“I thought violence was your job.”
Aesira glanced at her sister, the purple dress she wore a reflection of the city colors. Of her new home. New life. “That too.” Her armor was tight as they wove down a narrow alley, bypassing the busiest part of the market. “Now that we’re alone, are we going to talk about what happened back there?”
Kamari bristled, her face pinching. “The moment I realized Desmond was missing, I knew it wouldn’t be long before the council jumped down my throat.” She shifted the journals in her arms but shook her head when Aesira reached to grab them from her. “It’s like they were waiting for me to fail.”
Kamari and Aesira emerged from the other side of the alley, weaving through the streets of the city, passing various food and merchant carts. Vibrant scarves and tapestries were hung by strings, shielding the vendors from the unforgiving heat. “It isn’t your fault Desmond is gone,” Aesira said. “You didn’t fail.”
Kamari shook her head and Aesira didn’t press it. They were both Zeliath’s. Daughters of their father. Failure of any kind was never tolerated and the weight of perfection was pinned to their shoulders from birth. “Did you find Nev? Is she–”
“She’s looking into it,” Aesira said. “She’ll find whoever wrote the parchment.” Though, Aesira couldn’t see how it would help. News and rumors in the city burned through like a raging fire. Asif the people of Vargah had nothing better to do during the hottest months other than cause a frenzy.
The heat of the desert scorched the tips of Aesira’s ears, her bronze chest plate adding an extra layer to her already heavy armor. “You could have sent Hanna, you know.”
“No. As much as I appreciate her, there’s no one else I trust to do this.” Kam's short curls bobbed as she waved to a set of workers repairing an area of the wall. “I needed to speak to him myself.”
“Him? Who ishim?” They rounded a final corner through a tight alleyway before ending at the Boneyard District.
Monstrous ships sat docked, hovering above the sweltering sands. Their sails were tied down, a large “V” etched into the wood siding. The ships were Vargah’s most powerful defense during the war. Fueled byastra, it was a luxury Novaria could never compete with though it didn’t stop them from trying.
Aesira’s brows rose before they quickly furrowed. Of all the places, of all the people.
“You’re blushing,” Kamari said with a side glance.
“I’m not. It’s just the damn heat.” Aesira brushed a few rogue curls from her face, willing her heart to slow down, her skin to cool. “Why are wehere?”
Kamari ignored her question and strode forward, toward the large ships that wavered above the sand. “I’ve never seen you so flustered.”
“I’m not flustered,” Aesira bit out so quickly the words jumbled together. She wasn’t flustered, except she absolutely was. Kamari laughed and if they’d been somewhere private Aesira would have kicked her. “I’m wondering why my sister, the queen of Vargah, has decided she must meet with asmuggler–”
“Ex,” a familiar, deep voice said, raising the hairs on her arms and neck. The smuggler stepped out from behind an old tarp that was hung like a curtain, his dark blue eyes blazing in the morning sun. “Though, you already know that don’t you, Commander?” He took a slow sip from his mug, eyeing the two of them over the edge.
Distorted light cut across his sharp face, catching on the jagged scar that ran from his eyebrow to his jaw. He wore a tattered white shirt and typical mechanic pants, lined in grease and dust. A pencil was stuck behind his ear and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles sat on top of his dark, auburn hair.
“Apologies for my sister, Mr…”
“Stone Odega,” he said, dropping in a bow.
Odega.
Aesira cooled her features, smoothing the deep line between her brows. Odega was the name given to all criminals in Vargah, making it easy for them to be identified and if there was anything Stone wore well, it was the name Odega.
“Right.” Kamari took a step forward and Aesira dutifully followed, her hand tightening around the pommel of her blade. “Mr. Odega–”
“Just Stone, if you don’t mind.” His eyes darted again to Aesira. She focused instead on Kamari. That’s why she was here.
For Kamari.
“Sorry, of course. Stone,” Kamari corrected. “I was wondering if we may have a word with you?”
Aesira glanced around the Boneyard where several other workers had gathered. She didn’t often visit this part of Vargah andshe knew Kamari didn’t either. With the wandering eyes of the workers, they were beginning to make a scene.
“Maybe somewhere private?” Aesira suggested, returning her eyes to Stone whose own stare was burning into her. She bit her tongue, wincing when she hit the sore spot from earlier.
He drew back the tarp from which he came. “This way.”
Sunlight beamed through the holes in the tarp as they each took a seat around a makeshift table. A few overhead lights were on, their brightness dim from the small amount ofastrathat was supplied to this part of the city.
“A drink?” Stone asked, his fingers tapping the edge of his mug.
