The shopkeep swells with indignation. “I don’t sell—”
I don’t feel like listening to him lie again, so I seize him by the arm. He tries to pull back, but I yank up his sleeve and grab hold of his bare skin.
He cries out as I push searing heat into his flesh. Not enough to leave a mark—at least, not yet—but enough to hurt like hell.
I drop his arm, and he stumbles back, slamming into a shelf behind him. Glass shatters to the floor, but he doesn’t seem to care. He stares at me, eyes rounded with terror. “You’re aikkari?”
“Yes. But don’t worry. I’m not here because the decurio sent me; I’m just not very nice. Now answer the question: Have you sold kishori recently? Refuse to answer, or lie to me again, and I’ll burn this whole place to the ground, just because I can and, as I said, I’m not very nice.” I smile sweetly. “Do you believe me?”
He’s shaking. “Y-yes.”
“Excellent. Have you sold kishori recently?”
He flaps his head up and down. “Yes. I sold a vial a little over a month ago.”
Just before the start of the Tournament. “To who?”
“A young man. I don’t know his name, I swear. I never asked.”
Unfortunately, that’s the truth. “What do you remember about him?”
“He was like you,” the shopkeep rushes to answer me. “Dressed real nice, like he was well off.”
My interest is raised. “Was he Virdeian or Opheran? Did you see a tattoo?”
“I couldn’t tell. He was wearing gloves. They were nice gloves. Nice boots and cloak too.” His eyes shift wistfully to my outerwear. “Like yours.”
Probably a Virdeian, and probably from above the Collar. “What did he look like?”
“He was taller than me, shorter than your young man.”
The shopkeep is very short, and Kaidren is very tall. That does nothing to narrow it down. “Anything else?”
“This was months ago. I don’t remember much. Of course, he had short hair, but—”
Of course?“Wait,” I say. “What do you mean ‘of course’ he had short hair?”
The man looks confused. “It’s like I said. He was like you, miss.”
He said that before, but I assumed he meant his buyer was wealthy. Apparently, he’s referring to something else. “What do you mean by that?”
“He was aikkari. A member of the decurio. He had that haircut they all have, but he wasn’t dressed like one of them while he was here.”
My blood runs cold. A young, wealthy member of the decurio who lives above the Collar . . . “Did you notice a mark on his face?”
The shopkeep’s brow furrows. “Now that you mention it, yes. He had a little mole or something right near his mouth.”
My eyes shoot to Kaidren to find him already looking at me. We both know exactly who the shopkeep just described. Flynn Sixmen.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
SCHEMING IN SHADOWS
Getting back up the mountain is simple enough. We keep our hoods pulled low and ride the sky cart early in the morning alongside several Opherans who work in Virdei. The cart is so full, no one pays us any mind.
The true challenge is getting into Widow’s Hall undetected.
Getting in the way we left isn’t an option. After our escape, the dungeons and stables underground are bound to be crawling with guards. Which leaves the doors.
