The Traveler’s Offer
Standing before me was the unmistakable blue robes of a Traveler. The guard—who was actively avoiding my eyeline—placed a simple wooden chair next to the execution block before making a swift exit.
So he had seen me. Fuck.
The moonlight cast a soft, pale light around us and I hoped it wouldn’t illuminate the flush lingering in my cheeks.
I detected an earthy scent—pine—from the stranger and wondered if he’d come from the woods outside Illica’s walls where the Traveler community gathered and lived. Maybe he’d journeyed straight from the Hive itself.
He moved gracefully, settling in slowly as he raised his hands to lower his hood, revealing obsidian tresses and striking, steely blue eyes. “These aren’t the accommodations you’re accustomed to, are they, Lady Ashford?”
Certainly not,I quipped to myself. “No, Lord Traveler. And I prefer my maiden name. Bergmont.”
“Oh, my apologies.” Two hands emerged from his sapphire sleeves, palms up, gesturing for forgiveness. The cloaked figure sat back and crossed his legs, revealing black riding trousers and matching leather boots. “Of course they’re not, because what sane person would keep an execution block at the foot of their bed?”
Something between a snort and a laugh escaped me. Heat crept into my cheeks and I clasped a hand over my mouth.
Nothing about my situation was lighthearted or humorous, but his observation was valid. The logic of it snapped me into a state of lucidity I hadn’t realized I’d lost.
He chuckled as a cautious smirk crawled up one side of his narrow jaw. Whether he was amused or concerned by the disgusting noise I’d made, I couldn’t decipher. With one remaining day of my life, first impressions didn’t matter, but I was curious of his thoughts on the rumored sorceress in front of him.
Seven weeks in the keep had taken their toll. My once sun-kissed skin now paled from imprisonment. The plain dress, one of my last worldly possessions, now hung off of my disappearing frame. This version of myself was a shadow of who I was before my arrest. Physically, mentally, emotionally.
He cleared his throat and pointed to the block. “Is this some kind of mental warfare?”
While his head was turned, I stole a glance at his full lips. My voice cracked slightly as I admitted, “No, I—I was practicing.”
“Practicing?” The Traveler’s eyes were alight with curiosity.
I wasn’t sure why I told him. Could I admit to someone I just met that after a life of doing everything wrong, I desperately wanted to get this one last thing right? No. I couldn’t admit that to myself, let alone this attractive stranger.
Instead, I nodded. It was answer enough.
“Hm.” His head tilted, accentuating the cut of his jaw.
As Hollis’s wife, I’d met—and even hosted—a handful of Travelers. Most were forced into the nomadic occupation as a product of an undesirable family name or to pay off enormous debts. The work as a glorified goods escort between humans and our blood-thirsty neighbors of the Hive was dangerous but—according to the Crown—a necessary service. The vampires controlled the gem mines of the Irriset Mountains after all. The Crown traded their subjects—laborers—for the priceless gems adorning their garments and jewelry. As such, committing to the life of a Traveler could clear the largest of debts and often forgive the most devious wrongdoings.
But this Traveler was noticeably different. It was the little details that betrayed him. His posture was too relaxed. He seemed rested. Travelerswere notoriously on the move and a signature as recognizable as their blue robes was dark circles under their eyes. Even a freshly bathed Traveler never had hands as clean as his. But this man’s features, including his striking gray-blue eyes, felt out of place. He was a handsome mystery.
His thumbs circled each other, clasped in his lap. “So, you’re not interested in my offer then?”
I held back a scoff at the offer to deliver me to the Hive—the offer I had no intention of hearing, let alone considering.
Without pause, I responded, “I’ll go to the axe tomorrow.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’rethatdetermined to meet death?”
“I’m determined to havecontrolover my death,” I corrected, standing a little taller as if my posture could convince either of us I was confident in my decision.
“Control.” He rolled the word on his tongue and assessed me with narrowed eyes. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” I scoffed.
“Well, most people are at least curious about the Hive.” He sat back again and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “But not you.”
I shifted my weight as my resolve wavered. I was curious. Who wouldn’t be? I lived my entire life craving table scraps of gossip regarding the Hive to the North. Ruled by the famously fearsome Rhazien Kyrell, it was the death capital of Atoris. Or so the rumors said, because that’s all I could claim.
“You,” he continued, gesturing to me, “know all you need to know.”
