The cobblestone streets of Lorium, once a smooth, well-maintained thoroughfare, devolved into a chaotic jumble of uneven stones and gaping potholes as Areion and Romona ventured into the city's neglected underbelly. The vibrant, opulent side of capital city heart of Sangrael, with its gleaming shops and well-dressed nobles, vanished, replaced by a stark and unsettling reality. They walked, their figures concealed beneath hooded shrouds, their identities masked from the prying eyes of the city's forgotten inhabitants.
The air hung heavy with the stench of unwashed bodies, rotting refuse, and the acrid smoke from makeshift cooking fires. The once-grand city transformed into a labyrinth of ramshackle dwellings, constructed from scavenged wood and tattered cloth, clinging precariously to the edges of crumbling buildings. The vibrant hum of the city center was replaced by the low murmur of desperate voices, the clatter of makeshift carts, and the occasional cry of a hungry child.
Romona, her face pinched with distaste, surveyed the scene with a mixture of shock and disbelief. This was Lorium, the jewel of the realm, the city of light? She had never imagined such squalor existed within its walls. The roads, barely discernible paths through the debris, were choked with carts, laden with goods of questionable origin, the primary source of income for the struggling inhabitants. The people, their faces gaunt and their clothes ragged, moved with a weary resignation, their eyes devoid of hope.
She couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. In a hushed tone, she asked Areion, "Why are we here?"
Areion didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the scene before him, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be absorbing every detail, every nuance of the environment. Romona, her patience wearing thin, tapped him on the shoulder. "Your Majesty!"
Areion, startled, snapped out of his reverie and stopped in his tracks. He turned to her, his crimson eyes questioning. "What happened?"
Romona repeated her question, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation. "Why are we here? In this… this place?"
Areion replied calmly, his voice low and measured. "Shhh. People shouldn't know that I'm here. And for your question, let's just say I want to see something for myself." He resumed walking, his gaze sweeping across the dilapidated buildings and the downtrodden inhabitants.
Romona, her patience waning, followed him, rolling her eyes beneath her hood. "I don't want to be here," she muttered under her breath.
Areion, without turning, replied, "I didn't ask you to be here. You came on your own."
Romona, her frustration mounting, retorted, "Well, it's my duty to follow you, Areion."
He stopped again, turning to her with a look that bordered on exasperation. "Then keep quiet and just follow. It's important."
Romona, shaking her head in annoyance, waved him on almost telling to do whatever he wants. "Fine."
Areion walked for a few more minutes, his gaze darting from side to side, before stopping abruptly. He nudged Romona's shoulder. "Hey, Romona."
"Yes?" she replied, her voice laced with a hint of impatience.
"Hey, I want you to go to that shopkeeper," he said, pointing towards a ramshackle stall, its wooden planks half-rotted, its wares a motley collection of scavenged items.
Romona looked at the dilapidated shop, then back at Areion, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Okay, but what do you want me to do?"
Areion replied, his voice low and urgent, "Just go there and ask, in a low tone, something like, 'Sir, I heard there's a teacher in the area who teaches people for free.' And try to be emotional, try to be realistic." He began to explain with hand gestures, mimicking a crying face. "Say something like, 'Sir, I have a kid. I want him to study, but I don't have enough money to feed him, let alone get him an education.'"
Romona, her eyes widening, stared at him. "Okay," she said, still not fully understanding his purpose. "Fine." She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead. "But if this gets me killed, I'm blaming you."
Romona approached the ramshackle stall, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The air around her was thick with the stench of stale fish and damp wood, a stark contrast to the perfumed corridors of the royal palace. The shopkeeper, a gaunt man with sunken eyes and threadbare clothes, eyed her.
She took a deep breath, trying to suppress the wave of revulsion that threatened to overwhelm her, and forced herself to adopt a posture of desperate humility. She hunched her shoulders, letting her head droop, and allowed a tremor to enter her voice.
"Sir," she began, her voice barely a whisper, thick with forced emotion. "Sir, I… I heard there's a teacher in this area. Someone who… who teaches for free."
The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed, his gaze scrutinizing her beneath the shadow of his tattered cap. He shifted his weight, his calloused hands resting on the worn counter. "A teacher?" he rasped, his voice rough and suspicious. "What business do you have with a teacher?"
Romona's carefully constructed composure wavered. She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill, forcing her voice to tremble even more. "My… my son," she choked out, her voice cracking convincingly. "He's… he's bright, sir. He's always asking questions, wanting to learn. But… but I have nothing. Nothing to give him. I can barely feed him, let alone pay for an education."
She paused, allowing a single tear to trickle down her cheek, a feat of natural acting that would have impressed even the most seasoned court performer. "He deserves better, sir. He deserves a chance. But… but I'm just a poor widow. I don't know where to turn. I'm illiterate."
She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, her movements conveying a desperate vulnerability. "Please, sir. If you know anything… anything at all… I beg you, tell me."
The shopkeeper's expression softened, a flicker of pity replacing the initial suspicion. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "There's an old woman, lives in a shack near the river bend. They call her Raquel. She teaches the children, those who are willing to learn. Doesn't ask for payment. Just… just asks for them to listen."
He hesitated, his gaze shifting to the grimy street behind her. "But be warned. The place ain't safe. There are… things that happen there. Things best left undisturbed."
Romona, her heart pounding with a mixture of relief and apprehension, nodded, her voice barely audible. "Thank you, sir. Thank you."
She turned away, her shoulders still hunched, her movements slow and defeated. As soon as she was out of earshot, she straightened up, her face returning to its usual composed expression. [Perfect,] she thought to herself, a hint of pride mixing with the lingering disgust of the charade. [Even I'm impressed with my acting.]
She walked back to Areion, her stride regaining its usual confident pace. "I found out," she said, her voice low and clear. "There is an old woman who teaches the kids, for free. Her name is Raquel, and she lives by the river bend. But apparently, the place is dangerous."
Romona returned to Areion, her stride regaining its usual confident pace, the remnants of her forced humility vanishing like mist in morning sun. "I found out," she announced, her voice low and clear, a hint of professional satisfaction in her tone. "There's an old woman who teaches the kids, for free. Her name is Raquel, and she lives by the river bend. But apparently, the place is dangerous."
Areion raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine surprise in his crimson eyes. "Wow," he remarked, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "How are you so good at acting? Even for a moment, I thought you really were a desperate mother of a kid and a widow."
Romona laughed, a low, self-satisfied chuckle. "Years of observing the court, Your… Areion. You learn a thing or two." She puffed out her chest, a hint of playful boastfulness in her demeanor.
Areion, however, quickly silenced her with a sharp glance. "Keep it down, idiot," he hissed, his voice barely a whisper. "You're gonna get us busted."
They moved through the labyrinthine alleyways, their shrouded figures blending into the shadows, towards the river bend. The air grew damp and cold, carrying the earthy scent of the river and the faint, acrid smell of smoke. As they approached the location, a faint glow emanated from a ramshackle shed, a solitary beacon in the surrounding darkness.
"There," Areion whispered, pointing towards the shed.
They quickly found a shadowed area outside, large, jagged stones providing a natural barrier. They settled into a crouch, their movements silent and practiced. "Ohh, is she really inside?" Romona asked, her voice barely audible. "I can hear a woman's voice."
Areion didn't reply immediately. He gestured towards the surrounding area. "Keep an eye out," he instructed, his voice low and urgent. "Make sure no one can see us."
Romona nodded, her gaze sweeping across the dark alleyways and the surrounding sheds. She moved silently, her movements fluid and stealthy, finding a prone position in the shadow of the stones, her eyes fixed on the general direction of the shed.
Meanwhile, Areion moved closer to the shed, his movements as silent as a wraith. He pressed his ear against the rough, wooden wall, closing his eyes, his senses heightened, trying to decipher the sounds emanating from within. The voices within were hushed, a low murmur punctuated by the occasional raised tone. He focused, trying to filter out the ambient noise, to isolate the individual voices, to understand the words being spoken.
Areion strained his ears, trying to piece together the fragmented conversation, to understand the secrets hidden within the walls of the humble dwelling. He could hear Raquel's voice, aged but firm, interspersed with the soft, hesitant voices of children. He could also hear an undercurrent of something else, a low, rhythmic sound that he couldn't quite place, a subtle vibration that resonated through the wooden walls.