He stared at me for several long seconds, weighing not just the blade, butme. And then I saw that flicker of fear, quickly buried beneath a quiet, resigned resolve.
“I will take it,” he said at last, though tinged with the enormity of what he’d just accepted. “I’ll keep it safe.”
Relief surged through me like a crashing wave.
I reached across the table and clasped his hands in mine—a gesture that straddled the line between genuine gratitude and desperate necessity. His grip was firm, warm, steady, and grounding.
For a fleeting moment, I let myself believe that everything might, somehow, be alright.
“Thank you, Signor Zampa,” I whispered. “I’m indebted to you.”
Around us, the tavern thrummed with life—laughter and song rising over the clinking of tankards, the heavy air thick with smoke and sweat. We drained the last of our mead in silence, the unspoken tension between us lingering in the shadows.
Then Signor Zampa pushed to his feet.
“Wait,” I said quickly. “I need to find someone else here in Florence. Do you know a man named Eyan Malik?”
He paused, eyes narrowing. “No, dear. I’m afraid I don’t.”
He glanced around the room, suddenly guarded. “But I’d best be on my way.”
Before I could respond, he slipped into the crowd and vanished, consumed by the pulse of the tavern.
I sat there for a moment, stunned. Alone again.
With no leads on Malik, I made a decision fueled more by instinct than reason—I would go to Raul.
The thought of seeing him again sent a flutter through my stomach. I lifted the tankard for one final sip, but the sweet mead tasted bitter now, churning in my gut instead of offering comfort.
Outside, the sun had begun its descent, staining the sky in hues of crimson and gold. Raul’s estate lay far beyond the edge of town. If I went on foot, I wouldn’t reach him until midnight, and I’d be too exhausted to stand, let alone scheme.
I needed a horse.
In the fading light, I slipped into the shadows near the tavern entrance. A small group of horses stood tethered nearby, their heads bowed, tails swishing lazily. I scanned the area—no guards, no onlookers.
My heart thundered as I crept forward, staying close to the shadows. One of the horses, a chestnut mare with intelligent eyes, met my gaze. I stroked her muzzle, whispering.
She didn’t flinch.
Good.
With swift, practiced hands, I untied her reins, slung myself into the saddle, and dug my heels in. She surged forward, and I rode hard, the wind slicing across my face as I galloped away from the tavern and into the twilight.
When I reached Raul’s estate, the sky had darkened into a murky shade of ink, scattered with pale stars. An uneasy stillness hung over the land, melancholy wrapping the house.
I dismounted, heart hammering in my chest, and approached the front door.
Only one window glowed faintly with candlelight.
The rest of the house was dark.
I hesitated at the threshold, my hand hovering over the heavy iron knocker. Once I struck it, there would be no turning back.
With a sudden resolve, I seized the cold iron and slammed it hard against the oak door. The sound echoed through the eveninglike a warning bell—loud, final. I waited, breath held, the silence that followed stretching out like a noose.
No answer.
Frustration burned in my chest. I pounded the knocker again—once, twice, three times—until my hand throbbed and the cold bit into my skin—still, only silence.
