She watched Toran out of the corner of her eye, but he didn’t mention it, either. Instead, he simply said, “We do, but I’m here for another reason today.”
She raised her brows.
“Quint and I have been talking about a possible way to capture the Witch once we find her,” he explained.
She gestured to the Valley, the lines of tables and stalls aglow under the rays of the setting sun. “And you think you’ll find it here? At riskof pointing out the obvious, don’t you think if a vendor had something capable of capturing the Witch, we’d know? That the whole city would know?”
Again, he leaned close. Her shiver had nothing to do with the winter cold and everything to do with the caress of his exhaled breath.
“Not if they didn’t know what they had,” he whispered. “Quint and I have a theory. We think siren hair—real hair off the head of a siren—can bind the Witch.”
Her heart sped up, a skipping sensation overtaking the space behind her ribs. “And what makes you think this theory could be true?”
Toran’s face fell the slightest bit before he perked back up. Had she blinked she would have missed it. “I have a reliable source.”
She watched his face for change. “And you trust this source?”
He was stoic as he answered, “Unconditionally.”
Nes had her doubts. Even if they managed to find some siren hair, she wasn’t convinced it would work. But, for Toran, she combed the Valley and questioned its vendors about their rare products. She quickly learned not to directly mention siren hair to any of them—each time she did, they would give her a funny look and direct her to the gambling den.
An hour later they met back up, both empty-handed.
“Know of any other miraculous Witch trappings?”
He gave her a sour look. “Just the one.”
She ran a finger down the cool metal of her flask, tapping the middle and listening to the sound echo.
“I hope Quint’s had better luck.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” she mumbled.
A jewelry vendor spotted Toran and beckoned him over to her table. Nes went instead.
Waves of little pearls on velvet cloths scattered one side of the table while sparkling crystals covered the other. Pendants on silver and gold chains ran in lines down the middle, separating the two sides.
Toran stepped close, a force at her back. “Why do you say that?”
“Even if you do get your hands on what you’re looking for, you still need to find Damari before you can test your theory,” she said.
“We know she’s after Fell. We’ll use that against her.”
“I followed Fell for days, remember? If Damari was going to attack him, she missed dozens of opportunities.” She lightly touched a necklace with a rectangular pendant on the end.
Toran was silent for a moment.
He was warm at her side, a flickering fire strong enough to nip at the cold. It took everything in her not to soak it in.
“She doesn’t know it was Fell.” His words were hushed but began picking up speed, the momentum of the realization driving them faster off his tongue. “I think whatever Fell refused to tell us—whatever happened up north—happened so fast and was so horrible she doesn’t remember who exactly she’s after, only that Orlonea’s King’s Guard is responsible. So she’s hunting down every guard she can find.”
The jeweler’s eyes lit up when she noticed Nes’s interest in the necklace. “That one’s special,” the woman said.
Toran leaned over her shoulder to look with her. “What are you doing?”
“Shopping.” She shrugged, bumping the underside of his chin. “I’m about to come into a fair amount of money. I’ll have to find some way to spend it.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
