And Vera’s dress was covered in blood.
He shoved a wrist under his nose, wiping away as much blood as he could. “Walk close behind me, to hide the blood from the children. There’s a blanket with the horse that we can wrap around you.”
She grasped his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For coming after me.”
Venn flexed his fingers around hers. “I always will.”
It had been two days since the fight in the alley, and Venn’s bruises barely bothered him anymore. His knuckles were still a little swollen, but the ache had lessened.
He and Vera had made it back to the children—who were scared, but safely waiting in the alley. They’d made it out of the city without further incident. Vera had been careful to hide the blood staining her dress, though Finn had caught a glimpse. His face had paled, and Venn had quickly stepped up to him. “She’s fine,” he whispered. “It’s not her blood.”
Even days later, Venn was still thanking the fates she hadn’t been hurt worse. He’d allowed himself to get distracted by his revenge against Tariq, and that was the only thing he regretted. If he’d killed Tariq quickly, he would have seen the threat his partner still posed.
He would not make the same mistake ever again. Though, he would prefer to never be put in such a situation again.
Vera had been through enough.
The past couple of days had passed without incident. While Vera occupied the children in the tent, Venn spent his days waiting outside the Keeper’s tent, his patience thinning with every hour nothing happened.
He still hadn’t been admitted to see the record master. Several other men and women waited nearby for an audience, loudly proclaiming that they were looking for loved ones or friends. The Keeper’s representatives seemed to have the same message for all of them: “Come back in two days.”
Venn had watched as one man had gotten so upset, he’d shoved one of the representatives, and he’d been summarily arrested. Seeing the man dragged to the makeshift prison, which sat on the other side of the square from the Keeper’s fine tent, only exacerbated Venn’s tension.
That ominous feeling about Salvation had only grown stronger as Venn sat day after day outside the Keeper’s tent. He wanted to get to the bottom of it, but he was also becoming increasingly anxious to get Vera and the children out of here.
This wasn’t a simple refugee camp. Venn just wasn’t sure what the Keeper was hiding. It was obvious by the state of his tent and the weekly taxes that he was making a profit from them, but something niggled in the back of Venn’s mind, whispering that there was more to this place than simple greed.
There was a muttered curse, and Venn glanced toward the sound. A by-now familiar gray-haired man scowled at the Keeper’s tent, even as a representative was pointing for him to leave.
Venn straightened, but he didn’t rise from his seat on the ground.
Zander threw up his hands and twisted away from the representative and the tent. As he did, he spotted Venn. Recognition flared in his eyes, and he changed course. As he came toward him, Venn slowly stood.
“Either the fates want us to keep meeting, or you’re following me,” Zander said.
“Or you’re following us,” Venn pointed out.
The corner of the man’s mouth rose. “Or that.” He glanced around. “Where are Vera and the children?”
“They’re safe at our tent.” Leaving them for any period of time was difficult, but they were safer tucked away from the main square. At least, it felt safer.
“And Vera’s wound—is she quite recovered?”
“Yes. Thank you again for your help that night.”
The man sighed. “It’s abominable that it ever happened, and it’s the least I could have done.” He eyed Venn. “We haven’t met very formally, have we?” He extended a hand. “I’m Zander.”
Venn took the offered hand. “Venn.”
Zander nodded. “I feel like I should apologize. I traveled with those men for convenience only, and I haven’t seen them since they attacked you.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Still. Even on the road, when they were rude to you, I could have done more.” He shook his gray head. “Strange times make for strangeness in ourselves, I suppose.”
Vera was right—his manner of speech truly was like a noble. His brows pulled together, and he nodded toward the Keeper’s tent. “You can’t manage to get an appointment either?”
He scowled. “No, unfortunately. Are you trying to see the Keeper, too?”
