“Stellan,” says Alastair the First, King of Merchants.
His voice is deep, as if coming from the darkest parts of the ocean. He’s sitting on his throne, sculpted from the heartwood of an ebony tree. A craftsman gifted it to him when he rose to power a few years ago, shortly before our arrival at the Market. The back and the armrests are shaped like tentacles reaching outward. A stark reminder of the old god’s DNA he was created from: the Kraken.
Alastair’s skin is as dark as his throne, but his heavy locs and under-shave haircut are white as bone, and his eyes are an unsettling shade of gray. This is a man that can never pass for normal, unlike Jude’s lover, Oliver. His mutations are for all to see. He’s wearing his usual long leather coat.
“I come for an urgent audience,” I say, holding his pale gaze.
“Come on! We’re busy here!” says the merchant I interrupted. He’s a burly man with a beard.
But the King watches me for a heartbeat, then says, “Leave us.”
The two merchants open their mouths to argue, but one look from their king and they exit the throne room. Alastair is not the kind of ruler that you rebel against without good reason. Unless you want to find yourself kicked out of the Market—or dead.
The King watches me with a raised eyebrow. I never ask for audiences. He’s usually the one who requests things from me. Like repairs on the Baggers and other vehicles. I’m his prized mechanic, even if we rarely talk.
As soon as the door closes, I say, “Perri’s gone. He left while I was working on the job you gave me.” I have been in the desert for two days to repair a merchant’s truck that broke down two hours away from the Market, then came back this morning and found our apartment empty. “I request your help to go after him. I need men, trucks, and supplies.”
“Gone where?” the King asks.
“To San Francisco.”
“The AI?”
I nod grimly. “Yes.”
Alastair sighs. “Fool,” he says.
I frown. A ‘fuck you’ almost crosses my lips. “If having a kind heart makes someone a fool, then yes, he’s the biggest fool there is, but also the best of us.”
The King smiles. He’s devilishly handsome, to the point where it’s annoying to look at him.
“Yes, that he is,” he admits.
“I need the men, and fast. I’m leaving in the next hour. He already has more than a day of travel ahead of us.”
“I can spare three people plus you,” Alastair says. “And two vehicles.”
My frown deepens. The wastelands are too dangerous for only four people to suffice. Some of the Highwaymen are still hunting down merchants. Many nomads have turned into beasts out there in the wilds. And that’s not even counting on the old gods we might encounter. If I were to die during the journey, who would go find Perri? We can’t leave him alone in the wide world.
“Four people aren’t enough,” I say. “I need—”
“Myself included,” he cuts me off.
My next words die on my lips. “You?”
He rises from his dark throne. He’s taller than me by a few inches, which infuriates me, too. “Yes, me. I’m coming.”
The King often leaves the Traveling Market to go on important ventures. Usually the kind that requires force and persuasion, like rogue nomads or unruly communities who have threatened or killed merchants. Which isn’t the case here.
I might have misjudged his relationship with Perri. I know that they finally had sex two weeks ago, after the banquet for the fall equinox. Perri had been sending him secret smiles for weeks. I knew it was a matter of time before the King gave in. Nobody can resist those smiles and looks for long.
After that, Perri disappeared for a few nights in a row and only came back in the early morning. One day, I waited for him in the kitchen as he walked in with a smug expression, his long, brown hair unbound and tousled.
“Had fun?” I asked.
Perri sighed with content. “Yes. He’s good in bed, to say the least. And very… special.”
I didn’t take the bait.
