Raw. Ragged. Endless. I don't know how long I stay like that. Gasping. Shaking. Replaying his notes. The vision of him grabbing the scepter. The look in his eyes as the carriage carried him away. His wrists in those strange white manacles.
It’s almost as if he knew he’d be taken. As if he wanted to be. It doesn’t make sense, but when it comes to Jordi … I don’t know what to think anymore. I remind myself that he’s a grown man, free to make his own choices, but gods, how idiotic can one grown man be? I force myself to breathe as I turn into the alley. And stop when my feet hit a red puddle.
My eyes follow the sinuous red lines to the words scrawled over the Council's signet.In the end, nothing will matter, except everything.I don't recognize the phrase from the Council's pamphlets, but something about it tugs at me. The same blocky handwriting as before. The same strange x's dotting the i's.
I force myself to turn away and head toward the only place I can think of to look for answers.
Chapter Nine
Idrift toward Veneficia Alley in a haze, barely registering the vendors setting up their festival tents, the bright fabrics and glittering wares blurring at the edges of my vision. My hand lifts in absent greeting as I pass familiar faces, but my mind is elsewhere. Lost in fog. Lost in the image of my brother's bound wrists disappearing into the mist.
My name cuts through the noise. I whirl around. Naima is waving from the far end of the alley, her dark brows furrowed into a determined scowl as she shoulders through the crowd. She glances back, speaking to someone behind her.My spine stiffens when I see the man walking beside her. An outsider.
Of all the impossible things I've witnessed today, this might be the strangest. The Sages raised us to fear outsiders, and none of my friends took that lesson to heart more than Naima. She'll befriend the occasional merchant who shares her features, hoping to learn something about where she came from, but this is different. This man is no merchant.
They share the same sleeveless tunics, the same muscular arms on full display. But that's where the similarities end. The outsider has fair skin and straight black hair pulled into a knot at the crown of his head. When Naima pauses to shoot a flirty smileat a woman in a purple dress, he rolls his eyes with the practiced exasperation of someone who has witnessed this a thousand times.
The familiarity between them unsettles me more than anything else.
As they draw closer, I take in the details. His tunic is black, longer in the back, cinched at the waist by brown leather straps that hold twin daggers at his hips. The hilt of a sword peeks over his shoulder.
Weapons. That's something he and Naima have in common, though she's always preferred wielding them to forging them. If they'd allowed women at the Dueling Estate, Naima would have followed Arlo and Casimir without hesitation. Thank the goddess they don't.
I've already lost two friends to the Council. I couldn't bear to lose her as well. When they reach me, I open my gift. Just a crack. Just enough to taste the stranger's emotions. Anguish and frustration, tangled together. And beneath it, fragile as glass, hope.
He feels me. Dark glittering eyes pin me in place, and the connection snaps shut like a door slammed in my face. I blink, startled. No one has ever noticed when I reach for their emotions. No one has ever pushed me out.
His lips curve slightly, amused by my reaction. I study him more carefully now, taking in the contradictions of his face: soft and sharp, delicate and dangerous, arranged into something close to perfection.
“My gods, Temp.” Naima's arms wrap around me, pulling me into a fierce embrace. “We've been so worried.”
I exhale and let my eyes fall shut, sinking into the comfort of her. The warmth. The steadiness. For a moment, I let myself pretend everything is fine.
Then we pull apart, and the words spill out of me. “Jordi's gone.”
Her expression falters. “I know. We were there when the silent guards took him.”
“Silent guards?” I search her face. “Are you certain?”
“I wouldn't have noticed if Kage hadn't pointed out the SiGA letters on their patches.” Her jaw tightens. “I told them it was a violation of the treaty.”
My gaze swings to the man beside her. He's watching me with a quiet smile, as if he finds this entire situation mildly entertaining, which is wildly annoying.
“Oh gods, I forgot.” Naima waves a hand between us. “Ada, this is Kage Yoshioka. He rented one of Tilda's rooms that faces the forge.”
I nod slowly as the pieces begin to slide into place.
“Kage, this is Ada. Jordi's sister.”
His brows shoot toward his widow's peak. “You're Jordi's sister?”
My gaze snaps back to Naima, and she laughs, shaking her head. “It's a long story. He's Draven's friend. He was supposed to stay at Jordi's, but I convinced him otherwise.”
Kage scowls at her. “You told me she was hideous and mean.”
“Sheismean.”
“But not at all hideous.” He turns to me with a slight bow and offers his hand. I take it. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Ada, though I wish the circumstances were different.”
