Farrah glanced down at her shaking hands before throwing them to her sides. “I’m fine.” She swallowed the slight rasp in her voice, eyeing the man in front of her. “If you’re waiting for a thank you, I won’t give it to you; not if you’re friends with that revolting creature.”
He grimaced. “I am not friends with him, just an unfortunate acquaintance by circumstance. And I don’t need a thank you, either. You were the one to punch him, and honestly, I was really hoping he was stupid enough to try again.”
Farrah hesitated, studying the man in front of her. He had tried to hide his storm magic, held himself like a trained soldier, but was also trying to blend in with the unassuming clothing and simple sword when he clearly wasn’t from around here. Anfroy, maybe, judging from his thinner appearance and sharper jaw than earth-kind, but lighter skin than Severina. It wasn’t surprising that he was visiting with the Earth Festival happening, but for him to be somehow associated with that monster Merik was alarming. There were at least three of them around, maybe more, and trained soldiers in their forgotten village meant they were looking for someone specific.
“Is there a reason your circumstances require pestering orphanages?” Farrah asked. “I can’t imagine the man you work for is suffering so much that you resort to stealing from abandoned children.”
The man flinched. “I am sorry about that.”
“Sorry doesn’t do me any good. Maybe you should have a talk with your boss Rynn since you don’t seem as threatened by him as Merik is of you.” He raised his eyebrow in surprise as Farrah rolled her eyes. “I saw your storm tattoo on your wrist. Highest graduation marks.”
His lips twitched, almost in amusement. “That doesn’t scare you?”
“No.” Her eyes darted to his left hand that had gripped tighter since she mentioned his magic. “I suggest you do a better job of hiding it around here. Rooke isn’t known for their appreciation of other gods-blessed magic.”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” he groaned. He must have noticed that she hadn’t stopped staring at his hand because he uncurled his fist. “Do you want to see it?”
Farrah felt her cheeks flush as she blinked and met his eyes. “Sorry. That was rude of me to stare.”
He shrugged, lifting his sleeve to his elbow as he held his forearm out to her. “It’s not often I meet someone in Rooke who isn’t afraid of my magic.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the artwork along his arm, the darkest patterns around the inside of his wrist showing his moon-blessed affinity for lightning.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her eyes darting up to his. “I’ve always wanted to go to the moon temple. They say the pools are made with mirrors to reflect the night sky—“
“Farr?”
She spun to see Elias sprinting down the stairs, a fierce look in his eyes as he glared at the man standing with her. She held up her hand to calm him.
“It’s okay. He was helping.” Farrah turned to see the man had already lowered his sleeve and taken a step away from her. Understandable since Elias had been running at him like a boulder. She lowered her voice. “Thank you for showing me your tattoo.”
He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do about Merik, but he won’t bother you again.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I am interested in getting some herbs and earth-blessed water stones while I’m here. Any chance you can point me to a shop that isn’t going to swindle me out of all my money?” Farrah just shrugged as he grumbled. “Figured. Thank you.”
As the man walked away, Elias leaned closer. “Why do I have a bad feeling about that man?”
Farrah shook her head before kneeling to pick up the spilled fruit. “I only caught his name in passing. Valkip. But there are at least three of them in Averlyn, and I think the other two are only here to cause trouble.”
“If they’re at the markets, Brela will eat them alive,” Elias replied.
“And what if they’re here hunting her?” Farrah asked.
The tensing in Elias’s jaw meant he had been thinking the same thing.
7
Playing the Game
Brela grunted with each breath she took. As if the feel of Ovir’s hand lingering on her throat wasn’t frustrating enough, the humidity made breathing even harder. Though her shirt didn’t have sleeves, she could still feel the stick of sweat catching on the high collar that hid the celvusa’s scar and the Veil shard in her chest. The attached hood didn’t do much to keep the sun from burning down on her out in the markets. She’d only been outside for an hour and was already sick of the bustle of bodies—not to mention the annoying wind chimes that she was forced to sit next to since she had been late to arrive.
Most of the passing travelers moved through the streets without paying the village much attention, as the majority of them did during the year. Averlyn wasn’t known for their riches nor their hospitality, but during the Earth Festival, some puttered about to experience thequaintvillage before continuing to Rooke.
Those travelers usually used a more derogatory word, but Brela didn’t mind. While she called this village home, she didn’t feel the need to defend it. Not when these men and women would be just as cruel about her history as a Veil Worshipper as those in Dredon or Ciethy or any other city or village across the map.
She didn’t really belong anywhere anymore.
“Three silvers,” she grumbled as an older man fiddled with one of earth-blessed stones. Gods, she hated the rasp in her voice. Ovir’s hand had really done some damage on her throat.
The man scratched his beard. “How long will it last?”
