A mask conceals the lower portion of his face, a common accessory for soldiers and fighting men who want to hide their expressions during combat. He’s wearing a hood, so all I can make out are his downturned eyes. The pommels of two swords stand tall and alert behind his head, and another is sheathed at his waist.
The buffers are the main thing that catch my eye. Most who wear them do so because they’re more comfortable than steel armor. Made of thick leather with alvanite rock powder packed into each pad, they provide a firm layer on the body that’s tougher to penetrate. He wears only a vest as protection, so he must be able to withstand a strike while wielding a sword at the very least.
The ruckus behind me settles instantly as all eyes turn to the mysterious man. Removing his hood, he reveals hair made of tight, dark curls that rise to a full crown, while the edges are clean, tapered, and as sharp as a blade. He scans the room as he moves forward, the metal on his boots rattling with each heavy, methodical step.
The two men who were gossiping in the corner spring out of their chairs and abandon their ales as he walks in their direction. They scurry to reach the door, dodging a group of occupied tables so they can leave the tavern. The masked man grips the back of one of the now-empty chairs and hauls it back before sinking down on it like a rock.
I blink with my mouth full of honey and bread as I pull my gaze from him to look at everyone else. Most dodge his eyes, while others turn their backs to him entirely. Even Bolivar stands at attention behind the bar and studies the man warily while filling a steel mug with ale.
I’ve never seen this masked person around before, yet everyone in the tavern is too afraid to even cut a glance at him. This must be him—the man in black everyone’s been whispering about. And if he’s as lethal as they say, maybe he’s just the person I’ve been looking for.
I wonder if I can pay for his protection…
As this revelation strikes me, I close all the tomes on my table and shove them back into my rucksack. I dig farther into my bag and take out a hefty pouch of coins, and after wiping my mouth with my ivory tunic sleeve, I climb out of my booth.
I inhale, exhale, and then nod. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
With all the confidence I can muster, I make my way toward the ominous man who, if the rumors are true, just might kill me before I even get the chance to utter a single word.
But what do I have to lose?
Time to make a proposition.
Chapter 3
“Zaira,” Bolivar calls in warning.
Ignoring him, I pass the hearth and approach the opposite side of mystery man’s table. I drop the pouch in the center of the table, and the coins make an obnoxious clatter. Even though I’m shaking, I look right at him.
He glances at the pouch. Then his eyebrows pull together before he slowly drags his gaze up to meet mine.
“Hi.” My voice cracks.
His frown deepens.
Shit. What was I thinking? I mean, this guy isreallyscary up close. I think it’s his eyes—amber irises swirling with dark flecks of brown. They’re fiercer than I expected, especially with the fire mirrored in them. Or maybe it’s the obvious grimace he wears beneath the mask.
On the upside, he has really nice skin. Light brown with bronze undertones and minimal pores. Analla would kill for skin as smooth as his.
“I’m Zaira Quinlocke.” I press shaking hands to my chest, introducing myself. “You don’t know me, and that’s fine, but you look like a guy who gets what he wants, and since you’re wearing buffers and carrying those insanely cool swords, I’m assuming you’re not afraid of a good fight.” The words fall out of my mouth like vomit. I need to shut up, but I can’t. Not right now. I have to go all in. “I bet you’ve seen many of the kingdoms in Thelanor, and as luck would have it, I could use someone like that right now.”
His glare is heated.
I swallow again, then pull out the seat across from him so I can sit. Before I can, he straightens his back, and a dagger suddenly materializes in his right hand. He snatched it out of thin air faster than I could blink. Fisting the handle, he slams the hilt down on the table and causes the silverware and my coins to rattle.
I stare at his black, fingerless gloves as he cocks his head ever so slightly, awaiting my next move.
Heart hammering in my chest, I drag in a breath and claim the seat. If I don’t push past my fear, I’ll regret it. Even if I’m a fool and he decides to kill me on the spot, I’m willing to accept that fate because if Analla dies, then I might as well die, too. But my pendant is still warm, so she has to be alive. I need her and would doanythingfor her. Even chat up a ruthless-looking stranger with murder in his eyes, apparently.
“Look, I’m sure you want to kill me right now for invading your space, so I’m sorry for doing that, but I’ve heard people talking about you. Men likeyoudon’t walk around wearing buffers and carrying swords unless you’re fulfilling certain…duties.” I whisper that last part.
His eyes give me a cautionary flash, like he’s insisting that I stop talking immediately. He and I both know I don’t have to say what those duties are out loud.
Bounty hunting.
Kidnapping.
Stealing.
