What was he doing? He should just go. He watched for long moments, how Addie and her escorts closed the shutters while Peter shut the door.
Afraid. Peter was afraid. He should be afraid.
Should Martin go to him? Comfort him? But no. If the demons wanted Martin, he’d only put Peter in danger. And he must protect Peter at all costs. Though he raised his hands and tried his best to focus, no wards came.
He watched until no more light sifted through the shutters’ cracks, turned, and shuffled back to his rooms.
Only when he settled into bed did he realize what he’d seen. Of course, he couldn’t conjure wards on the Stone’s Throw.
The tavern was already warded.
Chapter Thirty-two
Atouchofmagichelped the scratches heal by morn. Freshly bathed and shaved, Martin stood before his mirror, contemplating his best clothing laid out upon the bed.
This should be a happy moment, for most likely, his friend Cere would be selected for service today, yet no amount of finery could brighten Martin’s mood.
Now that he knew the truth. Should he warn Cere? Sneak him out of the temple?
Cere had looked forward to this day. Dread pooled in Martin’s stomach. If Cere was Chosen, what would he do? Spend the rest of his life inside the temple walls as a priest, teacher, or oracle?
Serving a false goddess who cared nothing for him.
Never again would he and Martin share a bench in the garden.
A knock sounded on his door. Cere entered without waiting for an answer. “I found this outside your door.” He placed a dusty trunk on the floor and crossed to the washbasin to rid his hands of any filth.
Cere, here? How had he even discovered where Martin lived? Oh. Probably from another guard. They’d never been accused of being tight-lipped, and Cere’s powers of persuasion were vast.
He looked resplendent in white satin, multi-colored pearls embellishing his tunic and trousers. Soft calfhide boots, dyed sky blue, graced his feet. He’d arranged his hair in elaborate braids, crossed over his head, trailing down his back.
“You look stunning,” Martin admitted. “That outfit likely cost more than a common man will make in a lifetime.”
Cere turned, arms out to the sides to show off the workmanship of his clothes. “Nothing less for the Choosing.” His smile melted. “You’ve been keeping company with that priest too long if you think the temple worries about costs.”
Was Cere aware ofwhyMartin kept company with Dmitri? “Why did you come here? Won’t you be missed?”
Cere shrugged. “If I’m Chosen, then I’ll be sequestered.” He gave a tremulous smile. “And I won’t be able to see you.” For the first time since their meeting, a hint of shyness crept into Cere’s demeanor: a hint of blush on his fashionably pale cheeks, gaze lowered to the floor.
He would miss Martin? Hadn’t Cere just been practicing his wiles? Martin found Cere amusing, friendly, but no other feelings stirred in him.Because your heart belongs to another.
The boy, no, the man, swept a tentative gaze over Martin’s body, pausing at a particular area.
Martin looked down. By all the gods anyone ever prayed to! He grabbed a night robe to fling over his near-nakedness, clad as he was in only small clothes. Heat crept up his face. Time for a change of subject. “What do you think I should wear?”
Distracted by his second favorite topic of clothing—his first being gossip, or possibly sex—Cere nodded toward the trunk. “You might want to check in there.”
“You looked?”
“Of course, I looked. It’s… it’s hideous. An affront to the Lady, but it’s you.”
It must be horrible indeed. Martin fought a smile while opening the lid. Despite the layer of dust on the surface, no dirt or mustiness lingered inside. He lifted a deceptively soft garment. Leather? Fine leather, too. He brought the tunic to his nose and sniffed. Definitely leather. A note, penned in an elegant hand, readYou’ve earned this.
Black, black, black. Dark as midnight, each item.
“You’re not thinking of wearing that in daylight where people can see, are you?” Cere curled his lip in distaste.
The garments were fitted, not flowing, designed to show not a hint of flesh but for hands and head—and not restrict movement during fights. “The least I could do is try them on since Father Dmitri went through so much trouble.”
