“What about the arena that you’ve mentioned? Is that part of Eislandia too?”
“No,” he answered emphatically. He said the arena was nestled below Tor’s Watch on its western side. It began centuries ago in the ruins of a huge complex where the Ancients had once held sporting matches. The family had repaired and expanded it over the years, and even more so since the new treaties were established and trade had increased. What used to be a place just for farmers was now a principal trading site for merchandise of every kind, and also for negotiations and future deals to be made. Luxurious rooms were provided to ambassadors, well-to-do farmers—anyone who could pay the price. Four of the Lesser Kingdoms had permanent apartments there, and more were showing interest.
“What about those two?” I asked, nodding toward Truko and Rybart, who were almost upon us.
“No apartments, but they have space on the arena floor like other merchants.”
The two league leaders eyed us briefly as they passed. While others we had encountered had offered condolences to the Patrei, these league leaders only returned a stiff but respectful nod to Jase and continued on their way.
We turned another corner, which brought us to the wide plaza in the center of town. For all of Jase’s nods, smiles, and slow, easy strides, the tension gripping the town was most noticeable here. Wagons were stopped without warning and inspected, tarps thrown aside. Perhaps citizens thought something had been stolen because news of the labor hunters seemed to have been effectively quashed. As far as I knew, none of the wagons had revealed anything suspicious, but I saw Jase’s eyes turn sharp every time one lumbered past, as if he was memorizing every unfamiliar face.
Besides the straza walking both before and behind us, guards stood watch on the elevated skywalks that connected the tembris. More guards stood on corners. There was nothing to distinguish them from anyone else in town, but I saw the knowing glances between them and Jase as we passed. They were waiting for a war to erupt—or maybe this was their way of making sure that it didn’t.
We were just nearing the temple when Jase grumbled under his breath. Paxton was approaching us. Several large men who were well-armed walked behind him. Today, Jase was armed too. A dagger on one side, his sword on the other. I hadn’t seen him use either weapon yet—just his fist in the hunter’s throat, which had proved deadly. I wondered about his skill with these other weapons.
I only had the small knife in my boot, but as Natiya taught me, a small, well-thrust knife was as lethal to a heart as a large one, and much easier to conceal. The air changed to something more deadly as the two cousins locked gazes. I surveyed the men behind Paxton, already choosing which to take down first if circumstances took a turn for the worse.
“Good to see you out and about, cousin,” Paxton called.
“You still in town?” Jase replied, as if he had spotted something smelly on the bottom of his boot he couldn’t quite scrape free.
Paxton stopped in front us, and though today his dress was more casual, he was still impeccably groomed, his white shirt and tan trousers wrinkle free, his face gleaming with a close shave. “I have a caravan on its way to the arena,” he said. “I thought I might as well stay and settle a few things myself.”
“So your hawker can’t be trusted?”
“I’ve hired a new one. I’m breaking him in. And the times have changed.”
“Not as much as you might think, cousin.”
Paxton turned his attention to me. “A pleasure to see you again—forgive me—I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name yesterday.”
With rumors flying through town, I was sure he knew, but I played his game anyway, hoping he would move along quickly. I had just spotted something that interested me far more than Jase’s boorish cousin—something I had been looking for all morning—Wren and Synové. They waited in the shadows of the tembris on the other side of the plaza, their Rahtan garments exchanged for clothes with local flavor. Large hats shadowed their faces.
“Kazi of Brightmist,” I answered.
Paxton reached out to take my hand in greeting, and Jase and the straza all moved imperceptibly, their hands just a bit closer to their weapons, making me wonder again about the bad blood between the Ballengers and Paxton’s branch of the family. This wasn’t just an old grudge. What were those run-ins Jase had mentioned? It was perplexing that they were still compelled to do business together, but I supposed much could be tolerated in the name of profit. Paxton squeezed my fingers and kissed the back of my hand, which I found to be an overly familiar custom. I pulled my hand away.
“Welcome to the family,” he said and looked back at Jase. “She’s quite lovely. I’m sorry I missed the wedding. I—”
“There’s been no wedding,” I corrected.
“What? Still no wedding? I got the impression yesterday that—” He dismissed his thought with a wave of his hand then asked, “What are you two waiting for? The temple is right here.” His theatrics were maddening and I wished he would just get on with his point, but I wasn’t sure he had one. Maybe simply annoying Jase was his goal. “Oh—it’s the queen, isn’t it? Waiting for her imminent arrival?”
“Yes,” I answered. “The queen is my sovereign. I am a soldier in her army, and I require her blessing.”
Paxton grinned, his eyes leisurely roaming over me. “For your sake, Jase, I hope the queen comes soon—or someone just might come steal away your prize.”
The way he said it, I knew he considered a Vendan soldier anything but a prize, but it pushed Jase’s patience to its limit. “Move along,” Jase ordered. “We’re done here.”
The mood changed in an instant, and Paxton’s flippant attitude vanished. This was not an order from one cousin to another, but from Patrei to underling, and it cut through the air with as much menace as a sword. There was no question that one more word from Paxton, and Jase would do something unpleasant. Paxton stiffened, his Ballenger pride evident, but he wasn’t stupid. He silently left without a good-bye, his crew following close behind him.
Jase’s eyes remained fixed on them as they walked away, a vein at his temple raised and hot.
“Is there nothing you won’t steal, Jase Ballenger?”
He looked at me, confused.
“Move along?” I said, trying to prick his memory. “My phrase to you? At least you didn’t threaten to cut his pretty neck. Or maybe you only said it because you were swept away with a nostalgic moment?”
A gleam lit his eyes, warmth replacing the rage that had been there seconds ago. “I guess your words suit me. Will borrowing them cost me something else?”
His gaze settled into me, touching me in intimate ways. I needed to throw the wall back up between us, but instead my blood raced warmer. I pulled in a shaky breath. “Not this time,” I answered. “Consider it a gift.”
His lips had barely parted, a reply imminent, when his attention was turned away by Priya and Mason, heckling his name as they laughed and strolled toward us, talking about the hour being well past noon, the hot sun, a cool tavern, a cold ale, roast venison, and—I didn’t hear what else. Timing was everything, and theirs was perfect. The noise rose, the shadows swirled, sun dappled shade swayed with the breeze, and the arms of the city reached out to spirit me away.
And even the eyes that had been quietly watching us from afar were bewildered when I disappeared.
*
Wren meant to be angry. I saw it in her eyes, but once we were far from everyone else, in a quiet little alley, she blew out a fierce relieved breath and hugged me. Hugs were rare from Wren. In fact, the only time I could remember one before was when she clutched me after her family died.
“By the gods, where have you been?” she demanded, her face flushed with heat.
“You didn’t lose faith in me, did you?”