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Rayne took a carriage to the jewelry shop this time, the crowd parting for the speckled gelding that pulled her along. If she was going to play the part, then she was going to look it. The dress certainly helped. She had changed from the sodden, yellow monstrosity into a black dress with iron embellishments on the bodice and the sleeves. After fussing at her over the state of her hair, her maid had dutifully styled the curls into braids that held tight and formed what looked for all the world like a band of iron around her head. Like a crown.
Tierri rode in the carriage with her, his sword across his knees and her dagger tucked into his belt. When they had been on the beach, he had looked like any other young man—vulnerable and intense, wide-eyed and uncertain. But now, in dry leather armor, his hair tucked back into its bun, he was the general again, the man who had taken her from Bricboro.
“Where are we going?” he had asked her before following her into the carriage.
She had smiled what felt like her first real smile since coming to this place. “To take my first small step.” His face was impassive as he helped her up to take her seat, but he gave her hand a small squeeze before letting go. When she looked back at him, he looked away, barking orders at the men who would accompany them into town.
He was good at playing his part, even better than she was. But he had been at this for years, hiding in plain sight. She imagined what it would be like to give him his freedom someday. To have the real him by her side.
The carriage rumbled to a stop and the door opened. Tierri bounded out ahead of her, his hooded eyes searching for any threat. The place was in a tizzy; she could tell even from her spot inside the carriage. News of the assassination attempt—her assassination attempt—must have already reached the market. Shoppers and merchants gossiped excitedly and watched her guards warily, while her guards eyed them back with the same looks of mistrust.
When the step-stool was in place, Tierri held his hand out for her and she descended into the street. The whispers began almost immediately but she ignored them, wrapping her white fur shawl tighter around her shoulders and stepping across the sidewalk, the general following close behind.
A bell hanging above the door jingled as she and Tierri entered the shop. An elderly, balding man stood behind the counter across from them. He was obviously Duskan, his skin a warm brown and his nose a little too large. His hair had once been black but was now speckled with white, and his hands rested on his ample gut as he leaned forward and gleamed. He thought she was here for him, for his jewelry. He looked at her and saw his pockets full, his reputation bolstered.
Well, he had no idea what trouble had just landed on his doorstep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Rayne
“My lady,” the jeweler said, rocking onto his toes and looking all too pleased with himself. “What can I interest you in this evening?”
Rayne stalked forward, her slippers gliding across the smooth polished floor. She imagined Seloue on her hands and knees, scrubbing up muddy footprints, and her resolve stiffened. Turning back to Tierri, who was not more than a few inches behind her, she held out her hand. He dropped the strap of a heavy bag into it, and she upended its contents onto the counter in front of the man.
“I am not your lady,” she said over the sound of metal and jewels hitting the wooden counter. “I am your princess, and you have something I want.” She had cleaned out her rooms—every silver candlestick, every golden knob and button, every piece of jewelry left behind in her armoire. All of it and she worried it still wouldn't be enough.
“Anything, my—Your Highness.” The jeweler scrambled to stop pieces from tumbling off the counter, hardly paying her any attention. The tart smell of mead hovered around him like a cloud. Behind her, Tierri’s tension was palpable as he waited for her to make her move, even though he didn't know what it would be.
“Your slave, Sir,” Rayne said. “I want to buy your slave girl.”
The man stopped then, and a candlestick rolled to the floor, its clatter echoing in the sudden silence. Even Tierri gave a sharp, involuntary intake of breath.
“My slave?” the man asked. He must have seen something in her eyes—desperation, perhaps—because a smile spread across his face and he crossed his hands over his pile of treasure. “She is very valuable to me.”
Rayne opened her mouth to make the man another offer—more, anything, he could have anything—when Tierri stepped to the side and spoke up. “As valuable as your store?” he asked. “Your beautiful glass window display? Things that could be so easily taken from you by tax enforcers or destroyed by vandals. She must be a very fine specimen, indeed.” A gust of wind breezed through the store even though the door was closed. It tickled the back of Rayne's neck and then danced away before lifting one of the displays from the window and dropping it to the floor.
The jeweler gasped, throwing himself to his knees to retrieve the fallen piece. It was a silver cuff meant to sit around the neck, with delicately wound filigree shaped into spirals. Rayne knew what perhaps neither of the men in the room knew—that it had been crafted from a slaver's band. Something ugly turned into something beautiful. The nobility of Hail wore slaver's bands around their necks, on their arms, in their ears, without even knowing it.
Movement at the back of the shop caught her attention as a tapestry was pushed aside. Seloue appeared there, her skinny arms ending in huge leather gloves, large metal tongs clinched in her hands, the ends glowing red with heat. Her eyes were wide as she took in the scene before her—a princess and a general and her master on his knees.
“That's a beautiful piece,” Rayne said. “I would hate for something to happen to it.” At the same time Seloue’s tongs cooled, fire flared to life in Tierri’s hand, licking at his fingers, and he reached for the cuff.
The jeweler jerked it away, stumbling backward. “Curse you, Son of Enos,” he said with a snarl on his lips. Then, straightening, he turned to Rayne. “You can have the girl. I hope she brings you as much trouble as you have brought me.”
Rayne laughed but did not dignify his outburst with a response. Instead, she turned to her lurking friend. “You heard the man. Let's go.”
Seloue looked at the jeweler and he nodded, then crossed to a cabinet where he rifled through a pile of parchments before withdrawing one yellowed with age and handing it to Rayne. She looked down at it. It was Seloue’s writ of ownership. “She's bought you.” He waved a hand at the counter where the contents of her bag still lingered. “Go on, get out of here.”
The tongs clattered to the floor. Seloue took the gloves off and threw them down with the tongs, and then stepped over the mess to the other side of the counter.