“Watch it!” a gruff voice shouted over the din of the crowd, its source already storming away, disappearing into the throng.
“Sorry,” Quentin muttered, more to himself than anything. Fuck, he needed to focus. He wasn’t wandering around Verith, the city he knew better than the freckles smattered across his skin. This was a foreign city, with foreign people and Elders who weren’t exactly friendly to his queen and his people.
He needed to be alert, as he’d trained to be. He hadn’t lied to Drystan; he wanted to see what was happening in the city while they had all holed up cozily in the High Counsellor’s fancy manor.
Feran may be their best tracker, but no one could spy like Quentin.
He lifted his head, just enough to see out from under the hood, and watched.
The square was actually more of a circle, fed by eight roads from all over the city and filled with rows of stalls staffed by artisans of all kinds selling their wares. Taverns and restaurants with finely crafted façades lined the square, perfect places for shoppers to find food or a cool drink while escaping the sun’s heat.
It wasn’t that unlike the market district back home. There were no fishmongers or farmers, but the lively commotion of people haggling over prices was recognizable anywhere.
A man strode past Quentin, accompanied by a lumbering bear carrying a child astride her wide shoulders.
Well, almost like home.
The mix of animals and people was perhaps the starkest difference between Verith and Onita. Flashes of blue light flared frequently around the square, and growls or chirps or whinnies filled the air just as much as the voices did.
People were so comfortable with their magic here. It was a frequent part of daily life, something that almost all were blessed with and felt at ease using in front of others. Quentin rubbed his chest beneath his cloak, fingers twitching around his baldric.
He’d never wished for magic before. He had his own gifts and skills; he didn’t need another, especially one that many in Onita saw as antiquated and barbaric to wield. Those who were gifted with wind could find use on a ship, helping control the sails. But fire magic? Those bearers tended to hide their gifts. Unless they were wealthy or elite, all it usually brought was destruction.
Quentin had been on the city walls defending Verith against the Kizar Pirates when they’d launched their assault over the winter and early spring. He’d seen the way they’d manipulatedwater into weapons of war. Then there were the shifters of Kreah, and, of course, Andrian’s gift of shadows.
What other magic lay in all the various corners of the world, lost to time and a millennium of closed borders?
Quentin walked a full path around the edge of the square, his pace meandering and unassuming. He wasn’t the only one who wore his hood up; it was exceptionally hot today and many hid from the sun’s strength.
Summer must nearly be here. He hadn’t bothered counting the days, but it hit him with a jolt that the Summer Solstice would be coming soon.
He wondered if Mariah knew. When was the last time she—or any of them—had looked up to the moons at night to gauge where in the cycle they found themselves?
Quentin rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. Mariah would know the Solstice was approaching. If anything had been made clear to him, it was her competence.
His job was to guard and follow. He would always do that to the best of his ability.
Quentin reached one of the streets that fed the market. It was just like the others, lined with more vendors and filled with a mix of people and animals.
But something about the air this way was darker. He couldn’t explain it, but his sharp eyes caught the flash and glint of steel strapped to thighs, shoved into the straps of sandals, nestled in thick curls of hair.
For some reason, the residents of Desva didn’t walk this street unless they were armed. Everything about the city so far seemed safe and welcoming, a bright beacon in the endless sands.
Yet even the most shining of havens had a dark underbelly.
The corner of Quentin’s lips lifted in a smirking grin as he stepped into the alley.
Chapter 16
“Ihope,” Rulene said slowly, orange eyes flashing, “that the god you wish to kill is not one of us.”
The Sky Goddess still stood in the doorway to her sanctum, her Consort looming over her shoulder. All traces of their kind welcome had fallen away, any shreds of mortality replaced by ethereal power.
Mariah, unintimidated, gave Rulene a deadened look. “Really?”
The two held gazes for a long moment, Rulene’s shimmering glare pulling back far too many of Mariah’s layers, wrenching them from her shadowed heart out into the brilliant daylight.
Finally, the goddess relaxed, the vestiges of her godhood melting away. “No.” The breeze brushed through Rulene’s sky-blue hair. “I know who it is you wish to kill. I just did not expect you to wish for it so soon.” She stepped back from the sanctum doorway. Callamus was her watchful shadow as she extended an arm, gesturing inside.
