He quietly sipped his ale. One learned so much by simply listening. No one bothered him or tried to engage him in conversation. Here, a stranger could remain a stranger unless wanting otherwise.
These people had never truly been alone in their lives.
Sometimes, though, he’d love, just for a minute, to feel connected to another. Warmth washed over Martin, a fine blanket on a winter’s night. He needn’t turn around.
“Good eve to you, stranger,” the tavernkeeper said, sidestepping Martin’s stool to place a trio of mugs on the counter. He addressed the barmaid. “Addie, another round for the travelers in the corner.”
Addie, tending bar, replaced the empty tankards with full. “Aye. Can’t keep that lot happy,” she groused. “My pockets better jingle when they leave.”
Martin pitied them if they didn’t reward her appropriately for the meal with extra for herself. Addie struck him as a formidable woman.
He breathed in sweat, spices, and an honest day’s work. Again, a sense of familiarity played at the edges of his senses. Then, all too soon, the man who’d caught Martin’s interest lifted the drinks and disappeared back into the mass of patrons.
Martin placed a coin on the bar. “Keep the remainder.”
Addie smiled, smoothing her hand down her stained homespun apron. “You come back and see me. Give these tired old eyes a pleasant sight.” Well, he wouldn’t be facing her wrath tonight. He couldn’t say the same for the men in the corner.
Martin lifted his hood and headed back outside to a light drizzle.
At such a late hour, few honest folks roamed the streets. The dishonest ones took one look at Martin and fled.
The lights still blazed in the Lady’s temple when he returned to the high city, stopping by to renew his vow of vengeance. One day. Not yet. Though what he waited for eluded him. He watched the temple dwellers through the windows, selected for their beauty, bedecked in finery and jewels. Was Cere among them tonight? Martin didn’t envy them. For them, he felt only pity for believing falsely.
No kind, benevolent being put his parents to death when they’d committed no crimes.
Every night he came here, stood in this spot. Felt magic dance along his skin.
And glared at the house of his enemy.
For just a moment, a split second in time, he felt his enemy glare back.
Chapter Fourteen
Peternoticedthestrangerthe moment he returned from his eve walk. Most people gave off some kind of energy, something tangible.
This man? Nothing.
Addie blatantly flirted. Her bosoms would fall out of her low-cut dress if she bent over any farther. All for show. Her heart and body belonged to the long-dead Zahn. Still, her act brought coins to her apron pockets—coins she’d use to buy herbs to treat those too poor to afford a physician or apothecary. Or to book passage for some mage-born in need of sanctuary.
She looked over the stranger’s head, smiled, and winked. Peter’s cheeks flamed. He should never drink that much again and answer Addie’s personal questions. Ever since he’d foolishly disclosed his desire for men, she’d made it her life’s work to find him a mate.
As though the city would accept a male couple.
“Don’t be silly,”she’d said.“Lots of mage bonds formed between two men or two women in the old days.”
Yes, back before magery brought a death sentence, when elves, fairies, and other magical creatures roamed the lands. Or so Addie said. Magical creatures fled in droves when the Lady built her temple. A few sailors mentioned them from time to time, but they mostly lived across the sea in the Myrgren Mountains of Adulas.
Though Peter swore he’d seen merfolk.
Still, the stranger intrigued, with his dark clothes, sinister air, and straw blond hair.
Those eyes! Peter grabbed hold of the bar to steady himself when the stranger turned those eyes on him. Pale hair, pale skin, a slip of a boy with eyes like those.
But no, Arkenn was long gone and could never have changed so much in so little time. Even so, Peter could look at the stranger all day and not grow bored. Something about him…
No matter how he focused, his thoughts closed on nothing, like smoke through a fist.
“Tavernkeeper!”
