Or was he one of the rare less savory types that Lavette had warned them of? It was possible that he had identified them as potential targets being new to the city and was guessing based on the rumors that swirled at her arrival. Eira had certainly made a show of herself.
Only one way to find out.
“Sure, show me what you got.” Eira shrugged as if it mattered little to her.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Cullen whispered under his breath, taking a step closer to her.
“I’ve weighed the risks.” She ducked her head to hide her words as she followed Olivin around one end of the wares counter and back toward the opening. Even if there were people waiting to ambush them, Eira was confident that the three of them could handle themselves with little issue.
Eira had been expecting a trap at worst, an extension of the shop at best, but she was met by neither; rather, a dimly lit, one-room home. A hearth smoldered underneath a pot on a hook. A single table, two chairs. A bed. Everything was…simple. Of decent quality and make. But nothing like the lavishness that sprawled across Lavette’s home.
“This way.” The man pulled on a shelf in the back of the room. It slid to the side, revealing another doorway that he pushed through. That was a bit more suspect, and a bit more in line with what she’d been cautious about.
Olivin looked back to Eira and she gave him a nod of approval. They pressed on. Cullen remained close to her, taking up the rear. She could feel the tiny currents of air that swirled as he searched for anyone who’d come up behind them.
“Do you have a name?” Eira asked around Olivin’s broad shoulders as the man led them up a stairway wedged between buildings, so steep it might as well be a ladder.
“Drogol,” he answered without looking back. Instinct told her the name was real. It flowed easily off his tongue, but not without a moment’s hesitation—as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell them. Perhaps he was a very good actor.
“Eira.” She extended the same courtesy in reply.
“I know.” They stopped on a landing between buildings, only big enough for Drogol and Olivin to stand on. Eira and Cullen were still behind on the stairs. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Lovely,” Eira muttered under her breath. But she was finding she minded it less and less. If she was going to inherit Adela’s fleet someday, then she should get intimately familiar with infamy.
Drogol led the three of them into a dark room. With a snap of his fingers, a lanternpoppedto life, casting an orange glow on the walls lined with all manner of weapons. There were swords and daggers, of course. A particularly impressive-looking crossbow. But, in the back, there was an entire wall of flashfires.
In the shine of the firelight, she was leagues away. She was back on a field of blood and flash shale smoke. There was a rider approaching, a knight of Carsovia drawing her flashfire.
Eira’s attention swung, following the barrel of the weapon to meet a familiar pair of dark eyes.
“Save me,” the specter of Noelle whispered. Each word was a dagger to Eira’s heart. Her whole body fell under cold more brutal than the longest winter. More unforgiving than frostbite. “Eira…”
“Eira?”
Eira blinked. A bloody hole had been carved in Noelle’s chest. A dribble of crimson ran down her lips as she whispered, “Why?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t she been stronger? Been smarter? Why hadn’t she been able to protect the ones she loved most? It was the question that gnawed a hole in her chest as wide as Noelle’s, but nowhere near as bad. Never as bad. She had paid the ultimate cost for them all.
The specter opened her mouth once more. “Why?—”
“Eira?”
She blinked again and the real world came back into focus. Olivin stood before her, illuminated on one half of his face by the dim lantern light. She swallowed thickly. The dagger had brought her mind to places she hadn’t allowed herself to wander for weeks.
“Sorry,” Eira muttered, and turned her focus back to the wall of weapons.
“It is an impressive collection, I know.” Drogol was either legitimately oblivious, or very polite. Either way, Eira was grateful. “But there is one I think you will find the most interesting.”
Drogol retrieved a key from around his neck and unlocked a thin, wide drawer that he proceeded to pull out. There, lying on a bed of silk the color of Noelle’s blood, was a flashfire smallerthan any other Eira had seen. She took a step closer, assessing the weapon at a silent invitation by way of a wave of Drogol’s palm.
The entire flashfire was smaller than her forearm. It had all the makings of its larger cousin—the usual flashfire that she’d seen wielded with one strong arm, or two hands in most cases. There was a wooden handle at one end, a rune that mirrored the same one imprinted on a small, silver ring set off to the side. There was a space for a small flash bead. However, unlike the other flashfires she’d seen and the ones on the wall, this had dozens of runes engraved down its steel barrel. Each one shone with a glint of power left entirely to the imagination.
“What is it?” Olivin asked for them.
“My master calls it apistol,” Drogol said proudly.
The name wasn’t what stuck out to Eira. “Your master?”
