Page 15
“Something for your troubles, dove?”
I falter, turning toward the lyrical voice. A woman stands behind a modest stall, her dark green hair curling around dainty horns and eyes glinting like rain-dappled moss as they meet mine.
Tucked between larger setups, her display is brimming with an array of medicinal herbs and ingredients. Bundles of dried lavender and sage hang from the awning, and clay pots filled with powders and tinctures are piled on the table.
“I’ve got remedies of all sorts,” she continues, her lips curving into a smile. “For the body, the mind, and the soul.”
Her words pick at an old, festering wound, and my eyes dart over the jars and bundles once more. I glance back toward Lyxander, now bartering with the weapons merchant, then step closer to her. “Do you have anything for nightmares?”
She purses her rosebud lips, considering me. “Chamomile, perhaps. Or valerian root. Both are gentle, but effective.”
“I need something stronger.”
The playful edge in her expression fades into caution, but I don’t break her gaze. Finally, she sighs and crouches down, rising a moment later with a small vial of tiny black seeds.
A familiar ache pulses in the pit of my stomach. Somniseed. The name whispers through my mind, and I can almost taste the bitter tang of it on my tongue.
“How much?”
“A silver drachma.”
She watches me closely as I retrieve a coin and hand it over. Her gaze lingers for a heartbeat before she slides the vial across the table. “Pleasure doing business with you, dove.”
I stifle a shudder at the false endearment, stashing the vial into the pocket of my cloak and offering a nod before I turn away. The familiar weight of guilt and longing coils in my stomach as Lyxander steps up to my side, a short sword holstered at his waist that will probably look like a dagger in his hand.
I almost smile but my focus is pulled to movement in the crowd beyond him. A hooded figure slips between the press of bodies. My heart stumbles, but I move the two of us farther down the aisle.
“We’re being followed,” I murmur, barely moving my lips.
Lyxander doesn’t flinch, but his charmed hazel eyes scan the crowd ahead. “What should we do?”
We pause, pretending to look at a merchant’s wares, and I hazard a glance down the line of stalls. The figure isn’t there, but that doesn’t mean they’re gone.
“We split,” I say. “Throw them off our tail.”
He offers a barely perceptible nod. “Use the mark to find me when it’s safe. Don’t do anything foolish.”
And then he’s gone.
Slipping into the crowd like smoke dissipating in the wind. The bargain pulses beneath my skin, joined by the faint stirring of my theïkós, and I push both to the back of my mind.
I duck through a stall draped in woven fabrics and double back in the neighboring aisle. My heart pounds, each beat urgent as I try to keep my movements quick but inconspicuous.
But then the hooded figure emerges ahead, slipping behind a cart stacked with barrels, and something about the way he moves—his haste, the way he glances over his shoulder—makes my stomach twist. He’s retreating.
If a Flight has arrived, if he passes on what he knows, we’ll lose any chance of getting ahead.
I press forward, keeping the hooded figure in my sight. The market eventually thins as I near the docks, the air growing sharper, colder. I blend into the throng of dockworkers, quickening my pace, and the distance between us shrinks.
Then I see where he’s headed.
A chill of recognition sweeps over me at the sight of the ship tethered to the dock. The curling white script on its side has each instinct screaming to flee.
The Nightingale.
Among the Aviary, few ships are as renowned as the one now docked before me. It’s hard to believe that a little over a week ago, I was aboard this very vessel, standing alongside its captain, Nikolas, as I fled the shores of Eretria with Alpha Flight.
I stumble to a halt as the hooded figure stops beside another. This one stands tall and rigid, his hood pulled back enough to expose the hard edge of a jaw dusted with dark stubble.
