Ari and the shadow knight

Chapter 1 — The Dirt Under My Nails The boot slammed into my shoulder blades and knocked the air out of my lungs. Mud filled my mouth. It tasted like rust and rot. I spat the gray slush onto the cobblestones as my cheek scraped against the edge of a stone drain. My fingers dug into the cracks between the wet stones, looking for something to push myself up with. I almost got my footing before a heavy boot came down on my right hand. Pain shot through my fingers as the bones ground under the guard's heel. I bit down hard to stop myself from screaming, but a sharp hiss escaped anyway. "Keep her down," one of the guards growled. "The little rat nearly took my eye out with that knife." My knife lay a few feet away in a muddy puddle. It was nothing special. It was only a dull piece of scrap iron that I had spent hours sharpening on a river stone. Still, it was mine. I had almost reached the docks. Another minute and I would have slipped between the coal barges and disappeared into the river mist. Instead, three royal guards cornered me behind the salt-fish stalls after they kicked over crates of rotten herring to block the alley. Nobody stepped in. Old Man Corin pulled the canvas awning over his stall without looking at me. The other merchants suddenly found something else to watch. Nobody in the Lower Ward was foolish enough to stand against royal guards unless they wanted to end up on the next prison cart. "Is it her?" another guard asked. Someone grabbed a fistful of my wet hair and yanked my head back. Rain stung my eyes as I looked up. The man standing over me wasn't dressed like the others. Polished silver armor shone beneath a dark cloak that somehow stayed dry in the pouring rain. A crumpled parchment rested in one hand. He looked at the charcoal sketch before raising his eyes to my face. I stared back at him. Blood dripped from my nose and mixed with the rain running down my chin. "Dark hair," he said quietly. "Gray eyes." He pulled my collar aside. Cold air brushed the old scar near my throat before his fingers touched it. His eyes settled on the jagged star-shaped mark. "The mark is there," he said. "It's her." "I didn't steal the salt-fish," I said through clenched teeth. "They were already rotten. Corin was throwing them away." The captain ignored me. He rolled up the parchment, slipped it inside his cloak, and looked at the guards. "Tie her. If she slips the rope, the cost comes out of your wages." "Yes, Captain." They dragged me to my feet. Instead of iron cuffs, they wrapped thick hemp rope around my wrists until it bit into my skin. Every pull tightened the knots and sent another stab of pain through my shoulders. I searched the market for a way out. There wasn't one. My knife was gone. The streets were blocked. Everyone who might have helped had already decided not to see me. The captain turned and walked away. "Move." The shove came before I could react. I stumbled after them through the rain. The Lower Ward looked the same as it always had. Crumbling buildings leaned over narrow streets. Hungry children watched from broken windows. Coal smoke hung so thick in the air that every breath tasted bitter. Ahead of us, the iron gates that separated the Lower Ward from the Middle Tier stood open. Most people never crossed those gates. The guards on the wall didn't ask a single question. One nod from the captain was enough. Everything changed the moment I stepped through. The mud disappeared beneath polished stone. The smell of coal gave way to fresh bread and wood smoke. Shop windows gleamed behind clean glass, and well-dressed people hurried past under fine umbrellas. They looked at me. Their eyes stopped on my torn clothes, the mud on my boots, and the ropes around my wrists before they quickly looked away. We passed the magistrates' courthouse without stopping. A knot formed in my stomach. If they weren't taking me to court, where were they taking me? The streets climbed toward the white cliffs of the Upper Ward, where a black carriage waited beside the Great Lift. Even in the rain, it gleamed. A golden crest was painted on the door. A three-headed raptor held a broken sword in its claws. I knew that crest. It belonged to the Royal House of Lowen. My feet stopped before I could think. "I'm not getting in there." The guard behind me laughed. "You don't get a choice." He shoved me forward so hard that I Here's Part 2, keeping the same simple style and preserving your story. The captain opened the carriage door without saying a word and stepped aside. Blue velvet covered the seats. A thick carpet lined the floor without a single speck of dirt. "I'll ruin it," I muttered. "Mud doesn't come out of velvet." "Then sit on the floor." Before I could answer, rough hands grabbed my shoulder and threw me inside. I hit the wooden floor hard. The carriage door slammed shut behind me with a heavy click. The only window was covered with a thick iron grate. I pushed myself up and looked through the narrow bars as the Great Lift shook beneath us. Massive gears groaned below the platform before the carriage began to rise. I watched the rooftops of the Lower Ward sink below the rain. The streets where I had spent my whole life grew smaller until they became a patchwork of gray stone and drifting smoke. I had never been this high. The wood inside the carriage smelled of cedar and beeswax, but another smell lingered underneath. Old blood. It wasn't fresh. The smell had soaked into the wood years ago and never left. I replayed the morning in my head, looking for something I had missed. I hadn't stolen anything worth dying for. I hadn't attacked a noble. Then the royal guards had come. Not the city watch. Royal guards. They never accused me of any crime. They had come for one thing. The scar. My hand lifted toward the jagged mark on my throat before the ropes stopped me. I had carried that scar for as long as I could remember. Now strangers were hunting me because of it. This had nothing to do with stolen fish. They had come for me. Outside, the Great Lift groaned one last time before stopping with a heavy jolt. A moment later, the carriage lurched forward again. The wheels no longer rattled over timber. They rolled smoothly across stone. We had reached the Upper Ward. The carriage turned through a pair of towering iron gates. Beyond them stood the palace. White towers disappeared into the mist. Every wall looked clean, untouched by smoke, soot, or dirt, as if the city below had never existed. The carriage slowed. Then it stopped. Footsteps echoed outside. The latch clicked. Light spilled into the carriage as the door swung open. The captain stood there, watching me. "Out." I stayed where I was. Something was wrong. I knew how this kingdom worked. If someone from the Lower Ward stole a loaf of bread, they were beaten, fined, or hanged in the marketplace for everyone to see. Royal guards didn't waste their time on thieves. They didn't send a black carriage with the crest of House Lowen. They didn't bring people like me to the palace. They only brought you here when they wanted you to disappear where no one would ever hear you scream.