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Ravok by night was a dangerous place, when the thin veneer of civilization that clung to the city's mien was stripped most away and dark people lurked at the edges of the city. It was a time to be afraid, a time to retreat to the inside, to lock doors and pile chests afgainst them and sleep with a knife under ones pillow. But tonight Leth had not risen above the horizon, tonight the sky belonged to Akajia, friend to Ionu, whose shadows kept every spoken and unspoken secret safe. The Trickster ruled Kit's heart, but on lightless nights like this she chose to extend her hand and flirt with the lady of darkness.
It simply would not do for Valerius to learn that his courier was stalking about at night like a thief, so Kit threw away the visage of Shy Carsma and adopted the face of a different girl with stark black hair, green eyes, fair skin, heart shaped face and heavy freckles. She wore her day-to-day cottons, since her leathers were still drying, with a cloak to keep warm, all dyed by illusory means to better match the blue-black darkness of starlit night.
Though she had lost practice, Kit did her best to keep her steps quiet and discrete, half crouched, wide steps to distribute her weight. Still Ravosalas would occasionally pass, lamps perched from high places to better illuminate possible customers, and their passengers would sometimes turn, watch the diminutive, cloaked and hooded figure that walked opposite them. Kit clutched at her cloak, sped her steps as best she could to make sure she faded from their sight all the more quickly.
A flicker of movement and Kit faded into an alley, pressed herself against a wall. She closed her eyes, breathed once, twice, clenched her hand into fa fist. Kit peeked her head around the corner and saw men march. Their clothes were dark, forms shrouded by the night until they walked beneath a red-tinted lantern, and Kit saw stark shadows painted across Ebonstryfe armor.
She swallowed, hard, and wondered if Akajia might be satisfied with some less risky investigation than this. But Kit did not follow Ionu and Akajia because she wanted their favor. She followed them because she wanted to be like them. Would Akajia pass this up?
No. She would not.
Kit backed up, took a running start at the wall, took one step, two steps up, snared the lip of the roof and hauled herself up. She crawled on all fours up to the top of the roof, peered over the edge and saw the line of ebonstryfe marching through the darkness like beetles crawling under skin. She stood up, held her hands out and took steps over the ropes that held building to building in the lower-class portions of Ravok, crossing canals that would have taken chimes to cross by foot in ticks.
The Ebonstryfe did not see her. At least, the Ebonstryfe did not seem to change their direction, even if they did. Though her steps were clumsy and sillouette clear against the night, they seemed intent on something else. That could be enough to spare her. Kit prayed the Ebonstryfe did not see her.
She made her way across the roofs, trying for a moment to try to conjure illusion to her service to blend her against the backgrounds, but even still it was a clumsy effort, and moving Kit supposed she must have seemed an obvious blur of changing color when she tried. Kit cursed her lack of competence and resorted to the same old thing, trailing behind the Ebonstryfe at above street level, keeping what she estimated to be a safe distance.
They crossed into the Plaza of Dark Delights, and Kit felt suddenly uneasy. About a season ago, she had been sold on the slave floor. Though she had escaped, though she had been safe under a new guise for a season, she still remembered the chains, still heard at night in the safety of her own dreams 'no one will save you.' It had made her stronger, Kit supposed. Helped her understand who you could count on when the chips were down. But she could never forgive it, never be comfortable with it.
It wasn't long until they found their target. A small building at the less prosperous edge, slightly slanted. It reeked of false wealth and lushness; lights of various colors shown out high windows onto dark waters and illuminating the street as the Ebonstryfe split ranks, found spots in secret as faded music floated from the building. It was a slow, sensuous sound. Though it was too far by far for Kit to get a glimpse of its auras, Kit thought she understood what she was looking at.
But why were the Ebonstryfe here?
She had her answer shortly. The shapes in the darkness converged on the whorehouse, kicked through the front door with a sound that Kit could hear from where she sat, body pressed flush against the rooftops, trying not to be notice. The music stopped, suddenly, and for ticks that felt like chimes there was only silence.
And then a scream, first long, and growing higher and higher in pitch for so long Kit wondered how they were still conscious. Someone fell out of a window, spun through the air, cracked on the ground outside and bled dark something over the stones. Then there were yells, authoritative and strong, and screams, panicked and wild, all echoing through empty night. Figures fled from around the edges, sometimes clothed, usually not, while the dark shadows of the Ebonstryfe trailed behind them, holding something that glinted in the starlight.
Kit turned around, tried to get a better look at what was happening . . . But Akajia's darkness was no less obscuring to her than anyone else. She bit down on her lip and tried her best to follow the glinting lights and frantic light of starlight off bare flesh. She saw one take a turn, cross a bridge, begin a course that would take her down the alley adjacent. As long as no one could see over rooftops, there would be no problem . . .
But as she peered over the edge into the alley, Kit found another little mouse like her. Her features were hidden by the night, but Kit read femininity and wary curiously in the way she stood, peeked out into the darkness herself. Kit drew an inverted triangle over her heart and peered for a tick at the girl's aura, a flickering incomprehensibility of color and light.
Again she drew the triangle, tried to filter away the things she could not understand in a sentient, find base emotion, but even stripped bare the little eddies and tides of feeling were all but indecipherable to her. Kit could feel only . . . Ice cracking beneath her feet? She wanted a closer look, but the pain of a headache began to intrude, and Kit had little choice but to cut it off. Whatever this was, it wasn't confidence. It was unlikely she had known the raid's purpose, then. She was about to get caught up in a nasty mess. Kit turned to peer down the alley, at the figure, bit down on her lip. It would be easy to let danger pass her by, without putting herself at risk.
Kit crawled over to the edge, wrapped her legs around the chimney for a firm hold and slipped her arms, her stomach her lower half over the edge so she hung over the side. Kit held out her hand for the girl-shape to take. "They're coming," Kit said, with her own voice. "Climb up me to roof, stay low and stay quiet."
And props for noting the blue eyes! I hadn't even thought of that myself, but it fits perfectly.