She chatted with the merchant, laughing at something he said, her hand resting lightly on his arm in a gesture that seemed friendly but that Vaskel knew was calculated to the last degree. The merchant, a graying human with all the personality of stale bread, was practically glowing under her attention.
Vaskel's hands clenched into fists, the marks on his arms flaring with heat. She’d promised him three days, although now that he thought back, she hadn’t promised she would stay away until the end of them. How like the hellkin to taunt her victim before exacting penance.
His tail swished behind him. “Not on my watch.”
Seventeen
Vaskel keptto the edges of the market, using the crowd as cover while he tracked Marina's movements. She glided between the stalls like silk across soft skin, admiring a display of winter apples and exclaiming over the quality of speckled duck eggs a farmer's wife had brought to sell. To anyone watching, she appeared to be nothing more than a newcomer to the village, perhaps visiting relatives or passing through on the way to somewhere else.
But Vaskel knew better. He watched the calculated way she tilted her head when the honey vendor explained his different varieties, saw how her fingers lingered just a moment too long when the elderly herb seller handed her a sprig of rosemary to smell. Each gesture was designed to disarm, to charm, to make herself memorable in the most pleasant way possible.
At the root vegetable stand, she engaged the usually grumpy farmer in an animated conversation about the best way to store turnips through the winter. The man was actually smiling, his weathered face creasing and his cheeks coloring as Marina hung on his every word.
She moved on to admire the fruits at another stall, where preserved quinces and late pears mingled in baskets. The vendor, a middle-aged woman with work-worn hands, initially regarded Marina with the suspicion rural folk reserved for beautiful strangers. But within moments, Marina had her laughing, the two of them bent together over a basket of dried figs as if they were old friends sharing gossip.
This was what made Marina dangerous. It wasn’t only her beauty, though that was weapon enough, but it was her ability to read people instantly and become exactly what they wanted her to be. With the men who grinned haplessly at her, she played the innocent, asking their advice and flattering them for being so clever. With some of the women, she was conspiratorial and warm, complimenting their goods and asking after recipes with the eagerness of someone genuinely wanting to learn. With other women, she fluttered her lashes and touched their arms until they blushed.
Vaskel's marks burned beneath his shirt as he watched her work. She was laying groundwork. She was making herself known, liked, and welcomed. When whatever she was planning came to pass, these people would remember her as that lovely young woman who'd been so interested in their wares and had made them feel important. They’d never even think of her as a hellkin. They'd never suspect her of anything nefarious.
A flash of movement in his peripheral vision made him turn. For a moment, he was sure he’d spotted Erindil, but was the usually fussy elf in trousers and a tunic? Before he could get a good look, the figure with silvery hair had vanished behind one of the market stalls. He didn’t have long to dwell on it, as he spied Fenni approaching the market from the direction of his cheeseshop and heading straight for where Marina was currently examining bulbs of garlic.
Without thinking, Vaskel intercepted the cheesemonger, stepping directly into his path with what he hoped was a casual smile. "Fenni! Just the halfling I was hoping to see."
The cheesemonger stopped, tugging the points of his red plaid waistcoat to extend over his belly and meet his perfectly coordinated red pants. Trust Fenni to be impeccably dressed even for a simple trip to the market. “What a pleasant surprise, Vaskel. What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering about your winter cheeses," Vaskel said, positioning himself so Fenni's back was to Marina. "The tavern could use something special for the wedding feast."
Fenni's face lit up as he rubbed his chubby hands together. "Oh, you've come to the right person! I've just received the most extraordinary shipment. There's a soft cheese from the Skittering Islands that's been aged in volcanic caves—it gives it this wonderful mineral quality that pairs beautifully with winter fruits."
Vaskel nodded encouragingly, sneaking glances over Fenni's shoulder to track Marina's progress through the market. She'd moved on from the garlic vendor and was now examining leather goods with the tanner.
"And then," Fenni continued, warming to his subject, "there's a particularly fine hard cheese from the borderlands. They age it for a minimum of three years, and it develops these wonderful crystalline patches that crunch when you bite into them. The flavor is nutty and complex with just a hint of caramel at the finish."
"That sounds perfect," Vaskel said, though his attention was split between Fenni's enthusiastic description and Marina's movements. She was getting closer to the edge of the market now, near where it opened onto the main road.
Fenni launched into a detailed explanation of optimal serving temperatures and pairing suggestions, his hands fluttering as he spoke. Any other day, Vaskel would have been genuinely interested. After all, Fenni's cheese knowledge was encyclopedic. But right now, all he could focus on was keeping the halfling distracted long enough for Marina to move on.
"—and if you serve it with a drizzle of that honey from the Elmshire hives, it creates this incredible harmony of flavors that?—"
"I'll take both," Vaskel interrupted, relief flooding through him as he saw Marina leaving the market and striding down the main road toward the castle. "Two wheels of each for the wedding."
Fenni beamed. "Excellent choice! Oh, Lira and Korl are going to have such a magnificent feast!"
"I'm sure they will," Vaskel agreed, already backing away. "Thanks, Fenni. I should get to the tavern before Sass comes looking for me.”
Fenni’s thick eyebrows popped high. “Goodness, we don’t want that.” He shooed him away with a grin. “Go, go!"
Vaskel let out a relieved sigh as Fenni headed into the market. Guilt gnawed gently at him for using Sass as an excuse, but the dwarfcouldbe formidable when irritated. Now that he thought about it, he should hurry to work before he incurred a scolding for being so late.
As he turned to leave, his gaze snagged on something red. Turning back, he spotted a hellkin leaning against a market stall peddling root vegetables. But it wasn’t Marina. This hellkin hadn’t bothered to disguise himself to blend in. He wore a dark cloak to ward off the cold, but one side flapped open to reveal the steely glint of a blade at his waist.
Vaskel met the hellkin’s eyes and narrowed his own. This was clearly one of Marina’s young recruits, no doubt sent to spy on Vaskel and send him a message. Well, Vaskel could send a message of his own.
Cocking his head, he touched one hand to his forehead and mimed tipping an imaginary hat to the young hellkin, even smirking at him. This provoked exactly the scowl Vaskel had wanted.
Taking long strides away from the market and the hellkin, past the stone monument centering the village, and through the shops on both sides of the main road, Vaskel didn’t glance over his shoulder once. Even though he pretended to be nonchalant about the appearance of hellkins in Wayside, he was deep in his own thoughts. How could he warn the villagers without causing a panic or revealing the truth of his connection to her?
He’d almost reached Pip’s bakery, reminding himself that he didn’t have time to stop this morning, when he stopped dead in his tracks.
