Xendus swoops down. We glide so low I can smell the flowers in the field and the ash from the previous fires. As we pass them, Treacher turns toward me, determination in his expression.
“Let go.” I make the signal for him to drop to the ground. Xendus loops around, and we pass Treacher from the other direction.“Drop. Now,” I tell Treacher, making the signal again. “She will never let you mount her!”
Treacher frowns.
Time is up,Xendus says.My love is going to kill him.
“Give me one last try,” I plead with Xendus. The dragon handlers are almost in range. In only moments they’ll be preparing a weapon that will not only torture Xendus and Surath, it will keep both of them on the ground, foiling every single one of our objectives.
Xendus grunts but flies me close enough to make eye contact with my former champion, the one who urged me to mount Xendus in the first place.
“Master Treacher,” I call out. “If you don’t release Surath, she will kill you.”
Treacher glares at me but then releases the rope.
Striking the ground, from a height of at least twenty spans, he rolls, leaving a swath of crushed flowers and grass.
Xendus and Surath climb quickly into the sky, giving me no chance to know whether Treacher was injured.
CHAPTER 5
Rosomon
Zogar and I walk hand-in-hand along this hard surface he’s told me is called pavement, or a sidewalk, and my legs grow sore, pain that’s radiating into my back. I’m not certain whether the source of my pain is the difficult shoes, the hard surface they’re striking, or my residual fear from the look on that huge, hairy man’s face as he approached me with hunger in his eyes.
Perhaps some of my back’s pain is from the way Zogar pushed me up against that glass wall when he kissed me. Not that I’m complaining about that. If I’d let that kiss continue one more second, I’d have gladly welcomed him inside me, in public. This time, not in front of Saxon and Tynan, but in front of every passerby in this city.
When Zogar described this city and what I’d see here, I assumed he was exaggerating. But he understated the differences. It’s nothing like I could have imagined.
Before we entered this crowded section of the city, Zogar told me he’d secured a place for us to stay. Something called anapartment—one of the many new words I’ve learned. I hope we arrive there soon. I long to remove these shoes.
“How much farther?”
“Shall I carry you?”
I shake my head. Some of the women here seem to be treated like possessions—in even more blatant ways than I was in Achotia—and I’d like to maintain at least an ounce of autonomy. I don’t want Zogar to carry me like a child, or a thing. And I certainly wouldn’t want to be lead around on a chain, like that woman we just passed.
“The apartment building is in the next block.” Zogar’s thumb strokes my hand. “A block is a long section of pavement between cross streets.”
I nod. He already told me that word—one of a long list he taught me. Instead of taking the long road that stretched through the countryside, Zogar and I walked through fields and forests, and I’m grateful he thought to acquire alternate footwear for that part of our journey.
He stops in front of one of thousands of tall buildings. They all look the same to me. Especially from ground level. A man, dressed in what looks like a servant’s uniform, with a formally cut jacket and cap, holds open the door for us to enter. Zogar whispers that this man is called a doorman. How appropriate. I grin.
The building’s reception area is beautiful, with marble floors and walls covered in an ornate, lush pattern that looks almost like fabric. But it can’t be. It’s far too smoothly applied to be fabric. And no loom exists that could have created such a textile.
At the far end of the space, a desk sits to the side of two sets of bronze doors. Based on what Zogar has told me, these are elevator doors—another word for a lifting device, but the pulley system must be hidden behind the walls.
Another uniformed man sits behind the desk—is he called a deskman?—and Zogar leans toward him. “I am Zogar. King Lucian left me a key.”
The man reaches into a small drawer in the desk and then hands Zogar a piece of paper. Zogar frowns as he reads it.
“What’s wrong?” I touch his arm.
“Come.” He crumples the paper and drops it to the floor as he wraps his arm protectively around me, leading me toward the building’s exit.
I’m flooded with disappointment. Not only won’t I get to try that elevating device, I have to continue walking in these shoes.
Once outside, we walk along the pavement at an uncomfortable pace. My feet scream in protest. It seems that stopping for a few moments only made the pain from them worse, but I keep quiet. Zogar will tell me what the note said when he thinks it’s safe to do so.
