“You’ll let him go at the market square?” Dace asks.
A warm aura passes through Karis and settles behind him. A breath of heat. He guesses it’s a truth spell. Ordinary Varan truth spells can’t compel truth-telling, but they can indicate to the caster whether the target is lying if he does answer. Nobody currently in the company can cast the stronger version.
“I swear by my god’s true name,” Ronan says, seemingly unperturbed. Perhaps he doesn’t notice the spell. His hand leaves Karis’s shoulder briefly, and he flicks a small metal object into the air. Bernard and Dace flinch at the movement. The silver coin lands crown-up in the center of Ronan’s palm. “Give the coin to the little priest who led me in, as thanks for her hospitality.”
Ronan drops the coin on the ground. It’s still spinning when Ronan pushes Karis towards the door. Bernard and Dace back away as they approach, giving ample space for them to leave the church unimpeded. The churchyard is nearly empty, and the sky above the tender purple and pink of late evening.
“What did you do?” Karis hisses. He felt the shiver of cold when the coin landed. That was magic. Did Ronan break the truth spell? Or something else?
“You’re supposed to tip when you leave an inn. Do they not teach good manners in the Radiant Order?” Ronan asks lightly. “Hopefully they teach silence. Don’t make this difficult for yourself.” He lets go of Karis’s shoulder and removes the knife from his throat, instead resting the knuckles of his hand on Karis’s spine, between his shoulder blades.
Karis doesn’t try to run for now. If they’re really going to the market square… Karis doesn’t trust Ronan to let him go that easily, but that will be his best chance of escape anyway. Hopefully, given the emptiness in the churchyard, Bernard has sent the rest of the order there to wait for them too.
He’s scared, he’ll admit it. Almost the most scared he’s ever been. He hadn’t joined the order yet when Ronan Vizia stole the Crown of Vara a year ago, but he’s heard the stories. The man didn’t hesitate to murder his way out of the Bright Cathedral. He even stabbed a paladin on his way in—his lover, everyone says. Cold-blooded, in the back. But even gut-churning fear is less powerful than Karis’s curiosity.
“Seriously, what was that spell?”
Ronan shoves him farther along the churchyard. “What spell?” he says, a new hint of interest in his voice. He leans closer to Karis’s ear again. “Most squires can’t sense magic like that.”
Fuck. Karis trips over his own feet, and he’s briefly grateful none of the order is trying to rescue him right now.Shut up, shut up, shut up. Your big mouth is going to get you in trouble again.
He thought he learned long ago not to mention any of his abnormal talents. Learned the hard way—just be normal, and his mother and father will stop calling in doctors. Just be normal, and they’ll leave him alone. He’s gotten good at hiding, except when he forgets what is and isn’t normal.
Luckily Ronan doesn’t press the issue.
The streets of Marrick are still crowded as the sun sinks overhead, and none of the merchants or passersby take note of the unshaven man and nervous squire walking in their midst. The streets are a patchwork of light and dark. Yellow streetlamps already lit, deep shadows cast by tall buildings. Every shop has two or three stories of residence stacked overhead, and only slices of sunlight cut into the narrow alleyways.
Karis eyes the streetlamps.
He senses faint, sun-bright auras around them, probably a sign that a rescue is imminent. But given how useless Bernard and Dace were in the church, he’d prefer to have a backup plan. He concentrates as hard as he can.Vara! O Great Radiant Vara! This is your fault, I think you owe me some help here!
Vara’s the one who told him to talk to Ronan in the first place. So, it’s only fair if Vara helps him out after it went so wrong. Unless…
No. Absolutely not. There’s no way Radiant Varaintendedhim to get kidnapped.
Right?
The street widens before them, and the tall buildings give way to colorful banners and awnings. Karis has never been here before, but if he still had his purse, he’d bet ten gold that Marrick’s marketplace is half a block ahead. Which means he’s half a block away from whatever the Radiant Order plans to do, and whatever Ronan Vizia plans to do. And suddenly, he’s really not keen on following anyone else’s plans. Sheer annoyance shatters his fear.
He can take care of himself, thanks.
The streetlamps are the same as they are in every major city of Charain. Simple light spells ensnared in glass, bespelled and maintained by local mages. No flame or mechanics, just pure enchanted light. As Karis and his kidnapper pass beneath the nearest one, Karis concentrates on the glass—and deliberately stumbles backwards.
He knocks hard against Ronan, one hand leaping to his earring. Even in a crisis, he pretends he needs the focus stone. Ronan growls and grabs his wrist, but the bruising pain doesn’t stop Karis from releasing a thread of magic.
Light arcs from the core of his soul and refracts through the lamp glass, blinding bright. Karis averts his gaze in time to avoid being dazzled, but nobody else is prepared. The crowd yells around them, stunned by the sudden illumination. Even Ronan stumbles behind him, jostled by the crowd and surprised by the magic.
It’s just enough. Karis wriggles out of Ronan’s grasp. Wrist burning, heart pounding, he dives into the crowd.
Metal clatters on stone, and coins scatter underfoot. Karis barely registers them in his headlong sprint. But then Ronan’s low voice says a few words Karis can’t understand. And from nearly half the coins, plumes of black smoke billow up.
The training master taught all the squires to keep moving in a fight. Never slow down, even if there’s a surprise. A sitting target is an easy target. But Karis has only been in the order for a year, and his training breaks down in a cloud of smoke. He slows and stumbles, covering his stinging eyes, trying not to inhale—
The last thing he feels is a heavythudto the back of his head.
?
CHAPTER FOUR
