“It’s our only option.”
Liam’s eyes flashed. “Do you remember that night at the Squal?”
“Vividly.”
“She nearly—”
“Apologies,” Aidon interrupted. “But what the hells are we talking about?”
“Not what,” Liam muttered darkly. “Who.”
He shook his head again, a quiet string of curses falling from his lips before they finally formed around a name. “Fucking Dauphine Adair.”
12
Aidon had been to Colmur only once, when he was a young man. He’d been with Josie and their father, Enzo, on a diplomatic visit, and he’d been fascinated with the way the city felt sunken into the earth.
The easternmost trade center of the Midlands sat in the shadow of two large mountains at the far end of the Elsoria desert, and with its clay walls and narrow streets and bustling market that served as the heartbeat at the center of the city, it was easy to forget life outside of Colmur existed.
Or at least, it had been, back when Aidon was sixteen and his biggest concern was if he could find a way to ditch his sister to enjoy some uninterrupted revelry with a Midlands merchant who had caught his eye as they ambled through the market.
Now, though…
Now he could feel the outside world breathing down his neck, even as they wandered through the bustling streets, the clay and wooden buildings with their thatched roofs and marble domes bearing down on them like a hulking shadow.
Liam, the most inconspicuous of the three of them, had insisted on using some of their coin they were savingfor Dauphine to buy them a change of attire that was more typical of the eastern region of the Midlands. He’d muttered something aboutnot givingthat womana single copper more than they needed toas he stalked into a small shop in a town bordering one of the desert oases.
Aidon was grateful for Liam’s insistence on a new wardrobe. The Elsoria was typically far more temperate than the Preuve desert of Trahir. But they’d found the air brittle and dry—as though the angered gods had sucked the moisture from the skies and were intent on taking it from their bodies as well. The afternoon heat was also brutal, and uncharacteristic of this time of year. The desert should be cooling, and yet it seemed the strangeness that had befallen Tala had found its way here, as well.
The soft, supple material of his cordovan vest kept him cool as best it could as the afternoons grew warmer, but Aidon still preferred the linen from home.
The britches, however, were hells. The calico fabric was rough and stiff, and he felt it chafing against his skin as he followed Will through the market, Liam tense by his side.
He had yet to get the full story from the Persi in regard to Dauphine Adair. Not that there had been ample time for conversation. They’d been far too tense when crossing through the Druswood, their ears straining to distinguish between the footsteps of an animal or human. They’d stolen horses once they’d reached the farmlands, but even then, they’d kept a quick pace through the fields and desert.
There’d been no time for idle conversation. Even Aidon’s explanation of his own affinity issues had been brief—just enough for Liam to understand why they trained each morning, and why Will was so irritated that Aidon had attempted to use his fire against the Royal Guard in Maumart.
“The whole point is for me to be able to use my power in battle,” Aidon had snapped when Will had worn his patience thin.
“The whole point is for you not to fucking die.”
Will had such a…unique…way of showing he cared, Aidon had thought wryly.
Now, his friend prowled ahead, his head ducked low, and Aidon found himself drifting to Liam’s side.
“You don’t much like this woman we’re in search of,” he remarked as he scanned the market. They’d left the wolves on the outskirts of the city, and Aidon hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on their protection since they’d entered the Druswood two weeks ago. Their absence left him further on guard, his eyes darting from stall to stall in search of a threat. It was a lucky thing the fashion of Colmur called for beiges and browns and tans and whites. All the easier to spot the maroon livery of the Talan guard, should they be allowed access into the city.
Unless, of course, they were hiding in plain sight.
“An understatement,” Liam retorted. He wore his own cordovan vest, his a light brown. With his arms exposed, Aidon could make out the dark lines of a tattoo on his bicep:
Two concentric circles—the symbol of the Persi.
“Tell me about her,” he requested.
Liam slid a hand to his side, and Aidon was sure he was toying with the knife he kept strapped to his hip. “She does work with Mathias Denier.”
Aidon rolled his eyes. “Yes, I gathered that. Tell me something that will actuallyhelpme when we walk into gods know what.”
