Today he had the look of a warrior. His broad shoulders were taut with barely contained power. Each confident stride, bordering on arrogant, sent the sword at his hip swaying. The hilt of his weapon was a display of ornate metalwork that could only have been shaped using magic. I’d been right; he was clearly wealthy.
I didn’t think it was the same sword he’d used to pour the guts of a man onto the ground. Perhaps this weapon was his personal one, while the one he’d used before was an official arm of the Assembly’s justice. The ruby sparkling on the pommel held a bit of magic of its own. But the magic inthe gem was nothing compared to the vast reserve rolling off his body like a heatwave.
Men like him didn’t bring salvation for women like me. Only trouble.
I doubted this stone-faced aristocrat was headed my way for a simple bundle of herbs or a pouch of tea. The butcher’s wife had been right about me. I was a jumpy bird, easily trapped by the smallest predator. So why had the Assembly sent a lion?
Except, again, this mage, this man wasn’t dressed like one of them.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he simply wanted to humiliate me for his own amusement.
Or something much worse.
A cold dread settled in my chest as I straightened my spine and put on my most polite smile. Maybe I could make a profitable sale. I doubted he’d notice if I charged him triple the normal price for anything. My farthest wish was unlikely—that he’d come to apologize or make amends for the disgusting display that had stripped me of sleep and a bit of my sanity.
But hope was a fragile thing, and anyone looking at this man could tell that he was built to break it. My only goal was to escape the impending interaction with my head still attached to my shoulders.
“Hello again, my lord,” I said, my head bowed, a sugary sweetness in my tone. Since I didn’t know his rank, lord was a safe, easy, all-purpose title I couldn’t go wrong with.
He casually tossed his red cloak over one shoulder. Those icy blue eyes looked me over for a long moment, lingering on my face and hands. It was like he’d expected to see bruises covering my exposed skin. But only shadows of exhaustion appeared under my eyes.
Was it possible I hadn’t been wrong? Could it truly have been him stalking the mercenaries the previous evening?
Without a corpse between us, he seemed even taller and more intimidating. His expression, initially stony and unreadable, twisted into one of disdain as he looked down at my display. The scar that bisected his full lipspulled one corner higher than the other, creating a lopsided scowl that I refused to flinch from.
“Herbs?” he asked, voice rough, as if unused to speech that wasn’t barking orders. “These are everywhere outside the city. A grift!”
I bristled immediately, drawing myself up. So, this executioner was a country lord who knew nothing of city life.
A peasant couldn’t afford the time or the energy to look for seasonings after their long workday. But the herbs made up only half of my stock, and my pricing was fair. The rest were tinctures infused with my magic.
“Depends,” I said lightly. “I wouldn’t be in business if I didn’t have customers.”
“So quick to bite back.” A ghost of a smile, or perhaps its opposite, briefly flickered across his angular features as he suspiciously eyed my iron pendant again. His fingers brushed a second bundle of dried lavender, careful not to break apart the brittle plant despite the contempt in his voice.
His fingers found the yarrow next.
“Yarrow helps with swelling and pain.” I wasn’t above trying to make a sale to a wealthy man, even if he was rude. Mama could use a new shawl. “I can make that into a poultice for you or your horse.”
“So, you peddle false comfort to fools,” he said. His blue eyes turned the color of a winter sky just before a storm.
“Oh, I wouldn’t call you a fool,” I murmured, lowering my voice further. “Not yet, anyway.”
His mouth twitched. “Flattery or insult?Careful, little merchant.”
Gods help me, I took in a sudden breath. He was handsome. Even his disdain couldn’t take away from it. That half-smile encouraged me to say more than I should have.
“I am careful,” I said. “You just don’t like the places I aim.”
Was I trying to get myself killed?
“I sell what helps,” I added as coolly as I could, given that inconveniently timed revelation. “Here, try a bit of this.”
I pulled out a tincture made of chamomile, lemon balm, and several other plants abundant in the area this time of year. My empathic magic enhanced the mixture, increasing its calming potency. I’d made it a few days ago for a returning customer to ease his worries, but it seemed this man needed it more urgently.
I’d been so distracted by what his presence might mean for me, by the sudden recognition of his attractiveness, that I hadn’t realized I felt no emotions from him once again. He stood before me like an unfeeling statue. There was some relief in that, but it also meant that I couldn’t read him—not a good thing if I wanted to keep myself safe.
While I knew this kind of magic was possible, I hadn’t experienced it much beyond a passing interaction with a few mages while visiting the fortress. My formal magical training had ended early because my parents couldn’t afford the tuition when there were too many mouths to feed.
