The flash of a memory in my mind, so clear and keen it almost seems real.
A blond-haired, emerald-eyed witch with moonlight streaming over her. Strong, fast, undaunted.
“No. She’s not in need of any assistance.”
“Then what do you need from the king and queen?”
“I want… I wanted to see if the queen knows her. If she… if she could tell me who this witch is.”
Even as I speak the words, I hear how pathetic they are. As if the ruler of this entire realm has time to make introductions. And that’sifshe even knows my fierce little mate at all.
The first guard scoffs again. “In that case, you can get in line to make your petition with the rest of the realm when the king and queen hold open court in a week’s time.”
A week’s time.
Goddess, I don’t know if I’ll last that long not knowing who she is.
Evidently done with the conversation, the first guard returns to his post. This time, I don’t call after him.
I’m about to give up the idea completely, to open a portal and retreat somewhere I can tend my wounded pride, when the kinder of the two guards stops me.
“Who is she to you, this witch?”
Perhaps he can see it on my face, or hear it in my desperation, because when I meet his gaze, it’s filled with knowing, with sympathy.
“She’s…”
It feels wrong to say the word to this stranger.
My mate rejected me. I don’t even know her name. I hardly have the right to make any kind of claim on her.
“It’s just important that I find her,” I say instead, and the hollow lie of omission sounds false even to my ears.
The guard nods, still looking so damned sympathetic, and I finally turn to go. I open a portal and step through without a backward glance.
I’ve got a long way to go, so as soon as I exit one portal I open another, then another, leaping between well-established routes through the realm. It takes an immense amount of magick to portal directly over long distances, much more than I care to expend tonight, so I make my way slowly and carefully back to my place in Traverdale—a city at the edge of the realm’s western plains, set in a lowland on the coast.
A hub of trade and travel and culture, it bustles with activity even at this hour as I step out of my final portal in one of thecity’s designated drop zones. I move quickly out of the way to avoid being bowled over by some other late night traveler.
From there, it’s a short walk through winding, cobbled lanes that take me past a market—a few stalls still open offering late night eats to passing demons—and several streets filled with shops that peddle wares from all across the realm, until I reach the building that’s been my home for a decade.
Situated above a shoemaker’s shop, the apartment isn’t much to look at, but it’s served me well in my coming and goings from Traverdale. A quiet, safe place to rest my head for a night or two before I’m sent off on some new assignment.
Myron, the demon I’ve been working for these past ten years, lives on the other side of town. The more affluent side of town.
If this were any other day, I’d be up and off to see him bright and early to get a new assignment or report back on the latest errand he sent me on. I’d be in his office as soon as it opens, hands clasped behind my back, wearing my most neutral, polite expression, ready to take my marching orders and get back on the road.
Tonight, though, I’m barely thinking of Myron.
I won’t be heading to his office tomorrow. In fact, I’m hoping to avoid him for as long as I reasonably can. How long that will be, I don’t know. He holds the contract which binds me to his service now, and for the foreseeable future, so at some point he’ll use that leash to yank me back.
But tonight I can’t make myself care.
I can’t make myself do anything but play and replay those stolen moments from the Middle.
Green eyes and golden hair.
A hard, glinting defiance in the jut of a sharp chin and the tilt of full lips into a scowl.
