“Me? Or Seth?”
“Both,” Eleos corrected. “Was it at least a decent apology, then?”
I paused, thinking. “Not really, no. I think he implied it was my fault for being so conveniently vulnerable.”
“Right,” Eleos said with contempt. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He leaned closer. “I don’t know if I like him. He gives off . . . an unstable air.”
“He’s a vigilante murderer. I’d be surprised if he didn’t.”
Mouth twitching, Eleos looked away. He was upset about something, but I wasn’t sure what. Seth’s willingness to put innocents in danger, perhaps. Psyches were known to be bleeding hearts, after all.
My nose wrinkled. Maybe I had guessed wrong, placing Ainwir as a psyche. The goddess Psythos would never turn her gaze toward a selfish thief whose only interest was lining his pockets.
A scent from my childhood caught my nose: nuts and fresh pastry. Grabbing Eleos’ wrist, I guided him toward a tiny shop and pushed open the door.
Heat wafted from the oven tucked in the back, and displays of baked goods sat on thin plates. Ainwir had taken me to this bakery often—he’d loved it.
I remembered the woman behind the counter, though her hair had grayed. Sharp nose, soft eyes, blonde hair. Every time we’d visit, she’d smile and hide an extra treat in my bag. Did she remember me?
No. Not a hint of recognition appeared in her eyes. I bought two pastries and watched her turn her back, oblivious to the little girl whose day had been made lighter by her food.
A painful reminder of how little I mattered to anyone.
Swallowing the sorrow, I handed one of the wrapped pastries to Eleos and stepped back outside. “Ever had one of these?” I asked.
“No.” He turned it over. “What is it?”
“A heavenly stack of syrup and nuts,” I answered, popping it into my mouth. “Nobody should leave Serifos without one.”
Chuckling, Eleos savored the pastry as if it were a gift from the king. “Mm. I see why you like them.”
Taking slow bites to make the moment last, I took in the city I once called home.
A towering statue of the Maiden Brizo rose above the roofs, hands spread, water trickling through her fingers in streaming fountains that framed the temple she presided over. I’d seen the elegant edifice, its vaulted ceilings and numerous pillars countless times, yet never set foot inside.
Eleos stared at it in awe. I nudged him. “Never been to Serifos before?”
“Only passed through,” he confirmed. “I’ve heard their library dwarfs the other cities—they house every kind of scholar. Agricultural, religious, geological . . .” He rattled off a few more names, but I didn’t really hear them.
The excitement in his eyes was infectious, especially since he often appeared perfectly emotionless. I wanted to pull his mask off to see his face in full; men were never more handsome than when gushing about their greatest passions.
Leading Eleos away from the market, I turned west and headed toward the library.
“Did you join a Scholarly House?” I asked. “Or did you never have a proper job?”
“History,” he said. “There are fascinating stories buried in old tomes. Maps of dead countries, wars no one remembers.” His sage-green eyes lit up. “Did you know Cynthus was famed for its theater? They used to perform something called ‘rain dances.’”
My lips tugged upward as I watched him light up.
“They even had their own gods.” He waved his hands wildly. “Most people did.” His eyes locked on me. “Did you ever hear the tale of the Forgotten—” He paused. “What?”
My smile spread into a grin. “Nothing. What were you saying?”
“The Forgotten Battlefield.” He toyed with his bracers. “It’s the only one that wasn’t swallowed by the Empty. Numerous suits of armor and old blades riddle the fields, but no one knows who the soldiers were, or what they fought for.”
“Oh. I hadn’t heard of that.” My smile vanished. Dead men and women, forgotten by the world itself. The thought made me sad.
“I always wanted to solve that mystery,” Eleos continued. “What was the war about? What would those soldiers think, to know they fought a pointless skirmish for dead kingdoms?” He looked up sharply. “Did I bring down the mood?”
