I snap my fingers and point at him. “That’s the one.”
“Have you lost your mind?” His question comes out harsh and sharp. He even stops petting Crumb to give me an incredulous glare. Crumb whines. “Going anywhere near The Shallows is a death wish, Z. No one in their sane mind will go there with you.”
I blink at him a few times, unsure what to say. I shouldn’t be surprised by his change of mood. I know The Shallows is dangerous, hence the reason I’m trying to think of another plan. I’ve just never seen him like this. So serious and fearful.
Seferin has a chokehold on everyone, it seems.
Bolivar’s eyes and shoulders soften as he regards me. “Look, I’m sorry about Analla. I know she’s your sister, but you can’t save everyone, Z. You shouldn’t have to put your life on the line because of her mistakes. I’ll walk you home when my shift is over. Just stay put for now.” He shoots a quick glance around the tavern, then whispers, “And for the love of Orvena, stop talking shit aboutSeferin. I don’t need both Quinlocke sisters getting killed.”
The giant leaves my table with a grunt, but not before scooping up my mug and taking it with him. Crumb trails him, tail wagging.
Damn. I really wanted another.
Behind me, rough laughter and bellowing voices rise up in waves. I glance around the corner of my booth, spotting a group of beastials playing cards. Next to them is a table of mortals and charmers. They have a deck of cards as well.
One of them levitates a plate in the air, grinning like he’s performed the greatest spell in all of Thelanor. I suck my teeth. That’s all charmers are good for—sideshow tricks.
It’s just now that I notice the people tucked away in the alcoves. All wear translucent crystal brooches enclosed by sigil-carved metal. That particular brooch signifies to others exactly what they are. Sorcerers.
Ah. Now I understand why Bolivar wants me to keep my voice down. With my nose buried in the tomes, I hadn’t realized there were so many of them here tonight.
“I swear I saw him,” a man whispers as he and a mate breeze by with mugs full of ale in their hands. “He was near the canal. Just standing there, looking like he’ll kill anyone who crosses him.”
“I heard he’s already slaughtered three men in Redclaw,” the mate says.
I watch the men sit at a table in the far corner, guzzling down ale in between their strange gossip.
There have been a lot of murmurs tonight about a man in black strolling through Meriva. They all seem scared when they speak of this person. One passerby said this man only comes out of hiding when he’s looking for blood—that spilling it is what he does best.
I ignored the whispers before, but I’ve been here for well over three hours now, and whoever this stranger is, he has everyone worked up.
Perhaps I should pack up and leave if such danger is lurking. Then again, what does it matter if my sister is going to die and I might, too, if I try saving her?
Bolivar returns to my table with a plate in hand and a short glass of water. He places both on an empty spot on the wooden tabletop and slides them closer to me. “Figured this would help you sober up. Or cheer you up. Whichever one you need right now.”
My mouth salivates at the sight of the sweet gold drizzle clinging to the sliced edge of the honey loaf. I press my fingers to the cakey yellow center. It’s still warm. I can’t help but smile at the gesture.
“Thank you, Bolivar.”
He gives me a nod and takes off for the bar again.
I bite into my loaf and moan as the sweetness of the honey explodes on my tongue.
I love honey loaf. It’s so hard to come by now—honey, that is. Whenever Bolivar buys a jar of it, he bakes a loaf and sells it for one gold coin per slice, the same we charge at the bakery when we’re lucky enough to get a jar ourselves.
The beastials in the back grow louder, and the charmers and humans join them. I study all of them. All I need is one person to guide me to The Shallows. Therightperson. I’ll know it when I see them. That’s part of the reason I’m in the tavern tonight, too.
Lots of people, mercenaries especially, always wear their combat gear publicly and carry weapons. And many of them love a warm tavern with lots of ale.
Hardly any of the lot here even carry a sword. And to be frank, they all seem a bit…silly.
None of them will do.
As I bite into my loaf again, trying not to feel defeated, the tavern door swings open, and a cool draft sneaks inside. Despite the fire burning in the hearth a short distance away, the chill wraps around me and sinks under my clothes. I shiver, and that alone feels like a warning.
And then I see him. Dressed exactly like the kind of person I’m looking for.
A man in all black enters wearing buffers, worn boots, and a hooded cowl. A hush follows him into the bar.
