The expanse of cornfields finally shrank far behind us. After walking for hours beneath the blazing sun now perched directly overhead, the landscape changed into a rocky dirt road cutting through a crowded settlement.
We had now set foot at the outermost edge of the Kingspire border.
The hot midday air here was no longer scented with the freshness of dew, but with dry dust, burning wood, livestock droppings, and the noisy bustle of the locals.
Tywin walked behind me in small steps. His mud-stained, torn clothes stood out painfully beneath the harsh midday sun. He looked like a red flag loudly announcing his presence to anyone in this settlement with ill intentions.
For both our safety, we had to change clothes immediately.
I stopped in front of a shabby clothing shop with a faded cloth curtain hanging over the doorway.
A brass bell rang softly when I pushed open the weathered wooden door, welcoming us with stacks of coarse wool and cheap linen.
I chose the simplest children's clothes for Tywin: cloth pants and a plain shirt that was slightly too large.
I ordered Tywin to change out of his expensive clothes behind a wooden partition in the corner of the room.
Once he was finished, I tossed Tywin's cloak and silk clothes onto the counter.
The shopkeeper, a portly middle-aged man with cracked glasses perched at the end of his nose, stared at the pile of fabric with raised brows. His rough fingers stroked the already dirty folds of silk, examining the quality of the fine weave beneath them.
The man's eyes narrowed. He looked at me, then shifted his gaze to Tywin, who stood silently at my side.
"This fabric..."
"...is high-quality silk," the shopkeeper muttered, his tone probing.
"This boy must be a noble, right?"
My wariness suddenly rose.
My hand moved inconspicuously toward the sword hilt at my waist. But before the situation could heat up, a flash of greed swept across the man's eyes.
For a small-time merchant on the border, curiosity was never worth more than the potential profit from a nobleman's castoffs.
"Four gold pieces for everything," I said coldly, forcing my voice to leave no room for negotiation.
The man swallowed, then hurriedly pulled the expensive fabric beneath his counter before I could change my mind. Without daring to ask anything else, he placed a handful of metal coins in my hand.
After paying for Tywin's new clothes, we left and made our way along the increasingly busy border streets in the middle of the day.
Our next destination was a local combat equipment shop with a wrought-iron emblem hanging above its door.
Inside the shop, warmed by the blast of the furnace, I offered all the iron armor I was wearing for sale.
The breastplate, pauldrons, and iron greaves all changed hands.
A knight without armor was easy prey, but in this settlement, a border soldier's full armor would only arouse suspicion and put our lives at risk.
I kept only the longsword at my waist and the thin byrnie tucked tightly beneath my shirt.
I stored all the money from selling the armor and expensive clothes in the leather pouch at my waist.
With the pouch now adequately filled, I led Tywin toward a bar at the corner of the intersection.
The midday atmosphere inside the tavern was fairly raucous, filled with the laughter of laborers, street merchants, and the sharp aroma of beer hanging in the air.
We chose the table in the farthest corner, with our backs to a solid stone wall so I could watch all the main entrances.
Not long afterward, a server brought our order. A glass of warm milk and a large bowl of butter-scented grain porridge for Tywin, while I ordered only a glass of cold beer to wet my dry throat.
Tywin immediately devoured his porridge, gripping the wooden spoon with a hand that trembled slightly from hunger after the long journey. He gulped down his milk until it left a white line above his lip.
I sipped my beer slowly, looking at the boy with pity carefully hidden behind my expression.
He was only ten years old.
A child this young could not yet understand the complexities of kingdom politics, knew nothing about the struggle for power, and bore absolutely no guilt for the bloody conspiracy in Kingspire.
And yet... this cruel world had taken his entire family from him in a single night and forced his small shoulders to bear the burden alone.
Thump...
A heavy slap suddenly landed on my right shoulder.
"Cassian?"
"You really are Cassian, aren't you?"
The rough, startled voice snapped me out of my thoughts. My body's reflexes nearly made me draw my sword, but my eyes caught sight of a muscular man with a scar running across his face.
"Ronnie?"