide. As soon as that recognition is there, it's gone again once he turns back to the men that desperately called for drinks.

They slouch into two wooden chairs and lean back, singing an old ballad about two sailors who drown at sea. I heard that ballad time and time before and not since I was a child.

"We need two of your finest ales, bartender," one of them slurs. The other knocks his fist on the table which causes a chain of laughter that annoys every corner of my brain.

The bartender, rolling his eyes, dunks two mugs into the barrels and golden ale leaks over the sides and splatters onto the floorboards. Now they're stomping their boots, shaking the entire foundation of the tavern. That's when I hear the crack.

Renit immediately whips his stare over to the two men, now silent. A second crack follows and I dare to look behind me to find both men—their necks twisted. The burly man from the corner of the tavern stands over them, huffing anger. He cracks his knuckles and, giving one final nod to the bartender now pouring the ale back into the barrels, stomps out of the tavern and slams the door behind him.

I release a shuddered breath quiet enough for only me to hear. This city is twisted, same as the necks of those two young men. They were rowdy but that doesn't mean they deserved to die. Here—anything is a direct cause of death. Even misbehaving in public.

One of their bodies slumps to the floor, slamming hard, and I squeeze my eyes shut. The bartender hardly pays any attention as he turns to us, raising his eyebrows. "It's been awhile," he says by way of greeting. He doesn't show enjoyment in the sight of Renit sitting across from him, the bartender's stare is flat and unamused by the two of us. As if we're no better than the possible mice floating in his ale.

"I see this place hasn't changed, Echo," Renit responds. Silver eyes dart briefly around before settling back on the target in front of him. A young witch with short, dark hair and dull blue eyes. He's thin, much too thin to be healthy, and looks more like a ghost than a witch. One that is immortal, considering he knows Renit.

"Neither have you. From what I've heard, you're still killing your way around this kingdom." Echo dunks two clean mugs—as if the two before are now considered dirty—into the ale and slams them onto the counter for us. I don't bother touching mine, the ale spills over the sides and lands onto the counter in front of me. And he had to pull it from the barrel with something floating along the surface.

Renit leans back in his stool and crosses his large, muscular arms across his chest. "I do what I have to do to survive, same as you in a place like this."

"That's one way to put it. Unlike you, I don't enjoy having to kill those that don't agree with my father's policies." Echo grabs a clean mug, recently washed, and dries the inside with a tattered cloth. They never tear their eyes away from each other. They're so pinned onto the other that I wonder if Echo even noticed me in the first place or went straight to finding out why the hell Renit stepped foot into his tavern after more than one-hundred years.

The prince takes the handle of the mug in his hand but doesn't drink. Instead, he examines the surface of the golden ale and darts his intimidating stare back to the witch in front of him. "Let's cut past the formalities, Echo. I need information."

Echo laughs, a cold, hate-filled thing, and slams down the now-dried mug. Every move he makes is full of anger. "Of course you do. And let me guess—you're going to threaten to kill me if I don't give it to you for free?" He has the audacity to smile.

"Not this time." Renit places three gold coins onto the counter, stunning me completely, and raises his dark eyebrows at the bartender.

Echo stares at those coins, nearly drooling out of the corner of his mouth, but doesn't dare reach for them. They're too close to the prince's reach and a knife in the back of the hand is much worse than losing three coins for being careful.

When silence as deadly as a sharpened blade stretches from one end of the tavern to the other, all the way to the winding stone staircase and snaking its way to the kitchen beyond, I think it's over. Echo has considered and he'll agree to helping us with whatever we need. Then his eyes dart to me and he studies my face the way someone looks at their enemy. There's already a knife up my sleeve that they're not aware of so if he makes any sudden movements—

"Let me guess, this is Darlene's replacement," Echo muses. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and I try not to look stunned at what he just said. Those words...that statement is worthy of a fight. "Took you long enough, I figured you would weep over her forever, considering what you did to kill her in the first place—"

Before he can finish what he's going to say next, I reach across the counter, grabbing the short hair on his head. The knife from my sleeve is dislodged in a second as his head slams against the wood counter, directly in the pile of ale that spilled minutes ago.

I press the blade to the tip of his nose and whisper closely in his ear, "Say another word and I'll slide this knife so far into your eye that you'll have to dig it out." Although he reeks of the ale and rotten food, I blink the burn away and focus my anger on what snarky comments Echo might have in store.

He blinks, realizing what just happened, and Renit smirks. "She's feisty. Smart choice, find love in a witch of ground. Two birds, one stone," Echo says. I push him away and when he's standing at full height again, barely bothers with a startled glance. My attack didn't faze him at all.

"We're not in love," I growl. I mimic Renit's stance by leaning back and crossing my arms over my chest. "Any witch of all-seeing would be able to figure that out."

Echo laughs under his breath. "And she's smart. You found yourself a keeper, prince. I would keep an eye on her though. A pretty face like that tends to draw more attention than what you would like." He points the ragged cloth at me. Renit, not caring for a word he just said, pushes the three gold coins closer to Echo's side of the counter.

"Give us our information," I snap.

"Fine." Echo's eyes flash with boredom. "What can I do for you? Wait—I already know. You need information about a lord's estate because you're looking for something. A box—ah, you've come a long way, prince. Tell me, what do you carry in that satchel of yours?"

"Something tells me you already know," Renit growls. In the satchel slung across Renit's chest, he carries all three boxes with him. They're a heavy weight, not only in size but in value as well. Anyone who gets their hands on them will find themselves with much more of a prize than they were expecting.

Of course, Echo would be aware of what we carry. That only makes him more dangerous. "That last one is hidden in the treasure trove of Lord Cavanaugh's estate, correct?" Renit nods slowly, calmly. With a pale hand with long fingers to scratch at the hair I grabbed onto before, Echo stares at the both of us—seemingly at once. "He's holding a birthday celebration for his wife two nights from now. You'll be able to slip in undetected. But since the Lord is aware of your face, I suggest sending in someone a little less...noticeable." As he reaches forward to grab the coins, Echo looks to me as the answer.

This means I'll be retrieving the final box. The one that will take us back to Arego. And I'll be doing it in the midst of a celebration, surrounded by killers, Lords, and important residents to the throne. I try to avoid worrying about that now as Echo can hear my every thought, precisely why he is grinning at me with such joy in his dull eyes.