Murmurs pick up at the tables nearby. Sigilmarkeds mix with mundanes in Yorick’s tavern, but it’s not often we see a half-crowned silver.
A newly awakened bronze sigilmarked might barely stir the wind—just enough to send leaves skittering across the ground. But as their power matures, so does their command over that power. If they were lucky enough to become a bronze-crowned, that same wind could tear the roof off a house with a single thought.
Silver- and gold-crowned are on an entirely different level. With the flick of their wrist, a silver-crowned could summon a vortex of wind and rain—while a gold-crowned could create a tornado powerful enough to raze an entire town.
A tidal wave of adrenaline crashes across my every nerve. Gaius forgoes any attempt to pretend indifference, shooting me a wide-eyed look. You’d think someone with so many enemies would have learned to swing a sword by now.
I stride across the tavern, and Gaius trails after me. “Orson Norcross,” he mutters.
Orson’s eyes flick up to my sigil, and I know what he sees.
Wasted potential.
His gaze slides dismissively from me and slams into Gaius. “You.” His meaty fists clench.
“Ahem.” Yorick cuts into the sudden silence, and Orson slowly turns his head. Yorick’s hand trembles, but he points to the sign on the wall to his right.
No power.
Orson sneers and takes another step toward us, drawing so close I can smell the wine on his breath. “I have no need to use my power,” hesnaps. “I would much prefer to feel your bones breaking beneath my fists.”
A hand slams into my back, and I stumble forward. Gaiuspushedme. The coward.
Orson bares his teeth at me. “Out of the way.”
“You know I can’t do that.” At least not for the next few minutes. If Orson had arrived just a little later, I’d already be on my way to the apothecary.
His gaze slides clinically over me, lingering on the sword hilt above my shoulder and the knives strapped to my thighs and biceps.
“I know who you are, champion.”
I stiffen. No one else in this tavern would address me that way. They know better. But Orson lifts an eyebrow, waiting for my response.
“Arvelleisa champion,” Gaius boasts from behind my back. “Mychampion. And she’ll kill you if you attempt to touch me.”
It’s Gaius who I’d like to kill. I fantasize daily about shoving my blade deep into his throat. Unfortunately, poverty and desperation go hand in hand.
Orson studies me. Amusement flickers across his face.
“I see how it is,” he says, returning his attention to Gaius. “I may not be able to kill younow, but I’m betting your littlechampionisn’t with you every minute of every day.” His expression is one of dark promise. “You took my wife, and I’m going to make you suffer before you die.”
“Not tonight you’re not,” I say.
He nods slowly, never taking his gaze from Gaius, who ducks farther behind me. “No,” Orson agrees. “Not tonight.”
He stalks from the tavern, patrons scattering in his wake.
Silence reigns until Yorick’s voice booms across the tavern. “Music!” he demands, and someone strikes up a cheery tune just as the clock on the wall hits 4 a.m.
Finally.
I reach for my satchel beneath the table.
“You can’t go.” Gaius catches my arm. “Didn’t you hear the man? He’ll kill me!”
“Sadly, our time together is finished tonight. Try not to make anyone else want to murder you before I see you next.”
His hand tightens. “If you think I’m paying you—”
