‘I take it you two want to live?’ she asked, her head cocked as she studied the men. They glanced at each other warily before giving her a small nod. She let her affinity flow, let it wrap around that will to survive.
‘Then start walking.’
2
Twenty godsdamn minutes. That’s how long it took to get the trembling tradesmen to the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the Rouline, the entertainment district that lined Dunmeaden’s port. Aya had hoped to see Ronan there with the supplier, but all she found was Liam, another Persi in the Dyminara, waiting inside as planned.
‘No Ronan?’ he muttered as they shut the heavy wooden door behind them, leaving the tradesmen bound to two chairs inside.
‘No,’ Aya said, her voice curt. She rubbed her hands together, longing for the gloves she hadn’t been able to find in her room.
On my oath, if this godsdamn night doesn’t end soon …
‘I thought he pursued the supplier, but if he still isn’t here …’
Liam sighed, the bright light of the moon casting shadows on his dark brown skin and black hair, cut into a high-top fade. He dragged a hand over his square jaw and grimaced against the cold. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time a Royal Guard botched a job,’ he said darkly.
The queen insisted the Dyminara work with the Guard, who were tasked with her daily protection and the policing of the city. But substantial threats fell to the Dyminara alone, the queen’s elite Visya force of warriors, scholars, and spies blessed with kernels of godlike power from the Nine Divine. There was no one better suited to the task. The stark divide between the Guard and the Dyminara caused a good deal oftension. Though even the Guard wouldn’t be foolish enough to act on it. The Dyminara were lethal.
Distantly, the bells from the town’s center chimed once. An hour after midnight. Aya straightened from where she’d leaned against the door. ‘They claim there wasn’t anyone with them; that there was no supplier there. Press them on it until he gets here,’ she instructed, jerking her head toward the warehouse. Liam would begin the questioning, using his persuasion affinity to garner what information he could until the Enforcer arrived to see the hard work through. If anyone could break a source, it was the Queen’s Second.
‘May Saudra guide me,’ Liam muttered, half in parting, half in prayer to their patron goddess. Aya nodded her agreement.
They could certainly use the help.
The wind howled as Aya started down the dirt path that would lead her into town, her head bent against the cold. When the Ventaleh wind unleashed its wrath upon the Mala mountain range, its bite was cold enough to freeze the very granite itself. Legend said the Ventaleh was a warning from the gods: though the Visya still held kernels of power, the Divine held the ability to cleanse the world. They’d nearly done it before, and they would do it again should the Visya forget their place.
But the only warning ringing in Aya’s mind was of frostbite. There was a reason the Council was hells-bent on keeping their sheep-farmers happy. If one wanted to thrive in Dunmeaden all one needed was wool and weapons, their merchants often crowed. And while her sweater had been effective in enticing the barkeep, it did little against the freezing temperature.
She should’ve grabbed her cloak.
Aya hurried through the heart of the Rouline, her pacequickening as she grew closer to the cobblestone path that marked the end of the entertainment district and the beginning of the Merchant Borough. The further away she could get from the docks of the river, the better. The Loraine, which flowed from the mountains through the heart of the city and out to the Anath Sea, carried the wind down from the Malas, making the cold unforgivable.
Aya finally reached the Merchant Borough, the high-pitched keening of the wind the only sound aside from the creak of the hanging wooden signs above the shops and restaurants. She ducked into a side street next to Eden, the finest dining establishment in the city. Light flickered in its stained-glass windows, splashing low flashes of color across the blacks and grays and browns of the alleyway. If she closed her eyes and settled her breath, she could pretend to feel the warmth of the main hearth leaking into the street.
Every so often, bursts of laughter and music filled the street as the mahogany door swung open and revelers stumbled into the main thoroughfare. Not one so much as glanced in her direction. She doubted anyone noticed she was there at all. Aya knew how to melt into shadows. Invisibility had long suited her.
Just as the bells in the main square chimed two hours after midnight, a large, boisterous group spilled out of the restaurant, shouting promises of lasting partnership and peace for all their days.
Aya rolled her eyes, knowing they’d be back to arguing with each other tomorrow over tariffs and trade routes and whatever else would keep more money in their pockets than they deserved.
Assholes. All of them.
The group bid their goodnights, the bulk of them heading back to their estates and the gilded hotels at the edge of theborough. A few made their way toward the Rouline, likely to continue their evening of debauchery. And then just one remained: a young man who set off at a leisurely pace toward the heart of the city.
Aya kept to the shadows as she followed him, staying several paces behind to ensure no one else was tracking them. He was tall, his heavy wool jacket unable to hide his firm build. His hair was tousled from the wind, the back just barely grazing the collar of his coat.
Aya could see the ease radiating off him as he made his way down the main thoroughfare, his pace steady and loose, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Dangerous for a late-night stroll alone.
Aya closed the distance between them, waiting until he turned onto the winding alley, a cut-through that started the steep climb to the Quarter, before soundlessly falling into step beside him.
In one swift movement, he had her pinned against the stone wall with one arm while the other pressed a knife to the column of her throat.
‘Good to know you’re actually paying attention,’ she wheezed.
‘Dammit, Aya!’ Will dropped the knife, his gray eyes flashing with anger. His cheeks were flushed as he growled, ‘You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.’
