Hazel eyes travelled up to meet hers, pupils rimmed with gold that shone as bright as the sun she barely remembered. The man’s hand slackened around his weapon.
‘Optimistic,’ he said, looking around.
‘And subsequently disappointed.’ She took in his tall frame and covering of lean muscle, wondering if she could outrun him. Defenders were notoriously fit.
He let go of his sword. ‘Not a good time to be wandering around the forest by yourself.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘There are dogs in the borough.’
‘How are they at finding mushrooms?’ She had no idea why she said that. Everyone knew defenders were stripped of their sense of humour within the first few months of training.
‘My men are looking for tunnel shafts. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’
His men? Her eyes moved over the expensive uniform, pausing on his gold cloak pin.
He was a commander.
Her eyes shot up to his. She was fairly certain she was standing before the warden’s son—Commander Wright. ‘I know nothing of the tunnels.’ She was a superb liar when she needed to be.
He looked down at her mud-soaked skirt. ‘When was the last time you ate?’
‘This morning,’ she lied. If he thought her starving, he might think her desperate enough to brave the tunnels.
His face suggested he did not believe her. ‘What did you have?’
‘Fish.’ It was feasible for those with enough coin and the patience to wait at the port all night for the boat to come in.
The commander let out a resigned breath, like he had just lost a battle with himself. ‘Follow me.’ He stepped past her.
‘Where?’
He glanced over his shoulder. ‘When a defender tells you to follow, you follow.’
‘Am I under arrest?’ She bit the inside of her cheek.
‘Tempting,’ he said under his breath before walking on.
Blake brushed a hand over the weapon concealed beneath her skirt. She was not a violent person by nature, but every woman in the borough had to be able to protect themselves if needed. She glanced a final time at the shaft before following him.
They had only gone ten yards when the commander stopped and crouched in front of a tree, foraging around its roots. Blake stood a safe distance away, watching him.
‘Come here,’ he said, drawing his dagger.
Blake’s hand went into the pocket of her skirt, where the seam opened, providing access to her own weapon. ‘Why?’
He looked up, gaze falling to the pocket where her hand was hidden. ‘Because I want to show you something. And hands where I can see them.’
She withdrew it, squinting against the rain as it fell heavy once more. ‘If I’m not under arrest, I’d like to go home.’
His attention remained on the tree. ‘See these wood shavings?’ He picked some up and sprinkled them to show her. ‘That’s how you know where to find them.’
‘Them?’
‘Aureate grubs. Few people realise you can eat them.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘That’s what you wanted to show me?’
