They stared at each other for a moment, the subtle crashing of the waves filling the silence between them.
‘But you don’t agree.’
He shrugged. ‘I have my own opinions on the prince. AndI know you well enough to know you don’t actually care what they are.’
Fair enough.
She pushed herself off the counter, angling her body to squeeze past him. But she paused as she dragged her eyes up to his. ‘You’re right,Prince,’ she breathed, their bodies close enough that her chest brushed his. ‘I don’t.’
Will grabbed the doorframe, blocking her path forward. ‘Do not,’ he growled, leaning into her, ‘call me that.’
Aya raised her chin, refusing to shrink away from him, even with the doorframe digging into her back, the firm lines of his body pressing into her front.
‘But it’s an honor, isn’t it?’ she asked, his warmth seeping into her. ‘Your reputation precedes you.’
The doorframe groaned slightly under his grip.
‘I don’t think you want to start talking about reputations, Aya love.’ His eyes flared as he stared down at her, his breath caressing her mouth as he whispered, ‘Do you?’
Aya raised a hand to shove him off her, but his gaze darted to her wrist, his gray eyes sparking as he took in the flames wreathing her fingers – flames she hadn’t even sensed. Some part of her recoiled from the sight, and it was like dousing her hand in a bucket of water. The flames vanished.
‘Interesting,’ he murmured, taking a step back. He tilted his head, his hair sliding across his forehead as he considered her. ‘Do you need to stay hidden until Natali teaches you some control?’
Aya bristled at the taunt. ‘You can’t hide me away without the king suspecting we’re up to something.’ Will’s eyes narrowed, and Aya smirked. ‘What a warm reception he gave you.’
‘Us,’ Will corrected as he strolled toward the door, his hands sliding into his pockets. ‘I’ll meet you in the front hall in a half hour. Don’t be late.’
26
The streets of Rinnia were as cheerful as they were colorful. A fine layer of sand covered the cobblestones, as if the beach couldn’t help but want to be near the citizens who strolled along the main thoroughfare, many with their faces upturned to the sun.
‘It’s been an unseasonably cold winter,’ Aidon explained, following Aya’s gaze to one such couple. ‘We’re grateful for the return of our usual mild temperatures. Though I suppose to you the past month would have felt pleasantly warm.’
Aya wasn’t sure she’d have called it pleasant. Beads of sweat gathered at the nape of her neck despite having braided her long hair back. But she forced a smile regardless, the muscles around her mouth twingeing at an expression that felt foreign after the last few weeks.
They continued further into the heart of the city – the Old Town, Aidon explained – stopping at various clothing shops filled with light and revealing fabrics that marked the typical Trahir fashion. Aya knew she should pay more attention to what she selected. Her wardrobe would be another weapon in her arsenal. But with the heat bearing down and her body exhausted from the journey, she had little energy left to care. She flipped through the clothes quickly, her head swimming with the brightness that assaulted her senses.
If the shop owners were surprised to see their prince among them, they didn’t show it. In fact, they greeted him with a warm familiarity he returned, remembering each by name and asking after their various affairs.
They made their way into another plaza, this one marked by a small fountain in the center and rimmed by quaint cafés, each with a different color awning to keep its patrons shaded from the harsh sun. It struck Aya that her mother must have loved this city. She’d never thought to ask; to learn if she found the heat of Rinnia preferable to the cold of Dunmeaden, to hear what foods she had tried and what they drank in lieu of chaucholda. Perhaps Aya had been worried it would make her leave all the sooner.
‘What happened here?’ Will’s voice tugged her from her thoughts, and she followed his gaze to a small cerulean-blue restaurant that sat vacant. Its large window had been shattered, shards of glass still littering the stone floor inside.
‘The Bellare,’ Aidon said darkly, his brow furrowed as he took in the beechwood door hanging haphazardly on its hinges, as if someone had tried to pry it off entirely.
‘The what?’ Aya asked.
The prince heaved a sigh. ‘They’re a group of rebels. They claim to be devout worshippers of the gods and reject any modernization. They believe that by allowing Visya in the Trahir Council and other positions of power, or any notexpresslyoutlined in the Conoscenza, we’re going against what the gods intended. They claim to have humans’ best interests at heart; that by ensuring Visya are kept in their place, they’re protecting the vulnerable.’
‘Aren’t they harmless?’ Will frowned, his gray eyes sweeping over the damage.
‘They were. But we’ve seen a recent surge in activity.’ Aidon nodded at the restaurant. ‘The couple who owns this place are Visya. They’ve been too frightened to return, even with the City Guard watching the plaza.’
Aya’s stomach roiled. Tala may be more traditional in theiradherence to the gods’ desires, but this … this was a perversion of the Conoscenza.
‘They attacked them because they own the restaurant?’ Aya pressed.
‘They’re zealots,’ Aidon muttered. ‘My uncle … and his father before him … and his mother beforehim… they held a different vision for our kingdom. We have long since learned that if we are to prosper, ifallof our people are to prosper, then we cannot treat the Visya as our servants. We must be equals. The Bellare hate it.’
