Back to another man. To a pirate, to the nemesis of someone Reid had just begun to trust. He had to tell Sachia; it was another enemy they shared, another chance to solidify their loyalty to each other. Their aims were the same once again.
Reid tried not to consider the extent of it. He didn’t know what had plagued Vaasa upon discovering the love of her youth still alive, but if he let himself linger on the thought of Roman too long, his rage would become untamable.
His fear.
The main square was only a few blocks away from the apartment, and at this time, it was bustling with the people who worked the local mercantile. He blended into that crowd easily. Just another few blocks away, the port released the last of the morning ships into the bay for their fishing expeditions or welcomed back the merchants who had only just arrived. He swore this city never slept, even if its streets always felt cold and lifeless. Such an antithesis to the world he had grown up in. While Mireh was always full of people who stayed out late or frequented the establishments on the Settara, they were friendly. It was a way to spend their free time. Here, it was only work that pulled people from their beds. It made walking unseen through the crowds easier than expected—no one met each other’s eyes or acknowledged their neighbors.
Reid turned the corner to the fabric shop and halted.
The street was swathed in blue. City guards created a pool of coats that surrounded the fabric shop, and every instinct Reid had spent his life honing kicked into gear. He kept his hood pulled up, thankful for the dusting of snow that made it practical, and folded his body into the crowd that stood watching the event. Someone was dragged from the shop. All Reid got was a glimpse of brown hair and spectacles.
It was Koen.
His stomach folded in on itself. Reid closed his fists, counting the guards that surrounded Koen, considering any path he could take through the crowd in order to reach him. There was no way. He would be outnumbered in seconds, dead within minutes. He considered himself a strong fighter, but there were at least ten men surrounding Koen.
His only option was to go in the back. To see if there was any way to save his mother.
Reid sprinted, aiming for the alleyway at the back of the row of buildings that contained the fabric shop. Snow crunched beneath his boots. He couldn’t even feel the cold. As he turned down the ally, someone burst through the back door.
Blond hair, terrified jade green eyes.
“Mom.” Reid skidded to a stop in front of her, hands gripping her shoulders while he inspected for wounds.
“Sachia is in the basement,” his mother gasped, grabbing Reid’s arms. “She forced me to run—she wouldn’t let me use my magic.”
Reid couldn’t explain the relief that barreled through him, the sheer gratitude. If his mother had wielded magic, every cover they had would be at risk.
“We have to go back for her,” his mother demanded.
Reid threw open the door, and they plunged into the back of the fabric shop, to the very last row of tall spools. The fabric shielded them from anyone’s view, but the shop was eerily quiet. There was a small hallway and a set of stairs that led to the basement, and Reid raced to the door, his mother hot on his heels. He heard a voice behind it, and ever so quietly, he turned the knob. He slid through it, tiptoeing down the hallway that would lead to the main basement room, pulling a knife from inside his warm coat.
There were only two voices, and they spoke Icrurian. Like Sachia wanted one of their group to understand what she was saying.
Sachia’s voice came panicked, quick. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play stupid,” a man’s voice spat. Not anyone Reid had heard before, but his Icrurian words were thick with an Asteryan accent. “Answer me. Are you doing business with the heiress?”
Reid inched down the hallway, his heart in his throat.
“Yes,” Sachia confessed.
Reid’s stomach lurched. With a look to his mother, he slid to the edge of the hallway, just enough to peer into the room, hoping with everything he had that the man wasn’t facing him. Ready to pounce if the man was.
Sachia was pressed to the wall, the man’s hand wrapped around her throat, a blade pressed to her abdomen. Reid couldn’t see anything but the man’s back, swathed in a blue coat, but he recognized his stature and the short cut of his brown hair.
Roman. It had to be. It was the same man who had dragged Vaasa out of the brothel.
Reid tightened his grip on his knife, fury boiling his blood. He couldn’t kill the man—not if it meant ruining their chances of getting to Amalie and to Sachia’s brother.
Roman pulled Sachia forward and then slammed her into the wall. She gave a small grunt of pain.
“Is Reid of Mireh in the city?” the man demanded.
“No,” Sachia swore.
“Then why does Karev believe he is?”
Desperation rode every word Sachia choked out. “I don’t know.”
