Claude took the steps to the ground level two at a time with his mother and Ashon in tow. By the time he got to the bottom, the nervous sweat that had accumulated on his shirt had dried up, but his heart still raced. He continued his march through the foyer, past throngs of uniformed people, and out into the late morning air. The spring looked even more vibrant. The air was crisper. The cloud of perfumes didn't make him dizzy. He was alive. Fate had favoured him.

Or rather, Amadeus and Undine. He'd had to write to them the first chance he got. Two years was all he had to convince the Baraza to not kill him. He wasn't sure how he'd go about that, but he could at least convince them he was not a spy and hope that was enough. He'd have to learn the ways of this city and its people to avoid stepping out of line.

Claude stopped at the edge of the road that led to the docks and rubbed his face, contemplating if it was still worth going to the market anymore. He could use it as an opportunity to clear his head. If he was going to be stuck in this city for two years, he needed to find work. The market could be the perfect place for him to look.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he jumped.

"It's alright," his mother said from behind him. "I'm sorry. Had I known this was going to be escalated all the way to the Baraza, I would've planned better."

His stomach turned as the weight of everything that had happened in the chamber fell on his shoulders. "Were you truly going to do that? Throw away everything so they wouldn't kill me?"

"I couldn't allow them to..." Her words trailed off. "You worked so hard to get here, and I didn't want to lose you again."

Claude finally turned to face her. "What about your family?"

"You're my family too." She took a step towards him, and he took a step back. "Claude."

"No. I'm an adult, and I knew the consequences of coming here. Amani and Inati are children. They need you. They need their mother." More than me, he added in his head.

"And you don't?" Her voice was quiet, almost inaudible over the wind.

"I..." Claude turned away, staring down at the boats lining the wooden dock. "You don't even know me. You were about to sacrifice everything for a stranger."

"I know you're my son. That's enough."

He cut the air with his hand. "Not enough to throw your life away. I shouldn't have come here. I..." He shook his head and walked away, making a beeline for the boats.

Coming here was a mistake. While he'd been clear on what it could cost him, he hadn't thought it could be potentially dangerous for those around him. Amadeus and Undine had stuck their necks out for him. Not to mention his mother—the Baraza probably hated her now after what she said in the chamber. And what would happen if he stepped out of line, as the King so eloquently put it? Would the Baraza punish all those people because of him? The thought soured his stomach. There was nothing he hated more than being a burden.

The dock stretched half a mile along the lake's edge. Thick wooden pillars anchored it to the lake's shore. Reeds growing up out of the water leaned over his head, forming criss-cross patterns on the wood with their shadows. Few people were coming or going, as evidenced by the line of boats moored to the posts. A group of young men sat and chatted with their feet dangling over the water.

"Need a ride?" the nearest one asked, flashing him a youthful grin.

"Please." Claude reached into his bag. "How much is the fare?"

"Nothing." The ferryman jumped to his feet. "Right this way. And please mind your step. Water's a little choppy today." He gestured to one of the boats.

Claude took slow, careful steps down into the vessel. It wobbled a little, and he threw his arms wide for balance. He lowered himself to the bench with all the grace of a drunk, and bit his tongue as his tailbone connected to the wood. A scream climbed up his throat and he swallowed to keep it down and maintain the last shred of dignity he had left. The ferryman stepped aboard after him and pushed the boat away from the dock with his oar.

"So, where are we headed?" the ferryman asked.

"The market. You wouldn't happen to know if any shops there sell yarn, would you?"

"Oh yeah." The ferryman dug his oar into the water and steered them north. "There's a whole street full of all that crafty stuff."

"Noted." Claude double checked his stock of funds. It was enough to buy a sizable amount of yarn and then some. And yet... He looked towards the south mountain where his mother's home was and his body suddenly felt heavy. He hated this. Spiralling. At least when he was still searching for his mother, he had some sense of direction, a goal. Now he felt so lost. And so stupid.

The rest of the ride was made in silence. Claude lost himself in the gentle glide of the boat over the water and the tinkling wind chimes over his head. A school of fish crossed the spring in the shadow of the boat. Up ahead, dozens of colourful buildings lined the front of the north mountain. Streams of people trickled around the structures, their clothes just as bright as the many stalls and storefronts.

The ferryman pulled the boat close enough to the dock to toss his mooring rope up, then hopped off to tie it to a post. "This is where we part ways, stranger." He offered Claude a hand up. "You'll want to head to the street with the orange buildings. That's where all the creative folk thrive."

Claude secured his bag across his body. "Thank you." He climbed the steps of the dock up to the road, and the sounds of the market engulfed him. The noise was less of a cacophony and more of a low hum. Smooth paving stones wound up the mountain, lined with stalls and buildings. The storefronts were all built side by side, some with two levels hosting different shops.

He stared into windows lined with paint, brushes and canvases and breezed by a woman working a thick hunk of brown clay. A pair of Paterra came up the road, pulling a wagon full of logs. The streets weren't as crowded as he'd expected, but it was still early.

Up ahead, Claude spotted bolts of fabric sitting on a display outside a shop. He paused in front of them, admiring the rich oranges and reds. Whatever dye they used down here was better than the stuff he'd seen up north. He'd never seen such vibrant fabrics. The divine city chose white because it was cheap to make and easy to source. It seemed the opposite was true here.

I came here for yarn, Claude reminded himself. Just yarn. He pried his hands away from the fabric and stepped into the shop. Reams of fabric were stacked from floor to ceiling on one side, a rainbow of colour that almost hurt to look at, and yet he struggled to peel his eyes away. His hand went up on its own, ready to feel the weave of each one. Just the yarn, he reminded himself, closing his hand into a fist.

He tore his gaze away and found the other wall lined with all manner of threads and buttons even more colourful than the fabric. He looked through the latter and grabbed two sets of big wooden ones that would serve well as eyes. Further down the wall, he found the yarn. Balls larger than his head with a weave as soft as silk. They do nicely. Five balls of a sunny yellow, five balls of warm orange and three balls of beige. He piled them up in his arms and made his way to the counter in the back.

"Huh, a new face," the woman behind the counter said. Her beaded braids clicked together as she tilted her head and regarded him with piercing hazel eyes. "What brings you to the city?"

"I uh... I was a spy in the Divine City for a while," he said. It stung a little to lie, but he didn't want to get on the Baraza's bad side. Well, no more than he already was. They gave him a story. He'd stick to it.

The shopkeeper's eyes widened. "Oh, I see. Well, I'll bag this up nice and tight for you. We're expecting rain later." She reached under her counter and pulled out a sheet of what looked like weaved straw, except the material was green and had a sheen to it he wasn't familiar with. "Big project planned?"

"Something like that." He busied himself counting out coins while she wrapped his goods up. "Is this enough?"

She frowned at his pile of coins. "Oh, you came from the north. That currency won't do here. I'll take these, but you might want to head to the treasury and exchange it for the local coin. It's one street over, the building with the spire."

"Right. Thank you."

"No worries." She slapped the top of his packaged goods. "Take care, stranger."

When Claude stepped out of the shop, the noon sun beat down on the top of his head and a stiff breeze blew off the lake. He could barely see past the bag of yarn in his arms as he walked to the next street over.

The treasury was unmistakable with its squat roof and accompanying spire that pierced the muggy morning. A blast of lavender hit him as he stepped inside and the gurgling fountain the centre of the room filled it with ambient noise. Variegated tile stretched out in a spiral and climbed the wall to the upper circle. The lone person working the desk at the back exchanged his coins for gold pieces with a motif of the mountains on one side.

As Claude stepped back outside, he realised he was done with the market, and yet he still wasn't ready to go back. He wasn't sure if he could face his mother and Ashon after what happened this morning. So he wandered the market from end to end. It wasn't quite as big as the one in Desta, but had just as much variety.

He stopped to rest under a pavilion surrounded by food stands. Morning bled into afternoon and the market filled up. People dressed in uniforms his mother and sister wore drifted past him, talking, laughing. When he grew sick of the merriment, Claude retreated to the docks, but this time when a ferryman asked if he needed a ride, he refused. They warned that there would be rain soon, and still he refused.

The sun dipped behind the west mountain as clouds flew in from the north, bursting with heavy rain. And that was how the night found him, hunched over on the dock, watching the spring fill up. He was soaked through, practically a part of the rain at that point. It was a wonder he didn't melt away into the spring, too. And still he wasn't ready to go back.

Claude didn't know how long he spent staring at the water, but eventually, soft yellow light reached him, illuminating his sodden boots. A boat glided towards him, its ripples cutting through the monotony of the rain hitting the water. One of its two occupants carried a lantern that did little to chase away the dark haze of rain. They came to a stop a few feet away and one of them hopped onto the dock, an umbrella protecting them from the downpour.

Claude turned his attention back to the water and kept it there. Even as the light haloed him. Even as the rustle of clothing signalled someone sitting beside him. He winced at the brightness of another streak of lightning and pushed his hair away from his forehead, sending a deluge of water down his back.

"Your mother is worried about you," Ashon said.

Claude shrugged a shoulder. "I haven't broken any rules. And perhaps if I just sit here for the next two years, I won't."

"I assure you, you don't have to worry about that."

"But I am worried." He finally turned and met Ashon's impassive gaze. "What happens if I step out of line?"

"Well at best you'll be exiled from the city—"

"Not to me. To everyone else. To you and my mother and Amadeus and Undine." He sounded angrier than he wanted to, but he couldn't help it. "I knew there'd be risks for myself when I came here. I didn't know I was going to cause so much trouble for everyone."

A streak of lightning raced across the sky, illuminating the city, and the follow-up crack of thunder shook the air. The rain came down even harder. It felt as though the sky was punishing him for his folly. Every howl of the wind, plop of the rain and clap of thunder sounded like a thousand mocking voices.

"You are not causing trouble, Claude," Ashon said. "You mother and I came up with a plan in case the worst happened."

"And were you going to do it? Sacrifice everything you built here for a stranger?"

"You're no stranger. You're Esther's son. And that's enough, for her and for me."

Claude breathed a sigh. "What was your other contingency plan?"

"I'm a direct descendant of one of the four founders, which grants me certain privileges and immunities. If I had adopted you into my family, those would've been extended to you. The Baraza would've hated me for it, but unlike most people in this city, I don't care what they think."

"But—"

Ashon shook his head. "No buts. The only thing I care about is making my wife happy. Claude, I watched your mother suffer for so long. When we learned she was pregnant with the twins, it was the happiest day of my life, but Esther was miserable. She thought she didn't deserve to be a mother again, because of what happened to you. Or rather, what she thought happened."

Claude stared down into the dark water. He hadn't thought of that. Of the years of guilt his mother would be carrying. In her letters, she'd always promised she'd come back when she found a home for them. When the letters stopped, he knew something was wrong. He knew she'd never abandon him. "It wasn't her fault."

"I know that," Ashon said. "And you know that. But neither of us can understand how your mother felt. She told me mothers are supposed to protect their children. She told me she'd failed you. It was hard, but I had to accept that a part of her was irrevocably broken."

"I understand. It was selfish of me not to consider her feelings." Claude looked up and let the rain beat his face. "I just didn't want to disrupt her life. She seems so happy here."

"She is happy. But I can tell you this. When she came home the other day and told me you were alive, she wasn't just happy. For the first time, she looked whole."

Claude rubbed his eyes. He was such a screwup. He probably broke her heart. "I'm sorry. I've never been so lost before. I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to be doing."

Ashon gave him an amused look. "You can start with coming home and getting dry. Then we'll take it a step at a time."

"Okay."