Shadows Over Arcadia Chapter 55: 54. House Hunting

Read chapter 55 of Shadows Over Arcadia by Zacheas on NovelPedia.

I am Maribel Holloway, age 16—rogue adventurer. Envy, Shadow, and I set out to escort Prince Drakemore and his attendant. That mission has… evolved. https://shadowsoverarcadia.com/api/storage/objects/uploads/3436dbb7-6e63-4972-b7d2-a17b68e373de “Here it is,” announces Quin from the back of Shadow’s wagon, pointing to a narrow, empty plot wedged between a building with barred windows and a raised wooden platform sporting four gallows. Quin is tall, slender, and middle-aged, wearing a frilled uniform better suited to a castle ballroom than a city street. His pompous tone and the smug tilt of his chin make his face very punchable. An impulse you’ve done a great job resisting. For now. He’s one of King Thaddeon’s aides, tasked with showing the prince potential sites for his new apothecary. So yes—our simple escort job has swerved into curing a plague and opening a business. That’s what we’re doing now, apparently. Yeah, didn’t see that one coming. “You mean, behind the alleyway between the gallows and… what is that?” Ren asks, one brow raised skeptically. “That’s the jailhouse for those awaiting public execution,” Quin replies matter-of-factly. “Efficient,” I mutter, holding Envy’s mask toward the building to give her a better view. Ren exhales sharply. “So our apothecary’s view would be either people being executed, or the ones waiting their turn?” “That won’t be your only view, my young prince,” Quin says, gesturing across the street. “Two market roads converge right here, forming the capital’s grandest marketplace—your apothecary would be its crowning jewel.” “Grandest market?” I repeat under my breath. There are people buying and selling, but it looks more like desperate folks scraping together what little they can for basic necessities. “That would imply their other markets are even worse.” “Does this city have more than one market street?” Shadow asks, echoing my exact thought. “Just the one, actually…” Quin admits awkwardly, before quickly pivoting with practiced cheer. “But you couldn’t be closer to where your customers are!” “Perhaps,” Ren says, clearly unimpressed. “But we’re not looking for an empty lot. We need an existing building.” “As you wish,” Quin replies, momentarily taken aback but recovering swiftly. “I have another excellent option just ahead.” He gestures forward, and Shadow flicks the reins to set the wagon in motion. We roll down the crowded market street, the people ahead parting like water around a ship. The buildings flanking us are simple gray forms—functional, box-like structures built with all the passion of a bricklayer on a deadline. The crowd is a blend of races, clad in plain clothes just as utilitarian as their surroundings. Even Quin’s frilled uniform—by far the most flamboyant thing in sight—feels tame compared to the gaudy excess of Lord Fobos back in Arcadia. “You know you don’t need to do that, right?” I’m jarred from my people-watching and glance over to see Ren watching me with a raised brow. “What do you mean?” He points at the Envy mask I’ve been holding out in front of me, following my line of sight wherever I look. I glance down at it, then back at him. “Envy doesn’t see through the eyes of the mask,” he says. “I know that!” I snap, frowning. “She knows I see through her eyes.” “Well then, why are you waving her mask around like that?” Ren asks. “She asked me to take her out of the bag for a while.” “After what happened at the castle, I wanted her to keep me on hand. I didn’t like not being able to help.” “There’s that,” I admit, “but it also just feels weird shoving my friend into a bag.” Ren shrugs. Apparently, our reasoning is enough for him to lose interest in arguing the point. Then his nose wrinkles sharply, and his expression twists in disgust. “Ugh, what is that smell?” he mutters, glancing around apparently trying to locate the source of the stench. The smell hits me a second later—like death warmed over. It stings my nostrils and settles thick on the back of my tongue. Quin