He chuckled at my verbiage. “Take my word for it: Seth thinks you’re pretty.”
“Is that why he’s avoiding me?” I raised an eyebrow. “What is he, twelve?”
“Twenty-eight, last I checked.” Percy corrected. “No, I mean.” He huffed, frustrated. “I think he doesn’t like that he thinks you’re pretty. Inside and out.”
I blinked at the bard a few times, trying to decipher his words. “I thought bards were supposed to be eloquent.”
“Only when I’m performing.” Percy rolled his shoulders. “Trust me. In matters of the heart, I’m an expert—if you need advice.”
“Seth insulted me last time we talked. Are you sure about that?”
“Exactly. He doesn’t like that he likes you, so he’s pushing you away.”
“Hm.” I sized the bard up. “You’re a man.”
“That I am.”
“If you were Eleos, how would you want to be courted?”
“Stiffly,” Percy answered readily. “Formally. But also, understated. A simple gesture of love in a beloved location.”
I nodded. His advice made sense to me.
“Oh!” Percy’s head jerked back, and his hat fell back over his eyes. “Are you going to woo our scholar?”
“I’m going to try.”
He clapped giddily. “Do you need help? Advice? A new outfit?”
“If we stop in Therapne,” I said, “I’ll take you up on the offer.”
“There’s a dress Therapnen women wear that would be gorgeous on you.” He touched his belt. “I hope we have the coin.”
Smiling, I sat upright and cast my gaze ahead. A statue rose above the trees, and I could see a few farms ahead. Therapne.
“Oh, boy.” Percy tipped his hat down.
“Think we’ll see Officer Percivus?” I asked, a sudden realization striking me. “Oh, are you Percivus the Second?”
“Yes.” Percy said flatly, eyes carrying a clear warning: ‘Don’t say that name again.’ Clicking his tongue, he turned his steed around. “That’s our cue to fall into the shadows.” He strapped his mask on and rode back through the caravan.
Pulling my mask over my eyes, I gently tugged Athena’s reins, turning her around. Something on the horizon caught my eye, and I swiveled in the saddle, watching.
The city rode out to meet us. A small company of armored men approached, pale blue tabards marking them as temple knights. A high-ranking priest rode at their center, swathed in elegant white robes and a sweeping blue cloak.
Well, shit. There went our attempt to slip away unseen.
A knight in a red surcoat broke from the party to intercept the refugees. His gaze settled on me. Cursing under my breath, I turned to meet him. I had never been to Therapne—he wouldn’t recognize me.
The insignia emblazoned on the man’s tabard was familiar: I’d stitched it onto Percy’s disguise—the one meant to imitate his father.
Sir Percivus—senior—addressed me. “What is the meaning of this? We received no word of such a large group.”
“The outpost at Red Bluffs has fallen,” I said gravely. “We come seeking shelter.”
“Fallen?” He repeated in disbelief. “To what enemy?”
“The Empty,” I said. “Please, we have many injured. Children among them.”
