“Perhaps it was not because of her,” Markam said. His tone softened, and his eyes took on a sheen of sorrow. He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “Perhaps… perhaps it was because I was bedding a Devil.”
Sonara gasped, then punched him in the arm, earning a satisfying yelp.
“You are as beastly as you’ve ever been, Markam of Wildeweb. And you don’t deserve her. You never will.”
But Sonara found herself smiling at him anyway, for she and Markam had always brought out the very worst in each other. The darker sides, that did not mind trading personal jabs even when they stung.
“When Azariah discovered the truth about me, she nearly had me killed. I had to flee in the night, chased by fifty of Jira’s Diamond Guard. She told me if she ever saw me again, she’d request my head, served to her father’s beasts on a platter. But I fooled her,for too long. Which is why I’m not surprised she came to find me for this job to double cross her father. I am the best in the business.”
Sonara shrugged. “I’ve known better.”
“Doubtful.” Markam flicked a coin to a woman selling a leg of mountain lamb, then took the leg and bit into it, groaning softly. “We’ll be done here in no time. Easiest job you’ve ever been handed. That’s a promise.”
Her stomach rumbled, and she reached out to rip a piece of the meat away.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Markam said, waggling a finger. “Patience, Sunny. It’s something you’ve never quite learned.”
“Beast,” Sonara growled. But she smiled as Jaxon slipped up behind him in the crowd, just in time, and plucked the meat from his brother’s hand.
Jaxon tore into it, then tossed the rest to Sonara.
She ripped into it, not caring that she probably resembled Razor feeding on a fresh kill. The meat was so good she groaned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually eaten a full meal that wasn’t rations, let alone taken the time to enjoy one.
“Shall we, boys?” Sonara asked, as she downed the meat and tossed the bone against Markam’s chest. His lip curled up halfway, his aura surging with hot annoyance.
Jaxon held out an arm. “We shall.”
Sonara laced her arm through his, and they set off into the mess of tents and makeshift stalls, like two fine travelers ready to spend their heavy sacks of coin on whatever their hearts desired.
For a time, they lost themselves in the joy of it.
The simple motion of making their way across a valley of goods ripe for the taking.Sonara was able to forget the job ahead; and thetaskahead, as they awaited the arrival of the Wanderers.
She and Jaxon had just settled down in the scattering of tents, drinking from full water skins, when the horn sounded.
Someone was blowing into a giant conch, the sound like a beast bellowing at the edge of its offspring’s grave. She wouldn’t be able to get that sound out of her ears even if she tried. And yet, on instinct, her head tilted towards the sound. Her heartbeat hastened its pace.
In her mind, she saw Soahm smile.Race you to the sea,he said, and she swore she could feel the ghost of long-gone wind on her face, the splash of distant saltwater against her ankles, hear the bubble of faded laughter as she and Soahm sprinted towards the crashing waves.
Soon, Sonara,she told herself.Soon, the Wanderers will arrive. And you will get your answers.
Her blood sang at that fact. Her curse hummed from within.
She stood and turned towards the entrance to the valley, where through the booths she could just catch a glimpse of the road into the Garden as the Queen of Soreia arrived.
Salt of the sea; the sprawling Black Waters.
The aura of a kingdom that was no longer home.
The flagbearer of Soreia arrived first. She sat astride a glorious black steed, the beast’s tail like a river of shimmering silk. The flagbearer herself was adorned in Soreian armor, made of metallic blue interlocking scales. They were impenetrable to most weapons, almost undulating in the sunlight as they shifted between blue and green.
The Concher walked beside her, wearing flowing robes in sea green as he announced Soreia’s arrival.
“Showy as ever,” Jaxon grumbled, and Sonara felt his hand graze her wrist. A gentle touch, enough to show her that she was not alone. “You were never meant for them, Sonara. You’re too wild. Too free.”
“Too rabid,” Markam added.
Sonara spat onto his boots.
