The butcher in the back corner would have had the best view of the well and the platform from his large bay window. Toran hoped the man’s memory would be as good as his view.
The door to the shop stuck when he tried to open it, the bottom scraping against the wooden floorboards as he pressed his shoulder to the pane and heaved it open. The man behind the counter didn’t so much as look up at his struggle.
“Might want to get your door fixed,” Toran said, his tone jovial. “You could be deterring customers with it.”
“Not customers,” the man said, eyes still on something behind the counter. “Kids with their thieving little fingers.”
Toran glanced around the shop. There was nothing on this side of the counter to steal. Everything was securely behind the glass display case.
“What can I do for the Crown?” the man asked, at last looking up at him.
“I came to ask if you remembered seeing a girl in the square yesterday.”
“A girl, huh?”
“She has light brown hair, lots of freckles, and blue eyes.” Eyes that had haunted his dreams last night—replacing Loriana’s for the first time in months.
The man raised his brows. “You think I can see anyone’s eye color from way back here?”
Toran plowed ahead. “She remained behind after the drowning failed. Was near the platform before it exploded and close to me after.”
“Sounds like you should be asking yourself such questions if she was so close to you.”
“I’m trying to find her,” he said. “Do you remember her or know anything about her?”
“Can’t say that I do,” the butcher said, his voice turning gruff. “Now, you gonna purchase something, or can I get back to taking stock of my inventory?”
Toran left the shop feeling much like a dog with his tail between his legs. Stepping back out onto the cobblestone street, he yanked hard on the handle to close the stubborn door behind him.
“You’re wasting your time.”
He startled at the hard female voice. Turning, he found the red-haired guard from yesterday—the one who’d followed Fell off the platform before the drowning—leaning against a shop awning pillar.
“Excuse me?”
She nodded to the butcher shop, then gestured to the rest of the shops surrounding the square. “You’re wasting your time,” she said again. “They can’t help you find who you’re looking for.”
He frowned. “And how would you know who I’m looking for?”
She snorted, the sound dismissive. “You haven’t exactly been quiet about it.”
“Right.” He didn’t need this. Especially from someone working for Fell. “Well, it’s been nice talking to you.”
He turned away, but the guard was quick to cut him off.
“Sergeant Genna Rizzo,” she said, placing a hand over her heart.
Rizzo—he’d never met her, but he’d certainly heard the name. Though just nineteen, and therefore a guard for only three years, Genna Rizzo was not well-liked among the ranks for four reasons.
She’d broken every trainee record they had in her first two weeks.
She reminded the other guards of that fact every chance she got.
She was both gorgeous and brilliant.
And she reminded them of that fact every chance she got.
If anyone asked him, Genna had plenty of reason to gloat. She was a damn near perfect shot with a bow and arrow and wasn’t bad with a sword, either. She’d made sergeant a year after graduation but hadn’t moved up the ranks since because she didn’t belong to a legion.
